Utah Hates Me

We're moving out of Utah.  Utah is not happy with us.

I need to appear on Ghost Hunters, because the vengeful spirit of the pioneers is after me.

As soon as we decided to move, there was a snowstorm.  It was as if Utah was a jealous girlfriend who couldn't handle the breakup.  But her tantrum only made us more certain that we had made the right decision.

Now, there's brownish yellow water dripping from our bathroom ceiling.  We called the lady who manages the place.  She said they'd take care of it in the morning.  Then she laughed, and said "have fun cleaning that up."  Her indulgence in shadenfreude made me think she's one of those people who'd be happy working for the IRS, in telemarketing, or for Hitler.

The brown water is dripping onto our toilet.  We have some fans set up, a bucket, and some towels on the floor.

I needed to use the toilet.  So I grabbed a towel, and was considering using it as a hood to protect me from the drips as I did my business.  But then I decided to fix the problem ghetto MacGuyver style.

With some plastic wrap and some scotch tape, I've redirected the drips so that they all converge onto one spot, into a bucket, instead of on my head.

I can now go do my business without having to get dressed in brown-water beachwear.

Take that, ghosts.

The only other plumbing I've done is in Super Mario.