We've been having bathtub issues for a while now, maybe six months or so. Ever since I realized that my hair clogged the bathtub drain faster than than you can shower twice, I've used a hair trap in the tub, a trick that Allyse Manoff showed me way back when, like years way back when.

Fortunately, I learned this lesson in an apartment, well before we owned the plumbing that could get clogged and require expensive fixes.

Unfortunately, some hair still gets through, and after six years of showers, those little protein strings had their way, and clogged our tub's P trap.

The timing could not have been worse, with Ben, Lisa, Jake, Heather and Andy Fisher staying with us this past weekend. Ben and Lisa stayed over at Keith and Katie's more than our house, so that meant only four people showering in the tub.

When I called the plumber last week, he was able to clear the toliet and the main line, but unable to remove the cover from the tub's overflow (because the previous plumber who was out had cut the screws off, then put in broken screws in the remaining holes) and the drain cover. He told me when I had one of the two items off, give him a call back and he'd come out to clear the P trap.

Guess what Guy did yesterday.

Yep. Cursing the whole time.

Well, as much as someone as wholesome as Guy can actually curse, that is.

Five hours, and one good long lunch break, later, he had the cover off the tub, having drilled the broken screw out. Yay, Guy!

I called the plumber back, and, while I was having a massage in the back yard, he came over and started work on the tub. Kris managed to deal with him, thankfully. I have to honestly say there are few things less relaxing when getting a massage than hearing a plumber pound on your house's plumbing, the sounds reverberating throughouthe neighborhood.

Yeah, new plumbing is going in. Right along with that new wiring and new windows. I wonder if I can cancel the purchase of that other house without any penalty, use that money to do all these repairs now instead of later.

After the plumber left, and my massage was done, I walked into the house and asked, happily, if the shower was ready for me. Kris looked at me and said, well, no, we weren't showering in that tub any time soon: the plumber couldn't unclog the drain, and the suggested solution required the water in the tub to drain and then dry somewhat.

A tub. Dry out.

Great.

I looked at him dumbfounded. I needed a shower, and I needed it now. Tomorrow night was going to be way too late.

Who was closest to us? Where could I go shower? Brynne's old apartment was only 3/4 of a mile away. Thinking her lease didn't expire until tomorrow, the end of the month, I called her to see if she still had her keys. She did, indeed, have her keys, but she was in Los Gatos, hey, I could head to Los Gatos to shower. I thanked her, declined, hung up, and starting thinking.

Kris is always suggesting to me, encouraging me to be resourceful. Instead of giving up and asking for someone else to solve a problem, try for a few moments to think of an alternate, clever solution to a problem before asking for help. This is in stark contrast to my usual beat-my-head-against-the-wall-until-it's-bloody technique of gnawing on a problem until I'm completely frustrated, and only then ask for help. Fortunately, the latter problems are work related, and not shower related.

Nearest friend now that Kate and Mike have moved out? Max. He has a baby, that might not be good.

Next closest? Andy Crews. Might be awkward.

Next closest friend's house: Keith and Katie. Hey, that might work.

But, really, think about it, all I needed was running water. The hose outside would be fine, except for the cold water.

Cold water.

Hot water.

I walked to the garage and looked at the faucet on the laundry tub. What do you know? It had a hose hookup.

One connected garden hose, one rag, one bar of soap, two flipflops and two confused dogs later, I was in the back yard, standing in a mud pit, washing myself as the heathens do (that is to say, with a rag).

Kris didn't realize that the place I go for Tuesday and Thursday morning workouts doesn't have a shower when he talked to the plumber last night. He realized it this morning when I commented I was going to stand in a mud pile for this morning's shower.

As I was standing in my back yard this morning, naked with the hose splashing nice hot water, I recalled a story my mom tells of how she used to do yard work in the back yard, naked at Eric's old house. She'd just head outside and start on the yardwork, who cares about clothes, no one could see her over the fence.

She did this until she heard a noise, one day, turned, and saw the neighbor's kid on his roof looking down, watching her rake leaves with only her shoes on.

I looked around to see if any neighboring houses has a good view of my blinding white butt (nope, none did), as I showered again. Part of me is thrilled the extra water I use when I shower is going to the tree in the back yard, but another part worries about the soap going into the ground. I might need to purchase biodegradable, good soap and shampoo tonight if the plumber's fix doesn't work later today.

Thankfully, Guy is out of town for a week. He might be able to handle my scurrying from the bathroom to the bedroom in a towel when he shows up at the house, but I'm not so sure he'd be able to handle a boss' full frontal nudity upon arriving to work.

That would be just weird.

When newly-issued standard California license plates, the ones of the form #AAA###, were close to 5N, Kris and I wondered who would see a 5NMU first. 5NMU was significant only in that the NMU matched the license plate of our S2000, which is a 4NMU.

After we started seeing plates past 5NMU, and the 5NMU became ever more elusive, we agreed on our amazing-feats bet reward for the first person to see a 5NMU.

Our amazing-feats reward came about at a Mischief tournament years ago, might have even been the first year of Mischief. I was sitting under a shade tent with Mark, while Kris was practicing his fakes and pivots in front of us. He faked a few times, as if he was going to throw the disc through the tent, before looking at me and asking, "What will you give me if I throw a score through the tent."

Without hesitation, my answer was, "A blow job on demand, any time you want it, for the rest of your life."

Instantaneously, Mark teleported from his seat next to me to a point just outside the endzone in the direction Kris had been faking. When I looked up surprised, he called back, "That's a prize I'll help any man win!"

Although Kris tried several times, hitting the tent pole many times and warping a few discs, he never managed to perfect his huck through the tent, and didn't attempt it in the game.

The offer, however, became our amazing-feats reward.

This morning on the way to VS, I spotted a silver Mercedes with a 5NMU plate. After confirming the vehicle's front plate, I became very excited. Kris blushed. I now, for the rest of my life, can demand oral sex from Kris at any point, and he has to comply.

This is going to be fun.

Way fun.

Oh, thank goodness. My fever has finally broken, and I finally feel near normal again. I suspect the fever will linger for a short while, but the worst of it is over, and I feel more like me again.

I suspect the purging from last night's debauchery helped.

After yesterday's practice, and Tyler rolling his ankle on the soft ground, I was a bit worried about what the team would think about my recommending the fields to begin with.

After today's practice, I'm not so worried.

Beth went down in the first fifteen minutes to a back spasm and knot that she couldn't relieve. Mark went out about halfway through practice with a heart palpatation. Ryan pulled his groin. Adam Brown had a spectacular block, but had lifted his arm too high and may have torn what was repaired in surgery back in April, losing 3 months of recovery. Chucky pulled something in his legs, and went out, too.

We finished practice playing 4 women each side, as the men were playing savage.

I don't know if the double practice or the fields, or both, contributed to the rash of injuries today, but I'm worried less about the yesterday's fields now.

Last night, Doyle hosted a cocktail party at Assgard. For some reason I'm unable to fully understand, I decided before we went over that I was going to drink until I was completely and totally fall-on-my-face drunk. I haven't been that drunk for a long, long time. I'm thinking New Year's 1994 when I tried to match Yosufi drink for drink, starting three drinks down.

When I arrived at the party, after changing clothes in the lower parking spots of Keith and Katie's house, in full view of anyone looking out the windows, and shocked a whole lot of friends. I wore the sheath dress and pearls from, oh, circa that last drinking binge. I also wore makeup, which I hadn't done since about our wedding in 2004. Yeah, me, the girlie girl.

At least I had the foresight to wear flats.

I started the night with a Godfather from Shirley. When I was going for my second, Ben handed me a lovely new bottle of JW Gold as a thanks for loaning them our car for their visit. Shocked, I immediately opened the bottle and poured a (somewhat large) shot.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm...

I already had a Godfather in my hand, so I had two glasses for a while. At some point Andy Fisher commented he was on glass three. I had forgotten about the whisky, thinking I was still on glass two, and went to pour myself another. Tragically, I raced Andy to the end of that glass, and everything went downhill from there. We poured ourselves another glass each, when I realized that I was pouring about 75% alcohol into the glass, to Andy's 40% alcohol.

No wonder I didn't make it much past that point.

I remember throwing up, with Kris helping me out. I managed to make it to the bathroom, and apparently in such a hurry that others alerted Kris to the fact and he came over to help. I remembered to shut the bathroom door. I hadn't remembered to lock it. A fact I didn't notice for far too long.

I remember that I kept asking Mark to get me glasses of water. He helped me out, but I have no idea why the other 52 people there wouldn't have worked out justfine.

I remember asking to go see Kyle Smith, and Heather gently guiding me away from the thought, "I don't think that's a good idea."

She was right, as I started throwing up again, with Heather helping me out, shortly after that. She helped me get to the bathroom, and thankfully flushed the toliet after each heave-ho. Heather's awesome.

I remember sitting next to Doyle somewhere. I vaguely recall asking him, um, well now, recall I was completely drunk at this point, how long he is. Apparently, from Heather, I also told him that I look at him at work and wonder this, too. Fortunately, that part isn't completely true.

I recall falling over and thinking, hmmmmm, this floor is completely comfortable. I'll just stay here. Apparently, also from Heather, I missed the rose bushes by not a lot.

I remember Kyle Schleifer, the other person who doesn't drink either, commenting hey, I hear you're getting plastered tonight, just as I stumbled past him, too drunk to acknowledge the comment.

I remember thinking Astrid is really tall, and if I stop to talk to her, I'd probably fall over backwards, so best to keep walking.

And the last thing I remember of the evening was being between Andy and Doyle as we walked down some stairs.

I don't recall the car, the car ride home, or how I managed to arrive in my bed.

This morning, I talked to Heather, excited to hear the various stories that I'm sure would make me laugh at what retarded feats I managed the night before. I woke without a headache, which surprised me a lot. I was expecting to have to take lots of drugs and move very slowly. Nope, felt fine. Yay, Mark and the water!

Well, and the puking, probably.

Heather started in with the stories, elaborating on my time spent talking to Doyle near the rose bushes. According to Heather, I hugged him a lot, a complained that you just can't hug coworkers. I also asked Shirley how long Doyle was, which cracks me up. There may, or may not, also be a photo of me in a large, pink, fuzzy hat.

Kris commented that I need to learn to pace myself, as from arrival to departure through drunk was less than 3.5 hours. Yay me!

The only part I'm actually embarrassed about was breathing on everyone with puke breath. I mean, that's the most disgusting thing ever.

The rest of the stories, well, I'm sure they'll be good.