Thermophile's Lament

Sometimes I just want to get this life over with and head on over to the next one. Couldn’t be worse.

Last Friday was colder than a well digger’s ass and windy as hell. Nonetheless I was looking forward to going out to dinner with my pal Clark. However, when I got home from work, I noticed I had no water. The fucking pipes had frozen again!

My swank bachelor pad at scenic Rye Harbor is right on the water so it’s built sitting above ground. The bottom is covered with this sort of half-assed plywood skirt. When it’s windy, the cold whips under the house and not only freezes the pipes but makes the heat run 100% of the time just to keep things at a balmy 55 degrees. Shit, I blew through over a hundred gallons of oil last month and electricity is running at over $120 a month!

The place does have a crappy, inefficient wood stove but wood ain’t cheap either. All in all, not a great place for a heat lover like Wheel Gun Bob.

Clark came over with take-out dinner and helped me thaw most of the pipes. And despite the bathroom faucet's refusal to yield to our demands, the night turned out to be fun.

I decided I would have to drop a cool Benjamin on a ¼ cord of seasoned hard wood to feed the shitty wood stove. Then maybe I would at least have a chance of making it through the winter. I went and did just that the next morning and had a hot chick assist me with the unloading of my hard wood (whatever what you may think, I mean this literally).

Once inside my walk-in freezer/bungalow I noticed that even though the heat was cranked, it was only 50 degrees! It was nipple erecting cold I noticed. I tried to re-light the furnace but no go. While the hot chick kindly lit a fire (in the stove that is), I called the land lord, Ed.

Ed, who is shaped like an immense Christmas ornament, came over with his son and after two or three hours got the oil uncongealed and the heat running.

Jesus, can’t wait for spring.