Quote: Easy As 1, 2, 3.

I'm no dumbass, I swear. But there's nothing "easy" about 1, 2, 3. It's as easy as 1, 2, 3? Who came up with that? I can tell you this; it wasn't a guy with one, two, THREE plugged downspouts during a torrential downpour.

The Toronto area was just hit with an F2 Tornado yesterday, killing an 11-year-old boy, destroying an entire printing plant and numerous houses. The storms in southern Ontario have been nothing short of brutal this summer. Intense lightning storms, flash flooding, and yeah - tornadii! (That's plural for "tornadoes" in case anyone was wondering)

When I noticed my eaves couldn't handle the water flowing off the roof, I decided I had to solve the problem before the sagging trough ripped right off the house. I've always been angry that my battery-operated army surplus water pump used for cleaning my aquarium quit on me. But let it be known from this day forward, I am no longer angry I had to replace it with a ridiculous hand-held manual vacuum pressure type unit.

While the rain pounded the crap out of our new shingles (if shingles did indeed have crap inside of them), I did the following: One, I ran upstairs and grabbed the aquarium pump from the aquarium cabinet; Two, I ran out into the storm and rammed the pump sideways into the eavestrough; Three, I sucked on the end creating a vacuum, as though I were siphoning gas out of my neighbour's Saturn.

Which I've never done. To anyone's knowledge.

It was, well, as easy as 1, 2, 3. The siphoning action, thanks to science, pulled the water out of the eaves. The flexible tubing directed the water down to the front steps. It was much preferable to the waterfall pouring over the edge of the eaves onto the cars parked beneath it.

In less than 5 minutes, the entire eavestrough was drained of water. And when the storm ended, I cleaned out the clogged downspout. Hmm... Easy as 1, 2, 3? Yeah, I guess it was!

I Love My Flood

I love our new pool. Okay, so it was only temporary, and it was only about 3 inches deep, but I loved it while it lasted.

We've been having amazing freak weather all summer and according to something I either heard, read or had subconsciously implanted in my head by superior forces, we had more lightning strikes in June than we had in all of 2007.

A massive thunderstorm today flooded our patio, dropped a few big hailstones, and turned the rest of our backyard into a swamp. The funny thing about this flood is that our basement didn't see a drop of water - despite what happened in early June.

As soon as the storm ended I went out to sit around the patio, splashing and relaxing. I waded out into our marshy backyard; the warm water felt good on my feet. Mud squished between my toes and streams of bubbles forced their way to the surface.

I decided to wander through the grass and see what became of the big anthill. The poor ants were drowning and using my legs to escape their liquid demise. Crickets were floating on the water's surface, hopping out of the way with each step I took. Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark flash shoot past me. At first I thought it was some sort of speedy salamander. Then my eyes focused on the adorable leopard frog, sitting so naively still, hoping to evade me. He used all his skills - his spots, his green-ness, and his unblinking-ness to no avail: I saw him plain as day.

Crouched in the mucky grass I watched him swim, turn, and swim in the other direction. He looked cute and delicious. By now the ants were up to my epiglottis and I had to retreat. I brushed off the stowaways and enjoyed the pool in my yard until the sun went down. I loved it so much I'm now trying to devise a way to flood my backyard without alerting the water company, or offending any New Orleans residents.

Murphy's Law At Its Best

Murphy is an asshole. And his law just plain sucks.

When I began my basement renovation I did what Batman does. I "be prepared." I have to admit something - I hate looking like the court jester. I hate making a mistake and having someone else arrogantly claim, "Oh, I knew that would happen."

So, when I demo'd my basement a year and a half ago, I prepared by watching the walls. With each thunderstorm, April shower or minor drizzle I monitored the walls for dampness. Every time there was a spring thaw, I slapped on my Sherlock-style cap and vigilantly poked and prodded, looking for a sign of water.

The wettest months, March and April 2007 passed without a hint of moisture. March and April 2008 were virtual carbon copies. Based on three years of dry basement life, I was confident the north-facing wall was safe. But that wasn't enough for me.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Overkill is cool.

Considering our house was built in 1939 with spongecrete er, concrete block foundation, I decided to waterproof the walls for that sleep-soundly-at-night-knowing-my-sugar-collection-won't-be-ruined confident feeling.

It only took me a day to waterproof the wall with Blue Seal, an environmentally friendly, no VOC polymer. During the month it took to cure, it survived 3 major thunderstorms. I confidently erected (tee hee) the framing, insulated, and began the tile work.

Having remarkable trouble with our tile installer (imagine a professional who says it's impossible to tile around a floor drain, who tells me he "hates this bullshit job", looks at our tile and says "you gotta be kidding me! I can't tile the floor with these!" then suddenly changes his mind, who randomly mixes up the order things need to be completed in, breaks my marble, milks my goat and does something even worse to my donkey, just to name a few of the problems) I didn't think things could get worse.

But they did.

Today the tile installer finally started. Today he laid most of the floor and even brought a friend to assist him. It was the first day I didn't have an arguement with him about something. It was the first day I felt good about the whole tile situation.

And today, of all the days in all the years anybody's ever lived here, for the first time ever and in spite of the waterproofing, a 10 minute thunderstorm unloaded half an inch of water into the bathroom, over the freshly laid tile, through the new framing, and right into my neatly propped up drywall.

This mini-flood invoked both curses and an unfathomable amount of anger which revealed my superhero powers - strength - as I valiantly moved the washer and dryer which, the day before, required my dad's help; as I brutally hoisted three full sheets of drywall up and quickly jammed a towel under the bottom edge; and as I punched a hole through Murphy's (of Murphy's Law fame) head.