The Ohs or the Aughts?

It's finally seeming normal to me that it's 2009. And the fact that it's 2009 makes me realize this here decade we're living in is coming to an end before long. Things are going to get futuristic again for a time. Remember when "Two-Thousand-One" still sounded kind of space-aged? Or the most futuristic-sounding year ever, The Year Two Thousand? (Cue Richie "La Bamba" Rosenberg's falsetto and imagine Conan O'Brien with a flashlight under his chin.) But by now, "Two-Thousand-Nine" just sounds normal. "Twenty-ten," though. That's the future, man.

Anyway, what will this decade be called, when it's over and we're looking back on our skinny jeans and skinny lattes and crazy schitzophrenic relationship with carbs? When we're debating whether Justin actually brought Sexy back, or if it ever left at all? (Wasn't Prince just keeping it storage at Paisley Park?) Will we call these years the Ohs? Or the Oh-Ohs? I kind of hope they're the Aughts. I try my best to get everyone I know to refer to last year as aught-eight, but it's an uphill battle.

What's your prediction? (And, while you're weighing in, comment on the locale and lasting power - or lack thereof - of Sexy in recent years.)

The Holiday Party Toilet Overflow Debacle Continues

Happy 2009, y'all. I'm still kind of stuck in 2008, because the flush that took the shine off our December holiday party has flushed all the joy out of January as well.

We decided to wait 'til after Christmas to get the toilet-water-damaged ceiling looked at. Then O's birthday party was coming up, so we put it off a bit more. When we finally got it looked at, the handydudes told us we had two options: replace part of the ceiling for twice as much as we thought it would cost, or replace the whole ceiling for four times as much as we thought it would cost. When they opened up the ceiling to be sure the visibly damaged area was the full extent of the water damage, however, they found plaster under the drywall. Damp, crumbling plaster that smelled of mildew and ninety-nine years' worth of urine.

This new development meant that we'd have no choice but to replace the whole ceiling, and that it would now cost five times as much as we thought it would cost.

The job was supposed to take two days, maybe three. The first day would be very messy, with moldy plaster dust flying everywhere. We thought maybe we should stay with friends.

That was a week ago, and we are still staying with friends. And it looks like we will be staying with friends for at least three more nights. But who's counting.

Luckily, we have friends in town, friends who are super hospitable, have a spacious and well appointed home, and are always up for hanging out. They have been amazing about making us feel welcome, and now that we've settled into a routine at their place, it's actually gotten easier rather than harder being away from home. It helps that they have two cool sons who adore O. and Roo, a well-stocked wine rack, and box sets of Battlestar Galactica and My So-Called Life. Still, we miss our home.

So, some free advice for you: if your toilet is the kind that's remotely prone to clogging up, keep a plunger next to the throne. We have a plunger, but I keep it in the basement because it's all germy and gross and stuff. But having toilet water descend through your ceiling into your living room is germy and gross, too.

So I've bought a brand new plunger, white and pristine with its own little storage dealy. It's our guest plunger. We'll still keep the mucky old plunger in the basement for when we clog the toilet. But if you're at our house and you happen to clog our toilet, please, feel free to use our special plunger. We bought it just for you.