A Good Flush Beats a Full House

The shut-off valve works like it's supposed to, and bailing and sponging out the leftover water in the tank and bowl is easy enough. So far, so good. Time to remove the toilet.

Okay, come on... goddamit, come on... (grunt, grunt)... Oh, son of a fucking bitch... How the hell can one bolt come loose but not both? Dammit, come on... stupid little...(grunt, grunt)...son of a...(grunt, grunt).

This isn't working. Poop and eggs... And this damned bathroom is so small that it feels like I'm twins.

Radio discussing mass murder at least keeps my own little hades in perspective, although at times I can't even hear it over my grunting and cussing... Come on God, this isn't funny... (grunt, grunt)... Okay, there must be some other way. My hands hurt and I'm getting tired. Stupid friggin' toilet. Here's the real pisser: this should have been the easy part.

I take a break and check my blog and email. Two more good poems from Shaman and a message from the Judge saying the Québécois have hi-jacked my blog and all he can get is a log-in in French. And then the solution comes to me: the hack-saw... And the Judge comes back with the message that it's gremlins at his end and it ain't the Québécois after all. So the final score at the end of the break is: Two poems from Shaman, and two problems solved. Thank heavens for the computer, I think, laughing sardonically.

A few minutes and some elbow grease later the damned toilet is sitting in the upstairs hallway, and I'm off to get some carpentry tools. With any luck, I'll have a nice maple floor down here by mid-afternoon.

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I return and notice how rusty the metal floor flange is. (That's the thing that holds the drain pipe in place and anchors the toilet to the floor). The screw heads are rotted to the point of looking like old nails, and I can't turn them with a screwdriver. Shit on a fucking shingle.

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To shorten this tale a bit, after a lot more cussing and grunting, I completely demolish the damned thing (except for the plastic part that seems to be glued to the pipe). What in hell will I ask for at the local plumbing supply?? Half of a floor flange? I take a photo of the situation.

Even though it's lunch-time and I wash my hands, I can't bear to touch anything that is headed for my mouth. I try to remember if I've ever seen a plumber bite his nails...

There's been a problem with my plan since the beginning, and I know it, and I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't: there is no blessed way I'm going to be able to lengthen that drain pipe the extra 3/4 inch that the thickness of the new floor will demand. The right way to do this job is to tear out the particle board floor under the old vinyl, and then lay the maple directly on the plywood sub-floor. The problem is that the particle board runs under the walls and the built-in sink... I'm staring at Saws-all Hell, a fact quite well proven an hour later.

Hours after the first grunt and curse, the bathroom is down to plywood sub-floor, the wrecking tools have been put away, and things are looking mighty fine. Tomorrow I will take my photos of the problem to town and see if a solution can be purchased - or if I'll have to do some major plumbing work.

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There's no royal flush in the cards tonight, but at least I don't have a full house, and luckily we do have another indoor bathroom. Life is good.