There is a ceiling leak in the guest bathroom. I found out in the middle of the night, at about 2:00 AM, in the pitch-black dark, when I stepped on the bathmat and thought Bailey had had an accident. I can't find the phone number for our apartment managers (I looked really hard for about 45 seconds), so instead I sent an e-mail to the "Maintenance Request" address I found on the wall in the laundry room. At about noon today the metal pot--the one holding the dripping water-- filled for the first time, and the water had a slightly reddish-orange tint to it when I poured it into the tub. A normal person might assume the reddish hue is simply from pipe rust, however since I have CLEARLY watched too many murder-based Lifetime movies lately, I can't get the idea out of my head that one of our upstairs neighbors has been attacked and now is lying, lifeless and bleeding, on the bathroom floor.
In other, less demented news (well...I guess that's actually debatable), Marisa and I are going to the NKOTB concert on the 25th. I'm really not kidding. As I type, New Kids songs (both "classics" and well as titles from their new CD) are being downloaded onto my iPod. You know, so I can sing along when I'm rocking out at the Cox Arena. As a rule, large quantities of alcohol will also be required.
I heart Joey McIntyre...
In the meantime, I'm eagerly anticipating Maintenance's e-mail reply. I need somebody to alleviate the fear that the liquid dripping from the ceiling isn't just water...
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