I am officially the psycho ranting tenant in the building

Amazing how we take for granted the little things in life until they are suddenly ripped away. Like hot running water for example. At 7am yesterday morning as I took Charlie out for a walk I was greeted by a hand scrawled letter posted on my douchebag building manager's door that read: "Hot water is off, will be fixed today when the plumber arrives." Fantastic. I quickly learned there is nothing like an ice cold shower to wake you up in the morning and so the tone was set for the rest of my day. 

At approximately 8pm last night as I was doing the dishes I discovered that the apparently repaired hot water was in fact running cold. My husband walked across the courtyard to inform the manager, who conveniently was at work, and instead had his girlfriend explain that the hot water was back out and wouldn't be repaired again until the next day. That was my breaking point. As I walked past them in the courtyard on my way to take Charlie out, weeks of no sleep and my morning's ice bath came to a head and I kicked into Sarah Palin mode, ranting across the courtyard to aforementioned douchebag's girlfriend and pretty much everyone else in the neighborhood who surely could hear my yelling. Meanwhile, my husband, being the levelheaded one, opted to help another tenant in repairing the hot water heater themselves, which as it turned out was simply a matter of getting the pilot lit and staying on.

Later that evening, delirious from exhaustion, minutes away from calling it a night, there was a knock at the door and who should it be? None other than douchebag himself, proclaiming in his obnoxious joking manner that my husband was now the official emergency plumbing repairman for the building. Had I been standing at the door and not in the living room making sure Charlie didn't make a beeline outside I most likely would have given a repeat performance of the courtyard spectacle followed by a swift doorslam to the face. Instead I was forced to shout irate tangents from the living room floor, much to the disdain of Charlie, until he left.

Did I feel better for having ranted my head off? Absolutely. Does my dog now think I am utterly insane? No doubt. Will I do it again? When faced with the prospect of another icy shower you can bet on it.