F*CK.

I was so preoccupied with doing some electrical rewiring Saturday evening that it just didn’t dawn on me. (It’s going to get cold tonight.) Here all the weather guessers were telling us how cold it was going to get overnight, and it just didn’t click. (Really cold.) And as such, I didn’t take the proper precautions. (Go outside and wrap the faucets.)

And it got cold—how does 12 degrees strike ya?

And around 6:00 in the morning, my sweetie wakes me up to announce that we don’t have any running water in the house. F*ck.

So I quickly get dressed to look around outside. I go out back—nope, the hose bib on the back patio looks OK. Then I go out front. And there it is—a hose bib encased in an impromptu ice sculpture. And since this is also where the main line to the house enters, it explains why we had no water—it had all drained out before the now-cracked hose bib and/or pipe had frozen, and no new water could get in through the now-frozen line. F*ck.

We call the city water department… they send a couple of guys out… but alas, it’s too late and there’s nothing they can do. It’s not like it was their fault anyway. Mine, all mine. They go ahead and shut off the main to the house for me while they were there so that we don’t end up with a giant leak when the pipe thaws.

So now I’m waiting to hear from the plumber to see when he can make it out (hopefully today) to look at the house.

F*CK.