Y'all are lucky teh twittah has no twitscent

If teh twittah had twitscent, I'd have totally traumatized the world today.

We've been experiencing plumbing problems the last couple of days. We thought replacing the water line that supplies the toilet would solve it, but NO. The toilet itself was broken too.

I was actually thrilled at the prospect of a new toilet. It doesn't take much to make some people happy, and apparently I am one of those people. I mean, really, the standard toilet in an RV used to be "low-profile" (which is a fancy way of saying that the fucking toilet is only calf-high on the average human), and ours was certainly no exception, with a height of only 15". This meant that any time I had on any kind of shoe, my knees wound up somewhere in the vicinity of my nose when I sat down on the toilet. I was determined that this new toilet would be a proper-height toilet. I went to my usual haunt for RV parts and supplies, but I didn't like what they had to offer in the way of toilets.

Side note: On many of these home improvement shows I've been watching lately, everybody seems to want a tankless toilet. RVs have tankless toilets, which makes me ahead of the design curve there. It's so awesome to be that hip.

So I went to a different place to find my new toilet. I had a specific budget for the toilet, as stipulated by Sunshine. Much to my surprise, this place not only had a proper-height toilet, they had a proper-height toilet with a ceramic bowl. (RV toilets? Plastic, yo.) I looked at the nice man who was helping me measure the height of the toilet (a whopping 19", y'all, perfect for keeping my knees away from my ears when I have on my 5" heels), pointed at it, and said "I'm going to guess that this toilet is out of my budget." The nice man informed me that this toilet was the second cheapest model they sold. I bought the toilet, laughing gleefully about finally having a real toilet. Really. I think it rather amused the staff at the RV-toilet-getting-place, and that's OK with me. At least they didn't call the psych ward and have me committed.

Once I got home, I began preparing the magic bus for the removal of the old toilet and installation of mah fancy new potty. This involved dumping the black water holding tank (which isn't as gross as it sounds, I never have to touch any parts that actually touch the black water), and refilling it so that I could dump it again to try and make sure that there was nothing smelly left behind. Which is far more horrific than it sounds. With every flush of the old toilet, the doorway to hell opened, and a murderous stench filled the bathroom. I swear to god, Satan's bunghole smells better than empty black water holding tank in 110+ heat index direct sunlight.

Y'all, I am pretty certain that the stench cauterized my adenoids. I am even more certain that I felt brain cells liquefying as that stench assaulted me, burning everything even remotely connected to my nose.

Y'all are lucky that teh twittah has no twitscent, or I would have twitscented that murderous smell so that someone else in the world suffered with me.

I threw everything I could think of at this foul stench. I dumped septic tank treatment, holding tank chemicals, and tank deodorizers into this toilet for transfer to the holding tank. Once the tank was full of water and chemicals, I didn't notice the stench. That doesn't necessarily mean that I won; it is entirely possible that the horrific odor simply burnt away all of my sensory receptors in both my nose and mouth.

I didn't dump that holding tank until Sunshine had the new toilet installed and we were ready to test for leaks. Wonderful man that he is, he worked literally mere inches from the water contained in the tank without saying anything more than "You really filled that tank all the way up".

End result? I have a fancy new toilet, so tall and proud with its ceramic bowl. This makes me happy. In the pants.