The Three Plumbers are coming again, tomorrow. And, no, they have no plans to fix the large holes in my walls, nor the little box of a septic system that has been making alarming noises, nor rip out all my bathroom accouterments, break the toilet in half and take a sledgehammer to the floor and whatever walls remain un-hacked. (Thank God for that last one, eh? Although that time is coming soon enough....)

No, they want to drop off material for the air-conditioner my landlord hired them to install in their inimitable bumbling and half-assed way. And hey, since it's only materials, why give me notice? No, don't bother with that! Just call me up at 4:30 the afternoon before, tell me they'll be coming at whatever time they feel like, and feign ignorance when I tell them I don't have time for it.

And I don't have time for this, especially as it means I'll have to roll up the carpets and protect everyting that has even the cheapest of sentimental values, all because these jerks are a disaster and my landlady is too cheap to hire a proper professional.

Nooo, if she had hired a proper professional two-point-five years ago when the heating first went out, I would have spent the last three winters toasty warm and the last two summers in air-conditioned comfort. Instead, she called in the clowns, and aside from the heating problems of winter, I've spent all but 26.5 days of the past two summers vomiting from the heat and humidity. Yes, I counted. And yes, I do mean vomiting. I don't take heat well, this apartment is on the top floor, with no shade anywhere and a flat, black tarred roof. And we never seem to catch a breeze, either.

Last summer, we spent 7 weeks waiting for the air-conditioner guy to come, whilst being lied to about the matter my my landlady's office. When he did show up, he told her it was a disaster, and that the heating and air systems (they were combined) would have to be replaced. As far as I understand, they hadn't been maintained properly, which consequently damaged the motor beyond a hope of redemption. (Hands up if you can guess who was "responsible" for the "maintenance.")

Landlady, who is allergic to the kind of prices charged by people who know what they are doing and lacks a complete sense of causality, sends around the Three Stooges to jury rig something. Which meant we had slightly cooler air, in the bedroom only, for 6.5 days, until it sprung a rather spectacular leak, spraying a geyser of dirty brown water all over our bed and seriously endangering the carpets I had stored underneath.

Three weeks later, Professional Guy returns with a calculator, measuring tape and a big fat book of specifications. He showed me pictures. Explained where everything would go, and what they would do. I was excited. Also naive.

Three weeks after that, the three damn plumbers showed up and put in a heating system their inimitable, sloppy, half-assed way. There are still wires hanging out of the walls that they didn't know what to do with, not to mention the sloppy half-assed job of plastering over the unecessarily large holes they made. (Yes, it is a theme: sloppy, half-assed, large holes in the walls that don't get fixed properly if at all.) And now they want to do me the same favor with the air conditioning. Which, by the way, they figure they'll hang in the middle of the longest living room wall. Only need one for the entire combined kitchen-living area that way, according to the ThreePlumbers patented, YeahThatOughtToWork method of calculation.

So, tomorrow they're dropping off "materials." Yay me. They want to come back Friday to install it, but I won't be here, so they'll just have to rearrange their schedule for next week after I get back. So there.

I'd tell them to rearrange tomorrow's little expedition as well, if I didn't know damn well they wouldn't get around to it until July if I did so. Despite the fact that they're coming back at the end of May to dismember the bathroom and replace every pipe we own. Well, as long as they can bash through a couple of walls and maybe the tile floor to get to them.

You know, I went to yoga this morning. I sweated and generally worked my ass off (although, sadly, not my too-large stomach). I breathed deep and searched for enlightenment, or, at the very least, acceptance. And I left the studio feeling fantastic, with a clear mind and light heart.

All gone now, save the quivering muscles.

(((Please insert string of industrial-grade profanity here)))