If I could've recorded the smell, I would have.

The dog would have loved it, probably. But as for us humans in the house - the smell of whatever the backed up drain was spewing into the kitchen sink, from the plumbing direction of the washing machine, wow. Intense. And not a good intense like balsam or orange blossoms. Not even the "depends on your personal taste" intense like some people's liberal application of perfume or aftershave. We're talking puuuuuutrid. Foul. Rank. Disgusting. Nauseating.

You get the point. Third time this month the repair guys have had to come clean the kitchen plumbing. This time, they came with an electrical camera and snake. Let's see how long the freshness lasts this time. And yes, repair guys, I know about not putting grease down a drain. I also know I was half-expecting you to pull out a whole, belching goat with that snake and say "Well, see, here's yer problem. Ya gotta goat in the pipes. Ain't nobody got time fer that. Always gonna have problems when there's a goat in the pipes."

The goat might even say that. This kind of goat would. 

Didn't happen. But I did sit in my living room for hours. On my laptop. Attempting to be productive. Checking everything I walked near the pantry whether Computer Guy was at work.

See, we have a view from the dining room into the courtyard of our building. And all the apartments. I think their dining rooms face ours. And there is this guy. First time M noticed him - well, the first 20 times - it just bummed him out. Here was M, drinking a coffee and feeding a toddler and not getting work done, and here was Computer Guy, again, working at his computer. Typing while leaning towards a screen, looking at the keyboard, looking at the screen. On and on for hours.

We come up to have breakfast at 7am or 8am, he's sitting there working. We have lunch on weekends, ditto. Us dinner, him typing. The man rarely stops. But then M realized, the man rarely stops, and pointed him out to me, and I'm now convinced that either he's hiding out and trying to crack some code (a wormhole may appear at his apartment soon) and it would have been better that I not report on him like this on the internet, or he's addicted to some role playing game.

That latter option is not very likely though, as he can still seem to afford rent for that apartment and is never shouting at the screen or doing joystick moves. So, the part of me that watches shows like the Mentalist is thinking we should not even try to figure out what he's doing because in the season finale we're going to wind up hostages in some Swiss bomb shelter, wishing we'd payed attention to the other apartments instead.