2003-08-14

I’m sporting some very fetching bags under my eyes this morning. And for once I have someone else to blame for my tired and bedraggled condition. That feels good, I can tell you. I love the smell of righteous indignation in the morning.

I swear to God I’m not making this up: my neighbors were doing construction last night. Starting around midnight, and showing no signs of stopping at 2:00 AM. We’re talking hammering, drilling, and the full orchestral accompaniment of random tool-noises. WHAT. THE FUCK.

Since I had some time to fill last night, not being SLEEPING or anything, I came up with a few possible explanations for this behaviour:

a) The household was taking part in an episode of “While You Were Out,” which, like EVERY episode of “While You Were Out,” was running dramatically behind schedule, forcing the carpenters to work around the clock to finish whatever fugly, ill-conceived project they’d over-confidently planned. “Welcome home, honey! Here’s your new retaining wall! Who’s your daddy?”

b) The occupants of the house were all freaked the fuck out on crystal meth. “Dude! I’m building a fucking deck! I’m SO motherfucking building a motherfucking deck! I’m building the motherfucking SHIT outta that deck! Where’s my motherfucking band saw?”

c) This one was less of a legitimate possibility and more of a fond wish: some pathetic bastard was at the end of his rope (literally) and was building a gallows from which to hang himself at the crack of dawn. That would have been fucking cool. That would have been POETRY. If I’d looked out the window at sunrise to see a sad, dangling silhouette twisting in the morning breeze, I’d have written a fucking sonnet. Alas, the vigilante carpenters are deceased only in my fantasies.

PS I want this shirt so very very much.