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.