2001-09-19 - 5:30 p.m.
As if the past week hasn�t been nerve-racking enough, last night someone set off the melon-farmin� FIRE ALARM in my building.
Yeah, so it was an accident. Tell that to the bags under my eyes. God knows I certainly enjoyed the hell out of getting jarred awake at five minutes past midnight and having to spend the next 15 minutes sitting out on the balcony in my underwear--this, after a week where my brain has been full of fun-fun-fuckety-fun images of people in wheelchairs trapped on upper floors of burning skyscrapers--only to find out that it was all because one of the other tenants (who has a mind that, uh, wanders) put a pot of rice on the stove and then forgot about it. At midnight. Who cooks rice in the middle of the night? My senile neighbors, apparently, that�s who.
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"Operation Infinite Justice"? Who names these things? And why do I keep picturing The Tick storming into Afghanistan, now?
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Got a sweet little turd in the punchbowl from the IRS today, too. After recalculating my 1999 tax return (proving once again that federal income tax law is like Calvinball, except that the feds are the only ones who get to change the rules after the game is over) they decided I owe them $306. So, my net "savings" from Dubya�s tax cut amount to a big whopping $-6.00 dollars.
If there weren�t a war on, I�m sure I could I fill up three or four Diaryland entries ranting about this alone. Infinite justice, indeed.
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I'm suddenly reminding myself of Andy Rooney. Why is that?
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