I love it when my carbon monoxide detector, which sounds much like a hell-cricket sent by the devil himself, beeps incessantly throughout the night. There's really no sensation as blissful as being jerked maliciously out of sleep several times an hour by an ear-splitting, satanic, mechanical chirp. Eventually, you feel such suspense waiting between one beep to the next that you dare not close your eyes for fear of missing the thrill.

I highly recommend it. Seriously. Go home right now, block up all your doors and windows, and smoke a carton of Lucky Strikes. Then, take a nap.

The fun is even further heightened if you are unaware that your home is even equipped with a carbon monoxide detector! If, like me, you are ignorant as to the standard regulation of having one of those musical CO-sniffin' babies in every household, hoo boy, are you in for a ride.

You're asleep! You're awake! You're asleep! You're awake!

You have a brief dream that blue sparks are spewing, as if from a blowtorch, from your range, which has spontaneously turned itself on in the dream! And then, in the dream, you get to battle the shower of pyrotechnics with a floral dishtowel until your non-existent sprinkler system is activated! And then, you wake up again, and the fun continues!

Eventually, you give up and revel in the joy of sleep-deprived anxiety. Again, if you are unaware of the existence of your carbon monoxide detector, the fun increases STILL as you convince yourself in a fabulous moment of exhausted delirium that someone has planted a bomb in your oven. So you get up, and check every conceivable appliance and electrical outlet in your home for malfunction. Finding nothing, you get to search under your bed and in your closet for a bomb. It's like a game! A scavenger hunt! Don't you LOVE scavenger hunts?

And then? Then? As your delierium heightens, you convince yourself that firefighters or your landlord will soon be banging down your door to answer the demon robocricket's call and join the party, and you sit bolt upright in bed and realize how EMBARASSED you would be if firefighters busted in to find your apartment in its present state of utter disarray. Then, you start to think the lovely beep is not a bomb, but a messiness alarm, and that you are being alerted by an unknown, Orwellian force as to your apartment's unacceptable messiness.

So, whee! You begin to clean like Donna Reed on speed! Up are hung the carelessly-tossed trousers! Dusted is the windowsill to the lone window in your apartment, which apparently provides ventilation crappy enough to incite the wrath of vengeful gods of Carbon Monoxide! OOH! Maybe there's something under that big piece of heavy furniture! Why don't you move it? Yeah. Then move the one next to it. Floorspace! Yay! Floorspace is fun, even at 3 in the morning. So much floorspace, you're ready for a disco? Gee, hopefully the firefighters will get there soon, so everyone can really appreciate your newly available floorspace by dancing along to the beat of the maniacally chirping carbon monoxide detector. Cut a rug, because there's so much more rug to cut! You LOVE moving furniture instead of sleeping!

Whoop ... but, dancing will have to wait. You still get to scrub the bathroom! Lucky you.

After a final scan for explosives on your walls and ceiling, you collapse into a fried heap of nerves on your stupid, motherfucking bed.

Sorry, all good things must come to an end.

But, ooh! The next day, if you are as fortunate as I am, more fun will await you. Because ... Know what else I love?

I LOVE THE GAP! I love how I've only shopped there once in the past year, and I love how I opened a credit account with them. But, more than that, I love how generous they are with the application of interest rates from month to month!

You know? Like, you get a bill for $90 one month? So you pay $30 towards it? And then, the next month, you get your (motherfuckingcocksuckingbitchbitchbitch) Gap statement, expecting to be able to pay another $30 towards your balance, which you think will be down to a little over $60, and HEY! Lo and behold, your new balance is, like, $80.70! Voila! Your thirty hard-earned dollars have magically transformed into thirty cents, and all due to the miraculous economic alchemy of Gap accounting! Really, it's awe-inspiring.

Well, I suppose it's good that Gap can rely on their alchemical magic to scrape in a few more bucks. I mean, from what I understand, The Gap is really poor. I mean, why else would they have to resort to using Ma(goddamnyoufuckinghypocriticalnotalentbitchmarketingqueen)donna to do their teeny, tiny little commercials? Really.

So, after a night of being blessed with funfun brainfrazzling torturous beeping wakefulness, you get to pay a bill the next day and do a truly good deed.

Sigh...

(Why the games, Life? Sometimes I think God hates me. Then, I realize He's just jealous.)

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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