THE ONLY FOUR REASONS YOU DON'T WANT TO BE ME
1. It's a beautiful Saturday, and I've just logged another 5 hours in the office.

2. My eye is still swollen and red and weepy.

3. Due to (1) and (2), I am yet another day behind on my manuscript.

4. I thought I had this agreement with the world that I was not supposed to be pissed off until August. But last night on my walk home from Happy Hour, some illiterate, $5.25 an hour supermarket workers threw tomato-soupy/spaghetti-saucy stuff out onto the sidewalk... and all over my khakis. Then they laughed. Then I called 311 to report them, but 311 referred me to 911, so I didn't call because... well, because (a.) this wasn't exactly a house burning down with children trapped inside, and (b.) in my post-Happy Hour condition. I sort of forgot the name of the supermarket, and I didn't want to sound like an idiot on the phone.

But I'm walking back past there tonight -- carefully, and on the other side of the street -- so Gristede's or Food Emporium or Dagostino's or whatever you, watch out.