Postage Due

41 cents.

United States Postal Service. Effective Monday. May 14th. 2007.

So basically, for the first time since I've lived in my current apartment, my rent's probably going to be late because they changed the fucking postage rate right around my rent time.

So, did everybody know about this postage thing except for me?

Here's a new Misanthropy Central rule, readers. If you know they're about to the raise the postage rates and you DON'T see an entry about it here in the week leading up to it, TELL ME.

Because everything's got to go wrong all at once, my XBOX 360 randomly fried about two days ago—the same time that my friend's XBOX died. I suspect the terrorists. I haven't even tried calling the XBOX repair hotline yet because of the horror stories I've heard. They've got the terrorists manning the repair hotline, too. And I just don't want to deal with the terrorists right now. Maybe in a day or two.

For now, I just want to see people dead.

What, not enough for you on a mid-May Monday...?

I also get to wait for the studio reaction to my latest script draft, which I had to turn in on Friday.

Is that ever going to be easy...??

I keep waiting to get a phone call where the executive says, "Um... clearly, we've made a terrible error in judgment with you... You said you edit PowerPoint slideshows for a living, right? I hope you didn't quit that job. Because, um, you shouldn't have. Oh, and did you know they raised the postage rates today?"

I took my mom to see WAITRESS for Mother's Day, because I couldn't bear to watch the Jane Fonda movie. They were giving out free pies at the screening, in honor of the holiday, which was sweet.

The afternoon show was predictably cram-packed with old people. I love how annoyed the old people get with the number of previews they show before the feature. Another green preview-screen pops up and you can hear the cacophony of annoyed old-person murmurs... "Can we start the movie alread-dayyy???"

I'm glad the critics are being nice to Adrienne Shelly's final film, but it was killing my soul. It felt like an overlong film-school thesis-film. Treacle pie. I wanted to watch it on fast forward. My mom completely adored it, though, so what do I give a shit?

Jesus, I hate Mondays...