Why I do it: Part II in a series

On Friday night...excuse me, Saturday morning, our upstairs neighbors decided 4:30 AM was a good time to start a rave party. The techno music even woke the slumbering unborn baby. Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa. (Read that fast). This is the SECOND FREAKING TIME it's happened. The first time, I called the cops and they sent a tired, bored deputy to walk by the place. The rain was pounding everything, so it was impossible to hear the music from the outside--or anywhere other than our bed. I don't think the cop even knocked on their door.

This time, however, I woke up right at 4:30 AM, instantly enraged, and grabbed the fire poker. Or as I like to call it, "my business stick." Grace diplomatically suggested another course of action that didn't involve violently skewering someone at a party of an unknown number of participants suffering an unknown level of intoxication.

This is why I married a former homicide reporter--she always knows how to avoid felonies.

So, I called the cops and soon enjoyed the exquisite sounds of justice.

Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa went the music.

Wham-wham-wham went the deputy's metal flashlight against the metal door above us.

Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa continued the music.

Wham-wham-wham went the flashlight, again, this time followed by "Open the door! Arlington County Police Department!"

The deputy, a woman, was deliciously all business.

Scamper-thud-thum-- went the neighbors and their music as they no doubt ran around the condo hiding contraban.

Door opens. Muffled voices. Door shuts.

Blessed silence.

Back to sleep where I contemplate my mastery over the annoying circumstances of my life...