Monday Was the Best Day

If you can ignore the fact that it's past midnight and I'm still at the office with no hope of going home anytime in the near future, Monday was the best day. It all started at 6:15 in the morning, when Pigeon Lady decided to exact her revenge against us for yesterday's call to the police by blasting her music at full volume. On Sunday afternoon she dumped about ten buckets of dirty water onto our balcony and another onto our garde manger (a type of open-air pantry) in the inner courtyard while shouting out loud that we were assholes and that she was going to kill us (I swear this is true), but she was apparently just getting warmed up. I figured that cops are big music fans, so I gave them a call and invited them over to have a listen to what DJ Pigeon Lady was mixing. Three officers eventually joined the party around 8:00, and after I explained the situation, they went upstairs to boogie down. Pigeon Lady went through her usual rant and rave about how she's completely blameless and how we (the Dutchman and the Greek, as she called us) are out to get her, blah-blah-blah. I have to admit that I wasn't too impressed by her performance, which was notably sub-par on the crazy-scale because she was probably only one-third of the way through her first bottle of Peach Schnapps, when she tried to stress that she wasn't the type of person who would cause trouble, unlike the Arabs or the blacks. Read that last bit again very carefully: "unlike the Arabs or the blacks." Did I mention that one of the officers was black? I swear I almost wet my pants (but in a good way) when I heard her say that. Needless to say, her conversation with the cops went downhill from there, but my day got a lot better.

Fast-forward to about an hour ago: I got an e-mail from Dad, which usually means that there's a problem with my taxes or that their dog Petit Bout did something adorable like wet the living room rug or pooped all over my childhood blanket. This time, however, Dad was right on target with some excellent news. Some of you may know about our family's history with Ouachita National Bank in Monroe. To make a long story short, Dad and my grandfather ran it for years until it merged with another group of banks, at which point Dad smelled what they were shoveling and moved on. Before that, though, a guy who would give Matt Drudge a run for his money in the sanitary product department sued the bank (and my father and grandfather personally) essentially for lending him the money he needed to drive himself into bankruptcy. It's a long and convoluted tale, and I don't want to go into the details, but suffice it to say that the plaintiff and his attorney were human santorum in how they treated us and everyone we knew, they made all of our lives miserable, and my shrink and I both hope that they burn in hell for all eternity.

Well, apparently I'm not the only one who thinks that they deserve to suffer. My new bestest friends ever, the Louisiana Attorney Disciplinary Board, saw fit to sanction the plaintiff's law firm by suspending the partners for two years for violating a number of ethical rules in the treatment of their own god-forsaken client. Said that blessed bastion of legal purity and oversight:

The Committee's recommendation is that each Respondent be suspended from the practice of law for two (2) years, that all but six (6) months of that suspension be deferred and the Respondents receive probation during the two (2) year period of suspension with the following conditions:
1. Attendance at the LSBA's ethic school;
2. Payment of all costs and expenses of the disciplinary proceedings.

Feelings like the ones I'm experiencing right now are usually illegal, immoral and swiftly accompanied by irritable rashes down on my who-dilly. It's so nice to know that I can be this happy without a jar of peanut butter, a tank of nitrous oxide and a gallon of baby oil handy. Wait, did I just say that out loud?