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May 15, 2006

Lowe Down.

Today is the three year anniversary of the fire in which Chris and I lost our home. You've all heard about it. To briefly recap: it was terrible; hated everyone; gained 9,000 pounds of rage; bought some socks; were saved by Internet; wrote song; arose, triumphant, like phoenix from ashes. I'm glad to report that, generally, three years beyond such an event is enough time to get where said event is no longer sitting in your gut like a squirming rat. I don't think about it every day. I no longer have to reference it in every conversation:

Someone else: "What would you like for lunch today?"

Me: "How about my house not burning down with a small side salad?"

I rarely go back to the the hole in the ground where the place used to be, and even when I do, I only flip the mildest bird rather than the tire-screeching, horn-honking, fist-shaking, slobbering scream-fest I used to perform on a bi-weekly basis. (You know, I pride myself on being stoic in the public eye, but alone in my car, I have said some terrible things to this Universe -- doom-fortelling portents of rolling black clouds and infestations of locusts and sermons of motes in eyes in fiery lakes -- and it has had to sit there and take it.) All of that is true -- I'm not the same as I was before it happened, but I feel like I'm more of who I was. It's hard to explain, and it definitely ebbs and flows. I still get very angry and sad sometimes but, all in all, the fire is something that happened to me and Chris but it won't be the last thing, BAD OR GOOD, that happens to us.

As this anniversary approached, I'd been feeling pretty zen about things. "Bad or good," I kept saying to myself. "More stuff will happen."

Of course, I was right. Unfortunately, the timing of my whole new philosophy worked out to where we're starting with something bad. We're being audited tomorrow for our 2003 taxes because of the large casualty loss we filed. Apparently, such personal tragedy is regarded as a red flag to the IRS. (See step 4 in the article and note that our tax preparer never suggested such steps when we had our taxes done that year.) We did get a substantial return from that filing, but it was only substantial as it related to us, not to like, Donald Trump. We weren't exactly rolling in dough to start with. Our return was probably still less than the national average of returns, is what I'm saying. Nonetheless, we're being audited. Tomorrow.

The past two weeks since we found out have been pretty ridiculous. I have had moments where I did return to that glass-eating, wall-punching, spitting, swearing, evil-eye place where I sometimes privately go. I wish I could say that I am prepared to go into the meeting and hold my head high, killing them with kindness. I've tried to get there. In times like these, my best friend is the hymnal, and I have been through it and back again trying to sing myself into some kind of comfort zone, but it ain't happening. I keep envisioning it all going wrong and having it end with us getting screwed and me sitting there, like a dream where you try to scream, but can't, too afraid to say what needs to be said.

Today, I'm the farthest thing from rich there ever was, but at least I'm a Damn Millionaire where it counts. I am so, so glad. Don't tell the tax man.

Posted by The DMs at 09:55 AM

Al: Happy Gilmore.

Well, my recapping season for Gilmore Girls has finally ended. Now I can get back to hawking CDs to every man, woman and child from here to the Pacific Ocean.

Posted by The DMs at 09:15 AM