If you only watch one clip, please watch this bit of hard-hitting journalism. Also: man alive I’m loud!

Clip won’t play? Watch here.

A lot of people I know are expecting me to hurt myself on a bike but I totally showed them by hurting myself on a vacuum! It all happened very quickly as I was trying to change the belt. One minute I was huffing and puffing and forcing something, as you’re supposed to do when dealing with machinery, and the next minute I was yelling “ouch!” and holding my thumb and watching the blood pool where a flap of skin used to be—skin that was scrunched up but still attached like a little skin ruffle. It was quite demure and charming.

Now I’ll never be a thumb model! (photo taken during healing)

Being a doctor’s daughter I kept my cool head and suggested  I have a seat in the waiting room where I perused Highlights magazine and some outdated issues of Outdoor Living. Then I called my name and asked myself to fill out some paperwork. “Is this really necessary?” I asked? “It’s for our files,” I said while filing my nails. “Whatever,” I mumbled and then took my seat again. Then I counted ceiling tiles. What could be taking me so long? Finally my insurance cleared and I was called in to see  myself. After answering a battery of questions which I really don’t think pertained to my thumb injury at all (When was my last menstrual cycle?  Any history of pulmonary dysfunction? What’s my favorite color?) I began to get testy. Seeing as I was getting testy, I shot myself with a tranquilizer dart and wheeled myself into the ER. “Let’s save a life” I said, staring at my thumb. Then I washed the cut with soap and water and hopped around because it was stinging and then I very carefully pushed the flap of skin back over the wound, first seasoning it with paprika and putting a pat of butter in there so it would bake to a crisp golden brown. My dad commended me on covering the cut with the skin—”that’s the perfect dressing”—he said, eating a salad. Then I covered it loosely with a bandaid because you shouldn’t cover a cut tightly with a bandaid. Then I jammed my thumb into a wall to see if it was all better. It wasn’t! My God, how long was it going to take to heal? I began to weep because modern medicine had failed me.

Oh, and then I vacuumed the hell out of the two rugs I have in here and I have to say looking around the apartment it was totally worth it.

Clean carpet.

Clean carpet.

And now that I’ve semi-cleaned my apartment I feel so much better about everything and considering how  much better I feel it’s a wonder that I ever let things get so messy in here. See, I’ve discovered two things. I feel good when my apartment is clean and I’m starving myself. I feel bad when my apartment is messy and I feel fat. So why do I eat twinkies and smear the wrappers on the walls? Gotta stop doing that.

When it comes to social interactions I prefer to have them with a mic in my hand or a camera in my face. Tonight I mixed with people unknown to me without all that though. Just me, my bongos and a bottle of Wild Turkey. Minus the bongos and Wild Turkey.

I went to a party with Red Eye pal John Roy where I met a guy (funny comedian Pete Holmes) who draws actual cartoons for the New Yorker. I got all excited and tried to explain that I draw fake cartoons for the New Yorker but I don’t draw them, I just think them up, and I never send them in because it’s not about that. I think he was suitably impressed. Then I mentioned that some of my fans have actually drawn them but what I really meant to say was, “Did I mention I have fans?”

And then I had a horribly awkward exchange with a woman by the crudite, but it’s late and I’m too tired to write it out. Perhaps tomorrow, my dears. It involves slippery bell peppers and tongs.

I bet you were. Well the awesome people at The Activity Pit made a fan group for me! This is officially my first online fan group! Sure, there’s been quite a bit of online chatter about me and yes, I am inundated with emails and comments and okay, perhaps it’s hard for me to go outside because I am mobbed by people who just want a piece of me because they think they know me even if they don’t—it’s just that I have that kind of effect on them—but this is the first online fan group and I don’t know what to say except I swear that I had no hand in this. Truly! So for all you people that think I suck it, now YOU can suck it because I have an online fan group and I’m fairly sure that you don’t, la la la!

Wait, was that obnoxious? Also, I’d like to thank Jesus Christ and my mom and my agent and my agent’s mom and Chad Lowe.

In a word, this experience has been “humbling.” Also, it’s making me cocky.

It’s the coffee I spilled on my pants. In the first five minutes or so I was at work I spilled Sprite Zero on my desk and coffee on my pants. I went into the bathroom and was trying to clean up my pants leg with a wet paper towel—blotting and patting—and someone walked out of a stall and gave me a sympathetic look. I debated saying, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “just peed on my leg,” but I didn’t, even though I sort of wish I had. (wish I had said it. not wish I had peed on my leg. Sometime I’ll tell you about the Bike Riding Incident in Fourth Grade. I know whereof I speak.)