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“maybe you really should do stand-up… because you tell so many stories about the retarded little things that happen to you.”

which I just sprayed in my apartment because I’m embracing spring? Now my whole apartment smells like a bathroom, not just the bathroom!

I woke up this morning thinking that I should get a pet bird. This was after this really long horrible epic of a nightmare that culminated in my crying over a pet rat I’d fallen in love with named Daniel. Poor Daniel went tits up and got rigor mortis, along with two other sickly hamsters that flipped over and kind of instantly calcified into frogs, which is interesting in a reverse fairy tale kind of way. There was also an infant, danger and a fleet of EMTs. And a bank of people on telephones, telethon style. I mean, frankly it was hard to move around in an apartment stuffed with all these people which is why my beloved Daniel nibbled at the poison which I only discovered after I retrieved him from under the refrigerator.

And they say dreams are only interesting to the people who have them!

Off to the gym my lovelies.

But one more thing about this dream: if I think about it even now, about how I felt when I realized Daniel was gone because I hadn’t acted fast enough, tears still spring to my eyes.

Sometimes I like to check my own blog… to see if I’ve posted anything new.

I haven’t had a drink since over a month ago, which is likely hard to believe since I’m a total lush who’s been known to teetotal for stretches, but somehow an appletini was purchased by Michelle Collins with my name on it tonight after Red Eye and I actually drank that fruity bullshit. I know I will regret this tomorrow if not sooner.

This just in! Breaking! Um, other words that mean stuff like that!

Over on The Activity Pit the question of whether I’m too snooty to answer their questions now that I’m all “Hollywood n’stuff” was posed, and the question was what I did on my California vacation. Here is my response:

I am totally too snooty to answer your questions however I’m having my personal assistant write this. She is typing and I’m standing over her shoulder shouting FASTER! FASTER! and if she doesn’t speed up I’m probably going to have her shot, because her dilly-dallying doesn’t please me, and when things don’t please me, I’ve taken to having them shot. It’s just a little thing I do now that absolute power has corrupted me absolutely. As for my vacation, it was a working vacation, so I woke up and enjoyed coffee on the veranda while idly asking my assistant to check my email. Then I napped for a few hours while having my already supple skin made suppler by a fleet of masseueueueusses (my assistant had trouble with that word). Then I went on a harbor cruise while being fanned with palm fronds shipped in from the gulf of, um, bornego. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Well, it’s very tiny and very exclusive so it doesn’t surprise me that you haven’t. One time I went there with five of my assistants and only four of us were allowed in so I had the extraneous person shot as is my way, as I’ve explained. In between all this I did stories for magazines including Page Six, Maxim and another one, and then I had all my internal organs rotated which is just something we LA folk are trying out. It’s cool, but if you want to make yourself throw up, you have to stick your finger up your butt.

Oh my God, I am so sorry my assistant just wrote that. She is disgusting!

And I did kind of get a tan, but not on purpose, it was just from being outside.

When I woke up it smelled strongly of bug spray in my room—and not the girly kind of “bug spray mixed with flowers” that I occasionally make use of, but some kind of very strong industrial pesticide that stripped the chitin right off my lungs. Now it smells like curry.

Wait, now it’s bug spray again.

I should probably close my window, but I spent so long last night saying hello to spring by wrenching the damn thing open and then putting the little screen in and then struggling to close it on top of the screen that I’m hesitant to mess with it again. If my lungs have to fill with tiny particles, so be it. Hm, I think I can actually taste it right now.

That’s New York for you: elaborate machinations to open a damn window. In California you’d just have your butler do it.

Headache! I have thought myself into a headache. I’m convinced this is a headache in my mind. Also a headache in my head.

Also in the “that’s New York for you” is crossing against the light. I always have a moment when I come back to the city where I’m waiting for the light to change and then, embarrassed, I realize it’s because I’ve gone soft. I’ve forgotten that I don’t have to wait! Then I go running like a girl through the intersection.

Since it’s Thursday night, obviously I’m out having a great time, however if I were home I’d have to say that The Kardashian True Hollywood Story is making me cry a little!

Also, the girl in the photo below is Blake Lively who plays Serena on Gossip Girl.

And lastly, my dad is fine, everything went well, thanks for the kind wishes!

Oh and one more thing. New York is getting kind of hot. I hate that. Or maybe it’s just my apartment which I’m totally not in right now because I’m out being social.

Also, I like the show. But it’s more about the dog. In fact, I wanted not to like the show after New York did their “Best. Show. Ever.” cover story, because I’m contrarian and also because I HATE. PERIODS. AFTER. EACH. WORD. It’s up there with announcing the number of words you’re going to use before using them such as “Two words: mechanical pencils”
(no relevance, mind you, it just happens to be my writing implement of choice, which may surprise you because most people I know prefer some kind of rollerball bullshit, but not I, unless I’m filling out forms or writing checks or something. ANYWAY) This was going to be a post of TV shows I like, however I’m going to cut myself off at the pass because I’m procrastinating, and because you are enabling me with your codependence and your cohabitation and your copayments and your comb overs and your codeine binges and your cones and rods (you have excellent eyesight) and your enmeshment and your herring. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. See, I am on deadline(s) again and so there’s no time for us to talk about The Hills, which I’d probably rather talk about than Gossip Girl.

Also, my dad is having a small procedure today (all over lipo and he’s getting a new face grafted onto his face) so I am slightly distracted, although I’m sure he will be totally fine.