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Me again, still at the gym for some reason. Apparently I’ve traveled about eight miles without moving which seems really odd to me. Maybe the gym is longer than I realize? Anyone know how much eight miles is?

Good thing I brought so many things to pass the time! In addition to my blackberry I also have my iPod, two magazines and a book. It’s not dissimilar to the amount of stuff I used to bring for the car ride to disneyland when I was a kid. The ride was about thirty five minutes but I brought enough for fifteen times that. Anyone know what fifteen times thirty five is? I’m going to see if I can figure it out in my head bc that’s the kind of stuff I do at the gym. Okay. Here goes.

525?

I have to say that I kind of feel like an asshole when I have my blackberry in one hand and I pick up my ipod in the other. But at least I’m not doing other obnoxious gym things like grunting. You won’t hear me grunt and if it means that I have to reduce my workout to a mere stretch routine and I don’t even break a sweat and basically people are like who is that girl with blinders on the bike who’s just sitting there emailing and repeatedly looking at a map, confused, so be it.

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So I’m at the gym, blog posting, which is how I pass the monotony of improving my already amazingly fit and taut physique. You could not only bounce a quarter off these abs, but also a dollar bill. Try it, I dare you. In fact sometimes I find enoungh money for a sandwich trapped in my midsection, that’s how scary fit I am. I should add that gutfeld told me a couple weeks ago that he thinks emailing at the gym (cardioemailing) sounds dangerous but see that’s the diff between him and me. I’m a thrill seeker. My internal barometer is set on Extreme and In Your Face – I’m like a corn nut really, or mountain dew – and so I’m just a slave to my need for risk taking, whereas gutfeld is content just doing what ‘the man’ tells him. It’s sad really.

Another diff is that I sau ‘diff’ and I bet he doesn’t. No time for polysyllables when you’re busy living life to the fullest. The seat of my pants? Totally flying by it. First class ticket on tushy air. Heiney air? That actually sounds much worse than I mean it but there’s no going back now. If I go back I could miss something. That’s why I wear these blinders like you’d see on a clydesdale in central park. To keep me focused on the future. And to correct my lazy eyes. It’s a long story but if you’re trying to speak to me you’re going to need to get right in front of me while I’m hanggliding or jumping from a plane as I do, bc otherwise you’re just so much peripheral chatter.

So I’m on the stationary bike and I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been pedaling for like half an hour and I’m still at the gym. I doublechecked and the brakes aren’t on, so I don’t know what to make of it except maybe I’m going so fast it’s altering my perception? Like maybe I’m moving at the speed of light? I did it once a long time ago (in the eighteen hundredf but that’s a ftory for another day).

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It needed salt.

I’m not saying this in a pithy way, though I’m quite certain I can’t help but be pithy—it’s a curse!—but I mean it genuinely. The soup is not a symbol. It’s actual soup. And the salt is not a metaphor. It’s actual salt. Or lack of.

Also, man did I have a day. I had a 4/5’s kind of day which is where 4/5’s of the conversations you have are good and 1/5 make you want to shove a pencil in your eye. But I mean 1/5 of each conversation. Not 1/5 of the people I talked to. Except now that I think about it, I had some perfectly fine conversations. But a couple doozies. I could tell you, but I think these people read my blog. So in that case, yes, I’m talking about you. Unless I’m not.

I’m probably not. God, what the hell am I saying?

I don’t know but I’d rather be looking at puggles.

talking about how I look like crap when I travel. Now I know what you’re thinking: “You? Looking like crap? Impossible! You are a vision in sweatpants and fleece!”

Really, public, you are too kind. What have I done to deserve you? I haven’t even told you about the Bike Incident In Fourth Grade yet. Nor about how ducklings smell. (They have a certain musky duckling odor which is a blend of the food you feed them and their tiny duckling poohs. If ever you had pet ducks, it’s a heady fragrance. I kind of miss it.)

Oh, did I not tell you? The bottom dropped out of the nostalgia problem last night—I awoke from a dream about a high school boyfriend—and now apparently I’m trapped in nostalgia free fall and so memories from all parts of my life are kicking themselves up, be they when I peed all over my bike on the way home, accidentally and inexplicably in fourth grade, or when I had pet ducks even earlier than that.

And if you happen to be someone who is reading my blog for the first time, welcome! It isn’t all bike urine and duckling crap all the time, but it isn’t not that, either.

I would approach pensive people and say, “Puggle for your thoughts?”

And did you get any pictures? They said there weren’t going to be any photos allowed which I figured was just as well since my chest was looking kinda blotchy and my non-TV makeup likely wasn’t doing me any favors under those harsher than I expected lights but then there were a zillion flashbulbs happening during the Q&A and I kind of wished I’d gotten a photo with Ross Schwimmer. So if you got some, let me know.

As for how the whole thingamajigiepoo went, it was fun. DSchwim kinda took the reins himself at certain points, leaving me there to fiddle with the microphone and fidget in my seat and strike that fine balance between voicing the jokes going through my head and holding them in—it was about HIM after all—but so much of performing/hosting, and especially TV which this wasn’t so just bear with me while I let this pour out of my head—is about taking control of situations and being the most dominant/dynamic force in the viewfinder and so I quickly realized that the control was being wrested from me and had to then quickly calculate whether to try to get it back. I didn’t, because it wasn’t my TV show, it was just a live Q&A I was asked to moderate and I was providing a service.

My sister thinks it would have looked really bad if I’d grabbed the controls. I think there are people who can do it so effortlessly and instantly that you don’t even really notice.

But still, I think it was a fun time.

I’ll be moderating a live Q&A with David Schwimmer at the Apple Store in Soho at 6:30pm on Tuesday, March 18. We’ll be talking about the movie he directed, Run, Fatboy, Run, and then giving out free iPods.*

*Note: no free iPods.

But come on down anyway!

I’m sitting next to a cup of urine. There are lots of cops here. And yet, this ER is like neither gray’s anatomy nor law and order SVU. I took a break and went to a store called PUPPIES! I looked around but I wasn’t hungry. I’m engaged in an unspoken war with my sister’s boyfriend over the one seat here. I’m winning right now seeing as my ass is being gently cradled by a vinyl cushion and his is left to graze the cheapo curtain separating us from the scary scary woman in the next bed over. Yeah that’s right, non-blood relative! I can outsit you so don’t get any fancy ideas. MY chair. MY sister. MY perch near the neglected cup of urine.
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My sister, while they’re drawing blood and starting an IV to give her medication in case she feels nauseous: ‘I don’t feel nauseous.’

Me, sitting in a chair watching them draw her blood: ‘I do!’
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I should have brought a book to this waiting area where it looks like I’ll be spending my saturday. Instead I brought my blackberry and… Let’s check the contents of my pocket, shall we? A receipt, a bandaid, eleven dollars and 48 cents, two packets of equal, two earplugs, a banana and a myna bird.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, but the truth is that I just prefer equal to splenda. I find it to be a bit sweeter and it has less of a chemical aftertaste. As for the myna bird, I’m not going to lie, it’s somewhat annoying to have to watch what I say all the time for fear of it being parroted back to me. At the same time it’s been hugely illuminating to listen to the profound things that come out of his beak, which are obviously things he picked up from me. In bird years, he’s probably about 65. Just a really old soul. And so funny. Sometimes he does this thing where he just looks at me and stands still and I’m like, ‘yep, he’s got my number!’ This one time he ate a grape and, well, you just should have seen it. Also, he’s kept me from making what would have turned out to be a couple massively unwise real estate investments. I’m not going to lie though, he also told me to sell short when I should have hung on. I was mad, but I wrote out my feelings to him in a letter and I think he really got what I was saying. I felt heard, which is so important.

Actually, he and I have really gotten into it because he thinks it’s rude when I read when he’s right there so maybe it’s better I don’t have a book. Still, I wish he’d understand that it’s not personal, I just need some time with my thoughts and it doesn’t mean my feelings about him have changed.

Uh oh, it appears he’s eaten an earplug. Say that again? I can’t hear you! Use words! Enunciate please.

Well this is really frustrating. He does it just to annoy me.

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