Update: I now have an A/C unit that’s too heavy for me to lift sitting in a box in the middle of my bedroom. It’s 72 pounds. The amp I used to use when I played in a band was 80 pounds. I was thinking that while that was heavy, it wasn’t impossible for me to move it, but then I didn’t ever have to hoist it into a window. But maybe sometimes I had to lift it up onstage? I can’t remember now. Probably other people did that for me while I conveniently stole away to the bathroom to fix my glitter (we were a shiny band). I’m an asshole like that.

Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go buy milk and when I come back I expect this air conditioner to be properly, safely and magically installed.

Note: If I come back to find this air conditioner installed I will breath a sigh of relief and then call the cops. Do you hear me, inanimate objects in my room? I’m talking to you, hair dryer! No funny business, folded towels! Yeah that’s right, don’t pull any fast ones on me, fingerless mittens. I’ve got my eyes on all of you.

That was the title of a blog post that’s been sitting in my head (the whole post, not the title) for two days now. It’s a fascinating tale of my decision to purchase an air conditioner unit. I haven’t written the post but I’m this close to buying the A/C. My blog posts are backed up. Also I need to regale you with the day I went to two parties and then a “karaoke night” in Orange County and my thoughts about the Sex and the City movie. This is turning into the promised prune post situation, which I’d link to if I had more energy. I’m losing energy people. It’s because of the heat. If I were a piece of spinach I’d be wilted. If I were cheese I would be separated (the kind of cheese that comes in a can, of course). If I were a shrinky dink, I would be shrunk. If I were one of those window ornament kit things with the metal frame that you put little crystals in and then bake in the oven till the crystals melt and form hard plastic and then you have a hard plastic thing in the shape of Strawberry Shortcake, I’d be that piece of hard plastic. If I were the sound, heat, light spectrum, I’d be, um, okay well that teaches me to try to be scientific when my brain is melting. I’d be hot is what I’m trying to say.

And the thing is that it’s not even that hot. I mean, it’s nowhere near as hot as the surface of the sun, which I’ve been on, well, I don’t want to brag, but a handful and change times. So I know what hot is. It’s just that this apartment traps heat. It also traps piles of clothes, crushed dreams, lint, bottles of nail polish (now I’m just looking at the surface of my desk), papers, cords, CDs, a napkin, a camera, speakers, fake flowers, envelopes, a tape measure, my economic stimulus check which didn’t stimulate me because my economic erogenous zone is the one between my ears, uncle sam!, a nail file, okay I could go on but this is ridiculous.

even when you clean it still looks dirty. To wit: I just cleaned my whole bathroom and now it looks ready to be cleaned. This is the second apartment I’ve had this problem in. Guess I should probably start just using the toilet like everyone else.

Disgusting! That is totally disgusting and I can’t believe I would even joke about it. Well, actually I can, but you can’t.

But see that’s the thing with these charming old apartments. They have years of charming old grime stuck in all the corners. If you remove it your walls might literally crumble and you’ll be living in the middle of a quaint pre-war rubble heap. The stories this grime could tell!

Also, I miss dishwashers and garbage disposals and I think my neighbors are getting tired of me peeling my carrots out the window.

Fine, I don’t really do that. The last carrot I peeled was months ago in California anyway, not that what I do or don’t do with vegetables is really germane to the discussion of bathrooms.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is if you watch me on Red Eye tonight, please note the way my bathroom is very clean.

In the city, that is. You may begin rejoicing. Unless you’re on the west coast in which case you may commence hand-wringing, tear-shedding and heavens-railing-at. A friend recently told me that I’d become more LA ever since I moved to New York, by which he meant that I sucked because I didn’t get in touch with him when I was in California. Hm.

I’m on Red Eye tomorrow so don’t forget to cancel all your plans so you can watch it.

Greetings blog readers. Sorry I've been a little MIA it's just that every time I think of you I picture you reading another blog and I thought I could get past it but I can't. Wait, I need to dry heave for a couple minutes and then I need to whimper, sniffle and then violently chop lettuce while wiping my tears on my apron. You break my heart sometimes, you know that? You really do. I'm just glad we never had those half human half blog babies we dreamed about.

Anyway, I just walked down to the water. If I had a camera on my phone I could show you how beautiful it was but since I don't I'll have to use words to paint the picture. here goes:

The water was blue and shiny not unlike my eyes if instead of dancing brown eyes flecked with gold I had eyes that were blue and shiny like the water. The sand was sandy. I don't know this firsthand since I stayed on the sidewalk overlooking the beach, but in my experience sand is sandy and also sometimes it sticks to you. then you go to wash it off and then you take another step and whatever grains of errant sand are on the street cling to your just cleaned and still wet feet. I kind of hate that because I am fastidious in all areas of my life except the way I keep my apartment and the way I live.

While at the water I took a few deep cleansing breaths, thought about what it all meant while getting my head together and then I called a party line because I wanted to talk to attractive singles in my area. Okay, that's not true, but remember those? No? Neither do I.

Also, I think you should know that I'm walking around with my phone in one pocket and my ipod in the other and I think it makes me look a bit like a duck. The fact that I'm quacking every few feet and just laid an egg is beside the point.

I guess that's all for now.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Please spend your memorial day with me at 11:30pm on E!

You’re probably wondering how I feel about the fact that Friday’s episode is airing Monday. At first I was disappointed at having to reschedule the viewing party I’d planned in sixteen different cities across the states. I was going to jump out of a cake in all of them at the same time, which is harder than it sounds, but upon reflection I must admit that I appreciate the two extra days of anonymity this will afford me. I mean, I’m used to living a life that’s slightly better than everyone else’s in the entire world, and I’m used to treatment that’s maybe a hair more professional than say, what you might receive, but at the end of the day I’m still a normal, if extraordinary, person and I have mixed feelings about that changing as it certainly will any minute now.

I’m in California, sipping a pina colada on the beach while my assistant fans me with a palm frond. Seriously, Esmarelda, must you fan so vigorously? Your fervent fanning nearly knocked the pineapple wedge out of my drink! Yes, it’s speared on tiny little sword most likely found next to a tiny little treasure chest—the purloined bounty of rogue pygmy pirates who met some unforeseen and possibly grizzly fate at the hands of something bigger than they were—judging from the size of their weaponry, and its most curious color (translucent yellow, in this case, but these tiny swords have also been found in red, light blue and white. also green), I’d say these pirates could be overtaken by any sort of fist sized fish. A hearty clam could also pose a threat. Anyway, a lot of history in this garnish, so I beseech you to fan with care.

Okay fine, I’m sitting at my parents’ kitchen table. I’m not drinking a pina colada and no one is fanning me. I’m not hot though, so I don’t really need to be fanned. I wouldn’t mind a light breeze.