Click to enlarge
(I announced on Twitter that I was the “Mayor of not being on @foursquare,” because foursquare is a program where if you go to a location a bunch of times you can become that location’s “mayor” and all the web people in NYC are on foursquare and etc and then fellow Pomona alum Jonathan Vanasco (@2xlp on twitter) said that he was going to make me a location on foursquare and become the mayor of me. AND HE DID!
(Note: that’s not my address, btw)
So I told you guys that one of my precious tweets will be published in
Twitter Wit, right? The book is coming out tomorrow and if you buy it through this link which I’m pasting at the bottom and putting all over this post apparently I will get a wee little cut of the money through Amazon referrals and you know what that means, don’t you? It means I can buy more props for my dumb videos! Leeks ain’t cheap folks. And don’t even get me started on the child’s snorkeling gear. I’m going to have to have a child and live near a swimmable body of water to make that purchase worthwhile.
Anywhoozles, I read the first many pages of this book (looking for my name) and this shit is funny. All sorts of famous people are in it. I heartily endorse it. Please buy it? If you want. No pressure. (But if you do, buy it through this link please. I’m going to go give my piggy bank a pep talk right now. MAKE WAY FOR PENNIES, PIGGY!) (Just kidding. Like I’d name my piggy bank Piggy? What am I, five?) (Her name is Wilbur!)
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0061897272/alisrose-20
Oh and evidently tomorrow is the day when you should buy it because then it’ll get on some bestseller list and we’ll all live happily ever after or something.
Would you rather be….
a) transcribing
b) imbibing
c) climbing (with a cold)
d) vibe-ing someone
e) hibe-ing (it’s how the cool bears say hibernating)
f) flybe-ing (it’s how the cool baseball players refer to catching fly balls)
g) tribe-ing (just, you know, kickin’ it with your tribe)
Ok, if you had to be a monger would you rather be a:
a) hate monger
b) fear monger
c) fish monger
d) rumor monger
e) bongo monger (someone who spreads bongos, obviously!)
f) cookie monger
g) high five monger
h) swim goggle monger
i) poodle monger
j) paddle tennis monger
k) whole grain monger
l) grout and tile monger
m) mustard monger
If I were a hot single insect looking to enjoy some randy bug on bug action before my inevitable death later that evening, I’d get my tiny segmented ass to Brooklyn because from what I can tell, it’s a real meat market for bugs around here. I mean, there are more bugs than strollers in Brooklyn right now, and that’s saying a lot.
In other news, I received something call Splenda Mist—which I purchased on eBay—in the mail a couple days ago. It looks like a small asthma inhaler filled with liquid Splenda. I’m kind of worried about what it means that my Splenda habit is escalating and taking different forms (started with packets, moved on to granular then tablets and now mist). Before long I won’t be content to wait for it to pass into my system via my stomach and will need a more direct route to my bloodstream. Should Splenda come out with Splenda Poppers I’d surely be on board. From there it’s just a short skip to smoking it in rock form and ultimately injecting it. By that point I’ll be a prostitute though—I’m not sure why, it’s just how I see it playing out—and I’ll only wear one color: Splenda yellow. Also I’ll live in a Splenda yellow house, which will make me angry all the time. I’ll be an angry whore who’s addicted to Splenda. I can’t wait!
In the meantime I’m loving the Splenda Mist though. Earlier I sprayed it on mustard and ate it plain and I only wish I were joking.
Speaking of disgusting foodstuffs, my sister convinced me to mix raspberry sugar-free jello and lemon sugar-free jello because “raspberry lemonade is really good” and the first couple bites were okay but the last 48 were unpleasant—and I think I’m realizing that I need to keep the citrus out of my jello. In fact, I have half a mind to go throw open my cupboard doors and yell “get out of my jello!” to the citrus flavors that are in there. I also want to yell it into the phone. Also every time I type yell I accidentally type yello. It’s the jello-ification of my mind.
Also last night I dragged Dustin to a party for Bill and Andy from Red Eye’s bdays and filmed us in the cab on the way home which I need to put into a Daily Alison episode and upload. So don’t think I’ve forgotten about you because I haven’t. It’s just that Splenda has become my main focus.
Me: I’m reading a book about WWII and it’s depressing the hell out of me.
Him: Maybe this will cheer you up: I think I’m interviewing Megan Fox. In person!
Me: Oh you know me so well.
A chilling headline from the New York Times.
I was reading this Tim Ferris motivational something or other and it was saying that you choose the thing that’s been on your To Do list the longest and do it first thing in the morning and don’t let yourself take a break or have lunch until you finish it. Tomorrow I won’t be taking a break or having lunch till I publish a book.
I would never want to be wire tapped however if I were to find a bug on my phone that was actually in the shape of a bug, I would have to admit it’s clever. Invasive but clever.
In other news, the woman at the grocery store who is so deeply unpleasant verging on belligerent that I go out of my way to avoid shopping there when she’s working was strangely friendly today. I suspect someone talked to her about her foul attitude—something which I debated doing—which just proves my theory that if you want something done right, just wait for someone else to do it.
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.