Someone is baking cookies in my building. Fucking cookies in MY building and NOT in my belly where they belong. The fucking NERVE of some people, flaunting their godless fresh-baked goodness in my face like that. Warm chocolate chip gooey molten explosion on such a cold, rainy evening as this? A bold move indeed. The rules have been broken, it is pure chaos. I am going to hunt this bastard down, kick in their door, and carbo-load the crap out of myself. Oh the cops will come, but it will be too late, my friend, too late. Nothing can stop me. You should just make this easy on yourself and give it up already. Aren’t you tired of fighting? Cookies down my gullet, natch! Do it!

Also, happy birthday, Karina!!! I sent over a barber shop quartet to your apartment but you weren’t there. It’s too bad because they also happened to be strippers. Nothing says I love you like song AND dance.

Two things, completely unrelated.

The first is that I saw Jeremy Sisto at a bar on Sunday. It is like a bar/restaurant in Tribeca, not fancy, but it’s not like some dive bar full of old men with no teeth. It’s you know, classy but with chicken tenders, you know what I mean? A completely acceptable casual bar with completely mediocre but acceptable food at completely acceptable, casual prices. Anyway homeboy was wearing sweats. SWEATS. Come on. Like workout pants. They were Adidas. I know they were Adidas because they had stripes on them. But then he was wearing a regular suede coat on top. So it’s like only his legs worked out. Anyway I say this because I like Jeremy Sisto, but come on, you are on TV, you make a million dollars an episode, why don’t you wear some real pants. However, I just want to make it clear that it’s not really acceptable for anyone to wear track pants with a suede coat, whether you are some kid from Jersey or if you are Jeremy Sisto. I did not see if they were the rip-off kind of track suit pants. Those are hilarious. Like break-away pants, here are my nuts!

The second thing is that I had to look up the word “mesa” on Wiki for something at work and I am very sorry I did. “A microsurgical procedure to extract fluid and sperm directly from an epididymal tubule, where sperm is stored.” Good GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE? WHAT HAVE I DONE? I did not do a image search.

So, to review, Jeremy Sisto, thumbs down, mesa, thumbs down. It is one of those days.

I am covered in rain.

I’d like to introduce you to my new friend. It is a marmot. Which is like a lemming or a shrew. Except it’s a marmot. This one happens to live in the Swiss Alps, of Switzerland. You know, the country that looks like a melting scoop of ice cream, not to be confused with Sweden, the country that kind of looks like a flaccid penis-rod. When I was little I got Switzerland and Sweden confused. Listen, I’m not proud of that, but I just thought I should be honest and open about it. Give me a break, I was eight. On a slightly related note, there is a new Swiss restaurant in my neighborhood and from what I gather, it only serves schnitzel. For those of you who like schnitzel, this is your jam. For those of you who don’t, then it is like a big finger to you. The one between the index and the ring finger, if you have to ask. Anyway this restaurant happens to be in the space, I believe, that used to be a club where a girl got stabbed to death by the bouncer. Or maybe she was shot. I don’t remember. Either way now it is a Swiss restaurant, I think. Back to the story.

Aura and her sister Andrea gave this marmot to me. They were in Switzerland and they were like WAIT, WAIT DO YOU SEE THAT? WE HAVE TO GET IT FOR ANNIE. As you can see this marmot, which I have named Das Marmotten because I’m guessing that means The Marmot in Swiss German (Marco, am I right?), has an accordion. Please think about the last time you saw a marmot holding an accordion. Right, you have NEVER seen that! It’s magic, right? Magical shit happens in Switzerland I’m telling you. Anyway this marmot is not just any marmot, it also DOUBLES AS A KEYCHAIN. OH WHERE ARE MY KEYS I CANNOT FIND THEM IN MY BAG, OH LOOK HERE THEY ARE ATTACHED TO THIS MARMOT. Or maybe HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN MY KEYS IT HAS A GIGANTIC MARMOT ON IT. It’s bigger than my hand. There is no way in hell I would lose my keys.

But wait! Wait! There’s more! It PLAYS MUSIC. It plays beautiful, beautiful accordion music that is so beautiful. And now, with my iPhone, I can play it for you. Click here to listen. If you are at the office, I suggest you CRANK THAT SHIT TO 11 AND ROCK OUT. Dancing shoes are highly recommended.

Thanks Aura and Andrea!!!!!! Holy crap!

I am here blogging live from Aura’s apartment where I am beast-sitting. The Beast is stirring. Look at this thing. You might think awww what a cute kitty, who’s my wittle pritty witty kitty cat? But don’t be fooled, this is no cat. It is a Beast. Also it keeps sitting in my motherfucking chair you better step off, Beast I will turn you into shoes. I’m not afraid of you, butt licker.

The Feta Shitball Tree is back in full force and it stinks. There are little shitberries everywhere and now it’s really windy which means the shitballs are blowing everywhere. Totally disgusting. It smells just like a sheep climbed a tree, shat in it, and then died. If you guys are curious about what that smells like then I suggest you come here OR take a poop in a tub of feta, feed it to a sheep and wait to see what comes out. Listen, it’s disgusting, I don’t recommend you do that. Please, don’t do it. I just had a thought, do you think feta cheese, which is made of sheep’s milk, tastes like chicken to sheep? Interesting. Anyway, I do believe it’s a ginkgo tree, that is what the locals are saying. Locals meaning Skinny Old Rocker Guy with Big Fro, the Local Coffee Guy who Guest Appears on Law and Order Every Week and Either Plays Bad Guy or the Dead Guy in the Beginning, and the Ancient Italian Man who Does the Crosswords on the Bench Covered by Shitberries. There’s also Unmarried Slightly Lonely Middle Aged Man with Extremely Spoiled Pug. (I’ve seen the pug actually eat directly out of Slight Lonely Middle Aged Man with Extremely Spoiled Pug’s mouth, gag me.) Anyway they are all talking about the Feta Tree. It is very exciting in my neighborhood. A lot of commotion. Also, another local sighting, Mike D of the Beastie Boys! He was heading to AdRock’s house who lives on my street. Sometimes I see him watch TV from the street. He is a big fan of America’s Next Top Model (who isn’t). When you combine all these details it makes my neighborhood sound totally glamorous but remember, it smells like shitberries and my apartment is the size of a shoebox. Nature, FTW!

For Karina’s wedding gift I got her a vintage-ish metal/enamel mouse-proof canister LOADED WITH SNACKS. Loaded. I went to the store and then just loaded the crap out of it. Wasabi edamame, organic chocolate, Bunnies, etc. The thing comes with little cards that say “flour” or “sugar” or “oats” but there is not one for “snacks.” A total oversight on part of the manufacturer. Anyway, what she discovered was that the canister was mouse-proof but it was not ANNIE-PROOF. IT IS NOT ANNIE-PROOF. I have torn open the canister and attacked the snacks. I have left a trail of crumbs behind. Karina gave up and wrote “Annie’s Snacks” right on the canister, which is cute. She keeps me fed. I shall keep her around. WOMAN, SNACKS. NOW. IN MY BELLY!

All my friends are running marathons. Dr. Michelle is running the half-marathon at Disney World, and Butler is running the NYC marathon. I think Erin just finished a half marathon or some business not too long ago. Alexandra in S.F. is training for a TRIATHALON.They are all so unbelievably clinically insane. Life is hard enough for me. I never look at a road and think, hmm maybe I should run on this. And then think, OK, what if I kept running on this for a few hours? But wait! What if I swam and RODE MY BIKE too? What a horrible, horrible idea. Anyway kudos to you all for being totally without sanity. Thumbs up, hugs, etc. I shall sit here and eat my chocolate bunnies. Go forth.

I had to go to UPS the other day, the one on the deep West Side as I like to call it, and passed this:

I also passed people PUTTING UP CHRISTMAS LIGHTS. I did not get a photo of that because I was in shock.

Happy Columbus Day! Which is a weird thing to say, actually. Happy winding up in the wrong part of town and raping the natives day! Yay! Give me your spices, you Indians from India, that is, if the India were the Bahamas! Let me reward you with rape and slavery!

OR, if you prefer, happy (Canadian) Thanksgiving! In Canada, it is just known as Thanksgiving. In the States, it’s known as (Canadian) Thanksgiving. I’m not sure what the history of it is, but I’m gonna guess it has also to do with natives and some kind of raping, which is put on hold, to give thanks, for just one day. I am sure the Canadians of Annietown can illuminate me on this. I could go to Wikipedia and learn all about it, but it’s much better if I can make up my own little story about it until someone corrects me, just like the way Fox News does it. And then, like Fox News, I will ignore it. Trust me this is a much easier way to do things. Try it at work, it is so much better. “Duncan, you missed the deadline!” “No I didn’t, chief. It was last week.” “No, no, didn’t you see the schedule?” “Oh the schedule! I see that I am actually early. Sweet, I’m going to take the rest of the day off.” So much better. My god, I should write an employee handbook. Maybe that will be Book 3. (I am working on Book 2 now. Tentatively titled, Book 2.)

Junior is here. He is here to fix the bathtub, which is leaking. Re-tile, reseal, re-caulk among other activities under the umbrella of “home improvement.” Basically do anything he can without having to get me a new bathtub or fix the plumbing. Junior is making a mess. A very large mess. It is stressing me out a little. There is tile everywhere. My apartment is so small that Junior is, more or less, reading this while he is “improving” my “home.” Junior, you remember you did this same thing two years ago, and I was like, dude, Junior, re-sealing the tub is not going to fix anything because there’s something wrong and it’s leaking and Old Man downstairs has been complaining about water damage to his ceiling, which happens to be under my bathroom? And you were like, lady, lady, this will fix it. I will re-seal it all! It will be fabulous! (He did not actually say fabulous but insinuated fabulousness from these improvements.) And remember how you took a roll of my paper towels and just unrolled it from the bathroom all the way to the front door so you could walk on it and not get silicone all over my floor? Yeah, let’s not do that because it’s irritating and wasteful. I recommend not stepping in the silicone and planning it out so you do not “paint yourself in a corner” with silicone.

Oh nice, Junior is taking bits of old grout and trying to drain it down my bathtub, which to my understanding, does not work. Seriously, like what are you doing!!!

Listen, I’m very angry right now. I’m not sure how to handle this anger. There’s so much of it. So. Much. Rage.

So I go into Karina’s office because I want snacks. Karina and I have a very special relationship where she buys snacks and I eat them. It’s very sacred, something I hold very dear. She keeps buying snacks and I keep eating them. We’ve been doing this for several years now. Sometimes she is in the office working and I go in, grab my snack, and then leave. I occasionally mutter thanks. Most of the time I demand them. WOMAN SNACKS IN MY BELLY NOW! And she just points to her desk drawers and feeds this monster she calls her friend. Then the next time I come back there are more snacks. We have a very good and special relationship, as I mentioned above.

So this afternoon I go into her snack drawer. The woman keeps two snack drawers. TWO. That is how serious she is about keeping me snacked. She does not fuck around. Karina might take forever to make a decision about where to go to dinner, but when she is at Whole Foods she is in full fledged Wall St. nosedive to the snack aisle. Seriously, get out of her way. FUCKING SNACKS you feel me? So the top drawer has a bag of flaxseed and a box of instant oatmeal. Kashi Oatmeal. Maple and Brown Sugar. That is her “breakfast snacking” drawer. I am unimpressed. The time is almost 3 post meridian, I am not in breakfast snack mode. I am in SNACK SNACK mode. So I open drawer number 2. This is where she keeps the good shit. Last week she had Annie’s Organic Chocolate Graham Bunnies. Holy shit it’s like little chunks of crack cocaine. Heaven in a 100% post consumer waste recycled box. So I am hoping she has more bunnies for me.

I open the drawer and I see a box of Chocolate Brown Rice Krispies Treats (which are good despite the name) and a bag of Soy Crisps, BUT OH MY GOD WAIT THERE ARE HOLES AND LITTLE BITS OF FOOD EVERYWHERE.

Mice.

FUCKING MICE. Attacking my snacks! Thwarting my snacktime! Eating MY snacks that Karina bought FOR ME (her). WTF!!!!! NOOOOO! MY SNACKS! Those fuckers ate it all. They chewed through the box and through the wrappers, leaving a trail of snack behind. I’m so ANGRY at these dumb mammals. Listen, mice, you did not PAY for these snacks. Nor did I but at least I am a human mammal. I work and could conceivable BUY my own snacks, but don’t because I am too lazy. I am also getting “the milk for free” etc. Listen, mice. Do not go near my (her) snacks again or else I will destroy you. I will set out traps and when you are dead I will scream and then have someone else take care of the situation. Because I am human. I have the opportunity to get someone else to handle my situations. Like, for example, my snacking situation.

So long story short, I do not have ANY snacks! No snacks! I’m going to starve, do you understand? Already I am feeling weak.

I also learned an important lesson, which is that mice do not like Kashi instant oatmeal or flaxseed.

On Saturday night, Lizzie gave me and J.Mo extra tickets to see a New Yorker Festival interview with Stephen Colbert. Holy. Shit. He is honestly the Best Guy Ever. They should call his show Best Guy Ever with Best Guy Ever. Anyway it was an interview where he wasn’t in character. The man teachers SUNDAY SCHOOL! Dude, can you imagine going to Sunday school, whining all morning about going, and then your parents dragging you in the car and you’re like waah I hate jesus I hate it all I hate church it sucks and it’s for god loving losers and then you go and STEPHEN COLBERT is your effing teacher? Dude. I had no idea. Anyway he was saying the kids have these insane questions like “Who came before god?” and “What is outside of time?” Hahaha obviously the answers are eleven and refrigerator, respectively. These questions are pretty similar to the kind we get at the office, but then there’s occasionally a kid who has been totally brainwashed being like, you are wrong there are no such things as dinosaurs and we are like oh dear god no. (Which reminds me of a kid I knew in kindergarten who was CONFIDENT that lions did not exist and unicorns were real and totally REFUSED, as in throwing tantrums, to believe anything else and you could tell my teacher was like you know what, kid? Suck it, life is going to suck for you.) Anyway I do admire the fact that Colbert tries to believe in and practice a religion but also questions it. (“Sometimes I’m good at it, sometimes I’m not.”) It’s not an easy thing to do and a pretty brave thing to admit to a room full of New Yorker readers who, you know, have a thing for being not religious and are sometimes small-minded about people who aren’t the same. Either way, it makes Colbert like a human with human abilitiues, which is strange. He also talked about the one time it was hard to keep character was when Jane Fonda was on and like sitting on his lap and blowing in his ear and he was like totally embarrassed and his staff writers went out and bought him flowers that he could take home to his wife. So he brings them home and his wife is like WHAT DID YOU DO? She watches the show and was like DON’T YOU EVER LET ANYONE TAKE OVER YOUR SHOW LIKE THAT AGAIN. And Colbert was like “But then I’d have to flip her over on the desk and really go at it. She still has some Barbarella in her.”

So there you go, that was my review.

Here is my review of EnvironKids Peanut Butter Panda Puffs:

Boner.

Thank you.