I spilled fruit salad on my lap and I got up quickly but didn’t have a good handle on my computer so it fell. And now the moniter is wobbly and won’t close all the way. Ugh. The last time I was in Chicago my hard drive died. It’s like this place hates me and my computer.

I’m blogging live from Chicago O’Hare, which is currently sucking my soul dry. It’s hungry for my soul and I have so little left to give. So little. Currently, my flight is very delayed. Like I’m here for FOUR HOURS. YES FOUR HOURS. AS IN ONE MORE HOUR THAN THREE AND TWO MORE HOURS THAN TWO AND FOUR MORE HOURS THAN ZERO. Damn you math.

I’m wandering the airport looking for a free outlet to plug my computer in so I can at least get some work done. No luck. Every plug is occupied. We need wireless power already. I mean what year is this? Where is my jetpack and where is my mf wireless power! Where is my teleporting? Scientists, get on that shit. Why must you disappoint?

Anyway I hate flying to Chicago. I love the town but clearly they don’t want you to leave. They want you to stay here forever in the airport. It really does feel like Times Square here. Like people are just oozing from every corner. But they are mostly unhappy. Their flights are delayed too.

I was here for 24 hours for work. I spent the bulk of it here though. Actually I’m lying.

I wasn’t in Chicago. I was waaay outside of Chicago. My hotel was near a “gentlemen’s club”. There were many gentlemen indeed. Apparently the first hotel I was supposed to stay at had a beetle infestation and flooded among other issues. So I was rebooked. Beetles dude. Beetles!

Anyway, who’s at the airport? Let’s get beers!

Step 1: Wake up very early morning, shivering. In tight ball. Hands in fists. Head under covers, under pillows. Confusion. Where is heat? Yet another mystery. There is no heat. Nope not even a little. There is a lot of hopelessness and pain, however. A never-ending, recycling supply of sadness. Try to sleep. Pull knees to chest, much like an earthquake drill from grade school. Listen for soothing clanging of radiator. There is no clanging. Only the crackling sound of emo tears freezing against the face.

Step 2: Find the will to leave bed, which isn’t particularly warm, but warmer than the rest of the apartment. Turn on hot water for shower. Wait.

Step 3: Wait.

Step 4: Wait.

Step 5: Wait.

Step 6: There is something wrong. Water is not becoming hot. One might consider it “tepid,” but really, let’s be honest here. When performing a shower, there are only two temperatures. “Hot” and “not hot” which is basically “cold”. No one ever says, I can’t wait to take a tepid shower. You can take a hot one or a cold one, but a tepid one satisfies no one unless you enjoy taking a shower in your own urine, because that is how it feels. Anyway, it appears the hot water is not working.

Step 6: Give up. Turn off the faucet. The knob spins and spins, but water does not shut off tightly. The knob is broken. This happens occasionally, every few months. The super has replaced the knob and washers several times but eventually the knob gets stripped. First the hot knob, then the cold knob. Then the hot knob again. In this instance, it is the cold knob. Which wasn’t even turned on, and yet the knob is spinning around like a top. Sigh. The super will yell in some language. It does not sound Russian. Perhaps a cousin to Russian. Mostly it sounds like this: BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH I FIX LAST TIME BLAH BLAH WHY YOU BREAK BLAH BLAH BLAH. Explain that no, I did not break it. Why would I break a knob? There are better things to break. I do not stand there turning on the knob and then turning off the knob and then turning on the knob and then turning off the knob. Wee! This is fun! No. I do not do this. However, this explanation will be ignored. It will get fixed only temporarily. Then, few months later, it will happen again. It is a cycle. The vicious kind that breaks your heart, almost as bad as it was broken only the day prior with the untimely expiration of the cottage cheese.

Step 7: Go to work. Hair, a little greasy. Hands, very cold. Soul, very sad.

I think my cottage cheese has turned, even though it doesn’t expire until tomorrow. Tomorrow! I’ve been cheated! I had at least 24 hours to enjoy this cottage cheese. But no. They said, actually, you cannot enjoy this because it tastes like feet. It also smells like feet. Ergo, it is feet. Gross. Cottage cheese is one of those things that people find disgusting. I think it is tasty. But not when it smells like feet. I’m so confused. What do I do? You know, life is really hard sometimes. Sometimes you can’t eat cottage cheese.

Sometimes eating is a huge chore. I find lunch for the most part to be a giant chore. This is why I want food pellets. Or an IV, but that is kind of too much work. Food pellets are fine. Rabbits and hamsters get food pellets. Cats and dogs have kibble, which is kind of like pellets. And they all seemed to enjoy those things. So, I would like to enjoy those things. Pellets. For human consumption. I don’t even need flavors. I want like no flavor. Just pellets.

I spilled an entire bottle of water into my boot. What is my boot not doing on my foot, you ask? Well I came into the office and thought wow my boots are bothering me. Let me take them off and put on little slippers I keep at the office. Oh yes, I do that. If I’m going to be working for the man, then at least I should be comfortable, you feel me? So I put my boots aside and that is when the bottle of water fell into the boot. Now the boot is wet. Now Annie is sad. Seriously, I don’t know what to do to stop spilling stuff.

Someone, cut off my hands.

I have been watching the entire Planet Earth series. I can’t believe it has taken me this long to start watching it. I feel like a total loser. I am just way too late to get into the club and now I am sitting alone on a Saturday night, washing my tights in the sink. Anyway this series was genetically engineered for me. I sit there and watch it on my pathetic laptop, drool flowing out my mouth, and I say out loud HOLY SHIT. Literally, every two seconds, I am saying OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS IS SO AWESOME ARE YOU GUYS SEEING THIS? And I look over next to me and the chairs are empty because I am by myself. I am sure my neighbor is wanting me to shut my piehole big time. But hey, how about you stop wearing heels in the house and stop listening to Coldplay? Same album, always. The one that sounds like all the other ones.

Anyway my only problem with the series is the writing. They got unbelievable footage but it’s written by a seventh grader who looked up shit on Wikipedia. Part of the problem is that the subject area is very broad, so they mention broad facts that aren’t particularly novel, like 75% of Earth is covered by water! Like yes, dudes, we know. Anyway it could’ve been done so much better. They should’ve asked me to write this whole thing. I would’ve done it for free. FREE LABOR. YES, BBC, FREE. I WOULD EVEN PAY YOU. Call me. I think that will be my next career move. It’s pretty close to what I do for a living, kind of, not really.

So here are my recent favorites.

The plateau pika! Native to Tibet. It’s a relative of the rabbit. Think bunny with small ears. I WANT TO CUDDLE AND NUZZLE IT AND PUT IT IN MY POCKET. They get nice and fat and turn into a loaf of pika. The picture does not do it justice at all.

Here’s the thing that eats the pika, which is also ridiculous.

It’s a Tibetan fox. It has a square head and nice Asiany eyes. It is so dreamy. I can get lost in its eyes forever. Didn’t Eric Carmen right a song about that? I am positive it wants to sit at my feet and keep them warm. It might eat me, but that is the risk I am willing to take. After all, what is life without risks?

I am totally bored of monkeys. So boring. Sorry. People really like monkeys and I did like them, when I was like six and didn’t know better. Ha ha ha, no really. I got bored of them. But then they filmed 150 chimps invading another troop’s territory and then the chimps cannibalized their enemies. Oh yes. Monkeys not so cute now, are they? I don’t mind the cannibalization actually, it is neither here nor there to me, but one of them busted out with a patch of flesh which was basically the face so it got all Silence of the Lambs for a little bit. Sweet. Real life always wins over Sir Anthony Hopkins.

I always root for the predator. Always. They were interviewing this cameraman about how he felt so sad that this shark or seal was going to town on these cute penguins. And I was like listen, penguins entire philosophy is safety in numbers. And while they are cute and blah blah blah I do not like groupthink dynamics. Same with when this tiger was going to town on this mountain goat thing. I’m like dude. There are like six tigers left. Shut up and let her eat. Why must people root for the underdog? As far as I’m concerned if there are only six of you left, you get to eat whatever you want. I kept on going EAT IT EAT IT! GO GET IT! And the narrator was all feeling sad for some gazelle or bison calf. I guess what I mean to say is that I am very verbal when I watch this stuff. Like the way my dad yells at the TV when he’s watching baseball. Yes, I know yelling will not help anything, but guess what? Shut up.

My co-worker just sent me this.

I posted over at Emeco, the fancy chair people. They should just change their name to that. Fancy Chair People. So much better than A Place for Your Buttocks. You can read it here. Thanks to everyone who submitted photos of their chairs long, long ago. I realize I couldn’t use all the chair photos that were sent to me, so I had to carefully select them. You may be able to guess whose chair belongs to who. Or, you might not. It’s hard to say. Chairs are very mysterious things.

Now I must decide on what chair to get. I should probably continue the stacking chair collection, since they make great kitchen chairs. I don’t know if you guys know this, but I spill a lot (HAHAHA) so getting a non-porous material is highly necessary. But I love the Nine-0 by Sottsass, It is rowr. They have it at Design Within Reach and all I wanted to do was sit in it and poke customers with a stick. I love poking people with sticks. If you ever see me carrying a stick you should run away because I will seriously poke the living crap out of you. It is so empowering. Poke, poke. Anyway I’ve been trying to bid on the old Sottsass typewriters from Ebay for a long time and always some buttwipe steals it from me. Everyone on Ebay is a buttwipe except for me. I also like the Norman Foster one and the Superlight by Gehry. He is SUCH a douche but I like the chair. You are probably wondering where I put all my chairs. That is a good question. I’m about to hang them from the ceiling, like a mobile, or mount them on the wall. It could be kind of cool actually. But, like, totally stupid. I need to get a grown-up’s apartment. Maybe I will “lend” them out to friends, but they have to do the Moma thing where they put up a placard about whose house it came from. Whose house? Run’s house, obviously.

Also, finally, thank you for all the get well wishes. I have eaten a container of soup, it has remained in the belly. I’ve moved on to pretzels. Also chocolate covered raisins so it looks like the bitch is back. I think I lost a little weight so I have a lot of ground to make up. I want french fries. If you are a french fry you should probably stay away from me.

This morning, I eat oatmeal. I think there is no possible way my tummy will protest. Oatmeal is chewable water. I get the oatmeal. I eat the oatmeal. It is surprisingly delicious. I think oh yes. This is food. I am enjoying it.

Then the tummy hurts. I am displeased. But I soldier on with my day.

Later I get vegetable sushi. I think well this is rice and cucumbers. It is about as mild as if gets without being oatmeal. I eat it and decide no, no this won’t work at all. I can’t eat it. It does not taste good. My tummy believes it is poison. It says no thanks. Please send this back to the kitchen this won’t do at all. I am hungry and I cannot eat. This is basically my hell. I am usually an eating machine. So when the machine breaks, I am sad. Very sad. I cry emo tears. Emo tears of hunger. I wonder if people will start raising money to feed me. Probably not.

Later a coworker offers me a potato chip. I eat it.

IT IS GLORIOUS.

Salty. Crunchy. Delicious. It becomes clear quickly that I will house her whole bag. So a coworker buys me my a bag. It is my destiny. I eat it. No tummy ache. So salty. So crunchy. It is what I need. I am happy. I have found something that agrees

And then I get a tummy ache. I get ginger ale. I try to hide my emo tears.

It is dinner. I am hungry. There is a large group of people. They want pizza. I say ok. On a normal day, pizza is my death. My kryptonite. I cannot eat it without feeling some form of regret. Cheese is a real ballbreaker of a friend. I get a salad. But the pizza calls to me. It says eat me. I am delicious. I can be yours forever. I try to resist. I eat my salad. It is a salad, not a pizza. So obviously not a pizza. So I eat a small slice.

I have lost this battle. It was a horrible choice I made. Imagine you swallowed a grizzly bear whole. Imagine now the grizzly bear does not like being in your tummy. Now imagine it trying to claw out. It Is like a reverse Little Red Riding Hood.

It will not have a happy ending.

It is however a great way to lose weight.

I just had my first meal in twenty hours. I had toast. Toast is always so friendly and kind and loving. It appears to be staying inside my body so far. This can change. Things change.

Yesterday I had mentioned that I had returned to the living. Well guess what?I was lying. I am a liar. My pants are on fire. Sue me. As soon as I wrote that I got a crazy fever and passed out. And then I tried to eat something which only succeeded in making me totes nosh, as the kids say. I am miserable. I want to die again. My stomach feels like something is clawing its way out. I do believe I have pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicavolcanoconeosis. That’s a real disease. It’s fatal. Side effects include dry mouth and uncontrollable high fiving. My goose is cooked.

OK everyone, I am alive. I apologize for being away. I didn’t mean to hurt you, to leave you like that. I didn’t mean to make you feel so sad and empty and alone. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I definitely didn’t want you to write all that poetry. I really didn’t want you to do that. Listen, I was sick. I wanted to die. I was in Austin. My time there was ruined in many ways. I lost a lot of weight. Through my nose. My stomach is still debating with me. It says, you want cheese and crackers? You sure that is a good idea? Because I’m going to be honest with you, I do not like cheese and crackers. I will make it painfully obvious to you about ten to fifteen minutes after eating it, but hey, you eat what you want. I’m not the boss of you. So go ahead. I dare you. And then I say, no YOU’RE the dick, stomach, and then I eat my cheese and I eat my crackers and then feel sad for ever living.

So what is my current mood?

DISCO.

That is my current mood. I am very much into this Hercules and Love Affair business. I thank Erin for this. I thank Erin for many things, but above all, I thank her for disco. All the other shit she’s done for me? Like help me or whatever? All that is totally stupid compared to the power of disco. So what I’m saying here is that if it’s not disco, I am not interested. I am now downloading all kinds of disco. Oh yes. Disco. I am not ashamed. I also want to be in a disco band. It will be named “Poetry about Friendship.” We will wear shiny pants. It will just be me and Aidan. He plays everything and looks good in shiny pants. Or maybe we will call ti “Shiny Pants.” But that seems totally excessive and obvious.