This is total bullshit, people. I am very cross. Also I sound like Kathleen Turner. When I talk, her voice comes out, which is weird because I’m not Kathleen Turner, but there she is. Also I want to add “darling” to the end of everything. Because it sounds right in that voice. “Give me my soup, darling” or “My cough medicine smells like a jock strap, darling.”

Ricola gives you bad breath. This is what I’ve discovered. Being sick, also gives you bad breath. SO it’s like a double layer of awesome. Awesome, stuffed inside something rad.

Double Stuff Oreos to me are foul. If they wanted double the awesome, they would have 4 cookies and no white stuff, all in a sandwich. They would magically stick together somehow, I dunno how. That’s not for me to figure out.

Man this is like a blog entry with a random string of feverish rants.

Crocodile.

See? Now it doesn’t make sense.

Apron.

I think I had mentioned that a lesson learned was to GET DELIVERY when YOU ARE EFFING SICK, instead of going to the grocery store like you are some kind of superhero.

So I did.

I got delivery from a place I always get. I got what I always get, which are veggie balls (heh I said balls). They are spicy. Spicy is good. Veggie balls are good. Food is good. Right? NO.

I bit into a veggie ball and got…A BOLT.

HOLY. SHIT. Seriously. Those are my veggie balls (heh I keep saying balls). That is a BOLT. Luckily I did not bite ON the bolt. It went into my facehole, and then immediately sunk to the bottom of my mouth and I thought…hmm…what is this thing. Is it a rock? NO. IT’S A BOLT.

So the good news is that it wasn’t rusty. The bad news WAS THAT IT WAS IN MY VEGGIE BALLS.

So I called the manager, who was so apologetic and very sweet and made ammends. And I’ll keep ordering from this place again, but I was like “you know, these things happen…I guess.” So he says,

“I know this is going to sound weird, but…can you give me the bolt?”
“What?”
“Do you still have it? I want to show the kitchen.”
“Yeah sure, but…it was in my mouth, is that OK?”
“I don’t care where it’s been. This should not have happened.”

So, I wrapped it up in plastic wrap. You know. To go. He sent over a delivery person to pick up the bolt.

But, hey, good news, I’m still sick.

My ass still hurts.

Also there is an emergency in the House of Choi.

I am out of Kleenex.

But, Annie, you ask, why don’t you use toilet paper.

I did, but I buy cheap toilet paper because I have a cheap toilet and old pipes. I mean how hard is it to make a toilet that works? You press a lever, and shit goes down the hole. Literally. But you’d be surprised. Anyway, I buy the cheap stuff so it will go better down the hole (toilet hole, not..butt hole). So when I use it to blow my nose, I get shredded bits of toilet paper on my face. Like a toilet paper beard, which is really a great way to meet the hotties. It’s an icebreaker. “Nice beard” “Thanks! Hey, let’s do it.”

Here’s how I feel.

I was feeling hungry. So I said to myself, dude it’s Tuesday. You have not left this house since SUNDAY afternoon. It is time to join the living. Also my apartment is quite small, so imagine if you had stayed in your bedroom for 48 hours and didn’t leave. Hopefully your bedroom has a bathroom. But you get the picture. It sucks. Cabin fever in addition to swine flu-slash-throat gonorrhea. No good, boss.

So I left to go to the grocery store for soup. This grocery store is several blocks away. I got the soup and a half gallon of juice (no not Jews, juice) and pasta sauce and somehow that all cost $26. NYC does not care if you are sick. It just wants to eat your money and nosh on your soul until you are like those fried chicken bones you always see on the subway, Jesus people, you should clean up after yourself, that shit would NOT fly in the House of Choi.

So anyway I’m walking home and it is clear I should have opted to eat something lighter because I’m too weak to hold my bags. So I stop on a bench to rest like a block from my apartment and now I am writing this.

I am sick.

Lesson for the kids: Always get delivery.

I am sick. I don’t know if I have swine flu, but I do know that my throat feels like it has gonorrhea. That means I have all the drawbacks of gonorrhea without any of the fun that gave it to me in the first place. Har har har. So maybe I don’t have swine flu, but something just as bad. Seriously, I’m a wreck. Last night I busted out MY WINTER COAT. You know, the puffy one–the one that looks like a sleeping bag except it has sleeves– because I was FREEZING. And then, like twenty minutes later, I stripped down to t shirt and shorts and I broke out in a sweat. My entire body feels sore, arms, legs, back, neck, EVERYTHING. Like my ASS is sore, people. How does your ASS get sore when you have a cold? It doesn’t even make sense. If any of you are doctors or nurses, please let me know. Also give me drugs. Make this all go away.

The sore throat thing is a real bummer because it prevents me from eating, something I enjoy doing and do often. Now I’m drinking juice and eating oatmeal. Which is fine for a snack. But I really want some kind of something with melted cheese on it. Cheese? Delicious. MELTED CHEESE? Even better. Why do you think that is? I don’t know. Bah. I hurt, guys. I really hurt.

I’m pretty sure I got sick from going to Ikea. That place is like death. The good news is that I have a new pillow and a bunch of crap I don’t need.

Yours truly is going to PARIS AND BERLIN omfggggblarrgghhhh! Over Thanksgiving. I have like, ten million miles on American and decided to CASH THAT SHIT IN and be a total winner. In addition, I will hopefully go to Hawaii in January to visit Mr. Pony, ALSO ON MY MILES. CASH IT, beeyorch! (Pony, I expect all my meals to come in a coconut, even though I’m allergic. I like the festive nature of coconuts.) This is going to be good.

So, friends, you are all jet-setting individuals. You have active passports, and if your passport is like mine, you look like a foot soldier of a drug cartel. I need some kind of hotel situation for Paris. I would LIKE to pay less than 100 euros, though, I do not want to get gonorrhea from the sheets. Ideally we’re talking 80 euro range. Ideally I would also like the shower/WC to be IN the room because, you know what? I’m a grown-up. I want the grown-up things that grown-ups get and deserve. But I do not want to pay grown-up prices, because money does not grow on trees, which is something only a grown-up would say. But there you have it.

I found a hotel that is in that range and the reviews are SO mixed I don’t know if I want to RISK IT. In its reviews the words “SCAM” and “CLEAN” and “GREAT LOCATION” and “NEVER GOING BACK” are all used. Confusion! I am a woman of RISK, yes, and a woman of ADVENTURE and perhaps MYSTERY, but I rather not get gonorrhea from the sheets. I rather get gonorrhea the old-fashioned way. By riding BART. WTF, San Francisco? Upholstery AND carpet on public transportation? Shame on you. I was considering renting an apartment in Paris, but that seems riské too. Listen, I don’t know French so I do not know how to spell Frahnch words like riské. Risque? Hahah Lobster Risque.

I would also, of course, love to hear your recommendations in the Paris and Berlin area, including vittles, shopping, and BEER and WINE and other grown-up things. I think I will eat my way across Paris. It’s going to be disgusting. I will disgust myself.

So thank you friends. And also? I’m going to Paris! Berlin!

I read this article about how teachers are using Skype to connect their classes with authors and holding Q&A sessions. This is something I would’ve KILLED for in high school and college! Can you imagine? My brain would’ve exploded all over the place. Anyway I think this is an incredible idea, and I love talking to students. It kind of combines what I do for a paycheck (doing educational tech stuff) and what I do in life (pretending to be a writer). If you are an educator and want to organize something with me, I’d be more than happy to oblige! Email me for details.

<——— There’s a link somewhere over there.

I’m here blogging live again from San Francisco International Airport. My plane isn’t here and I’m supposed to be in the air right now, but a lady has told me we will still make it to NYC on time. She is OBVIOUSLY A LIAR. That is what SFO is filled with: lies and tears. There’s also a Starbucks. There’s also a couple seriously necking in the corner. Pretty gross. Like dudes. Come on. I think he’s going to swallow her face, I’m a little worried.

In other news, I ate a burrito yesterday. I remember it like it was yesterday.

The wedding was great and now there’s one more to go and then I AM NEVER GOING TO ONE EVER AGAIN. Ok fine. I’m lying. But that’s what happens when you are at San Francisco International Airport. Lies. So many lies. I can’t take it anymore.

I am really looking forward to sitting on a plane riding in the bitch seat. For six hours.

Hint: that was another LIE!! I’m out of control!!! Oh dear god no!!!