Archive: not raging

THANK YOU, MYSTERIOUS PERSON

I’D LIKE TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING. THIS IS A PICTURE OF THE WATER COOLER IN MY OFFICE.

I think it’s juice? Tea? I have NO idea. What makes that color even? It looks like the water cooler had its PERIOD all over the place. It’s disgusting. And whoever did it is certainly NOT going to clean it up. Especially since I just yelled at the entire floor for being fucking disgusting. So no one’s gonna own to that. Not after me going OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? FUCKING CLEAN YOUR SHIT UP.

This is like only marginally better than the Lady Who Pees All Over the Seat. The big difference, other than urine, is that the LWPAOtS doesn’t work in the same office. This MYSTERIOUS PERSON WHO PUT THE WATER COOLER ON THE RAG is someone I see every day. Dude. I’m going to scream.

Maybe it’s Haterade.

Happy Birthday to my Mother

It’s my mom’s birthday today. Part me was like, hey, what if I “forgot” her birthday and didn’t call? What would that be like? But I called her anyway and bid her birthday wishes because what if I didn’t call her? I kind of don’t want to know. I understand that knowing is half the battle, but the other half of the battle might be really fucked up. Scary even. Like, for example, I used to go to this bar a lot in my neighborhood. The same bartender has been there FOREVER. This older gentleman with a big beer gut. Totally acceptable bartender. He’s no Mr. Friendly but he’s no Colonel Asshole either. Anyway so I’ve been going to this place for years and years and then one night I’m there with friends, and JoMo goes to the bathroom and comes out with this horrified expression.

First of all, let me explain that this particular bathroom in this particular place is not what I’d call sanitary. Is it the worst bathroom ever? No. I have been in worse bathrooms, of course. One lady had said it was the grossest bathroom she had ever seen, but she was from California so I cut her some slack. In California bathrooms literally clean themselves. As for this bar’s bathroom: I’d say that it is clean enough by NY standards, but those standards are dangerously low.

So anyway JoMo explained that the bartender was in the bathroom too, had taken a whiz, and didn’t wash his hands, and then went straight back to work and fixed someone’s drink. So he rubs his pee hands all over a glass and rubs his pee hands all over the beer tap and then hands the pee beer with his pee hands to a person who then drank from the pee glass and said, thanks buddy, and left a tip. Then this guy was, you know, high-fiving people all night.

So that killed the place for me. See? In that particular case, I was better off NOT knowing half the battle. Obviously I had been going there for years and years and this man had essentially been pissing in my mouth for years and years. I mean sure he didn’t piss directly into my face hole, but there was residual pee on his hands so if you add it all up over the past 8 years I’ve been going there, this bartender has taken a really satisfying and luxurious pee in my mouth.

So now when I see this bartender, I just see two urinals for his hands. I was happier before, when I had no idea he was whizzing in my mouth. So what I mean to say is that I wished my mother a very happy birthday because I did not want her to pee in my mouth.

MOUSEWATCH:2010 ALL CAPS EDITION

FRIENDS.

WHILST VACUUMING THE MOUSE SLIPPED PAST ME AND WENT UNDERNEATH MY BED. MY BED! ALSO YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT I TOTALLY SCREAMED MY HEAD OFF.

I AM GOING TO LINE MY APARTMENT WITH STICKY TRAPS. AND, IN ADDITION, I WILL PUT MOUSE TRAPS ON TOP OF THE STICKY TRAPS. BECAUSE I AM A VERY THOROUGH PERSON.

The Return.

Hey friends,

Things got a little sad for the past two weeks or so, but now I am back and better. For those of you who do not know: a friend from college passed away and then a co-worker also passed away. Two separate incidences that happened more or less within 48 hours of each other. It’s been sad. But, things are better. For the record, I am glad February is over because it is truly a bullshit stupid month.

The last time I saw Peter was at my friend’s wedding. He showed up in Rhode Island without a hotel, because why would he bother with a hotel? Classic Peter. Just show up and it will work out. People will take care of you. It is like 50% sweet and 50% pure annoyance because I am more or less the opposite. I had my hotel reservation for like…six months. I am all organized n’ shit. So he and my friend Don (who also did not bother with a hotel because, let’s face it, only one person in a group needs to be organized, everyone else can just chill and hit the bong or whatever) crashed with me and Rosalyne and Peter spent all night snoring something FIERCE (like fierce in a bad way, not fierce in a fabulous, Lady Gaga in a camel-toe-leotard way) and in the middle of the night, Don punches him and says PETE YOU ARE FUCKING SNORING and Pete says, “What? What do you want me to do about it?” All indignant. And guess what? He was right. What the fuck is he supposed to do about it? It was a golden moment. But, in addition, I wanted to kill him because seriously, he snored SO LOUD it is like a pile driver in your earholes. I should also mention that Rosalyne snores too so it was like snoring in STEREO. I had to roll Rosalyne over on her side at one point. Like an infant. Then Pete woke up and made himself a bloody mary. Again, classic Peter. He was like, do you want some, and I was like uh I just brushed my teeth, dude.

Also, I should mention that Peter’s favorite book was HAWAII by James Michener. It is probably the worst book ever written. Seriously. You read the first paragraph and you are like WTF this is pure CRAP. I can shit a better book than this. I don’t even know how many times he read it. He would finish the last page, and then start right back at the first page, cigarette dangling form his lips, with an ash about an inch long. Worst. Book. Ever. At first I thought he loved it ironically. But then I realized he actually truly, madly, deeply loved the book. I want to say it’s about indigenous Hawaiians and maybe some white people come along and fall in love with some kind of Hawaiian and maybe there’s some kind of war with the natives? I don’t even know. All I know is that the book is about Hawaii and does not feature Magnum P.I. so I was not interested. But now I feel like I should read it. He would be so proud of me if I read it. But I would also hate him for it. Which, knowing Peter, he would also like.

So thank you Peter. It was truly an honor, and there are many people who will miss you. You should know that. I’m sure you do not give a shit, because that is your nature, but you know, people miss you. No, no, no! YOU shut up! My love to Eunice and his family. I’m not sure how a family recovers from something like this, honestly, but it will happen. It has to.

As for my co-worker, Naomi, she was battling cancer for a long time. What’s surprising was how strong she was. She just was always together. Like hey, this thing I have, whatever. I will beat it maybe, or maybe I won’t. But I’m just going to live a normal life and meet deadlines, checking email while getting her treatments. It’s crazy. If I were in her position, I probably would’ve bawled my eyes out and then really hammed it up so people would bring me ice cream. That is how I roll, sue me. Naomi and her husband have one of those relationships that make you realize that relationships can actually work. Truly one of those ‘love of my life’ connections and you are surprised because it’s so rare to see that now. But, she laid out what she wanted, and everyone carried it out. She made things easy. I missed the funeral service because I was in California for Peter’s. There’s nothing like missing one funeral because of another. But, I heard it was beautiful and fitting for someone so beautiful. So thank you, Naomi, it has been an honor. Tell Peter I said hi and to shut up.

So friends, I thank you for all your support.

And, in other news, my neighbors are still naked. I am now leaving my curtains OPEN in the hope that they will SEE ME and realize OH SHIT SHE CAN SEE ME and then get curtains that actually work. But so far this plan has severely backfired. The other night, the girl was BUTT NAKED and sitting on her futon and she was FIGHTING with her boyfriend, who was fully clothed. I am not entirely sure how you even get into a fight with a naked girl. Like you must have done something really, really wrong for that to happen. I was confused. But also, she does not know how to use her indoor voice. So she was just yelling and quite frankly, it was kind of shrill. Too shrill to make out separate words. I can only imagine what it is like inside their apartment.

Then she storms out, and soon after the dude drops his trousers, scratches his nuts and talks on the phone.

That is when I decided to close my curtains.

I guess officially I am spying on them, but DUDES THAT IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DO NOT HAVE CURTAINS.

I cannot believe I am still sick.

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.

Bolt!

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.

EF U FLU

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.

STILL SICK OMG

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.

ON FIRE!

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.

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS MYSTERY.

MY APARTMENT SMELLS LIKE VOMIT. I DID NOT VOMIT. HOWEVER, IT SMELLS LIKE VOMIT, IT IS A MYSTERY. I MUST WRITE IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE ONE CANNOT DISCUSS MYSTERIES WITHOUT WRITING IN ALL CAPS.

FOR EXAMPLE, WHICH IS MORE MYSTERIOUS:

Who really killed John F. Kennedy?

OR

WHO REALLY KILLED JOHN F. KENNEDY?

SEE THE SECOND OPTION IS MUCH MORE MYSTERIOUS. IT MAKES ME WANT TO SOLVE THE MYSTERY SO IT IS NO LONGER A MYSTERY AND ONLY FACT.

THIS BRINGS ME BACK TO THE ORIGINAL POINT, WHICH IS, WHY DOES MY APARTMENT SMELL LIKE VOMIT IF I AM THE ONLY ONE HERE AND I, IN FACT, DID NOT VOMIT.

I CANNOT FIND THE SOURCE. THUMBS DOWN SITUATION. ALSO MYSTERIOUS SITUATION.