I went to the dentist yesterday about my toof. Turns out I needed a crown. Turns out this little crown costs EIGHT HUNDRED UNITED STATES DOLLARS. This is WITH insurance. WITH!!! I was like just pull the whole thing out and my dentist laughed and I was like no really, I’m serious and he was like no really, it’s eight hundred. If you want you can pay for half now.

Great. How convenient. Pay FOUR HUNDRED now and in two weeks pay another FOUR HUNDRED. Because in just two weeks my entire financial situation will change! In two weeks I’ll be all, ONLY four hundred? Shit, I could pay you NINE HUNDRED just because you’re such a nice guy. So anyway, what am I gonna do? Put it on the card.

So then he was like it’s probably time to replace this old silver filling you have in the back because there might be a cavity under there it’s hard to say, and since you are already Novacained up, I can go ahead and replace it. (I got that thing when I was like seven). And I’m like shit but that’s another THREE HUNDRED! I have to WAIT. Or else I’ll be pouring my entire paycheck into my mouth, and yet somehow NOT in my stomach which is where it usually goes (I eat a lot for a small person) or to my APT which is where it SHOULD go.

So now I have a temporary crown and my mouth and gums are kind of sore. They took a molar, grinded it down to a little nub and then put a fake crown on top of it while the real thing gets cast in porcelain or whatever. I haven’t felt like eating, which is really sad. I am an eating machine! I am always hungry. The first thing out of my mouth is almost always: dude, you hungry? I dunno I require more food than most humans. It’s because RAGING is energy-intensive. Or I’m just grossly inefficient at processing food, like a panda. Anyway I can’t chew on my left side so only the right side of my mouth will be having Thanksgiving dinner. I’m going to Perry Street. It will be douchetastic and “pretensh” but delicious (for the right side at least).

Yay and boo.

I am officially on staycation! It is the second best kind of vacation. Vacation is obviously the best kind vacation, but a staycation is not that bad. I am here, blogging live from my apartment in New York City. I have already vacuumed and mopped. I have cleaned the bathroom. I have washed the dishes. I had a Very Satisfying Cleaning Experience where I took the hose attachment out and vacuumed the wall moldings. Oh yes. That is what I did. It was maximum satisfaction, just like a Snickers bar or whatever. Seriously, I had a little vacuum woody I was so excited. Then I vacuumed behind the heater. It was like a graveyard of dust bunnies. I could’ve made a sweater out of that shit. I was scared of it and yet highly satisfied at the same time. Hmm what now? I am downloading music. I am purchased clothing from online stores. I am drinking coffee. I am looking for a new apartment on Craiglist like I do every week and like every week, I am not finding anything.

It is a truly glorious day already.

Except for the fact that I have a CAVITY!!!!!!!

OMFG. My tooth is screaming at me. It is calling me horrible things. It is calling my mother horrible things. Every time I drink something hot or cold or basically drink anything wet it gives me the big finger and then clocks me in the jaw. I want to drill that shit out myself but instead I am going to the dentist tomorrow. My dentist’s office pumps in Cher and Britney and George Michael remixes and my (gay) dentist totally sings along as he drills the crap out of my mouth. It is painful on many different levels, but fun in a strange way. If you guys need a dentist, my dentist is the jam. Cher comes free with the cleaning. You also get a toothbrush. Come for the toothbrush, stay for the Cher, that is what my mom always says.

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.

I got in late last night, special thanks to Roz and Chris for picking me up in beautiful Newark Liberty International Airport. On a side note, I love that Jersey tries to sneak in “liberty” wherever they can. Liberty! As in Statue of Liberty! Liberty Deli! Liberty Cafe! Like, dude, Statue of Liberty is ours! Technically Statue of Liberty doesn’t belong to either New York or New Jersey. But it’s in the New York Harbor so maybe Jersey gets annoyed that people associate it with New York and they get nothing but Atlantic City and, uh, Newark airport and the turnpike. Aw, Jersey.

Anyway on the flight back I was sitting behind this woman with three kids, in one row. So a baby was on her lap. One of the kids, maybe five, had a bottle of soda. And was shaking it. So the mom says, hey, don’t open that because it’ll get everywhere. What does the kid do?

He opens it.

Soda goes everywhere. I’m a sticky mess for four hours and it’s all over my computer and somehow soda gets inside my purse. Like I dunno how that managed to happen. I was like, filled with rage. First of all, why are you giving your KID SODA. It’s horrible for adults, even worse for children. And there’s nothing like getting a kid hopped up on sugar hooch on a four-hour flight. Yes that will make the flight totally awesome for you, for your kid, and for everyone on the plane. Second of all, if you see your kid shaking a bottle of soda, don’t you think you should, maybe, take it away from him? I mean she warned him so she did foresee at least something happening, right? Also, the kid was totally bored out of his mind. I mean it’s hard for adults to sit through a flight, but kids need like books and crayons and card games and all this stuff to keep them busy and have some fun. Clearly the kid was bored and was acting out, punching the seat in front of him and pushing every button. I mean the mom was trying and obviously had her hands full, so I felt sorry for her but the kid needed like stimulation. You cannot tell a kid to sit quietly for four hours. You can’t even tell me to do that. Ugh. Anyway it was an awful flight. The guy behind me was really into talking about how he was a magician and grew up in carnie sideshows. He had a handlebar moustache and smelled like sweaty pee. He had a little Barbie doll arm in his pocket and kept on holding it up and asking if people needed “a hand.” Which was funny, like, once. Anyway maybe I was grouchy but actually even if I was in the best mood ever I think I would’ve felt the same.

Also, another sidenote, a week ago I was going to yoga and hanging out in front of the building with a friend. And we are looking at the cutest dog ever, and then this other cute dog comes by with its owner and the dogs are playing around. Cuteness explosion. We are staring at the dogs and I look up at the owners and I realize one is Tony Soprano, i.e. James Gandalfini. And then the other dog mounts his dog and I’m like dude! OMG! Tony’s dog’s getting action in the back section! And then the owner of the other dog looks up and finally it dawns on her it’s Tony Soprano and she does this double-take and lunges for her dog and shoos him off. Pretty funny exchange I have to say. She apologizes and Gandalfini is like whatever. SO then, of course, as she’s walking away she busts out with her phone and starts texting furiously. Her dog just tried to get mad play with Tony Soprano’s dog. Dog’s gonna get whacked. A+

I learned a very important lesson today.

Making internets is hard work.

I just spent half the day trying to figure out why something doesn’t work. Then while tracking down the problem, I found another problem. And then while figuring out that problem, I found another problem, and then another one. Then all of the sudden I look up and it’s past 3:00 and I have many problems, no solutions, and I have nothing to show for my day other than IM transcripts of me yelling OH GOOD GRAVY WTF I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. There are also IM transcripts of me wanting to throw various objects that are heavy and dense in nature and also emails that have a lot of questions and many curse words. Very unladylike and for this I apologize. But not really. It is one of those fake apologies. Sorry for interrupting you while you are youtubing, but I have a question. You know that kind of apology.

Sometimes when you are making tubes, stuff happens and you cannot make the tubes. The internets become broked. Tubes! Where are the tubes! I do not know! You become sad. You wonder why you even bother. You become, perhaps, a little desperate. A little ragey.

One problem I figured out had to do with the lack of a letter ‘s’. Something did not have an ‘s’. It caused carnage. I am surrounded by puppies and giant pandas and wombats, all headless. I see some innards laying about casually. So, everyone, please mind your s’s because they are very dangerous. They are deadly and violent. S, I hate you. I had a problem, now I have problems. See what you do?

I have a headache.
I have a wicked headache.
Not wicked as in cool,
but wicked as in bad.
And not bad as in good,
But bad as in bad.
Not bad as in Michael Jackson,
But bad as in Michael Jackson.
You get me?
This is the part where I curl up under my desk with my binky and not answer my phone. And then ultimately my coworkers will find me under my desk and I have to pretend I am fiddling with cables or something. Oh hey, I have another USB slot here, etc.

I have just trapped a spider underneath a glass because I did not have the cojones (ballz) or the cajones (drawerz) to kill it. I’m not sure what to do with it. I am considering my options. It is not a large spider, but it is not a small spider. For example, I see that there’s a little blue spot on the spider. Interesting, very curious. No doubt it is poisonous and will kill me and small children and puppies. However, it is not hairy, which is a plus. But now it is under a glass. I am looking at it. Hello, spider, I’m sorry. Also, you have many legs.

This is a very similar situation to the cockroach I found in the bathtub a month ago. I put a piece of Tupperware over it and also considered my options. My options consisted of calling up various friends to “take care of the situation.” Eventually it was JoMo who “took care of it.” He said it was dead already but I assured him it was very, very alive when I trapped it under the Tupperware. So I guess Tupperware does not really keep things fresh. Something to consider when you are in the market for Tupperware. Anyway this spider is very much in an alive state of being, and I am once again, considering my options.

On Friday night I had drinks with a big group (read: architects) to honor Troy who was leaving OMA and heading off to teach at Rice. I think eight or nine offices were represented. At some point Troy tried to count but he was too wasted and got confused and then someone handed him a beer and he was not confused anymore. That is a good tactic. If someone is confused at work, hand him or her a beer. Suddenly, everything is clear. I’m telling you, it’s magic. Anyway that’s totally beside the point. We were drinking and dining al fresco, which is a fancy way of saying “eat and drink outside and watch Annie get eaten alive by mosquitoes.” Note that no one else got bit. I have no idea how this works, but I got something like eleven bites all over my legs.

So here is something interesting: mosquitoes feed mostly on nectar, but females are the ones that bite and feed on blood because they need the extra protein and iron to lay eggs. What I’m trying to say here is that the bitches are the ones causing problems and getting out of pocket. Also what I’m trying to say here is that the bitches love me. I need pants made out of Calamine lotion.

So last night I saw this amazing apartment in Greenwich Village. It was in a MEWS! Like a carriage house behind the actual apartment building that is on the street. Very cute. Gardens on both sides! 300 sq ft! It was an illegal sublet but whatever. Anyway I was really into it and the guy renting it seemed really excited about me and I was filled with….hope. For the first time ever. Hope. It feels a little strange and I didn’t realize what it was. And then I figured it out later. Hope. It kind of feels warm and fuzzy, but also sparkley. You know like fairies and ponies and unicorns, shit like that.

And then he told me he had to go with the first person who looked at the apartment. Which was not me. I was crushed by hope. This must be what Hillary feels like. Beat by hope. Bleah. I’m right back where I started. I’m never feeling any hope ever again. EVER. It sucks.