GUESS WHAT IS IN THE CONTAINER?

HINT: IT IS AS BIG AS MY FINGER AND HAS THREE (3) TIMES AS MANY LEGS AS I DO.

HINT: IT IS A FILTHY DISGUSTING VILE PEST THAT LIVES IN SHIT AND GARBAGE AND ALSO APPARENTLY IN MY KITCHEN.

HINT: IT KIND OF LOOKS LIKE A DRIED DATE.

HINT: I MEANT DATE THE FRUIT, NOT DATE, LIKE THE HOTTIE YOU ARE MEETING TONIGHT AND GOING OUT FOR DRINKS AND DANCING.

HINT: NO ONE REALLY DOES DRINKS AND DANCING ANYMORE, SOUNDS KIND OF OLD FASHIONED. LIKE HEY LET’S GO CUT A RUG!

HINT: THESE DAYS KIDS ARE MORE LIKE YO LET’S GO TO A RAVE.

HINT: OK KIDS DON’T REALLY SAY THAT UNLESS THE KIDS ARE LIVING IN 1994. HONESTLY, I’M NOT SURE WHAT KIDS DO THESE DAYS. THEY PROBABLY DO TWEET UPS OR SOMETHING. I DUNNO. THAT’S NOT REALLY THE PROBLEM RIGHT NOW.

HINT: THE PROBLEM IS THE THING THAT I TRAPPED IN THIS CONTAINER BECAUSE I WAS TOO SCARED TO DESTROY IT. IT’S THE HARD CANDY SHELL AND THE JUICY CENTER THAT IS THE PROBLEM.

HINT: OMFG IT WAS CRAWLING ALL OVER MY OLIVE OIL WHICH IS SERIOUSLY MAKING ME WANT TO THROW THE WHOLE BOTTLE OUT EVEN THOUGH IT IS BRAND NEW, DON’T WORRY I WILL JUST DISINFECT IT WITH BLEACH WHICH WILL PROBABLY RUIN THE OLIVE OIL.

HINT: YES I’M A BIG FAT BABY CHICKEN WHEN IT COMES TO THIS SHIT, BUT DUDES, IT IS BIGGER THAN MY FINGER. HOW CAN YOU KILL SOMETHING THAT IS BIGGER THAN YOUR FINGER? I THINK IT WAS SMILING AT ME AND DID THE CABBAGE PATCH.

HINT: I GUESS THE ROACH IS AS OLD AS I AM. NO ONE DOES THE CABBAGE PATCH ANYMORE. ANYONE WHO KNOWS HOW TO DO THE CABBAGE PATCH IS PROBABLY DEAD OR IN JAIL.

HINT: SHITBALLS, I THINK IT JUST VOGUED.

I am not sure what do with this. It is…a situation.

Today is Memorial Day. I have been memorializing all weekend, let me tell you. Yesterday, friends and I went to the park, and I memorialized JoMo’s trip to Modell’s to purchase a badminton set, and memorialized JoMo’s seemingly simple and yet overly complicated set-up of the badminton net, and then memorialized Marco and JoMo’s game of badminton and then memorialized Lizzard and Stephanie’s badminton game. It was a lot of work, all that memorializing. I was so busy memorializing on the picnic blanket that I didn’t have time to play badminton, with all that bread and cheese and strawberries I had to eat. Really tough work, you guys. So tough. I should get a medal for all the work I did. You guys should be memorializing me because honestly, I really ate the shit out of those strawberries. I should get credit for that. A medal even. A certificate of participation. Anything.

Anyway today is about memorializing my shitty apartment and cleaning the shit out of it. So, I cleaned the windows. The last time I did this, we had a different president. Anyway, I realized a few things.

1. Windows get really dirty. I know this comes to a surprise to many of you. Hah.

2. When you clean windows everything in your home looks a lot brighter.

3. When you clean windows and these windows happen to be in a shitty apartment, it makes your shitty apartment look even shittier.

So my conclusion is this: if you live in a shitty apartment, don’t clean your windows.

Finally, I’m memorializing the horrible event that unfolded on Friday. I was making simple syrup-that’s when you take equal parts sugar and water and then simmer it. Well, I set the pot on the stove, turned on the burner, AND THEN LEFT THE HOUSE.

FOR ALMOST TWO HOURS.

The pot did NOT catch on fire and my shitty apartment was not burned to a crisp. However, my apartment still smells like burnt sugar. Now you might think: but burnt sugar smells nice, like a candy shoppe! The kind of candy shop that spells it “shoppe,” you know, to be cuter. After all, isn’t caramel just burned sugar?

NO. It does not smell like this. Maybe after five minutes it smells like a candy shoppe. But after ALMOST TWO HOURS it smells more like burning hair. Fact. If you do not believe me, come over and take a whiff and you will be like “dude, are you baking a hair pie?” and I will laugh because “hair pie” is really funny wink wink but then I will tell you NO it is BURNT SUGAR and also ask WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE? And you will say BECAUSE YOU INVITED ME YOU PSYCHO BITCH and I will be like shit you are right, I hate it when you are right.

I took this picture in Berlin last fall. Specifically this was taken at Checkpoint Charlie.

Yes people, that says Snackpoint Charlie.

So when like people were like trying to escape the war and the death camps and all that boring shit (zzzz), they totally made a quick stop to get an eggplant parm and a chicken lo mein. It was crazy! They were like holy shit, next time we should come here for dinner instead of waiting in line for soup. And everyone was like for realz, Fraulein, pass me the soy sauce these egg rolls are da bomb and then everyone laughed because you know, saying something is da bomb is particularly hilarious during WWII. Then they opened their fortune cookies and did that thing where they end the fortune with “in bed.” So funny, even back then. Fact.

And another photo: My friend and I were walking around Wall Street area just for the goof as they say, and we happened upon the Wall St. bull.

Here is a person touching its balls. Rubbing them for luck, I presume. I don’t know who this person is, but I am positive this person is going to have really good luck just like everyone else on Wall St. I should note that there was a group of tourists WAITING IN LINE TO TOUCH ITS BALLS. And, in addition, people taking picture of said balls. I suppose I would fall into the second category.

But seriously dudes check it out. The bull has gigantic balls. And he is a lucky bull because there are many people who want to touch its balls. Note how shiny its balls are. They have been touched many, many times.

OK, one last photo. I recently took a look at a West Village apartment. The dude tells me, listen it’s on the ground floor, but it still gets light. So I go take a look because I am curious.

That’s the front window. As in facing the front. Yes those are stairs blocking the window. Yes the apartment isn’t technically ground floor. It is more like basement floor. Which is to say lower than the ground, or, if you will, underground. It is also a very small apartment. So it is a perfect apartment if you do not like light or space. It is also a perfect apartment for those who love to spend money on rent. If you like the smell of trash, then it is perfect because the building’s trash cans are conveniently located outside your window. Rats and heat are free though, which is nice. Oh, also, the other windows face the air shaft. So it is also a perfect apartment for those who do not enjoy air, or enjoy air that has been in one place for a long time.

My naked neighbors finally got new curtains! Actually, they are blinds, and they even go all the way down so I no longer have to see their nether regions. I no longer have to see the dude talk on the phone (loudly) and scratch his testicles. For this I am grateful. You know what I was thinking? The dude would scratch his sweaty balls whilst on the phone and then eventually he’d switch hands so his ball-covered hand would be all over the phone. So what I’m trying to say here is that his phone probably smells like balls. OMG I AM NAUSEOUS. It’s like sometimes you use a mic and it smells really really bad. Like the contents of someone else’s stomach. It is kind of gross. So do you think his girlfriend ever picks up the phone and think, hmm, this phone smells funny. And yet familiar. Like my boyfriend’s balls. Anyway this is what I was thinking. And now, through the power of words, you are thinking it too. Enjoy that, it was for you. A gift from me to you.

Your welcome.

In other news: My lease is up. So I must decide whether I should stay in this crapbox apartment or move into another crapbox apartment which may or may not be the same rent. I have a feeling it might be more. So I must make a decision. I am thinking I should move to another crapbox apartment. Seems like the right thing to do, I think. I like that after months of my neighbors being naked and making loud sexy time, they finally get curtains, and THEN I move. Ha ha ha. Sigh, sob, laugh, repeat.

Last weekend I went to Detroit. Yes, Detroit. Yes, there. No, I didn’t get shot. No, I didn’t see Eminem. I did however drop my camera and shattered it. The ironic part is that I did this while TRYING TO PUT ON THE WRIST STRAP SO I WOULD NOT DROP IT. Basically it was like destroying $300. Like oh is that $300 I see? I better rip it up and then light it on fire.

Look how nice it looks! I did notice that I can still take pictures, I just can't see what I'm taking a picture of. Nor do I know what settings I am on. This could be a fun little device. Or it can BE TOTALLY FUCKING USELESS. Gah! I destroyed $300! If you see me on the street, punch me in the neck. Then, give me opposable thumbs. Obviously it is something I lack.

Anyway, I totally digressed there. So yes, I went to Detroit. One of my best friends on this planet Rosalyne is teaching at University of Michigan (surprise, surprise she is an architect) and she and the other teaching fellows pooled their fellowship cash monies to buy a house for $500 at an auction. Then, they installed cool shit. You can learn about the cool shit here. As you can see, it is very cool shit. They sold the house to some local artists for $1, which is also very cool shit. I would like them to come into my crapbox apartment and “deal with the situation”. This would mean ripping out part of a wall and sticking in another window, which is what Rosalyne did. Then of course, I would install curtains because this is what people do when they have windows. They put up curtains so they can be naked in private. This is something that happens pretty immediately and not, say, a few months after the fact. OMG I AM BEING PASS AGG.

ATTENTION: MOUSE HAS BEEN CAUGHT. SUCCESS! IT IS THE ONLY SUCCESSFUL THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED IN MY LIFE.

TURNS OUT THAT THE MOUSE VERY MUCH ENJOYED ORGANIC PEANUT BUTTER FROM THE WHOLE FOODS WITH AN ORGANIC ROASTED WALNUT GARNISH. IT IS A VERY BOURGEOISIE MOUSE BECAUSE IT LIVES IN NEW YORK CITY, IN SOHO. WHAT I MEAN TO SAY IS THAT THIS MOUSE DOES NOT KEEP IT REAL IN THE STREETS. ACTUALLY, RIGHT BEFORE EATING ITS SNACK AND THEN DYING, IT WAS READING THE NEW YORKER AND COMPLAINING ABOUT THE WINE SELECTION IN MY APARTMENT. IT WAS JUST ABOUT TO WRITE A TUMBLR POST OF ANIMAL COLLECTIVE’S INSTALLATION AT THE GUGGENHEIM WHEN IT HAPPENED UPON THIS VERY DELICIOUS, VERY BOURGEOISIE LOCAVORE RAW ORGANIC SNACK AND THEN, GOT ITS NECK SNAPPED. I VERY MUCH DOUBT IT ENJOYED DYING. LISTEN. I DON’T FEEL BAD. I DON’T. SUE ME. NO I DARE YOU, EFFING SUE ME YOU CLOWNS. ALSO, I’M TOTALLY OVER THE NEW YORKER. I AM MORE OF A HARPER’S PERSON.

NOW, I SHALL SANITIZE MY ENTIRE APARTMENT. INCLUDING MY OVEN. MY OVEN, YOU GUYS, IT WAS IN MY EFFING OVEN!!!!

THEN, I SHALL RESUME writing blog posts in upper and lowercase so I can stop yelling at you. I’m sorry for yelling, I…just get so excited. And ragey.

VICTORY!

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.

ATTENTION: I HAVE FOUND THE MOUSE. IT HAS FOUND ITS WAY OUT OF THE OVEN AND NOW IT IS RUNNING LOOSE IN MY APARTMENT. I AM HAPPY TO ANNOUNCE IT IS IN GOOD AND ACTIVE HEALTH. I HOPE SOON TO DESTROY IT.

HEY MOUSE, I HOPE YOU LOVE PEANUT BUTTER. IT IS ORGANIC AND FROM WHOLE FOODS. YOU CAN FIND IT RIGHT HERE, CONVENIENTLY LOCATED BETWEEN STOVE AND REFRIGERATOR.

PLEASE ENJOY. IT IS JUST FOR YOU.

I have a mouse.

I have had mice before. I’ve probably had a lot of mice, actually, but I don’t really want to think about that. In my time here in this crapbox apartment, I have killed two mice. By execution traps. I do not believe in sticky traps, those are cruel. But I also do not believe in those have-a-heart traps because, sadly, I do not have a heart. I want to DESTROY and KILL. DESTROY AND KILL TILL THEY ARE DESTROYED AND KILLED. It is not like I am killing giant pandas here. They are mice. Yes, they have feelings. But, I also have feelings. These feelings include rage, anxiety, maybe a little bit of fear, disgust, and the ability to ignore feelings of compassion to kill mice. I am human! I’ve got opposable thumbs. Opposable thumbs that help me set traps to kill mice. Muuhahaha! That is my evil laugh! Which I can do because I am human! Muuhahaah!

So the problem here is that the mouse is stuck in my oven. And not like in the baking area. I mean INSIDE my oven. In the guts of my oven. Where the pipes and the wires and coils all meet in some kind of oven jungle. I have a feeling it’s stuck inside and can’t get out because I hear it gnawing at something. And not gnawing on food, but like, on something metal. It’s really trying to get out of there. So when you bang on the oven, it sorta just stops. And then starts right back up again. It doesn’t scurry away. Probably because it CAN’T. FUCKKKK. There’s a mouse stuck in my oven!

So yes, I turned on the oven, but then I felt guilty and also, baking a mouse is thoroughly disgusting and probably not healthy. Also I am vegetarian, so baking an animal is not something I do. Also, like, what’s the best temperature to bake a mouse at? 375°? 450°? That’s degrees F (Europeans you will have to do the math). So I turned the oven off. But then all night this fucking MOUSE was trying to gnaw its way out of a stainless steel box. Look, buddy, COME OUT THE WAY YOU GOT IN. Oh wait, you don’t remember because you are a stupid mouse. Gah.

Right now the mouse is quiet. However, I know that mice prefer the night, much like hookers. So I must wait to see if it found its way out, somehow. Why did it get into my oven in the first place? I barely use that thing because it leaks carbon monoxide. Not to mention the fact that now it’s probably leaking a shitload because the mouse ate through the tubes. So now I’m probably going to die. Yeah, I do have a carbon monoxide detector, but sadly, it is out of batteries. Oh well. If you don’t hear from me it’s because I got really, really sleepy.

Hello, friends. It is very very cold here. I know there is some place that is colder and someone will say oh yeah? I live in Anarctica and it’s a lot colder here, quit complaining you rancid whore, you have it so good. But that still doesn’t change the fact that it’s cold here. It “feels like 12F” if you believe the rancid whore that is the Weather Channel.

The bad part is that my landlord turns off the heat at night for several hours because he, too, is a rancid whore. And also cheap. A cheap, rancid whore. But apparently this is legal, which means somewhere someone is responsible for making these wack laws and when I find this person I am going to deliver a very severe and savage beatdown. I would like this person to live in my apartment. I would also like my neighbors to have really loud and obnoxious sex without using their curtains just so this person can truly understand what it is like to be me in my apartment. It is a sorry state of affiars in cold windy Annietown.

I actually wrote to my public advocate regarding the heating laws and the rent stabilization laws last year and all I got back was a form letter saying hey, we received your letter, sweet bro. And that was it. But now like every other week I get re-election flyers. They don’t have time to look into every request or letter, sure, but it’s a little insulting to get re-election stuff saying shit like “we care about you and your community and your rights blah blah issues blah blah concerns blah blah let’s make our communities better one block at a time blah”. Like, how about you shut up ans get us some heat, narch! I am not so sure my public advocate is even doing anything other than trying to get re-elected.

It’s kind of like when I finished graduate school. I got my first loan payment notice the same day I got a letter asking me to donate to the school. Like, dudes. I owe you over $50k. I am not going to just GIVE you more money just to be nice. I’m not that nice. I am, in fact, poor. Go away.

The good news is that I still owe a lot of money! Yay!

New neighbors moved into the unit across the alleyway from me. So we are in two different buildings, but they are basically next door to me. If I go out onto my fire escape, I can almost touch their fire escape. That is how close we are to each other. We could set up cute little sytrofoam cup phones. That’d be cute right? Not really. Styrofoam is bad for the environment. Our beds face each other. Like! At camp! They are practically my roommates. Except they are not. Because they suck. That is not to say a roommate cannot suck, but if my roommates sucked, I’d totally throw them out of my house. I’d probably get all dramatic too, like throw their clothes out the window. I’ve always wanted to do that. It’s like a dream of mine. GET! OUT! OF! MY! HOUSE! And then there’s this cascade of clothes and bad CDs and random sporting equipment and maybe a TV if it’s not too heavy. The point is, my neighbors are NOT my roommates and I cannot throw my neighbors out of their house, which is sad, because I really want to.

They moved in weeks ago and didn’t have curtains. NO CURTAINS! Ladies and gentlemen, CURTAINS are among the FIRST things you put up. Curtains and toilet paper. Everything else you can do later. But you NEED curtains (especially if you live in NYC and you can touch your neighbor’s fire escape). And, of course, you NEED toilet paper. I cannot say for sure if my neighbors have toilet paper. I mean, they may not. I don’t know. If they don’t have curtains, why would they have toilet paper? But I can definitely confirm that THEY DID NOT HAVE CURTAINS.

So I did all these passive aggressive things like walking past MY window so it is obvious that YES NEIGHBOR YOU CAN SEE ME WHICH MEANS I CAN SEE YOU! OMG! And then I modeled good behavior by closing my curtains. OMG NOW I CAN’T SEE YOU! RAD! YOU GUYS SHOULD REALLY GET ON THIS CURTAIN THING. IT’S THE BUSINESS. So for weeks, I’d see my neighbors spooning or whatever, etc. Really awkward. It’s like coming home and finding strangers spooning on your bed. Like. Dudes. That’s.. my bed.

Fast forward to a few days ago. Neighbors! Got! Curtains! Joyous! Celebration! Balance was restored. Now we can both trade off having them open. That is what I did with my previous neighbor Monsieur European-Underwear Man. That is another story for another day.

So then, today, I come home. My curtains happened to be open. And there I see my neighbors. Having sex. Loud sex. With. Their. Curtains. Open.

So what I’m trying to say, is that my neighbors do not know how to use curtains.

Also I’m trying to say that my neighbors do not understand the value and sanctity of private space in the City of New York. Or they just don’t care that they are having sex in my apartment. MY apartment! Strangers! Having sex! In my apartment! Seriously, I just washed those sheets, too.

Also I’m trying to say is that what I have seen cannot be undone. There is no control-Z (command-Z if you are on a mac) FOR MY EYEHOLES.