When it comes to social interactions

When it comes to social interactions I prefer to have them with a mic in my hand or a camera in my face. Tonight I mixed with people unknown to me without all that though. Just me, my bongos and a bottle of Wild Turkey. Minus the bongos and Wild Turkey.

I went to a party with Red Eye pal John Roy where I met a guy (funny comedian Pete Holmes) who draws actual cartoons for the New Yorker. I got all excited and tried to explain that I draw fake cartoons for the New Yorker but I don't draw them, I just think them up, and I never send them in because it's not about that. I think he was suitably impressed. Then I mentioned that some of my fans have actually drawn them but what I really meant to say was, "Did I mention I have fans?"

And then I had a horribly awkward exchange with a woman by the crudite, but it's late and I'm too tired to write it out. Perhaps tomorrow, my dears. It involves slippery bell peppers and tongs.

Wanting to worship me and needing an online place to do it?

I bet you were. Well the awesome people at The Activity Pit made a fan group for me! This is officially my first online fan group! Sure, there's been quite a bit of online chatter about me and yes, I am inundated with emails and comments and okay, perhaps it's hard for me to go outside because I am mobbed by people who just want a piece of me because they think they know me even if they don't—it's just that I have that kind of effect on them—but this is the first online fan group and I don't know what to say except I swear that I had no hand in this. Truly! So for all you people that think I suck it, now YOU can suck it because I have an online fan group and I'm fairly sure that you don't, la la la!

Wait, was that obnoxious? Also, I'd like to thank Jesus Christ and my mom and my agent and my agent's mom and Chad Lowe.

In a word, this experience has been "humbling." Also, it's making me cocky.

What's that smell?

It's the coffee I spilled on my pants. In the first five minutes or so I was at work I spilled Sprite Zero on my desk and coffee on my pants. I went into the bathroom and was trying to clean up my pants leg with a wet paper towel—blotting and patting—and someone walked out of a stall and gave me a sympathetic look. I debated saying, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "just peed on my leg," but I didn't, even though I sort of wish I had. (wish I had said it. not wish I had peed on my leg. Sometime I'll tell you about the Bike Riding Incident in Fourth Grade. I know whereof I speak.)