The morning after

Pitcher of appletinis (above)


Another pitcher, above, in case you didn't get the joke and need me to beat it into the ground

appletinis being poured into the bottom of what appears to be a giant tennis shoe


appletinis for your car

So how do I feel about last night's appletini, you are likely wondering? I deeply regret it. Not for physical reasons—I feel fine, if a little chagrined/horrified—but for matters of self-respect. Do I think I'm better than people who drink appletinis? Pretty much, yes. Appletinis are the drink equivalent of "okay dokey smokey" or "okeley dokely" or "easy peasy japanesey" (no offense to the Pacific Rim) or "right on" or maybe "sweeeeeet" in that you say them making fun of them and then one day you wake up and they've actually wormed their way into your vocabulary in earnest and also, you're that asshole drinking an appletini—which started as a joke because it sounds funny—but man if it doesn't go down easy peasy. [Note: no one actually adds "japanesey," that was just for effect.]

Okay, I have to be honest: I never said "okay dokey smokey," but I did have a problem with "okay dokey." I think my sister the plant-name stealer did too. I'm reminded of one of my favorite stories, courtesy of one Steve Lowery, who had taken to saying "nighty night" to his kids and heard himself end an interview with a sports legend that way. I forget who the sports legend was of course, because I don't know sports. Um, Mr. Pigskin? Sherman Bleachers? Doug Dugout? You see what's happening don't you? I've lost my sense of humor. This is kind of tragic actually, because I was counting on it for the weekend.

Also, I miss the big hair. It had kind of grown on me, literally! And without it I looked so smushed headed and dare I say fat-faced, because (shall I let you behind the curtain? okay then!) whilst in California I got my hair straightened (just the roots or the "regrowth" as it's called in straightening circles), which is a little thing I do like having my personal assistants shot, for those of you reading all the posts, which results in flat hair (the straightening, not the assistant shooting). It's why, I think, it poofed up so much the time before last (like poofed up in between when it was styled and when I went on air) and why, since they didn't want it as big last night, it was kind of stuck to my head. That didn't make much sense to you did it? My sense of humor along with ability to explain myself have been replaced with a swirling appletini. Let me try again: In its now unnatural natural state, my hair is quite flat. Because the texture is especially fine, it responded extremely well to the poofing last time, so much so that the walk to the newsroom kind of inflated it. Last night though, I think there was less poofing than usual, thus it was stuck to my head. Oh my God, who cares! I'm not even reading this anymore! I mean, seriously. Shall we take a look?

Delightfully big!

Robust!

pequeno

Did I mention I like to lapse into Spanish when talking about my hair?

Things I would rather do than clean my room

1. Stare at the mess

2. Write a blog post in list form

c. Entertain myself by going back and forth between numbers and letters

IV. Okay, now that's going too far.

V. I said too far. Roman numeral humor is only funny to marble statues.

6. Listen to music (New Pornographers right now)

7. But I could totally clean while listening to music. That was the original plan.

8. To be fair, I did clean off my desk.

9. But some of it just got relocated to my bed.

10. Did I ever tell you that after college I slept for a number of months on a bed with a drawer full of crap sitting on one corner of the bed? It's because we took the drawer out of the desk to make room for a filing cabinet or something, and didn't have anywhere to put the drawer, so I set it on the bed and just learned to work around it. Also, at this time I had one of those wooden duck phones a la Silver Spoons that quacked when it rang—also its eyes lit up— but it didn't sound like a duck. It sounded like Satan. It was really terrible. Anyway, I remember I was talking on the duck phone, sitting on the bed with the drawer nearby, setting up an interview for Rolling Stone or something and anyway I remember Wendy visited me that day and she said "Do you think anyone, when they're talking to you, pictures you working in this environment?"

11. Okay, she didn't say "environment" but that was the gist. And no, I don't think they realized. I also don't think people knew how young I was when I started. Except that I was really nice/eager, which gets beaten out of you quick.

12. Not me, I'm still nice/eager, except when I'm a total hardened bitch, but I mean, it gets beaten out of you.

13. No drawer on my bed today though. So you see: progress.

14. I've been in better moods.

15. I've also been in worse.

16. I have a lot of cords. And a lot of little thingies that I doubt I'll ever use. Like do I need these various international plugs for my blackberry charger? I don't think so. But it's not like I can just throw them out, you know? Because you know what happens when you throw them out? You wake up in Paris without a cell phone cursing the last time you cleaned your room. Not making THAT mistake again.

17. I met Mo Rocca this morning. I was having a breakfast meeting, because that's how I do, and the guy I was meeting knew Mo Rocca and anyway I was introduced and I said "I'm a fan," because I am, and Mo seemed genuinely touched at my fandom. At my fanship? It's interesting because were I Mo I would probably say something like "As well you should be" or something equally obnoxious.

18. Actually, that's not true. Sometimes I say stuff like "Oh my Gosh, thanks!" but then this one time I got trapped at a party by someone who told me I was funny and I said "Oh my Gosh, thanks!" and then the person was like "what, are you surprised to find out you're funny? you sound like you don't think you are!"

19. It was an aggressive sort of complementary encounter.

20. I know I'm funny.

21. Perhaps not in this list.

22. The music stopped.

23. Mess still messy.

24. But I do feel we've gotten to know each other a bit better.

25. Don't you?

26. Sorry, can't hear you, thinking about myself again.

27. My sister had a barking dog phone, which also didn't sound like a dog. When the phone rang in that house, it sounded like the caterwauling of the undead.

28. If the undead sounded vaguely like a dog and a duck.

29. The title of this post makes me sound 14.

30. Which is cool. Young is in.

31. Okay, I should really find new procrastination music.

"Hey, your Vegas is showing..."

Is this really the best the Nevada tourism council could come up with? I'm suddenly seeing a bunch of commercials with it again and it sounds more like an unfortunate medical condition than an enticement to come to Las Vegas. Actually, it makes the also kinda lame "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" sound like poetry. Also, it sounds like something someone would say before going on air. In fact, I'm going to drop it into my litany of self-consciousness next time:

How'm I doing? Is my hair okay? Is my jacket okay? Anything weird going on in this section? (waving hands over entire torso). Any muffin top action? Is my Vegas showing? What about my third nipple?

Can you see my goiter? I tried to hide it with goiter-off but I think it's just making it show more. What about the giant scar I have running from my extra toe to my vestigial tail. Is it showing? Can you see where I had to have that thing frozen off? Correction, things.

Are you sure my Vegas isn't showing? Okay phew.