THIS IS A SEPARATE POST ABOUT A SEPARATE TOPIC

***i accidentally got drunk before i went to see my shrink. i was at work and we had this little mexican party celebrating the work we did on account XYZ. this company is like catholics and their saints. we're always celebrating something.

HOW TO MAKE A MARGARITA, as told by the two dudes running catering, each of whom who couldn't have been any older than 16:

1. pour four inches of tequila into bottom of glass.
2. garnish with lemon and 1/4 inch of margarita mix.

do not stir. do not add ice.

right as i was finishing i remembered i had an appointment that i had switched from earlier in the week. i drank a huge bottle of water and drank a diet coke but i still felt rocked.

right when i walked in i told him. i asked if he a zero tolerance policy and told him i'd understand if he wanted to boot me. he let me stay. probably because he knew i wanted to go. he's a real spookbag. he knows EVERYTHING.

OTHER NEWS
the race was good. first half mile was all asses and elbows. people knocking each other down trying to break free. lots of hot dudes. all of them into exercise and gainfully employed. ASS ON WHEELS. only problem: everyone's in running clothes. can't separate the creative artsy guys from the D's. beards are often a good indicator but it's summer and boys are shaving. TRAGEDY.

i keep getting reader's digest in the mail for no reason.

Beautiful 1BR Crock of Shit in pre-War building. WILL NOT LAST LoNG!

Looking for an apartment in New York when the vacancy rate is at an all-time low is a real fucking HOOT, let me tell ya.

Highlights this morning: An $1100 studio in Williamsburg with no bathroom or kitchen but "Plenty of room to be creative!" and an agent who laughed at me when I told her my max monthly payment. I'm not going to be rude and disclose it. I'm old school and saying your rent is like saying how many people you've slept with or how much money you make. Let's just say it could probably be someone's mortgage, were they not living in the world's 15th most expensive (albeit #1 in the FUCKING UNIVERSE) city.

In an hour I'm going to see a one bedroom in Astoria. The ad says "15 minute commute to Manhattan!" I just looked at the address and it's 6 stops before you even transfer to the F train. IN QUEENS. which is still OUTSIDE MANHATTAN. 15 minutes my ass, Richard at MQRealty.

good underpants matter

i'm running in this race tomorrow (wednesday). i just ate cereal. i am carbo loading. i actually don't know anything about carbo loading. what do you do? eat lots of spaghetti the night before? my dad told me that once. he used to do aerobics in the 80s. back then they called it "calo" and he and my mom had matching navy jumpsuits. my mom still exercises. she takes country line dancing classes and pilates at the senior center.

i just checked the race web site and it looks like there will be a lot of people. 15 thousand. i hope there are a lot of specials and decrepits. my goal is to place in the upper third. half is fine as well. just not anything below.

i like the name of this event - JP MORGAN CORPORATE CHALLENGE. a race that celebrates not charity, not the environment, not little bald cancer kids. but industry. COMMERCE! the stuff that makes the wheels go 'round.

i read the rules and frano the nano is allowed to go. this is fantastic. some races they don't let you. i need 'bad news' by 50 when my energy level plummets. funny thing about that one. he's singing about how to properly shoot somebody and it goes

"And rule number 11, you caught a body but you not a legend
You better watch where you heading."

i always thought it was

"And rule number 11, you caught a body but you not 11.
You better watch where you heading."

i am submitting the preceding anecdote to reader's digest. look for it in the 'life in these united states' section next to the ad for land's end moccasins.

there are a lot of people running the race in my company. i don't recognize anyone from the creative department. maybe i will make vagina friends with a nice project manager or something. her name will be brooke. brooke the bevaginaed project manager.

Separated at Birth

steve sanders from 90210, fetal pig

to everything click, click, click.

A dying iPod is like a senior in the throes of dementia. Todd (his name was Todd the Pod) would go to play a song, forget what he was doing, then black out and start making wheezing noises. He'd emerge from the darkness to play a few seconds of a song, sending my hopes into the stratosphere. YES, that's right Todd! Judas Priest! You like Judas Priest! REMEMBER JUDAS PRIEST? Nurse, can you get the doctor in here? NOW! And some green jell-O.

The clarity would leave as quickly as it came. Even though no buttons were depressed, Todd would switch to a track entirely different than what was indicated on the display screen. I'm sorry, ma'am. We can make him as comfortable as possible but...Todd, what are you doing? Ma'am, we're going to need you to step out of here. Todd, THAT'S THE ALARM CLOCK. TODD, WE ARE LISTENING TO MUSIC. MUSIC. TODD, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE. ANSWER ME!

Today I went to the Apple store and bought home Todd's replacement. Her name is Fran. Frano the Nano. Her first song was My Hood by Young Jeezy. Disposable income does wonders for grief. I turned on the Christmas lights and danced around the living room in a fit of yuppie ecstasy. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and realized I looked like a fucking iPod ad. Somewhere an ad exec is jisming.