There’s a reason for my recent absenteeism. I’ve actually been socializing. I’m not exactly a debutante yet but I’ve come out of the closet some. Speaking of closets, I’d hate to lose my apartment because it’s got great closet space. You may not think that’s very important but I once had sex in my sister’s closet (granted this is a roundabout way of surveying the area). If you’re still doubting the importance of closet space, go read “The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe”. There are no magical realms tucked away inside of tiny closets. I skipped a beat and forgot to tell you that the shylock landlords here intend to up the rent more than a few ounces of flesh. I love how that works. Modest rent increases until the tenant is comfortable. Then you raise them one spleen and half an appendix. Well I need my spleen to do spleen things (like producing spleenocytes, you just keep on giving lymph nodes all the glory) and while the appendix may have little value I happen to think it’s darn cute (like totally tubular!) If you must take living tissue, take my tonsils (OK I’m just after the ice cream) I already lost some living tissue at Bloomingdale’s. A purse display fell on my hand and now I have a big booboo. Completely not my fault.  I’m exonerated by the laws of physics which guaranteed that even the smallest tug was going to bring the house of cards tumbling down. The only reason I even tugged was because I couldn’t believe one particular pocketbook cost $700. I wanted to check if it was leather. I reminded myself of Joan Cusack in “Working Girl” when she gasps over the price of a designer dress with the line “It’s not even leather!” My mother came rushing to my aid by rubbing my booboo. “Thanks mom. Be a dear, run over to the café and get some salt.” Not as bad as the time I had toenail surgery (no that isn’t my polite way of saying I got a bad pedicure) and I ended up cutting out the fronts of my sneakers so I’d be comfortable. I also decided to play invalid and have people sign my footgear. I run into this girl who was extremely annoying (believe me, if I could’ve literally run I would’ve) and she asks me why my shoes are cut out. I tell her I just had a bad pedicure and then she expresses her fondness for my sneakers by playfully kicking me in the toe. Kicking her back would’ve fallen into that unpalatable category of cutting off ones nose to spite ones face (yes we are forced to assume that Michael Jackson was mad at his face….boy, think of how he must feel now!) Fortunately my booboo isn’t serious, you needn’t make a fuss and sign my bandaid. But I still want to sue Bloomingdale’s. They at least owe me that pocketbook. They don’t even have to put any money in it. You know why the bag was 700 spleenocytes? Because it was a “Ferragamo.” It happened to be a lovely purse but not $700 lovely. People will swear left and right that labels don’t matter but I take a black pen and change the name to “Ferragamoose” and you watch how long that bag hangs on the rack. Actually the correct answer is ‘not long’ (see laws of physics)

P.S. I found this picture when I was checking an old floppy disc. I estimate that it’s about 4 years old. The picture. The floppy disc is living off its pension at this point. I used to have this photo posted at my old website which was an obscenely messy collage unlike the neat and orderly exhibit it is today. Notice the smooth hand, not having been maimed by the negligence of America’s most beloved department store, Moosingdale’s.  I did not pick out that green fruit loop wallpaper. Nor did I pick out the orange and yellow floral pattern I grew up with. "Earth tones" according to my mother. Really the only thing worse than earth tones are the Martian tones you see below. (uh-huh, technically it should match my outfit but red wallpaper would be straight out of "The Shining")

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