Famous!(kind of.)

My review of First Sunday came out today! Yay for me!

Erik edited the hell out of it (in a good way) and it makes much more sense now. I have a tendency to overparenthesize and also maybe make words up.

Oh! ANNNNND…I thought Chi McBride was Charles Durning right up until about 8 o’clock last night. If I worked at The Daily Planet, Mr. White would SO have fired my ass.

But I don’t so he didn’t.

I just came back from Whole Foods and Powells. I bought that French Women Aren’t Fat Like You Are Fatty McAmerican book. Maybe I bought it for my mom, YOU DON”T KNOW. Don’t judge me.

I also bought the new Vanity Fair with Harrison Ford and Shia LaBoeuf on the cover to hide the fact that I was buying the lamest Oprah Book Club Today Show Segment thing ever and I was reeeeallly hoping a lady would ring me up. Instead, some Art School jerk was my cashier. He probably doesn’t even work at Powell’s. I think he just had a break between digital filmmaking and screenprint design so he jumped behind the counter to ruin my day. I haven’t been so embarrassed since I had to return panties to Urban Outfitters. Because they were too SMALL.

Meh.

But I made an excellent tuna salad with about 50 million vegetables in it. I’m going to call it The Dane Salad. Right?

I’ve read a little of the French lady book and I have one problem. I can’t take the stairs up to our apartment (frenchy exercise) in our building unless I first take the elevator up to the second floor. It’s some kind of post 9/11 rule to keep dumb people from running back upstairs to get their iphones if we’re attacked by terrorists. Well, you know what America? The terrorists won’t need to attack us because we’ll be so fat from not taking the stairs that we’ll die of a collective massive coronary in the middle of watching American Gladiators. With one hand in a bucket of nacho cheese sauce and the other on the remote. Screw you Burlington Tower! Or should I say, Fattington Tower?