My space

Okay, first off, Google should have asked before putting a searchable grid of my uterus online. It’s a little thing called security, Sergey Brin.

Second off, “Dow 3000″ is a perfectly good Christmas gift so all of my friends should stop complaining.

Unplugged

Now that I’m in New York, I need to find a new doctor. I was going to ask for some friends’ recommendations, but I’ve just decided to wait for the finale of “America’s Next Top Ear, Nose and Throat Surgeon.”

Also, I was in the subway and this girl said to this other girl, “Where’d you get that handbag? I love it.” And the other girl was like, “Lower East Side.” And the girl who asked was like, “Lowereassie? Where’s that?”

Then there was a strike.

Also, when I was practicing my little skits and jokes and jokes and jokes with a few lady friends before performing my last night in Chicago, one lady friend was like, “And you’re going to perform that? Tonight?” And I’m all, “Yeah.” And she’s all, “I’d rather kill myself.” And I’m all, “Yeah.” And she’s all, “It makes me think of my friend who at the end of a job interview said, ‘I’d like to share with you this poem.’” And I’m all, “At the end of the job interview? He read a poem?” And she’s all, “Yeah. He said, ‘This is a poem I wrote about my chosen field of human resources.’”

And then another lady friend, she’s like, “That one joke makes me think about how when my husband asked me what I was fantasizing about the last time we were having sex, I said I was imagining that he was a 19th century Freudian doctor, and I was a woman suffering from hysteria.” And I was like, “Yeah. And what’d your husband say?” And she’s like, “He said, ‘Wow. That’s really specific.’”

Also have you heard that new song?

(She give me money)

I ain’t saying she a grave digger…

(When I’m in need)

But she ain’t messin’ with no cremated uhn

And finally, the number of times I have been mischeviously slapped on the ass at a Sunday meet-and-greet brunch thus far since moving to New York:

1.

Stadtmiller out.

Health care convenience center

I’ll be spending much of this month settling in, but I must speak out against something I feel is a growing problem. Have you noticed how bossy the cineplexes have become?

Driving cross-country I must have read at least a half-dozen times:

HARRY POTTER

GET RICH OR DIE TRYIN’

I personally think he should stick to Quidditch. Money isn’t everything, Potter.

High brow

Live from The Elevated…

As a woman, there are just certain moments you’ll never forget. The first time you make love. The first time you make rent. The first time you make bail. For me, I’ll never forget the first time I read on the side of a bus, “This fall a woman will be president.” It’s pretty cool because I think the same thing happened to Malcolm X when he got the idea to do his Spike Lee movie.

I’m writing a new cookbook for vegans. It’s going to be a best seller. The secret ingredient? Snausages.

I enjoy TV. Sometimes when I’m alone and it’s late in the evening I like to watch “The Real World” and “Fantasy Island” at the same time. It’s like the perfect equation. The only thing that’s more mathematically precise is listening to Kelly Clarkson and Mingus simultaneously.

I am a music nut. Uncle Tupelo. Wilco, Sun Volt. But you know who makes the best insurgent country ever? The Iraqis, man. They tear it up.

Have you seen the new David Foster Wallace sex tape? Oh my God. That part where he stops to write a footnote? Classic.

For Christmas I’m getting everyone I know the special “American Pie” commemorative DVD box set. I have to say I do think it was a little tacky how they tied the whole thing together with one of Tara Reid’s leftover nipple stitches. But what are you going to do? That’s the industry for you.

At night sometimes when I’m falling asleep I’m not sure if I should pray or masturbate. So I try to do a little of both. That’s just what I told the priest at confession the other day. He assigned me 10 Hail Marys but then he thought better of it and gave me something a little less erotic.

I was trying to read this Lester Bangs autobiography, but then I realized I’d like it better if I chopped it up, cooked it, and injected it directly into my bloodstream. And man. Can that guy write.

I Googled happiness the other day and all I got was a picture of an orangutan shitting in a bucket. But you know. At least I got an answer.

I have a real problem with anti-Semitism. That’s why I’m naming my first born Adolf Goldenstein. Take that, Third Reich. You ain’t so big now, are you?

Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey have broken up, which is sad, but I’m glad to see she’s getting out there again. I hear she’s gone back to dating her father. Which I guess, you know, some people just belong together.

So I don’t really like the term “alcoholic blackout.” I prefer to look at it as a beautiful rainbow—with a total absence of color.

Have you ever kidnapped a bus full of day laborers and murdered the local city councilman and you’ve got like six federal agents on your tail but somehow you manage to make it past the security checkpoint at the airport and you’re sitting comfortably in first class sipping your Courvoisier and Coke and no one recognizes you in the pageboy wig and glasses you stole off the dead clown you’ve checked in your luggage and that’s when the in-flight safety video comes on and just as you’re drifting off to sleep you hear, “American Airlines: Yeah. We know why you fly.”

I’ll just tell you this one last thing.

A couple nights ago, I was licking jelly off of Sarah Silverman’s vagina…and I thought, ‘Oh my God—I’m turning into Jimmy Kimmel.

And now, I’m off to New York.