Why, Hello.

It's balls hundred degrees hot in New York and I want to be a multi-millionaire. Apparently, to be a multi-millionaire, you have to have a blog. I've never before entertained the idea of having a blog because in my mind, it's ridiculous. Most of my friends blatantly play Scramble on their iPhones while I'm talking to them, filling in my pregnant pauses by not looking up and just stating "I'm listening." - so I think - who gives a shit what some stranger has to say?

Everyone.

Apparently everyone.

After that bullshit film Boring and Boringa about that self-centered woman who left a creepy block of butter at a Julia Child museum was released, I started thinking - this is some bullshit. Nothing happened in that woman's life, and now she has a house in the Hamptons. Which I want. And tons of weird ass shit happens in my life - so - I'm doing it. I can't beat them. I'm joining them. I'm also sweating cause its balls fucking hundred degrees hot in new york.

People often say to me - "you are my favorite online friend." -- which -- there's an array of problems with that sentence. for both of us. but now maybe i can be yours too.

i'll sell you my fan for $5.

Here's the deal. It is impossible to go anywhere in New York City in the summer and look nice. Impossible. No point in trying. You will look like some kind of rat by the time you arrive to where you are going. A dead rat. A drowned rat. A should-i-option-up-i-think-i'm-going-to-option-up-here-i-go-i'm-going-to-option-up-FUCK-i-cracked-i-shouldn't-have-optioned up drunk, sticky, sad rat. Everyone knows this. But that doesn't mean you don't want to look nice.

So as I was waiting for the subway to come yesterday (for those of you who don't live in New York, the subway is an Underground Military Training Program where you learn to steal seats from old ladies and develop the ability to keep a completely unphased face as your neighbor smells like gym crotch smell and that man with that shockingly deep voice pretends to offer fried chicken to homeless people and somehow gets money out of at least 3 idiots.) Anyway- I was waiting for the subway and I realized that everyone looked like shit. And I thought - I wish I had a fan.

Then I remembered that about 3 weeks ago, on my way to a wedding, I stopped into Duane Reade to buy snacks (I get hungry during ceremonies, I don't know why, it might be a sympathy knot in my stomach because these people are usually making a huge mistake, but it feels like hungry so i pack oreos) and I thought "Oh - I"ll pick up one of those personal hand-held battery fans that we used to have growing up that would somehow cut all of our lips at some point." And guess what? Duane Reade didn't have them. And I looked around on the street, and I thought - why does nobody have those?

So waiting for the subway, watching that girl's lipstick become a clown mask, I realized - I could make a million dollars (or at least 20) selling those personal hand held battery fans to everyone in the world. I googled "personal hand held battery fans wholesale" and realized that I could get them to SAY THINGS ON THEM and it would still only be like $1.59 for each fan. But when people are showering in their own sweat like that, they'll cough up $5 immediately. And probably hug me too. Which can be nice.

Then I thought - how am I going to do this. How am I going to sell these customized personal hand held battery operated fans to people without becoming a full on street vendor and learning how to yell at people in Arabic.

The solution: I will carry a bunch of fans in my backpack. I will hold one fan outside of my backpack, in what is known as my right hand. Then, I will wear a basic white t-shirt that says, in black lettering, "I'll sell you my fan for $5."

Genius.

God. Damn. Genius.

I called my mother to tell her. My mother and I have many things in common, the most obvious being an all-you-can-eat prescription to Xanax. The first thing out of her mouth was - "What if you get mugged?". I could tell she hadn't taken hers today.

So just now in the shower, I was thinking about how Diablo Cody, screenwriter of Juno with a fascinating affinity for adjectives, launched her career by having a blog about being a stripper. And then I thought - that's what I'll put on the fans! My blog address! The first thought was to put the words "Be Nice" on the fans but that's some bullshit cause if I put this blog address on the fans and sell them to the whole world, I could get that house in the Hamptons next to that butter freak millionaire.