Early Saturday morning I woke up with this strange feeling that I was being watched. Something in the room. I don’t know if you’ve ever woken up with this feeling, but it’s like you suddenly wake up because something is off. Your body senses it. You feel that something is not just looking at you, but maybe even looking through you. With crazy eyes. I dunno how I got this feeling while I was sleeping, but it just kind of came up. So I woke up. And what do I see?

AN EYEBROW CRAWLING UP MY WALL.

NO, IT WAS NOT MY EYEBROW. SHUT UP.

I don’t know what kind of insect it was. It’s the kind that looks like an eyebrow. It’s probably poisonous. A poisonous, creeping, crawling, squirming, slithering eyebrow that has way more legs than it needs.

Listen, insects, why must you have so many legs? Everyone else gets along fine with just four legs and or even two legs. Because two is all we need. Having six seems totally unnecessary. And having twelve legs or however many this eyebrow had is just offensive. Like you are showing off. Guess what? I AM NOT IMPRESSED. YOU DO NOT NEED THAT MANY LEGS.

I have no idea how this eyebrow got into my apartment, but it was raining the night before so it was probably like, hey, this place is nice and dry and look she has cereal. I think I’ll hang out here and oh look I think I see some friends rocking a party on her face. Oh wait, those are just HER EYEBROWS. Oh well, now that I’m here I shall just hang out and look at her until she wakes up.

*sits and stares*

So, of course I flip out because I am not a big fan of insects, which is to say that I hate them and I am afraid of them. I mean, I like what they do for us and our planet, blah blah blah but I rather not see or hear them, kind of like children ha ha ha. No really. Anyway I ran to get a cup and a piece of paper because I just did not have it in me to kill it. NOT because I am against killing insects, I just really did not want to deal with the mess. I just imagined squishing it and then having like all these legs fly everywhere, all over my bed, which is totally NOT an option. So in the four seconds it took to gather my trapping tools, the eyebrow climbs up to where I can’t catch it. Clearly it knows I’m coming. I mean it probably has twelve eyes to go with its twelve stupid legs. So then I kind of wait and watch it crawl very slowly. With all those legs you’d think it’d be really fast, but actually it’s quite slow. But then it FALLS OFF THE WALL so now you know that having two really good legs is better than having twelve crappy ones.

So it actually FALLS INTO MY SHEETS and I flip out and actually cry OH GOD NO and move the sheets around to get it under the cup and it falls BEHIND THE BED. And I realize I can’t move the bed because it has drawers filled with stuff. So then I have these nightmares of this eyebrow making more eyebrows in my winter sweaters and whatnot. Then I see it come up the wall again and by that point I have lost my cup somehow. So I grab the most toxic thing I can find in my apartment, which is Tilex. And I spray the crap out of it and it falls BEHIND THE RADIATOR where I can’t reach it, so I spray it some more and hope it dies. And now there is a dead eyebrow behind my radiator. Getting crispy.

I mean I hope it’s dead. Maybe it’s not dead. Maybe it is still somewhere here.

Current mood is disturbed.

I just received a very sexy photo from Dr. Jimbob of GA Tech. It is so sexy I am almost afraid to look at it because it makes my LOINS CRY OUT. THEY ARE BURNING HOLY CRAP MY LOINS ARE ON FIRE. And I’m sure it’s not from the gonorrhea (this time).

It is a 8 x 10 glossy headshot of…THE DIAMOND.

(HINT: Not Dustin Diamond or Lou Diamond Phillips)

NEIL DIAMOND!!!!!

DUDE!

NO. YOU DON’T GET IT. IT’S NEIL FUCKING DIAMOND!!!!

No, no, no, YOU shut up!

He is smoldering. He is smoking hot. And god his hair…his beautiful hair…it is like cornsilk (fashioned into a fro helmet). Oh the Diamond is making me blush with that look. He wants me. I know that he wants me because he is telling me with his soul. That gentle pucker of his lips. His Romanesque nose. His butterfly collar. Say no more, Annie, I am yours forever.

He’s showing just enough of the signature Diamond chest hair, but not too much to be crass, that’s because the Diamond has class. He buys drinks for the ladies and pulls out their chairs for them before making sweet, sweet love to them with his birdsong.

The Diamond came in a protective plastic sleeve because that is how much people care about the Diamond. When you get a photo of the Diamond, the first thing you do is put it in a plastic sleeve. The second thing you do is put it on your fridge and then build a shrine around it. I will be sacrificing small children or lambs (whichever I can get from the deli up the street).

My fridge is redonk. The Hoff, Ricky Martin, the Diamond. Everyone who comes over will want to make sweet, sweet love to my fridge. As they should. I mean look at it. It’s so beautiful.

There really is only one person on this planet who truly appreciates the Diamond. And that is Neil Diamond. But holy shit, I heart him. Oh dear, I think he’s undressing me with his eyes! Oh Neil, you devil!

Thank you Dr. JimBob!!!!!

Remember Pec? He lives in London with Pedro. Pedro decides to take Pec to Finland. “Sinun henkäistä haistaa kuin löylyttää -lta by entisaikainen herra.” That is Finnish for “Your breath smells like the socks of an old man.” It’s obviously correct because I translated it online. The internet never lies.

Pec is confused. What? Huh? NO ONE TOLD ME FINLAND WAS COLD. What is this snow bullshit? Someone remove all this snow and replace it with either A) sunshine or B) money. Please hurry.

Pedro and Pec go to a museum. There are giants in this museum. One tries to eat Pec.

(Note: I am slowly realizing that everyone wants to eat Homies, it is getting ridiculous. Next time I will send everyone pretzels.)

Pedro takes Pec to a meeting. Pedro is designing a building that transforms into a robot that makes really good espresso. Pec thinks Pedro is totally wasting his time. Finland doesn’t need a building like that. It needs HEAT. GOOD GOD, IT NEEDS HEAT.

Pec thinks Finland is kind of sweet and charming. If you disagree, Pec will shank you.

Pedro brings Pec to dinner and introduces him to all of his friends. They are like, we thought you’d be a lot taller in person, no offense. None taken, Pec says, I’m tall where it counts. Just ask your mom.

Mmmm Finnish beer. Tastes great with reindeer and whale. Burp.

Thanks, Pedro!

Meet Mitch. He rocks the bongos. He used to be in an underground death metal/emocore band (with bongos) but due to creative differences and the lead guitarist’s addiction to crack cocaine, Mitch left. VH1 Behind the Music was going to do a profile on them (”and then…the bottom fell out”) but the producers decided that their story had been “done” before and decided instead to do a profile on The Lohan because her story is so much more unique and timely. Mitch takes the bongos very seriously. So when the lead guitarist decided he loved crack cocaine more than music, Mitch threw in the towel, which happened to be soaked in death metal/emocore bongo sweat. You don’t love the music anymore, Mitch cried, you’ve changed. I don’t even know you anymore. So Mitch left. He launched his solo bongo career.

His latest tour called BONGOS ON FIRE (IN MY PANTS) 2008 took him to Durham, North Carolina with a stop at Tracyene’s House of Bongos n’ Oysters. Ah, bongos and oysters. Two great tastes that taste great together.

Mitch quickly makes himself at home. It is the nicest home he’s ever had, because when he was on tour before he’d have to stay on the bus so the band can save money so the lead guitarist could then take the money and buy crack cocaine. Crack cocaine is one hell of a drug, kids.

Tracyene, the owner of Tracyene’s House of Bongos n’ Oysters, is a classy Southern dame. She makes Mitch breakfast because that is what classy Southern dames do. It’s part of that whole hospitality thing.

Mitch loves eggs. But if he thinks about where they come from, he kind of gets grossed out. So he decides to never think about that.

Before Mitch takes the stage, he takes a walk outside. Durham is nice, he thinks. He likes people’s accents too.

Mitch ROCKS OUT ON THE BONGOS. He plays the crap out of them while world-renowned NON-emocore guitarist shreds on the guitar. Mitch gets his mind blown. He says, hey Dylan, we should like totally be in a band. And Dylan was all, ok, dude, let’s get the led out. So they jammed until their faces melted from rocking.

Thanks Tracyene!

Speaking of rocking: Last night we had band practice and as we left our practice room there was a dead mouse on the floor. WE ROCKED THE MOUSE TO DEATH. I was like dude. We rocked the MOUSE TO DEATH. And Heather and Jeff and Andy were like dude, we ROCKED THE MOUSE TO DEATH. And we were totally stoked by our powerful rocking. And then I did this: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! And then jumped over it and shook my head like that famous scene in Flashdancer except I was more disgusted than Jennifer Beals. Anyway I told the practice space manager guy, hey we rocked a mouse to death and he thought I was kidding. I was like no man, clean up aisle 6. You can’t miss it. It’s the DEAD MOUSE THAT IS DEAD FROM THE ROCK.

My neighborhood has been kind of a pigfuck, if I may use that term, because they are filming LAW AND ORDER on my block. This means that the good people who actually live in these buildings get stopped three steps short of their front door by a guy carrying a walkie talkie, talking on his cell phone, and wearing a headset, saying, no, no, you cannot pass through, we are filming. Why is he talking on his cell AND carrying a walkie talkie AND wearing a headset? I don’t know, but it seems like he had communications COVERED. If you need to talk to him, he is definitely available, via different forms of communication. You could probably page him.

Sometimes, I just want to go home and not be stopped by a guy carrying a walkie talkie, you know? Especially, most especially, when I have to pee so bad that my bladder might spontaneously explode and pee oozes through every pore. Not a pretty sight. Perhaps if there were a STAIRWELL I would pee in it. That’s how bad I had to go.

Anyway, later I saw Vincent D’Onofrio get into a car on my street, and then get driven TWO BLOCKS to King Street. I know that he was going to King Street because I, too, was walking from my block toward King and actually beat him to it. On foot. As in, like, hoofing it. I just felt a little empty in side. Vincent, please. Just walk. I promise you fans will not ask for your autograph. Also, to be honest, you look like you can lose a few pounds. The walking might help that. Minimizing both your carbon footprint and your waistline! Zrzly. He was “bloaty.”

I also saw Eric Bogosian. He was rocking a stylish Jewfro. Want to know something funny? My DAD GOT A PERM in the 80’s. Like straight up perm. Not like waves. But a perm. He had a Korean fro, or KorFro. I have pictures to prove it. VERY disturbing. I don’t know why he wanted one. He just did. So he got one. I don’t know if he was trying to look like the Hoff and have these waves, but Korean hair doesn’t really do that. When you perm it, it GETS PERMED. It does not relax. He kind of looked like a pubichead. Which is not a description one wants to assign to one’s dad, but there, I said it.

My mother straightens her hair, but it’s already straight. That is a mystery to me. I don’t even get it.

I am doing something for this “art/culture/music/activity/blah blah blah” event on Governor’s Island in late June. It’s an outdoor festival celebrating whatever it is that they feel like celebrating. I think it’s called Life. Or maybe Love. I don’t know. Some people say it’s like Burning Man East which is EXTREMELY SCARY TO ME and therefore will ignore them. I’ve never been to it, but I’m doing this thing for it. And I need your help.

I’m creating an “analog Internet” where I take 10 manual, functioning, old-skool, antique, vintage, seasoned, used, etc. typewriters, put a roll of paper in it, and spread them out over the island. There will be a sign that says “Internet Access”. Anyone can write what they please on the typewriter. An idea, a message, a dirty limerick, so forth. The typewriters will be connected together via ideas. There could be occurring themes across the typewriters because of everyone being in the same place at the sametime. Or maybe it’s a word or phrase that appears several times (like “douchebag” or “dirty Burning Man hippies”) or maybe there are trends in thoughts. There’ll also be a public record of it since the paper can’t be removed. I guess that’d be the “cache”. Anyway the point is, it’s one part social experiment and one part “totally been done before.”

I need 10 analog typewriters. I have now 7 of them, which my loving and gracious friends have allowed me to borrow because they are loving and gracious friends. I can get them on Craigslist (typewriters, not friends, but I guess I could get friends on Craigslist too but that could be creepy, like, in a bad way) but they are like way too expensive. And I can get them on Ebay (but I’ve already bought 2 of them and I have no idea where I’m going to put them in this shithole I call home). But if you have one and I can borrow it, my life would be, like, so much easier I can’t even tell you.

So please. Help me. If not, I hate you. OK fine I don’t hate you. I will always love you forever and ever and ever. However, I’d love you and mean it if you could help me.

I just realized that the cafe up my street only has like four or five ingredients and then mixes them up in different ways to make their lunch menu. This is what Taco Bell does, but I never eat at Taco Bell unless I am on a road trip or if I am hungry and Taco Bell is nearby or if I’m walking by a Taco Bell on my way home or if I feel like eating Taco Bell which is like all the time. But other than that I do not eat there. The closest Taco Bell is right near the entrance to the Holland Tunnel and it is always filled with Jersey high school club kids who are going to SOB’s or the Culture Club which has 80s nights and they are dressed exactly like the hipsters in Williamsburg except they are doing it as a joke and the hipsters like wear that stuff ‘for real.’ Anyway it’s so awful in there I haven’t made a run for the border in a long, long time. Like since last week. OK what is your point, you stupid girl? I’m getting to it just shut up for a second and let me finish.

The point is, that the cafe up the street makes scones and muffins and then has sandwiches and salads. But they are all made with the same five ingredients. It’s incredible. Like oh we have a vegetable frittata today with onions, peppers, and artichokes. We also have an onion, pepper, and artichoke sandwich and we have a cream of artichoke soup today and our salad of the day is greek, with onions and pepper and feta. I just realize this is not very interesting, nor is it a new phenomenon to any restaurant or cafe, but I’ve been going to this place for like six years, it is like I am just waking up or something. It’s still delicious, better than Taco Bell, oh my god I can’t believe I just said that. Sorry Taco Bell I am cheating on you with someone who has even less ingredients than you.

I sent a Homie to Kansas. Because I thought Kansas was a safe place. A place where a Homie could leave her gang-banging days behind and live the rest of her days in peace and happiness and harmony among the fairies and butterflies and wood nymphs and satyrs and all that other gay shit (I mean gay as in overly happy not gay as in homosexual, I don’t know how else to describe Kansas. Flat? Rectangular?)

Guess what? My good friend Sarah took her Homie and used it as a “toy” for her asshole cat who is like literally three thousand years old and unable to catch shit that actually moves. Poor Homie! The injustice! Homie thought she was escaping to an enchanted retirement community for Homies just like herself. She was wrong. Dead wrong.

Magic is an evil, evil cat. Also Magic is very hungry. HUNGRY FOR HOMIES. Much like Mike in Hawaii. LISTEN, if I send you a Homie can you guys please REFRAIN FROM EATING IT? Seriously.

Homie is pissed. She is sad. And maybe a little desperate. She just wanted to get away from the violence of the barrio. Instead she got a three hundred pound, three hundred year old cat chasing after her. So she and her dog run away and escape to a large lake.

She thinks it’s the strangest lake she has ever seen but that is maybe how people do it in Kansas. Just as she makes the plunge, Magic, that asshole bastard cat, swoops in.

Homie is a prisoner. Magic is like Jabba the Hutt. Which means Homie is Princess Leia. And I guess her dog is that other little Muppet animal with the big, hairy ears that hangs out witih Jabba, you know what I’m talking about. Don’t pretend like you are too cool for school for Return of the Jedi. You love the movie as much as I do. Shut up.

Homie awaits a hero. There will be no hero this time.

Sniff. Sniff.

Thanks Sarah. Come visit me. Now.

God I almost forgot that today is April Fool’s Day. So that means everyone has to watch this video because that is what you are supposed to do for April Fool’s Day.

You are also supposed to watch this one, but it’s kind of “played out” you know what I mean? But it’s still classic. It will make you wail on your guitar and kick your mother in the face. This video will melt your face and blow your mind.

In other news, I slammed my hand in the door and now it is kind of, sort of, HOZED. I don’t know how I exactly did it, but it got pinned between the door and the wall. Seriously no idea. But all of the sudden I screamed like a little girl and then hunched over and stuck my hand between my legs because for some reason when people hurt their hand, they stick it between their legs. You see ball players do it all the time. You also see them adjust their junk but that is a different story. Anyway, it’s not like in an erotic way, but more like OH GOD THIS HURTS SO BAD WHAT CAN I DO? I BETTER STICK IT BETWEEN MY THIGHS. Anyway it is bruised now. I am trying to avoid the letters a, q, and z but it is difficult.

And I discovered more pee in the stairway. This time on the seventh floor landing.

Happy holidays, everyone.