Today is Memorial Day. I have been memorializing all weekend, let me tell you. Yesterday, friends and I went to the park, and I memorialized JoMo’s trip to Modell’s to purchase a badminton set, and memorialized JoMo’s seemingly simple and yet overly complicated set-up of the badminton net, and then memorialized Marco and JoMo’s game of badminton and then memorialized Lizzard and Stephanie’s badminton game. It was a lot of work, all that memorializing. I was so busy memorializing on the picnic blanket that I didn’t have time to play badminton, with all that bread and cheese and strawberries I had to eat. Really tough work, you guys. So tough. I should get a medal for all the work I did. You guys should be memorializing me because honestly, I really ate the shit out of those strawberries. I should get credit for that. A medal even. A certificate of participation. Anything.

Anyway today is about memorializing my shitty apartment and cleaning the shit out of it. So, I cleaned the windows. The last time I did this, we had a different president. Anyway, I realized a few things.

1. Windows get really dirty. I know this comes to a surprise to many of you. Hah.

2. When you clean windows everything in your home looks a lot brighter.

3. When you clean windows and these windows happen to be in a shitty apartment, it makes your shitty apartment look even shittier.

So my conclusion is this: if you live in a shitty apartment, don’t clean your windows.

Finally, I’m memorializing the horrible event that unfolded on Friday. I was making simple syrup-that’s when you take equal parts sugar and water and then simmer it. Well, I set the pot on the stove, turned on the burner, AND THEN LEFT THE HOUSE.

FOR ALMOST TWO HOURS.

The pot did NOT catch on fire and my shitty apartment was not burned to a crisp. However, my apartment still smells like burnt sugar. Now you might think: but burnt sugar smells nice, like a candy shoppe! The kind of candy shop that spells it “shoppe,” you know, to be cuter. After all, isn’t caramel just burned sugar?

NO. It does not smell like this. Maybe after five minutes it smells like a candy shoppe. But after ALMOST TWO HOURS it smells more like burning hair. Fact. If you do not believe me, come over and take a whiff and you will be like “dude, are you baking a hair pie?” and I will laugh because “hair pie” is really funny wink wink but then I will tell you NO it is BURNT SUGAR and also ask WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE? And you will say BECAUSE YOU INVITED ME YOU PSYCHO BITCH and I will be like shit you are right, I hate it when you are right.

I took this picture in Berlin last fall. Specifically this was taken at Checkpoint Charlie.

Yes people, that says Snackpoint Charlie.

So when like people were like trying to escape the war and the death camps and all that boring shit (zzzz), they totally made a quick stop to get an eggplant parm and a chicken lo mein. It was crazy! They were like holy shit, next time we should come here for dinner instead of waiting in line for soup. And everyone was like for realz, Fraulein, pass me the soy sauce these egg rolls are da bomb and then everyone laughed because you know, saying something is da bomb is particularly hilarious during WWII. Then they opened their fortune cookies and did that thing where they end the fortune with “in bed.” So funny, even back then. Fact.

And another photo: My friend and I were walking around Wall Street area just for the goof as they say, and we happened upon the Wall St. bull.

Here is a person touching its balls. Rubbing them for luck, I presume. I don’t know who this person is, but I am positive this person is going to have really good luck just like everyone else on Wall St. I should note that there was a group of tourists WAITING IN LINE TO TOUCH ITS BALLS. And, in addition, people taking picture of said balls. I suppose I would fall into the second category.

But seriously dudes check it out. The bull has gigantic balls. And he is a lucky bull because there are many people who want to touch its balls. Note how shiny its balls are. They have been touched many, many times.

OK, one last photo. I recently took a look at a West Village apartment. The dude tells me, listen it’s on the ground floor, but it still gets light. So I go take a look because I am curious.

That’s the front window. As in facing the front. Yes those are stairs blocking the window. Yes the apartment isn’t technically ground floor. It is more like basement floor. Which is to say lower than the ground, or, if you will, underground. It is also a very small apartment. So it is a perfect apartment if you do not like light or space. It is also a perfect apartment for those who love to spend money on rent. If you like the smell of trash, then it is perfect because the building’s trash cans are conveniently located outside your window. Rats and heat are free though, which is nice. Oh, also, the other windows face the air shaft. So it is also a perfect apartment for those who do not enjoy air, or enjoy air that has been in one place for a long time.

A few nights ago I was walking in Chinatown/Lower East Side and passed by this sweet shop.

It is the Romantic Hair Art Center, Inc. If you want romantic hair, then this is where you would go. But wait, Annie, what is romantic hair?

Close your eyes. Now picture this, which will be difficult because you are reading this and cannot actually read this if your eyes are closed. So, uh, open your eyes, read this, and then close them, GOD do I have to tell you how to do everything? WTF. Now, think about the crystal clear, impossibly blue waters of the Caribbean. You are riding on a horse, galloping across the beach, with your hair being all romantic n’ shit. Maybe it’s trailing behind you in the wind or it’s piled on top of your head and little tendrils are falling down in that perfect way to frame your face and accent your high chiseled cheekbones. Sure, you might be a dude with short hair, but for this imagine you have really nice Fabio locks or something. Work with me here, people. Now the horse’s hair is being all romantic n’ shit too, it’s all waving around and silky smooth. I don’t know if you guys have ever touched a horse’s mane, but that shit is not silky. But let’s pretend it is. Later James Franco brings you cocktails, writes me a fat check to pay off my student loans, and then you shoot up because obviously you are Amy Winehouse rocking some serious romantic hair art.

I was very excited about perhaps going to this Romantic Hair Art Center, Inc. but then upon further observations, I read the fine print.

The fine print says that the Supreme Court of the State of New York has issued a restraining order to the Romantic Hair Art Center for practicing unlicensed massages AND PROSTITUTION.

Romantic indeed.

The real issue is why do all the good places shut down before I get to ‘check it out’?

My naked neighbors finally got new curtains! Actually, they are blinds, and they even go all the way down so I no longer have to see their nether regions. I no longer have to see the dude talk on the phone (loudly) and scratch his testicles. For this I am grateful. You know what I was thinking? The dude would scratch his sweaty balls whilst on the phone and then eventually he’d switch hands so his ball-covered hand would be all over the phone. So what I’m trying to say here is that his phone probably smells like balls. OMG I AM NAUSEOUS. It’s like sometimes you use a mic and it smells really really bad. Like the contents of someone else’s stomach. It is kind of gross. So do you think his girlfriend ever picks up the phone and think, hmm, this phone smells funny. And yet familiar. Like my boyfriend’s balls. Anyway this is what I was thinking. And now, through the power of words, you are thinking it too. Enjoy that, it was for you. A gift from me to you.

Your welcome.

In other news: My lease is up. So I must decide whether I should stay in this crapbox apartment or move into another crapbox apartment which may or may not be the same rent. I have a feeling it might be more. So I must make a decision. I am thinking I should move to another crapbox apartment. Seems like the right thing to do, I think. I like that after months of my neighbors being naked and making loud sexy time, they finally get curtains, and THEN I move. Ha ha ha. Sigh, sob, laugh, repeat.

Last weekend I went to Detroit. Yes, Detroit. Yes, there. No, I didn’t get shot. No, I didn’t see Eminem. I did however drop my camera and shattered it. The ironic part is that I did this while TRYING TO PUT ON THE WRIST STRAP SO I WOULD NOT DROP IT. Basically it was like destroying $300. Like oh is that $300 I see? I better rip it up and then light it on fire.

Look how nice it looks! I did notice that I can still take pictures, I just can't see what I'm taking a picture of. Nor do I know what settings I am on. This could be a fun little device. Or it can BE TOTALLY FUCKING USELESS. Gah! I destroyed $300! If you see me on the street, punch me in the neck. Then, give me opposable thumbs. Obviously it is something I lack.

Anyway, I totally digressed there. So yes, I went to Detroit. One of my best friends on this planet Rosalyne is teaching at University of Michigan (surprise, surprise she is an architect) and she and the other teaching fellows pooled their fellowship cash monies to buy a house for $500 at an auction. Then, they installed cool shit. You can learn about the cool shit here. As you can see, it is very cool shit. They sold the house to some local artists for $1, which is also very cool shit. I would like them to come into my crapbox apartment and “deal with the situation”. This would mean ripping out part of a wall and sticking in another window, which is what Rosalyne did. Then of course, I would install curtains because this is what people do when they have windows. They put up curtains so they can be naked in private. This is something that happens pretty immediately and not, say, a few months after the fact. OMG I AM BEING PASS AGG.