2011 | Annietown

Archive: 2011 Yearly archive

Acknowledge This Now

I am now at the JFK airport where I am waiting for my flight to Hong Kong and listening to an extended Muzak version of “Whatever Lola Wants”. The original song is already “easy listening” but I have to say, this version has to be the easiest thing I’ve ever listened to. It is like the audio interpretation of 1 + 1 = 2. If this song was a quiz question, it’d be “What is your last name? _______” I suppose someone could find that question not so easy. For example, Prince. He might be like, ladies and gentlemen love has no last name. Madonna might take issue with the question too. But, I take issue with Madonna, so there’s that. Oh and Cher! What about Mr. T? Point is, this song sucks it and Mr. T is a bad ass. His underwear is made out of Chuck Norris.

I am here way too early. This marks a very important milestone for me and I demand some form of acknowledgement. Even a slow, sarcastic clap will do. Normally I am running through the airport and cursing everyone in front of me who hasn’t learned that dude, you can’t bring that 40 oz of Gatorade, oh look you are trying to chug it like a pro, and yes, take off your shoes, oh hi there lady on the cell phone with the perfume. you are wearing boots with a thousand lace holes, maybe you should’ve worn your Ughs. Sometimes I want to die because I’m behind the family with a toddler and infant twins on the lap of
an old lady in a wheelchair, yeah I know that makes me an insensitive prick to children and the elderly but you know when I’m late I’m a total insensitive prick and do not act like you have never been in that situation before.

But now I’m luxuriating at Gate 6 with like an hour and a half till boarding. I’m dying of boredom even before I get on my SIXTEEN HOUR FLIGHT. Why is Asia so far? Let’s move it to California. it belongs there.

So yes, I’m super stoked about going to HK and Ho Chi Minh City!!!!! It’s on like Kong, yo.

Posted November 18th, 2011 in travel | No Comments »

In Addition

I forgot to point out that my mother called and told me they were going to Italy…FROM THE AIRPORT. From what I understand, parents tell their children about big trips WEEKS or at least a few DAYS before a trip like that, right? My friend’s parents would tell him oh hey we’re going on a trip to Holland in TWO MONTHS we’re so excited! Meaning that two months PRIOR TO GOING TO THE AIRPORT, they told their children. Like, hey, heads up big exciting fun trip! Shit, some parents tell their kids whenever they’re going to the grocery store. And I know parents who print out their itinerary and mail it to their children, and it’s got an entire schedule including what cities they plan on visiting, all the hotels, plus phone numbers, and even what train they’re going to be taking. My parents don’t do this because…because I don’t know. There’s a lot I don’t know, actually.

A few years ago I once called my parents’ place and my dad picked up and we’re chatting and I’m like ok put Mom on and he’s like oh she’s in Korea, and I’m like oh really for how long? THREE MONTHS. After she came back she called me, oh it was such a fun time and I’m like oh that’s great, mother, you didn’t tell me you were going and she’s like no no, I told you. In that scenario one person was lying. That person was not me.

So I’m going to Hong Kong and Ho Chi Minh City NEXT WEEK. I leave on Friday. It’s going to be EPICALLY AWESOME HOLY SHITSNACKS. I’m visiting Doretta, the Canadian Prime Minister of Annietown. Anyway, I thought, maybe I should call my parents on Friday, at the airport, and say, hey I’m going to Hong Kong and in addition, Vietnam where I will feel guilty about being American but feel lucky that I don’t actually look American on the outside so I can just feel totally horrible on the inside. But I decide that might be a dick move and instead she might freak out on me. So when we talked today I mentioned I was going to Hong Kong and she was totally nonplussed and said, buy me scarf but beware of knock-offs. Then I said, OK fine, I’ll get you a scarf, what kind, heavy, light, silk, wool, etc. And she said, remember that scarf you TOOK from me? Get me something like that!

NOW, here’s some information. I DID NOT take a scarf from her. She GAVE the scarf to ME, her daughter. It is a nice scarf, and no, it’s not some Hermes shit. It’s just a regular scarf probably from TJ Maxx where my mother often enjoys maxximum savings. I borrowed it one night and then she’s like, actually just take it. So I did. It’s a nice scarf. BUT NOW, she says I TOOK the scarf?

I say, dude, I did not TAKE that scarf. You GAVE me the scarf, as a GIFT and may I remind you the time you LOVED my hat and so I GAVE that to you? Remember that? And she goes, I don’t remember giving you the scarf, but you can have it. It’s a nice scarf. But get me one similar to that in Hong Kong.

Posted November 13th, 2011 in family, WTF | 2 Comments »

Seeing is Believing

I can see! I can see! My glasses arrived in the mail and I got lenses and now I can see. The gift of sight is a precious gift, remember that. I was using my old glasses before which had severely scuffed lenses so it was like seeing through a tub of vasoline. Also the bridge was cracked and a piece of plastic kept stabbing me on my nose. But now, when I DO see a girl wearing my glasses at yoga, I’m going to cut her. Look, I am not afraid to cut a bitch. You best stay out of SoHo.

So I get this call from my mother. She says, hey, what are you doing? I’m like well, it’s Wednesday afternoon I am at the office like a normal person so why are you calling me now, why can’t you call me at night like normal parents and not bug me during regular business hours. I’m not even sure why I pick up her phone calls during the workday. I guess a small part of me thinks that if a parent is calling during 9 to 5 I should pick it up because OMG WHAT IF IT’S AN EMERGENCY. Because really most parents only call during 9 to 5 if there’s some grave, illy shit, right? Not mine. This is what my mom thinks: Hmm, I am stuck in traffic. Let’s see, who can I call to pass the time? I know, I will call Annie because it is Wednesday at 2 pm, it’s not like she will be busy. And even though I know that this is what my mother is thinking, I still pick up her phone calls because I still think she is capable of normalcy and is in fact desperately trying to contact me because someone we know got into a horrific car crash or someone we know died or someone we know has fallen ill with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. But no, she is just calling to say hello and I end up getting annoyed because dude, I’m at the office.

So she says, to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary, we’re going to Italy! And I’m like OMG that’s so awesome because seriously my parents never go anywhere other than Seoul. Once they went to Santa Barbara and that was pretty exciting for them. So I’m like oh shit you’re gonna love Italy. You have to be a real asshole not to love Italy. Which is to say even my grumpy father will love Italy. So I ask, hey, when are you leaving?

She says, oh we’re at the airport now.

We have a 4-hour layover in Philadelphia, why don’t you come meet us?

It turns out that Philadelphia is not actually the same as New York City. They are, in fact, in two different states. It takes a few hours to get to Philadelphia, depending on what mode of transport you use, train, bus, car, surrey. I explain this to my mother, who says, but it’s close. You should meet us. I’m like I can’t just meet you at the Philadelphia airport. This is not like swinging by the grocery store on my way home, you crazy person. And she says,

I can’t believe you are not going to meet your parents in Philadelphia. I can’t believe it.

And she does that tsk tsk tsk thing. That is the sound of disappointment: tsk tsk tsk.

I’m like, woman, Philadelphia is far, I don’t even know where the Philly airport is and it’s not like they will let me meet you at the gate to just chill like a gangsta, we live in a post 9-11 world and in addition, I fucking hate airports, and OH YEAH IT’S WEDNESDAY AT 2 PM. I’m WORKING for fuck’s sake.

Language! You talk like that at work?

She says, can’t you just take the subway. And I have to explain uh the subway does not go to Philadelphia and she’s like you know what I mean, can’t you take the train? And I’m like sure I can take the train but WHY WOULD I, once again it is Wednesday at 2 pm, I have like 4 more hours of work.

So she says OH gotta go, our plane is boarding.

Yay family.

Posted November 13th, 2011 in family, NYC, WTF | 3 Comments »

The Blindside

No glasses = sad times. I called the yoga studio and went back and looked again. I also left a note on my cubbyhole asking people to look in their holes, which incidentally your mom also said last night. Your mom says a lot of stuff, turns out. So I just resolved myself at the fact that some bitch took my glasses and is now wearing them and being an epic asshole and everyone is probably saying to her, oh wow, those glasses look great, which is what everyone used to tell me, and then later, when she gets home, she will die in a grease fire. OK fine, she won’t die, but maybe she’ll lose all of her stuff and then know what it feels like to get shit taken from her.

I keep wondering why ANYONE would steal fucking GLASSES. It’s like stealing crutches. Stealing glasses means that you are leaving someone BLIND. That is effed. Like I understand stealing sunglasses, maybe. Especially if they aren’t prescription, you can just wear them. Easy, like your mom. I can understand stealing money, so you can go buy drinks and be a fucknut in some shit bar. I can understand stealing credit cards. Sure, I get all of that. But stealing glasses? You’d have to get lenses made for them, which costs about $50 – $100 in NY. So stealing is hardly worth it. The whole point of stealing is that it’s FREE. So anyway, someone stole my vision and my sense of general well being at the moment.

But there is some good news.

My old frames were the king shit of fuck mountain of glasses. Some of you may remember how AWESOME they looked on my face. They were also vintage. A while back I bought a pair at a store in the East Village, wore them to death, and then they started cracking and I STARTED TO FREAK OUT. So I went back to the store and looked for a new pair of glasses knowing that it was a longshot. I mean what are the chances of finding the same pair of vintage glasses from the 60s, right? Then HOLY SHIT found the SAME PAIR just in a different color. I was like this HAS to be once in a lifetime thing. What are the odds, man. So the store owner tells me he gets the glasses from this guy in Germany. This German bought up thousands of overstock glasses from some IRS seizure of a warehouse in White Plains, NY. So now the German sells lots to this vintage store in the city. That’s the backstory. SO I bought the same glasses again and CONTINUED TO BE A BOSS.

Now after losing the second pair again, I think WHAT ARE THE FUCKING chances of finding them a THIRD time?

I looked on the Ebay and FOUND THEM AGAIN. Not only did I find one, I found THREE. THREE PAIRS, same glasses, different colors. Overstock vintage. And guess where the seller is? Germany.

So, I bought two pairs. I’m going to staple them TO MY FUCKING FACE and if someone even comes close to them I will hose them with mace. And if you see some ho wearing my old glasses, call me and I will go rough a bitch up with thunder and lightning.

Posted October 21st, 2011 in NYC, rage | 2 Comments »

LITERAL BLIND FURY

So today I go to yoga. Because I want to, you know, “step into the flow of the universe” and “align mind, body, spirit” and “be what is” (whatever that means). So I go to the studio and take the mat out of my cubbyhole. Then I place my glasses inside my cubbyhole. This is what I do. I put my glasses there so I don’t have to wear them while I get all namasté. I also put them there so no one steps on them. Because what would happen if someone stepped on my glasses? Bad things. Bad, bad things. Might involve some crying. Perhaps some bloody feet too. Point is, I put my glasses in my cubbyhole. I’ve been doing this for years.

So today, I come out of my class, go put my mat back and my glasses are not in my cubbyhole. I think hmm, maybe I put it in the wrong hole, which incidentally is what your mom said last night. So I look in other cubbyholes. Nothing. So I look in the bathroom. Nothing. Then the locker room–perhaps I left it on a counter. Nothing. So then I START TO FUCKING PANIC. Because why? I have no glasses. It is very hard for me to see because, you see, I need glasses to see. I do understand there is quite a bit of irony in trying to LOOK FOR SOMETHING while one is blind. So I go up the front desk and ask, hey, maybe someone turned in some glasses. And they say nope, nothing here. And I go, OK, well I’m missing some glasses and a kind lady comes and helps me search the other cubbyholes because oh right I’M FUCKING BLIND.

So it dawns on me, I guess they might be stolen. FUCKING STOLEN.

WHO STEALS FUCKING GLASSES? WHAT ASSHOLE LOOKS AT A PAIR OF GLASSES AND SAYS OH YEAH I WANT THIS. I’M GOING TO TAKE THIS AND HA HA HA TO THE BLIND FUCK WHO WILL CONTINUE TO BE BLIND AND IN ADDITION, CONTINUE TO BE A FUCK. That is a shit move. A fucking low blow. I’m trying not to jump to conclusions. I am trying to think that someone accidentally picked them up from MY cubbyhole (they are assigned) and accidentally thought this sweet pair of glasses was theirs and accidentally brought them home. This is what I’m hoping. But the New Yorker in me knows that some FUCKING ASSWAD has stolen my glasses. Which, by the way, are EXTREMELY awesome looking and vintage and one of a kind and everyone loves them, and apparently someone loves them enough to STEAL them. But for WHAT? Why would you do that? If I see some bitch in the yoga studio with my glasses on I will fucking cut the shit out of her.

And really, who steals at a YOGA studio? Have you not learned anything from YOGA? So while people are meditating and nailing their revolved triangles and feeling at peace, some dickless asshole is LOOKING THROUGH PEOPLE’S SHIT and taking their prescription glasses? WHAT? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? I guarantee this shitbag does not have the SAME EYESIGHT as me. My left eyeball is SQUISHED and the right eye is like basically perfect. So what are you going to use my glasses for? WHAT. To ‘look smart’ while you….do what? Go to a bookstore? A bookstore you will steal from because if you steal from a fucking YOGA studio you’re certainly going to steal from a bookstore. Why not go to the pre-school and steal their crayons? Might as well right? Everyone loves crayons.

So I had to walk home blind, at night. I had to walk really slowly because I don’t know if you ever notice how blind people walk very slowly, but they do this because they do not want to TRIP over shit or BUMP into shit or even GET HIT by a VEHICLE. So that is what I did. I should also add it was POURING rain and I’m walking like a blind geriatric with a club foot.

BLIND FURY YOU GUYS. LITERAL BLIND FURY.

Posted October 19th, 2011 in NYC, rage, WTF | 5 Comments »

Respect.

Today I honor the memory of an incredible genius.

His name is Arch West and he is the inventor of Doritos, easily the most important snack to be developed ever in the history of flavor. Where would I be without Doritos? Probably the same place, but I’d be much less happier.

So Arch West died at 97 and his daughter buried him–along with some DORITOS. Listen, if I fucking invented Doritos, I would definitely want to be buried with them. The afterlife probably has shitty snacks. The dead don’t understand fucking snacks so you have to take them with you. The ancient Chinese were buried with horses and the Vikings were buried with entire ships–you know, because they’ll need them for the afterlife. They’ll be riding their horses and ships wandering around but OH WAIT WHAT they are hungry I guess they will STARVE because they did not think to take Doritos with them. They will be sad, they will think, man I wish I had something salty and crunchy and loaded with awesome nacho cheese or cool ranch or ZOMG TACO flavor, and instead they will eat, I dunno, celery sticks. I hate celery. That is a bullshit snack right there. Even nacho cheese can’t help celery. A lost cause, just like the war on drugs.

How awesome would it be to have a dad who invented Doritos? Like people at school would be like oh what does your dad do, and people would be like oh my dad’s a lawyer, my dad’s a dentist, my dad works for the Long Island Railroad, OH YEAH? COOL, MY DAD INVENTED DORITOS. And then everyone would be like HOLY SHIT YOUR DAD INVENTED DORITOS and you’d be like IT’S PRETTY COOL, I GUESS, you know, trying to downplay how fucking BADASS your dad is. And you’d be the life of the fucking party because you’d have unlimited access to Doritos and including some secret flavors and for the record, jalapeño Doritos, totally delicious. Also, for the record, my dad is an asshole because he did not invent Doritos.

Posted September 29th, 2011 in food | 2 Comments »

Jury Dirty

I’m still here! I’ve been waiting over an hour for a trial to start, but it’s taking forever because…I have no idea. I want to cry. Inside I am crying. It’s a lot like being in detention, but we didn’t do anything wrong. Endless waiting in a room with no windows, except there’s a TV that’s on mute and playing CNN. The jury clerk said there was no ESPN, and there was an audible gasp. Seriously. You’d think it was some sort of national tragedy. Civic duty, while important for a just society, is really beginning to make me wish we were in the “olden days” (again, their words, not mine, I would’ve used “days of yore”) when we could just throw people into a river or a fire. So much more convenient, and everyone loves a good fire. Just saying. Maybe they are settling? Settle, dammit! Settling isn’t always bad. For example, the pioneers settled, and that worked out for us, though not the Native Americans. But, in general I fully support settling so I can go about my day and hopefully eat a sandwich. It’s 11:30 and I want a sandwich!

There are a lot of people asleep here, including one lady wearing sunglasses (again, we are in a room without windows) and sprawled across a row of chairs. With her jacket covering her and her purse as a pillow. She looks so snug. I may spoon her.

One guy is totally bored, gazing at the ceiling, mouth agape, just fully hating life. I want to take a photo, but i’d get arrested, which woikd be convenient since I’m already at the courthouse. You’d think he’d bring a book. I was thinking of offering him my copy of The Economist, like hey, guy, why don’t you read about some people with real problems. Also, their captions are so pithy!

Posted September 27th, 2011 in NYC | 1 Comment »

Judgey The Whale

I’m going to share a few memorable people who are here with me in the jury pool. Here they are in no particular order:

Lady wearing leggings as pants. Which means that she is not really wearing pants. In a courthouse. She is also wearing a lot of make-up and sneakers. So her face looks like she’s going to hit the clubs later, but the rest of he might be going to the gym and hitting the elliptical? I dunno it’s confusing.

Man wearing POWA SUIT. Navy suit with pink shirt and a headset. He is in “acquisitions”. Not entirely sure what he
acquires, other than money. But he is important, and also has hair that looks like he didn’t do much to it, but you know he spent hours on that shit and billed it to a client.

A hairdresser! Who works around the corner from my office! Immediately after he said he was a stylist, everyone touched their hair (except me, actually, only because my hair is so fucking awesome, in a greasy ponytail, natch!)

A lady who coordinates scavenger hunts. Seriously that is what she does. But I’m guessing what she really wants to do is direct.

A talent agent. A math teacher. A former corrections officer. An actress. A retired social worker. A guy who ships art to museums. A person who sued because of curtains. A person who can only understand 70-80% of
what’s going on. Dude I love NYC. I’m like you guys are all so interesting and all so bored and hating life right now. It’s our civic duty!

So I got chosen for a case, of course, and the lawyer does this weird breathing thing where she gulps for air through an open mouth. She looks like a fish. Like a lawyer fish. She told us “This won’t be like the OJ Simpson case or anything.” OH REALLY?

So I’m returning tomorrow. Bad for life. Good for blog. I guess.

Posted September 26th, 2011 in NYC | 1 Comment »

Judgment Day

I’m here live blogging from the jury pool where I am currently watching a twenty minute video about the history of
the court system. The opening sequence happens in “olden times” (their words, not mine) where a bunch of Medieval barbarians with beards and pelts drown a man. Not even kidding. The mob ties his ass up and throws him in a river and then everyone cheers. Seriously. This is actually on the video. And you know everyone is thinking, wow, watching this video is a lot like watching someone die, it is so horrible.

Then the rest of the video is hosted by people with incredible amounts of gravitas, including DIANE SAWYER and one of the old dudes from 60 Minutes. Doesn’t matter which one. It’s an assemble cast, obvs.

The video was made in the 90s and there’s some excellent hair and the fashunz and Diane particularly has some savage anchor hair. She seriously has a Lego head. Shit won’t move. It’s some kind of science miracle.

Also, the Jury Clerk keeps making jokes about how the state has no money and asks for donated pens and pencils for people to fill out the surveys. Then it dawns on me that he’s actually serious. Yay New York. Sad tear.

And now a Chinese lady asked me to translate for her. This is going to be a long day.

Last time I served, I was selected for a child predator case. I got removed from the group though. But the defendant was there and all I could think was ohhhhhh hmm, that is what a predator look like. He did not have a moustache. I know, I was surprised too.

Posted September 26th, 2011 in NYC | 2 Comments »

Fun Expert

My father gives me a set of beakers. All of different sizes, including a tiny one that is so adorable you want to explode. These are all from his lab and MAY OR MAY NOT have been used to store caustic chemicals. But I do not care because these beakers are totally BOSS. They are awesome! I also got these little test tubes with screw tops, also very adorable. I have no idea what to put in them. My brother says to store urine in them but then he stops himself and says, actually you know what? It’s too small for urine–as if this is something I’m seriously considering. Yes, Mike, let me piss in a test tube and you know with this screw top, I can easily store it for…later? So I thank my father. I will enjoy these beakers. They’re even graduated! Bad ass, right?

So then my mother says, why are you giving our daughter beakers? What is that about? My father says well it’s for decoration. She can put pencils in them, store things, she can even drink out of them! My mother says, why on EARTH would Annie want to drink out of a beaker? She has CUPS for that. She doesn’t NEED beakers. Why would she want to drink out of that? My father says, because it is FUN! FUN! But, you don’t know FUN, do you? You don’t know it!

And then we all laugh because throughout all this, my father is wearing SUSPENDERS. But not just any suspenders. They are like 2.5 inch wide straps made out of the same material you would use for, like, a duffel bag strap. AND they are holding up plaid madras bermuda shorts, which do not actually require suspenders and also do not “go” with suspenders AND in addition, these are suspenders a carpenter would wear in order to hold up a heavy toolbelt, which, if you are paying attention, my father is not wearing because we are at home eating dinner together. The man does not even wear a toolbelt at work. And apparently not a regular belt. So a man wearing carpentry suspenders is telling my mother she does not know fun.

I tell my father, hey, why don’t I get you suspenders that are not, uh, THOSE suspenders. Something classy? And he goes WHY? Those probably cost, like $25? What a waste of money. And I go, how much did THOSE cost and he says $15 and I say for an extra ten United States dollars I would totally buy you nicer suspenders that don’t look like you are wearing an actual backpack except without the pack. And my brother and I have a discussion about suspenders, in which we bring up the rainbow ones that Robin WIlliams wore in Mork & Mindy (nanu nanu, what a retarded show, seriously that show is seriously retarded). So my father says what is the point, I do not wear these in public. But he is soooo close to wearing them in public I can feel it. I mean he’s wearing them around the house, what is to stop him from being like, shit I need to run out and get some milk, and then boom suddenly he is wearing suspenders in Ralph’s. This is what I’m saying.

But even backtrack from that, why is my father even WEARING suspenders? Why wear suspenders instead of a belt? It’s not like he has no belts. My father is a man with belts. So, I ask him this. What is up with the suspenders? He says because belts make him itchy. He has been wearing belts for over 60 years at this point and NOW he decides that belts make him itchy? How can belts even itch? They’re not made of wool. It makes NO sense at all. I don’t understand, but my father is wearing suspenders a steel worker would be wearing to hold up, I don’t know, some kind of badass tool that uses fire to cut metal. But my father is there at the kitchen table eating vegan spring rolls with his hands.

Posted August 25th, 2011 in family, Happy Birthday or Whatever, shame | 3 Comments »

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