My acupuncturist is Japanese and said something very funny awhile ago: “You know the Japanese, we see people having fun and we want to have fun too. But we’re Japanese so we want to have MORE fun.” Haha I love her, she just says it like it is. Then, she stabbed me with the needle. (Speaking of which, NYC peeps in need of a really awesome acupuncturist, email me. And ladies: This will do wonders on the lady-bits. I’m telling you, I’m not really into this hippie-dippie shit, but the lady-bits are in a fine state these days. Even I cannot deny it. I’m for serious! No, no, no you shut up!)

OK, I bring this up because my friend Stephanie Choi (no relation, but is the other half of our “band,” Choi Division) sent me something very, very righteous. It is the Japanese version of the SNUGGLIE and here it is:

It is like EXTREME SNUGGLIE. An EXTREME Snugglie that makes a bold, bold statement: “Hi America, It’s, me Japan, and I TOTALLY PWND YOU.” This makes other Snugglies look like a regular blanket without sleeves. It might even make other Snugglies look like a stupid cloth napkin. I’m foreseeing some serious Snugglie proliferation. Like…a Snugglie Cold War, if you will. Now America has to step up and find the next generation of Snugglie.

Canada will try to get in on the action, but no one will care. Everyone will be like, get out of our sandbox Canada! Go be polite and enjoy your national health care somewhere else. This is for big kids!

The Europeans will, as usual, laugh at this but secretly want it. I mean look at that thing! It’s a COCOON of AWEZOME.

I can’t wait for the Snugglie with wifi.

This was sent to me by Marco. Taken in a Taipei hotel room, I think.

It’s an Internet Hole! A hole from which you get the Internets. Some people thought the Internets came from the air, but actually it comes from a hole. See? You learn things here at Annietown.

I am continuing to clean out my inbox. It’s like stepping into the Way Back Machine. Except the Way Back Machine is filled with all kinds of crap.

Here is something I just found. This was sent to me by Aaron. Found on a plastic bag that came around his new laptop. I can’t tell if they are warnings or instructions. Either way, you don’t need warnings or instructions on a effin plastic bag.

Remember you guys, don’t put plastic bags on your head and choke yourself. You probably only need to do one or the other, but not both. Both seems overkill. Just saying.

Also don’t put a plastic bag on a baby’s head. If you want to keep the baby fresh, put the bag over the entire baby and store it in a cool, dry place or in the crisper of your refrigerator.

Last night Dan from Emeco, the chair people, gave a talk at Design Within Reach about 10 years, 10 collaborations of fancy chairs with even fancier designers/architects/whatever. You may or may not know that I blog on their behalf. I blog about chairs. Fancy fucking chairs made out of recycled Bud Light with Lime cans. They really are nice, I’m not just saying that. Anyway at the end of the night they had a drawing for two chairs, one by Sir Norman Foster and one by Not-Sir-Just-Regular-Mr. Frank Gehry.

They pulled a name out, some dude name Rodrigo, and he wasn’t there. So they were like, OK we’ll call Rodrigo, and then some guy in the audience yells out NO YOU HAVE TO BE HERE, COME ON. So they pull another one out. The someone says OH SHE WENT HOME DAMN SHE’S GONNA BE PISSED. So they pull another name out and it’s my good friend Marc McQuade! He immediately sprouts a gigantic boner on his face. He wins the Norman Foster 20-06 chair.

How dope is that? So pretty. When you sit in it, you feel like you can take over the world in a comfortable and very stylish way. Like, I SHALL CONQUER YOU, WORLD, BUT FIRST, LOOK AT MY ASS. LOOK AT HOW NICE IT LOOKS IN THIS BOSS CHAIR.

So then they start the drawing for the Gehry chair. They pull a name, it’s Rodrigo again. Padding the pot. Rodrigo, if you’re reading this, shame on you, loser. So then they pull out a name again and IT’S ME OMFG. I win the Superlight by Frank Gehry.

OMFGGGG! I SWEAR it was not rigged. I was like I really shouldn’t take this since I do stuff with Emeco and a nice gentleman in the audience says oh whatever, you deserve it honey!And I’m like, you’re right. I DO deserve it. Is there also a drawing for a yacht? Because I deserve a yacht. I can’t even drive one, but I’d like to say, oh yeah, I was hanging out on my yacht this weekend. This is because I want to sound like a complete douchetard.

So Marc and I took them home. Like take-out. I’ll have the Buddha’s delight, the low mein, and oh I’ll take that Superlight. Thanks. Oh what’s that? The chair is free? Well that is very nice of you. Oh? And I get a fortune cookie too? Does my fortune say that I’m a WINNER?

I’m not sure what to do with my chair. I’m out of space, that much is clear. I have more chairs than ass cheeks right now. I’m thinking of mounting it on the wall, which would be absolutely hilarious.

In OTHER news, I got the motherfucking SODA CLUB. It is a SELTZER MAKER. Holy crap. Do you guys know about this? It’s a little carbonating device. You fill a bottle with water, inject it with bubbles, and then YOU HAVE SELTZER. You might think hmm, I really don’t drink a lot of seltzer. BUT GUESS WHAT? You will if you have this. I can’t even drink flat water anymore. Like water without bubbles? Why even bother living?

So now I will start making my own sodas. Like sparkling juices n’ stuff. OH YEAH. DON’T BE JEALOUS. It’s also a greener alternative, but really, you don’t buy it to be BFFs with Mother Earth. You buy it because YOU ENJOY WATER WITH BUBBLES. Who doesn’t like bubbles? Assholes, that’s who. Just kidding. Well, not really. Anyway I got mine on Ebay for cheaper. It’s already paid for itself. So crisp and refreshing.

I posted over at Emeco, the fancy chair people. They should just change their name to that. Fancy Chair People. So much better than A Place for Your Buttocks. You can read it here. Thanks to everyone who submitted photos of their chairs long, long ago. I realize I couldn’t use all the chair photos that were sent to me, so I had to carefully select them. You may be able to guess whose chair belongs to who. Or, you might not. It’s hard to say. Chairs are very mysterious things.

Now I must decide on what chair to get. I should probably continue the stacking chair collection, since they make great kitchen chairs. I don’t know if you guys know this, but I spill a lot (HAHAHA) so getting a non-porous material is highly necessary. But I love the Nine-0 by Sottsass, It is rowr. They have it at Design Within Reach and all I wanted to do was sit in it and poke customers with a stick. I love poking people with sticks. If you ever see me carrying a stick you should run away because I will seriously poke the living crap out of you. It is so empowering. Poke, poke. Anyway I’ve been trying to bid on the old Sottsass typewriters from Ebay for a long time and always some buttwipe steals it from me. Everyone on Ebay is a buttwipe except for me. I also like the Norman Foster one and the Superlight by Gehry. He is SUCH a douche but I like the chair. You are probably wondering where I put all my chairs. That is a good question. I’m about to hang them from the ceiling, like a mobile, or mount them on the wall. It could be kind of cool actually. But, like, totally stupid. I need to get a grown-up’s apartment. Maybe I will “lend” them out to friends, but they have to do the Moma thing where they put up a placard about whose house it came from. Whose house? Run’s house, obviously.

Also, finally, thank you for all the get well wishes. I have eaten a container of soup, it has remained in the belly. I’ve moved on to pretzels. Also chocolate covered raisins so it looks like the bitch is back. I think I lost a little weight so I have a lot of ground to make up. I want french fries. If you are a french fry you should probably stay away from me.

Hello friends. I need a favor!

Can you guys send me, or post below, a picture of the chair you sit on or a particularly ugly or awful chair in your office/home. I’d rather the picture be taken with a regular camera and NOT from a cell phone. It’ll be for a blog post I’m doing for Emeco. Your butt does not have to be included in the chair. Although if your butt is included I will not turn it away. I would never turn away free ass ha ha ha. “But,” I’d like to survey everyone’s chairs. My chair at work is, much like Goldilocks, too big and too hard. That might be the only time too big and too hard is a problem. INNUENDO! IN YOUR ENDO! Oh god how do I do it? A mystery. Anyway, yes, a picture of your chair please! You can email it to me at annie at annietown. My point is that every chair sucks. There is no such thing as “just right.” Goldilocks was stupid. YEAH YOU HEAR THAT GOLDILOCKS? YOU SUCK.

In other news, I have yet another song in my head. It’s a local Los Angeles/Orange County commercial for a car dealership:
Well, you won’t get a lemon!
(I would’ve got a lemon?!?)
At Toyota of Orange!

Angelenos will know it well. This commercial and the one with Cal Worthington and his dog Spot (which is NEVER EVER a dog, but like elephants and giraffes or whatever) are among my favorites. Also I like the Pete Ellis Dodge, Long Beach Freeway/Firestone Exit/Southgate commercial. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love me some car jingles.

I also have “Build Me Up, Buttercup” stuck in my head. I’m a mess! A mess!

I got a new bed from Ikea over the weekend. This one has drawers underneath so I can “maximize my living space.” I am not so crazy about Ikea and whenever I go there a little piece of me dies. But it doesn’t die quietly. It is more like screaming and kicking with blood spurting and heads rolling and zombies tearing flesh off small children right on top of the gørtang table in beech veneer. It’s a collision of crying children, college students, arguing couples, Swedish meatballs in mysterious brown sauce, and couples making out in a corner. Dude, wtf is that about? Like the last place I want to make out is at IKEA. Listen, treat your lady right. At least go to Ethan Allan. I hear that is for classy broads.

Anyway, one cannot get a used bed on Craiglist. That is how you get bedbugs and herpes and razor blades in your apples, etc. So I got a new bed. It came in three thousand parts, three baggies of hardware, and a manual that was longer than anything I’ll ever write in my entire life. But hey! It’s only 37 easy steps! It took three hours and two people. (Thanks, JoMo.)

The thing about Ikea that pisses me off, other than the fact that it makes everyone in the world have the same crap made from Burmese rainforest trees, is the showroom situation. They have these “showrooms” that are named “Living in 500 square feet.” Oh the CHALLENGES OF LIVING IN A 500 SQUARE FOOT APARTMENT. Oh I can’t even imagine how awful it must be to live in 500 square feet. They smallest showroom they had was 275 square feet. Which is about 100 square feet more than my place. I was like, shit, maybe I should just move into Ikea. Then I discovered the ‘kitchen’ had no running water and the oven was made out of cardboard, ha ha ha, you lost Annie, once again. Your grand plans of world domination thwarted, once again, by Ikea. Damn you bastards, with your umlats and your A’s with the circle on top of it, like an angel. How fancy of you.

Anyway, the point is, hey, I have a new bed. It is kind of low to the ground though. Everything Ikea makes is kind of low to the ground, it makes them seem more ‘designy’ and “European.’ I need a walker to help me out of bed. However, it makes me look like a giant in my own apartment. That is nice, I guess.

I eat a lot of toast. I think I have mentioned this before, somewhere. I eat many pieces of toast a day. In the process of making and eating toast, I sometimes leave crumbs. I happen to be very conscientious about leaving crumbs, but toast is full of crumbs. In fact, it’s like crumbs stuck together and shaped into a piece of bread. So no matter how careful I am, I leave crumbs. Then I have to vacuum, etc. Sometimes I want to chase myself around my apartment with a vacuum cleaner while I eat toast.

So, what if I made some kind of bib out of sticky tape? Then all the crumbs fall and hit the tape. OH MY GOD I AM BRILLIANT. I WILL BE RICH DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT STEALING MY IDEA.

Then I was thinking how all my friends with pets always have lint rollers and complain about the hair situation. So why not make it easier by making some kind of overcoat or smock out of lint rollers? It’d be a lot easier than shaving your cat. Then when you leave the house, you can take it all off and ta da your clothes are pet hair free! Or you can make a lint roller outfit for your pet. I mean if pets can wear sweaters and hoodies the can certainly wear lint rollers. I should get the patent on this pronto.

Frank Gehry has a patent on the “fish shape.” Can you believe that? I didn’t until someone showed it to me on the U.S. Patent Office website. It seems ridiculous that one can own a patent on a shape. You’d think that fish would own the patent on that one. If I were a fish, I’d be pretty pissed. I’d get a patent on Frank Gehry-shaped things and then sue him for being shaped like Frank Gehry.

With the help of an anonymous architect, I have tricked out my chair. It is so tight and so pimp that every chair within a 300 mile radius is weeping from jealousy. They look at themselves and they wonder, why, baby Jesus, why can’t I be pimp? Am I forever damned to this life of mediocrity? Is there any hope?

Oh, but there is.

I have posted directions on how to turn your stupid, non-pimp, and non-tight chair into the Rick James of chairs (crack pipe not included). You can read about it on the Emeco blog, over here. But heed this warning: If you cannot handle the pimp, you should not even bother looking. I mean it. This chair is only for people who understand the power of pimp and can use it for good and not evil. Good meaning pimping and hustling. Evil meaning everything else.

And in other news: Last Known Settlers, my rock n’ roll band, has put up musical tunes for your enjoyment. You can check it out on MySpace because we don’t actually have a “real” website and Nathan would totally freak out right now if he knew, but shh don’t tell him. It’s our little secret. If you see Nathan please do not mention this to him.

I am going to Los Angeles in a few weeks to visit the family, i.e. get annoyed. I called my mother on Thanksgiving and told her I was going to spend it with a big group of friends, and she asked “Everyone you friend marry? Or are they….SINGLE?” Gasp! Choke! Sputter!

OH GOD NO NOT SINGLE PEOPLE!

Anyway I told her that we were all single and old and unhappy and we’d all sit around the table wiping our tears, and then after pumpkin pie the girls would have a contest to see whose ovaries were more barren. Clearly I’d be the winner. My womb looks just like the Gobi Desert, with camels and everything. She did not think this was funny. I kind of thought it was funny though. But I am one of those people who laughs really really hard at their own jokes. I am my own best friend.

But here is a fact: 41% of Americans 18 and older are unmarried/single.

This is a real fact. Not one of the fake ones you see on TV. Anyway it is almost like 90 million people. So for everyone out there who has to deal with a parent complaining about your barren womb stuffed with camels and scorpions and roving bands of nomads, fear not, my friend. You are in good company.

Last week’s Time Out New York had a special feature on “small spaces” and featured a few New Yorkers who have mastered their “small spaces” through their mad dezign skillz. And when you have mad dezign skillz, you get mad propz. Zo that iz what they gotz–the propz. So I thought, hrm, I live in a “small space” let me check out this issue and read and gain knowledge and perhaps learn a few ways I can improve my “small space” from these masters of the design universe.

THEY. ARE. TOTAL. CHEATERS.

They have apartments that are 350 square feet! 350! That is the Taj Mahal when you compare it to my 187 square foot compartment. Shit, if you give me a 350 square foot apartment I would be living it up. I’d have enough room for a bed, dresser, couch, table, and a boccie court. Please, 350? That is like having a whole other wing of a house. Excuse me, where is the kitchen, I couldn’t find it because YOUR APARTMENT IS SO CAVERNOUS AND SPACIOUS, OH DEAR IS THAT MY ECHO I HEAR! Echo! (echo) Echo! (echo) Oh, don’t be silly, this apartment isn’t THAT big. Also, the kitchen is in the west wing. Go down the hall, turn left, go down another hall, and then make your second right. That is where the kitchen is, right next to the sculpture garden. You can’t miss it. If you see the Alexander Calder, you’ve gone too far.

So I decide to keep reading because I like to make myself angry by seeing how “the other half” lives it up in the warm, gentle, soft lap of luxury. It turns out they are even BIGGER cheaters because they do not read or have books (except for like one person). They also have this strange device called closets, which I am not familiar with, but apparently it is an area just for clothes and shoes. Very foreign. (Actually I do have a closet, it is a folding/accordion type door in front of a breadbox.) These apartments also get natural light, which I’ve only heard about, but have yet to see, much like a unicorn. And then I think one had a futon, but I don’t remember. I find futons offensive. I am a grown up. I should sleep like a grown up.

I have submitted my apartment to “Extreme Makeover: Your Shitty Apartment Edition” contests because it’s so small, but it’s in fact SO SMALL you can’t really do anything with it. Other than curl up in a corner so your books have more room to sit there and collect dust. The greatest number of people that have ever been in my apartment was 7. Me, a friend, and 5 firefighters, and one broken carbon monoxide alarm. But that is a different story, though with the power of deduction you can figure it out. One firefighter asked how much I paid for rent right there on the spot. Then he laughed at me and set me on fire.