It’s New Year’s again! Again! It happens once a year.

I am still waiting for my lunar horoscope from Doretta, who gets them from some old Chinese lady who is apparently an authority on all things zodiac related. It is unclear how someone becomes an authority on these things, but I’m guessing you have to be an old Chinese lady? Last year, if you recall, I was told I was going to have a good year for money, but bad year for health, which would impede on having a good year for money. Turns out it was a perfectly acceptable year for money, in that I had it and did not lose my job, and it was a bad year for teeth, in that I had them and did not lose them, but they hurt. This is the year of the dragon, which probably means money will continue to exist, but only a little of it will be for me. I will have an acceptable year for health, meaning that someone will sneeze on me. I will spill water, on my pants and on other people’s pants. I will break a keyboard and a mouse (I already broke a keyboard, actually). Something important will happen in space and no one will care. We will depend on foreign oil. Giant pandas will look exceptionally adorable this year and insects will win. My brother will call someone a “douche-and-dick,” as in “dude, that guy is being a total douche-and-dick,” and in that sentence “that guy” is our father. Our mother will continue to assess the quality of my skin, particularly its dangerously low moisture level, and continue to critique the shade of my lipstick, which is “the color that streetwalkers wear.” That’s loosely translated from the Korean.

The year of the dragon is going to be acceptable for hookers with dry skin.

Ever since my mother’s gotten her fancy car with BUILT IN SPEAKERPHONE she has been ambushing me with spontaneous phone calls to relatives and rando friends and forcing me to talk to them whenever I’m in the car with her, which happens to be all the time. Half the time I have no idea who I’m talking to. “Say hi, this is Jay’s mom, the one with the bakery. You remember him? He went to Stanford. For LAW SCHOOL.” Then I have to remind my mother that like all of her friends’ kids went to Stanford for whatever how can I possibly keep all these highly successful and wealthy Korean sons and daughters straight? You know who I’d remember? The kid who ran away to NYC to pursue a successful career in costume design for drag queens. Yeah I’d totally remember him.
Anyway this is our number one mother-daughter activity: sitting in traffic and getting phonebushed. So I’ll be at the wheel because there’s no way in hell that lady is driving when my life is on the line, I mean seriously she is the world’s shittiest driver, and all of the sudden her bony freakishly long fingers are pushing some buttons and then oh hey there my uncle’s voice is coming through the stereo totally interrupting my groove to Crystal Blue Persuasion. It is SUPER annoying. Because now here I am in traffic talking to my uncle about not being married. “Don’t worry, Annie, next year you’ll have a boyfriend.” OK THANKS I’M NOT WORRIED BUT YOU APPEAR TO BE. So then my mom dials my father and he says, “Take care of you self, Anne.” I thought this was sweet and then he says, “Because you don’t have husband. Who take care of you? You so alone. No one care for you.”

My mom laughs because to her it’s one of those funny-because-it’s-true situations. I laugh because you know what else is there to do? I am in traffic.

It’s been exactly one year from this day last year. Weird, right guys?

So today I eat lunch with my mom and dad because we didn’t have the usual New Year’s get-together-thing with all 100 of my cousins. Note that I avoid using the word “party” in this case because it would be totally misleading since parties have 1) alcohol and 2) fun. So really, it’s considered a “get-together-thing.”

Anyway my dad sits down to the table in his pajamas. It is 3 pm on a Sunday. He is wearing pajamas. Like the whole matching set. Maroon paisley, in case you are wondering. I ask, hey, did you just wake up? And he says no, I went to work this morning and came back. I should note that my mother, father, and I do this thing where we change right when we come home. Like we return from work or whatever, and immediately change into something comfortable. Like house clothes. In my mom’s case it’s sweats and shirts. In my case it is “leisure pants” because skinny jeans look cute but dude they are so fucking skinny I cannot be wearing that shit all the time, I’ll lose feeling in my feet. In my father’s case it is pajamas. So he sits down to eat in his pajamas. He is no stranger to comfort, my father.

As we are eating, he just stares at me, hey, he asks, are you STILL vegetarian?!? And he makes this face. It is what my friend Doretta would call “kidney face”. The face you make when you learn people are stealing kidneys from other people. EVERY SINGLE TIME I eat with my father, he asks me this. I went vegetarian in high school. I’m like dude, roughly half my life has been spent as a vegetarian, so yes, Dad, I am still vegetarian. What is wrong with you?

He says, Anne, vegetarian look not so healthy. Maybe on inside they healthy, but on outside they not healthy. Vegetarian have face that look like this: And he proceeds to make a V shape with his hands. People who eat meat have face that look like this: And he then makes an O shape with his hands. So I say, are you telling me my face looks like a V? And he just sorta stares at me as if to say well duh, you have the American Apparel super deep V of faces. And then I look at my mother, as if to say, hey you care to weigh in on this issue because this guy is either insane or a total asshole. And she says, why do you even talk to your father? I stopped talking to him years ago. Then the woman proceeds to ditch us and go into the living room to watch the rest of the Korean version of the Oscars. And throughout the afternoon I hear her commenting on dresses. Oh that is a tacky color, or ohhh is that Versace? For some reason it is hard for my mom to say “Versace” and it ends up coming out like “vuh-thah-chee”.

So then my father says, Anne, you will never find husband if you vegetarian. Who wants to live with a vegetarian? Then he looks at what we just ate, which is like the most ridiculous amount of food. There’s so much food that the dishes barely fit on the table. And he says to me “you didn’t eat anything.” And I’m like what are you talking about, all I’m doing right now is eating, I’m on my second bowl of rice LIKE A BOSS, and he says, there’s no nutrition. I’m like dude, look at this food. This is Korean food. An entire country is eating this same shit, this tasty, tasty shit. And he’s like no nutrition! He says this to me as if I’m starving. Only in our house can you be eating yourself into some insane kim chee coma and someone implies that you are starving. I think you guys should start a non-profit to save me right now because clearly I’m wasting away.

Right, so happy new year, everyone! I hope none of you starve in 2012.

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.

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.

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.

Thanks for the happy birthday wishes! It was a swell birthday, but it was also a birthday that was EERILY SIMILAR to another birthday I had not too long ago.

Let us flashback to…say…CHAPTER ONE of my book Happy Birthday or Whatever. The title of said book draws from the chapter in which my PARENTS FORGET MY BIRTHDAY.

Now let us flashforward to present day, August 25, 2010, also known as my birthday (and the birthdays of Regis Philbin, Elvis Costello, Ivan the Terrible, and, in addition, my friend Natalie. I should note that I’ve only had dinner with one of those four people. Hint: It’s not Ivan the Terrible). It was a good birthday. I ate a very civilized dinner with a few of my closest friends, including Chris who was carrying a murse. We made fun of him and agreed that in order to offset the mursiness he had to carry bacon, ammo, power tools, various knives, and a bottle of Old Spice. Anyway point is, it was a very pleasant evening, murse and all. I did not want a rage-a-thon this year. Figured I’d wait for the weekend like a responsible grown-up, which I now am. Not really.

But wait…something is missing…hmmm…something is misssiinnnggg.

Oh right. My parents TOTALLY FORGOT AGAIN. Again!!!

You’d think that when your kid writes a BOOK about forgetting her birthday, you’d start, you know, remembering.

So the next day August 26, is my parents’ anniversary. So I call my mom and I’m like heeeyy girl, what’s up? And I say happy anniversary! And she goes, oh is that today? Really? What’s the date? I say it’s August 26th. She goes whoaaa, where did the time go, are you sure its our anniversary? And I say yes, I am sure because I have a thing called a calendar, it is a device from the future in which you can annotate important dates. This “calendar” is also available in digital forms, such as on a computer or on a cellular telephone. And then I wait for it. You know, the REALIZATION that she has made A HORRIBLE MISTAKE. And she goes, oh well, I’ll call you daddy later, what are you doing for your birthday tomorrow?

*forehead slap*

I say DUDE my birthday was YESTERDAY, and she goes, NO, and I say YES and she says NO, and that keeps going for awhile and then she says sorry and says “Oh my gosh, I’m such a zero.” Which actually made me laugh because I have never heard her say that before, I have no idea where she picked that up. Sometimes she says “I’m going to give you knuckle sandwich” which is pretty hilarious and my father calls rolling through a stop sign a “California Stop” instead of a “California roll” even after I explained that it’s a play on words with the type of sushi, but he thinks that is nonsense. I think that cream cheese in sushi is gross. Cheese and seaweed is weird, you guys. Seriously. Who was the dude who said “Oh shit I just had a great idea. What if we take some raw fish, add some cream cheese, add some rice and wrap it with seaweed? Awesome, right?” The man was obviously from California.

Anyway my mother says sorry, I go it’s fine, but really, what is wrong with you? Then she says, oh it’s really hot in Los Angeles! I’m not sure if she was trying to change the subject or if perhaps the 103 degree heat has actually made her “go full retard.”

So then I think, do I call my father, wish HIM a happy anniversary? And I think no no no, in just a few minutes, he will call me. Because my mother will call him and tell him that they forgot something important and in addition, did you know it was our anniversary today? No, me neither! OMG!

Anyway he ended up calling and apologizing.

Oh, I should also mention that my brother had REMINDED/WARNED them it was my birthday. Like, seriously people. He said he tried, but failed. Anyway the whole thing is hilarious and sad, but probably more hilarious. More sad the first time, more hilarious the second time.

I learned an important lesson today: Always order more desserts, even if people say no no no I’m full I don’t really need to eat dessert. Because they are lying. Everyone needs to eat dessert.

Today is my birthday. This means you can’t yell at me for not blogging in a long, long time. I’m specifically blogging today because I know you guys have to be nice to me and not bitch me out for being a bad blogger because it is the anniversary of what is most likely the third most important day in my parents’ lives. Maybe even fourth. Shit, maybe I’m not even in the top five! That is sad, though not surprising I suppose. There’s their meeting/getting married, moving to the States, having my brother, and having me. The question is whether or not my mother kicking cancer is more or less important than me and my brother’s births. Hmm, anyway, the point is, it is a somewhat important day. For me, I’d say it’s an adequately important day. Therefore, you must be nice. Let’s keep things civil, people.

I just returned from my yearly visit to Canada. It was very Canadian, thanks for asking. This is what I saw:

It was a regular, non-double rainbow all the way. You can’t see them, but that rainbow is entirely composed of mosquitoes that were all chasing me. I managed to get a mosquito bite on my face, which feels awesome, and one dangerously close to my ass. They attack me when I’m going to the bathroom and my defenses are literally down. Bastards. Bastards!!!!

I should mention that while I was there, I did see another Korean girl. She was working at the grocery store. I am sure that she went home and told her parents that she, too, saw a Korean girl. Funny how that works.

So what have I missed?

My very, very good friends Karina and John had their baby today. Maxwell was born this morning, and was THREE WEEKS early. But he’s healthy and a wallop of a boy/man at 7 lbs and 21 inches. If he actually came on time, he’d be like bigger than me, which actually isn’t saying much. Congrats to them and their families and congrats to me because now I have a new toy. I cannot wait to teach him stuff. It’s gonna be awesome! First I will teach him how to make a good martini and how to make a pipe out of an apple. These are important skills. Then, we will go break shit together.

Hello friends, happy New Year!

People have been saying LET’S MAKE THIS THE BEST YEAR EVER! And this is all peachy fine. HOWEVER, I’m thinking why should we make this year the BEST EVER? Why not just make it NOT suck? It’s not that I’m a pessimistic person. I’m just more into setting goals that are achievable. I mean BEST year? How can you possibly know that this year will be the BEST EVER? I mean you haven’t lived all your years yet, so “BEST” is kind of a hard thing to judge. This year might be the SECOND best or THIRD best. I mean maybe in five years you will have a really really awesome year and THAT will be much better than this year. So what I’m trying to say is that let’s just make this year not suck and it will bound to be better than 2009, and, quite possibly, the best, but it certainly doesn’t have to be THE BEST. If 2010 is better than 2009, then we can be happy with better. We can be happy that it doesn’t suck because honestly, not sucking is truly a big accomplishment and we can be proud of that. I’m already proud that 2010 is not sucking, erego, I have achieved my New Years’ resolution of not sucking. DONE AND DONE.

Also, I’ve also noticed everyone saying how 2009 was truly the WORST year ever. Again, you have no way of judging that. There might be really really shitty years to come. Also, I can think of a few other years that sucked more than 2009. The year was BAD, maybe, but it wasn’t THAT bad. I mean it sucked, yes, but I thought 2008 was actually worse. There were probably some years during the 50s that sucked too. I bet you year 1 sucked too. Transitional year and the whole year-re-numbering thing probably was a real pain in the ass. Like you know how after daylight savings you get all confused? I rest my case.

Los Angeles was fun blah blah blah except for the part where my family forgot to pick me up from the airport blah blah blah. It was like 3:00 on Christmas and I get off the plane and I’m like YEAHH I’M PARTYING IN THE CITY OF ANGELS! I go outside, call to see where my ride is and my mother’s like “Airport? Is that now?” And then I fall into some insane rage and I’m like did you FORGET TO PICK ME UP FROM THE AIRPORT and my mother says I didn’t forget to pick you up from the airport, I just thought you were coming at 3:30. And I say no, it was always 3:00. Keep in mind that my parents live about 45 minutes from the airport (WITHOUT traffic) so even if she thought it was at 3:30, she should definitely be ON the frickin road by 3:00. Which she was not. And she starts backpedalling and being like, no actually you’re brother is picking you up. And I’m like oh is he already here? And she says no he just left. Sigh. So I spent a good 45 minutes hanging out at the airport and suffering from acute rage. Yay. I love Christmas. So of course I’m at the airport yelling on the phone being like why do I bother even coming here for Christmas. Why don’t I just come another time when it is easier and cheaper to travel, we don’t even celebrate Christmas, it is just like any other day in our family. And then I realize I’m totally that asshole who is yelling on the phone at the airport on Christmas. And people are like all staring at me and my eyes are like spinning in my head and smoke is coming out of my ears. The works. Then my brother picked me and I said don’t you guys realize that if you fuck up I’ll write about it? Have we not learned anything? And he says no, do you have $2 for parking I have no cash on me.

But the rest of my vacation was rad and did not suck! Mission accomplished! My bandmate Andy Burne got engaged to his ladyfriend Julia! Nathan and his ladyfriend are coming to visit in February! I saw the Bauhaus show at Moma! I got cushions for my shoes! My apartment is really clean! And according to the Weather Channel “It feels like 1°F”!

Also, please note that Annietown has migrated. Things should be all awesome on your end. One of my best friends in L.A. Micah is taking over and hosting Annietown from his living room which may or may not have mice. Special thanks to Ravi who has been hosting the past 2 years and being a good sport about my asshole texts at 3 am OMG RAVI ANNIETOWN IS DOWN. Ravi I love you and you continue to be awesome and full of win and bacon, you’re two favorite things. Now Micah will be my bitch.

Micah! Fix my sidebar! (uh when you get the chance?)

I’m considering doing a redesign of Annietown. Part of me is like, why change it? It’s fine, it doesn’t have to be fancypants, I’m just sharing WORDZ here, not doing anything insane. Then the other part of me is like, well I could make it snazzier? i.e. HAVE MORE EXPLOSIONS. I shall ruminate.