I celebrated a birthday last week. I hope I never stop having birthdays because THEY ARE AWESOME. We should have more birthdays, right? Would that make it less special? Maybe. But you know what? It would really spice up the economy. Just saying.

My mother called me at 9:30 in the morning, while I was at the office. She was like “What are you doing?” And I was all dude, I’m AT THE OFFICE because that is what I do on a Tuesday at 9:30 and she’s all, “Happy birthday! You so old now. You should have baby and I raise it for you.” That was all.

My cousin, who lives in Seoul, had a kid, but then went through a divorce. She’s a concert pianist and goes on tour a lot, so my aunt and my mom are more or less raising the kid. Being raised by one’s grandmothers basically means you get a shitload of attention and, like, all the ice cream you want. So they want to have another sibling for the kid so he can, you know, “keep it real.” Which, I suppose, is where I come in. PLEASE NOTE: My uterus is currently closed. Sorry for the inconvenience. At this time there are no plans to open my uterus. However, you can sign up for the newsletter to get the latest updates on my uterus. Just kidding. A uterus newsletter would be heinous. Or, awesome. You know how some people will send you email from babies or pets in the first person, like “Hi, Today I had my first piece of cake and boy, was it messy!” or “Today I went for a long walk, played fetch with Mommy and Daddy and I found a dead squirrel!” Well, my uterus newsletter would be like that. “Today I’m dry and old and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breed! OMG, sad face. But don’t worry Mom is totes taking good care of me! LOL!” Yes, my uterus is like a 12-year-old girl. Disturbing, I know, but listen, it’s my uterus. I can’t change it. It is what it is, you understand?

Speaking of uterii, in Canada, I saw this sign and, of course, had to take a photo of it because the rest of my body is also 12 years old, just like my uterus.

So here’s the moral of the story: I am older in Earth years, but in mental years, I am still, like, 12 years old. Now, who wants to drop me off at the mall?

Hello friends!

Happy belated New Year! As usual, I am late. But I’m OK with that. You might not be OK with that. And I’m OK with that, too. I’m OK with a lot of things, really.

I am back in New York now. I flew out last night at 9 pm and landed this morning at 5 am. OMG death. Then I decided to be “bad” and splurge for a cab ($53 after tip OUCH) despite my New Year’s resolution to SAVE THE CASH MONIES. So already 2009 is full of broken promises and shattered dreams (shattered dreams, feel like I can run away, run away). But there were no yellow cabs at that Ricky Retardo hour, so as I was going outside there were all these gypsy cab hawks asking if I wanted a cab and one of them actually grabbed my luggage from my hands “I will take you! I will take you!” and I was like “Don’t you dare grab my bag, it’s not polite” and shooed him. And suddenly I became like the biggest Courtesy Cop ever. But dude, don’t grab people’s shit! I mean, come on.

I spent New Year’s eve with friends from New York actually. Marco and Lizzie were visiting and staying at The Standard downtown, which they should just rename The Doucheturd. SO MUCH DOUCHE. Normally it’s kind of douchey but on New Year’s eve it becomes Douche Central. Marco pointed out it’s like we were hanging out in the Meatpacking District, something you couldn’t pay me to do. Really, if you said, hey Annie I will give you $53 to hang out in the Meatpacking District tonight, I’d say no. Then I’d stick a shiv in your gut and steal your $53. And let’s be honest, $53 would buy you like 2 drinks. Anyway we were not slutty enough or twenty-one enough to be hanging out there. There was a girl wearing something that only had one side. Like just the front. It was like she was wearing a napkin around her neck, it was grotesque and seeming impossible. I was wearing jeans and I felt like I was wearing too much pants. Too much pants! Oh yes, such a thing is possible!

We ate in Koreatown for “King’s court” style dinner, which is an awesome way of saying food just keeps coming at you until you want to die (of happiness, of overeating, of flavor, of soju that tastes like “kissing your grandmother” as Dan put it) and the went to HMS Bounty for drinks. I love that bar for no particular reason other than it’s old skool, charming L.A. Good times, people, good times.

So normally on New Year’s day I spend it with my entire extended family and we bow for bucks and play New Year’s games. But now we don’t get bucks, which makes hanging out with family much less profitable. I’ve written about this before, in the book, the one over there in the sidebar. I normally show up to my aunt’s incredibly hungover and wanting to die. So I kind of prepped myself for a day of answering why I wasn’t married/with child/a millionaire/a doctor and then my mom said, hey, sorry to do this to you, but I think we’re canceling the new year’s stuff. Your father’s kind of sick and your aunt is too tired to cook for 3000 cousins. And suddenly it was like a major GET OUT OF JAIL FREE AND HERE IS A NEW FRYING PAN AND A SALAD SPINNER. Stoke city! I went back to sleep.

Micah and I were at some vegan restaurant (YES VEGAN. AND DELICIOUS.) and we were sitting next to two dudes on a man-date/broppointment and one guy was all stoked for the waffle special and I was like oh they stop serving breakfast at 11 am. The time is 3! And when he overheard this it looked like I had kicked his dog in the nuts. Like how dare you ruin this moment. Don’t you hate that? Breakfast should be served all day all the time. Like, wtf. It’s even easier to make than dinner, what’s wrong with people?

I already miss my L.A. friends. Didn’t even get to see everyone. I hate when that happens. Also if you managed to reach the end of this post you deserve a cookie. Mail me your address, I will send you a cookie. No joke. Do it.

Happy 09!

Also, I decided that in 2013 I will start high fiving again. I stopped in 2003 and Micah and I decided that a decade without high fiving sounded about right. So there you go.

Hello from (greater) Los Angeles! My time here has gone something like this: driving, driving, driving, park, driving, driving, driving, oh no traffic, beer, beer, taco truck, brrrrr, Lost Boys 2: Shit Sandwich, driving, driving, huevos rancheros, yay, zzzzz. That’s it. I’m helping my brother find an apartment and holy shit it sucks. No no it SUCKS with a capital SUCK. I realize no matter what city you live in, finding a place is exactly like kicking yourself in the neck. But wait, Annie! It’s imposible to kick myself in the neck! That’s where you’re wrong, buddy. And right. Today’s gem included a studio that had a shared bathroom which the landlord didn’t mention in the ad. Like did she think we wouldn’t notice? That was some New York shit right there. Also I’d like to point out that L.A. was COLDER than NY the last few nights. That’s COLDER with a capital SUCK. Tomorrow we shall continue the pain and suffering. And driving. Did I mention the driving? Also I’m helping Mike find a car too. I’m like his PA. That’s personal assistant, to be clear. I am not his Pennsylvania or whatever. But I should get some kind of trophy or something for doing this. Mike: give me my trophy dammit. Where is my trophy!!!

Also Korean food, how I missed you, old friend. You never judge me. You just love me and give give give. Sniff. I love you.

I’m here at lovely John Fitzgerald Kennedy International Airport waiting for a flight to the greater Los Angeles area. On the way here I saw a rainbow over Queens. It was the filthiest, most polluted rainbow ever. Then whilst in line at Jamba Juice, a woman flipped out because she didn’t like the employee’s attitude, and got all “I’m going to sue!” and then an old man collapsed in the terminal and the medics came. And now they are playing Wham! in the terminal. Which came after Kenny G version of Auld Lang Syne. I can’t tell if I’m having a positive or negative experience.

Happy Holidays!

Thanks for all the well wishes and emails and IMs and texts and hugs and burritos. I have amazing friends and for this, I am very grateful. So thanks you guys, seriously. It makes the whole thing go down a lot easier.

Anyway, before she passed away, my grandma knitted me the ugliest vest I have ever seen. A sweater vest. It’s purple. Very purple. OK think of a muscle tank. And now make it purple and wool. And now give it a small boatneck collar. It’s very, uh, unflattering. I put it on and it looks like I got beatdown by Barney and Grimace. I don’t know how to knit, but I’d like to somehow reknit it into something else that I can use all the time, which would be kind of nice. She also knit a hat so big I can pull it down over my entire face. Hahaha I could like rob a bank. But I won’t, not because it’s illegal, but because who has time to rob a bank? I mean you go in there and you have to wait in line forever, it’s just not worth it.

In other family news: one of my younger cousins, 19, wants to BE A RAPPER!!!!!!! DUDE!!!!!!! He has a big fat diamond earring and everything. Cap turned to the side. I want to die. I’m like really? A rapper? I mean, I’m not saying you should be a doctor or a lawyer, but this is definitely one of those things where you should have a fallback career. Just saying. He was wandering around my grandma’s apartment with his iPod on and rapping and doing that rapper thing with the hands you know that karate chop thing. Dude. A rapper. FROM THE VALLEY. I mean the VALLEY. Look at this place. There are malls everywhere. Panda Express. CPK. You know what I mean? But, he apparently recorded a demo!!!! Dude, WTF is right! A RAPPER. Good times.

One of my cousins flew in from Seoul, and he’s the oldest. He’s awesome, one of my favorite people in the family. Anyway he has a ponytail now. A PONYTAIL. The man is like pushing 40. And he’s like yeah I just hadn’t had time to cut it. I’m like really? You didn’t have time in the past, oh I dunno, TWO YEARS it took to grow that beast? He said he’d cut his ponytail off and make soup out of it just for me. Speaking of food, his favorite game is this: “If I gave you a hundred bucks, would you eat that piece of beef?” “What if you ate that piece of pork right now? What would happen?” “OK how about TWO hundred. U.S. dollars.” And then everyone at the table shouts do it, do it, do it (including my parents). Seriously does this joke ever get old? Probably not. Anyway yesterday we went to INSANE KOREAN BBQ place. They brought out like gigantic platters of meat. Like a big meat pile. It doesn’t bother me I mean come on, it’s beef I have SEEN BEEF BEFORE OMG, but then everyone does the joke where when ever I’m about to eat something they say oh be careful, there’s beef in that and I actually stop to look because I can’t tell you how many times they’ve actually sneaked beef into my food, it’s ridiculous. And then they all laugh, like ha ha ha, made you look. It’s like being in junior high. I’m going to shove everyone in a locker.

So my grandmother passed away this morning. She was a good woman, a very good woman. She’s the one who knitted me the absolutely ridiculous Rastafarian cap last Christmas because “that is what all the kids are wearing” in her neighborhood (she lives/d in South Central, no joke) and when I was little she sewed overalls and a sweater set for my stuffed animals. In high school, she wanted me to get my eyebrow pierced because she thought it was kind of cool, but more importantly it would horrify my mother. She was also the best cook on the planet, and now that honor goes to my mother. I’m sad, but I’m OK. She led an amazing life, saw her first grandkid, etc. All the stuff people say about grandparents, you know, applies here. But I’d like to point out her last words to me, which I thought were very fitting for her. She had a heart attack on Sunday and I talked to her the next day while she was in the hospital. “Hi Annie, how are you? Eat well. Get married. Take a nap. I’m gonna go now.” That made me laugh. Like do it in that order, you know? Eat, marry, nap. So then my mom was like “So, did you HEAR THAT? Do you UNDERSTAND? Get on it!” Anyway, it’s not a bad swan song for my grandma.

So thanks, Grandma. I’ll miss you.

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.

This is my first blog post of 2008. Let me tell you, this post may look and feel exactly like a post from 2007, but don’t be fooled. It is a 2008-era blogging. You ladies and gents got your finger on the pulse. Do you feel that? What does it feel like? Is it ELECTRIC? This is the most current 2008 post until I write another one. Consider yourself “caught up” and “updated.” You are starting the new year right and on time. I’m proud of you. I’m also proud of myself for reasons I don’t even know, mostly because people tell me to be proud of myself. So I am. You should be proud of yourself too. Actually let’s all take a break and pat ourselves on the back. (I actually did that yesterday at work. Sometimes I do that and I feel like a jerk and then I think, wait, I am actually good at my job. Pat, pat, pat, pat).

My family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, despite my parents being super-Catholic, so everyone did their own thing, just like any other night, and I had dinner with the Moyer family. Mike is an old friend from college and my parents happened to move two miles away from his parents, so it’s all convenient. What I learned is that the Moyer family will not eat anything unless it’s made out of pork, duck, or pork and duck. And butter. And alcohol. Yet everyone is pretty thin and healthy so it’s all very confusing. But pork and duck are close friends of the Moyer family. Mike has duck set to speed dial on his phone. It’s ranked higher than his sisters. Well actually duck is ranked higher than Maggie, but not as high as Kate. They are twins. Mike really likes his sisters but he also really likes duck. So he just sort of split the twins up to make it fair. Also it is interesting to note that Mike also took Virgin America and they also LOST HIS LUGGAGE. His came on the next flight though. Mine didn’t.

New Year’s was spent with my friends and not my family, which was the most amazing thing ever. I went to my friend’s party and there was a very good mix of architects and non-architects and also a very good mix of alcohol. I did not feel well the next day. I did feel guilty about not being with my family but then I fell back asleep so that was cool.

I also forgot to mention that my toilet overflowed at home and it was so bad I don’t even want to talk about it. So I called my super but he wasn’t home so he sent his son who is a nice kid but is not a super. He tried to snake the pipe and then flushed and all of the sudden I was like NOOOOOOOO in slow-motion because of course the toilet overflowed again. And he started to panic and I’m like TURN IT OFF OH MY GOD TURN IT OFF TURN OFF THE WATER and he’s like WHERE? WHERE? WHERE? I’m like THE LITTLE KNOB RIGHT THERE COME ON. So then he called his mom to help him out. It was like watching my brother and my mom fight over fixing something. Totally awful. I started getting itchy and everything.

Then my landlord decided, hey, you like heat? TOO BAD. Then he mooned everyone in the building. But wait, he said, don’t you like the little wreaths I put up in the hallways? That was a nice and festive touch don’t you think? YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE NICE AND FESTIVE MR. LANDLORD? HEAT.

I have some questions and maybe you can answer them. Since I don’t know the answer to these questions, I will pretty much believe any answer you give me, as long as they are delivered with AUTHORITY and also AGGRESSION. For example:

Q: Why do people wear sweats outside of the house in a non-gym setting, such as a mall, restaurant, or bar?
A: EVERY IDIOT KNOWS THAT SWEATS HELP CUT GREENHOUSE GAS EMISSIONS BY 9.2%. YOU SAY YOU WENT TO COLLEGE? WAS THAT CLOWN COLLEGE?

See how that works? It’s like oh man, I had no idea, apparently I am worse than an idiot. I’m sorry for even asking.

So then, on to my questions. I hope that you can help me because these questions keep me up at night.

1. Why do all middle-aged mothers like Josh Groban, Andrea Bocelli, and Michael Bublé?

2. Who would win in a deadly deathmatch-to-the-death-to-the-death: Marie Curie or Nikola Tesla?

3. How do you explain to your mother that Jimmy Choo makes shoes that are for whores?

4. Why do people watch Grey’s Anatomy? That show sucks.

5. Why do my parents yell things that can easily be spoken in an indoor-voice like OH I REALLY LIKE TRADER JOE’S ORANGE-CRANBERRY SCONES.

There are a lot of other questions, but honestly I think these are the five most pressing ones.

Also Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and if you don’t, it means YOU WORSHIP SATAN just like my parents. The good news is that you can DESTROY SATAN by beating him at Guitar Hero.

So they “found” my luggage and delivered it to me. They did not know what happened. They fly to only three cities, you’d think they’d know what was up. They are sorry, but not sorry enough if you ask me. They delivered it. It was in one whole piece and not several pieces as I had anticipated. Christmas was not ruined. Not yet anyway.

Now I think, hey I have clothes! I have my gifts! I shall take a shower. A glorious shower. I shall wear new clothes. It will be amazing. Oh, wait, what’s this? My parents haven’t had HOT WATER in two days?????? Dude. Even my crappy compartment in New York has hot water (most of the time). An outrage! So now I must drive to my friend’s house which is 40 minutes away because my parents moved out of the Valley, but in the opposite direction from where all the “action” is. This is because my parents do not like “action.” They see “action” and they think, you know what? I will avoid it. I will go way over here. But then everyday I will drive to the “action” and it will be a very far drive. It is better this way.

I’m sorry for my odor everyone. It’s not my fault. I swear. When the situation allows it, I pay very close attention to personal hygiene. So now I recommend that everyone step back a few feet from me. Or stop breathing. Either one is fine.