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.

I read this article about how teachers are using Skype to connect their classes with authors and holding Q&A sessions. This is something I would’ve KILLED for in high school and college! Can you imagine? My brain would’ve exploded all over the place. Anyway I think this is an incredible idea, and I love talking to students. It kind of combines what I do for a paycheck (doing educational tech stuff) and what I do in life (pretending to be a writer). If you are an educator and want to organize something with me, I’d be more than happy to oblige! Email me for details.

<——— There’s a link somewhere over there.

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?

I’ll be reading at the Asian American Writers’ Workshop this Sunday, in honor of Lunar New Year.*

There’ll be dumplings and noodles and rice cakes and readings. It’s free-form and casual. So if you want to read something, DO VIT. DO VIT NOW!

I’ll be reading around 9:25.

AAWW is located conveniently in Midtown West.
16 West 32nd Street, Suite 10A

Right near K-town!** Holy crap! It’s your lucky day. You can eat Korean food and then listen to a Korean (American).

But, wait! How do we get there?

N, R, Q, W, F, B, D, V trains to 34th Street/Herald Square
4, 5, 6 trains to 33rd Street
1, 2, 3, 9 trains to 34th Street

*Lunar New Year is the same as Chinese New Year but, like, it’s not just New Year in China. The Sea of Japan is also bullshit. Why do they get their own sea? We don’t call it American Ocean. Though we should just to piss the Canadians off.

**People always ask me where to eat in K-town. The answer is not very clear because, for the most part, I find most of the food there kind of overpriced and not that good. But I have very high standards. Fine, I’m a total snob. You happy? I guess I like Cho Dang Gol, which is at 55 W 35th St (between 5th & 6th Ave). But I also found out recently they gave nonspicy food to white people, which is irritating. But whatever. Apparently white people are all adverse to FLAVOR. Also, please don’t go to that place with the waterfall. Everyone always goes there and it breaks my heart. It’s like why don’t I just poop on a plate and give it to you. At least it’d be free.

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.

I just guest-blogged over at Clarabella for another Movember post. This week features child predators and Blu-Blockers ™. Yay! Everyone loves child predators and Blu-Blockers right? Right?

Thanks to everyone who came out to the Rubin on Friday night. I heard people were sitting on the floor. They gave me a sweet prayer scarf (for safe journeys) and a membership. So now I can see the crap out of Himalayan art. The best line of the night: To get to the bathrooms, make a left at the Ganesh. I’ve always wanted to say that.

I have to say the movie situation is pretty awesome. On Friday nights the museum cafe turns into a veritable discotheque and they were pumping out the new Beyonce jam and there was pink lights. Total dance party. Dude, if you liked it you should’ve put a ring on it, that’s all I have to say. Then you can drink martinis and watch the Most Depressing Movie Ever.

Seriously, the movie was good. But depressing. What’s worse is that the story the movie is “inspired by” is even MORE depressing and messed up. Good god. It’s one of those things where if the movie had actually been about the real incident no one would’ve believed it, that’s how messed it was. A few of us just stood around afterward and felt like dying. It was good times. Then we ran into Zechariah on the street. He was drunk. His eyes were like spinning in his head and he kept on wanting hugs. Hahaha good times.

What is everyone doing for Thanksgiving?

I suck! To be clear: Thursday night is the rock show. Friday night is the movie and reading. Saturday is wait, Sunday always comes too late. Got it?

I’m here blogging live from Fire Island where we are, at this very second, watching Phantom of the Paradise, which is like a seventies version of Phantom of the Opera. Complete with a phantom wearing a motorcycle helmet, black lipstick and a pleather body suit. One part goth, one part WTF. Oh also he has metal teeth and talks through a vocoder too, though I am not sure why. Paul Williams is in it oh yes, that Paul Willams, of Muppets fame, Mr Rainbow Connection. Look, this is all very confusing and I’d recommend you to watch this movie, but actually you could just kick yourself in the nuts to get the same experience. And if you don’t have any nuts to kick just find the nearest pair and go to town. Why are we watching this? No idea. It’s amazing.

Anyway on Friday night at 9:30 I’ll be reading at the Rubin Museum of Himalayan Art. They’re hosting a film series called Cabaret Cinema where you get a drink and watch a movie, two great tastes that taste great together. I’ll be reading something mysterious, meaning I am not sure what I’m reading. And I’ll be introducing Nobody Knows, a Japanese movie about kids who are abandoned in Tokyo. It’s hilarious, if you think bawling your eyes out is hilarious, that is. Come and watch and listen and be a cultured winner. Winner! Annietown is for WINNERS ONLY.

And if you want to be an extra winner, on THURSDAY night you can come to the Last Known Settlers show at Matchless in hip Greenpoint (Manhattan Ave & Driggs). We go on at 10. Yes it’s late and yes it’s a school night. Be a WINNER. Two nights of Annie HFS OMG!!!

Ok end of promo/self sucking.

I just confirmed a reading at the Rubin Museum of Art on November 14. Dude, I know. It’s so fucking far away from now, I’m pretty sure even I will forget about it. But anyway, yes, November 14, mark your calendars. It’s so far away that I’m pretty sure my calendar doesn’t even go up that far, but whatever. Maybe yours does. Maybe you have some kind of magical calendar that can see four months into the future. Oh look, how special. It must be nice being so fancy.

The Rubin Museum focuses on Himalayan art and I’ve never actually been to it because the only thing I hate more than art is the Himalayas. Ha ha ha! I jest! How can anyone have anything against the Himalayas? That’s like saying “I hate Neil Diamond.” It’s just wrong. And impossible. Anyway in the fall they are screening a series of films that best illustrate a Bhutanese proverb. They asked the Asian American Writer’s Workshop to organize readings that best go along with the spirit of the film. That’s where I come in.

I’ll be paired with the movie Nobody Knows, directed and written by Hirokazu Koreeda. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but apparently it is a GUT-WRENCHING TEAR-JERKER. OK imagine that your boy/girlfriend has just dumped you. Then someone tells you that your puppy has to be put down. By you. Seriously. Everyone I’ve talked to who has seen has said, “oh god, it’s good but it’s so painful, so, so painful.” You can read descriptions about it, but basically it’s about four Japanese kids abandoned by their mother and left to fend for themselves in Tokyo. They should’ve just called it SADDEST MOVIE IN THE WORLD WHY BOTHER LIVING YOU ARE SUCH A DICK FOR BEING ALIVE. So now I have to ask myself, what should I read? (Hint: “Dear Architects, I am sick of your shit” is not the correct answer.)

How do you prep an audience for the biggest hour and a half downer ever? LIKE HEY EVERYONE WHY DON’T YOU LAUGH FOR A FEW MINUTES BECAUSE SOON YOU WILL CRY AND HATE YOURSELF. Do I bring the audience up, just so they can just go down? I am not sure. I remember my mom going to a funeral and being flustered because she didn’t know what to wear and the fact that she was flustered by such a stupid, little thing in the face of a funeral made her even more flustered. That is kind of like how I feel. What the fuck do you read? They would like me to read from the book, the one over there —-> I guess I will figure it out, but I’m very excited to be reading there. It might also be the only place I’ve read that didn’t, you know, go out of business.

OK. Does anyone actually like Christmas music? If so, please identify yourself so I can punch you in the throat and call you a liar. NO ONE likes Christmas music. Jesus doesn’t even like Christmas music and half that crap is about him. So, why are people playing it? Sometimes I want to break down in the store and just cry and then have a throwdown with the first “customer service representative” I see. Christmas shopping is already stressful enough, it’s like they are actually trying to kill me. Santa, why are you trying to kill me? I don’t know which is the worst Christmas song. It might be the “Twelve Days of Christmas” song because it’s about twelve days long. Like, why not just sing “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall”? Or it might be “We wish you a Merry Christmas” because the song is like 5 minutes long but there are only 10 words. The word to minute ratio is very, very bad.

That reminds me of how my mother called me “Santa Claus maid” when she in fact meant to call me an elf. This is because I am on the petite side of the human scale. I’d be huge for a dog, mind you, but for a human, I am kind of small. But not, like, that small. But you know what I mean. The point is this: if you have read Happy Birthday or Whatever, you already know this. Sometimes I find myself saying things I wrote in the book and people call me on it. Like, yeah Annie, I read it, duh. It’s particularly bad with my close friends because they’ve heard it a million times, and then read it, and then now they have to hear it again. I’m surprised I have any friends at all, really. So then I get embarrassed and it kind of puts a damper on the conversation and I have to be like oh sorry, I forgot, say, that’s a nice shirt you got on.