My band Last Known Settlers just launched a website. You can find it here. You can enjoy our tunes via Muxtape here. I threw all of it together in like an hour, not so bad, right? This is why I love the internets. It makes it easy to make more internets so it’s like continuously exploding all over itself. Very messy. Anyway we’ll be playing a show on Saturday night - 8pm at the Delancey (Delancey btwn Clinton and Attorney). Some come out if you are around. If not, just know you’ll be missing the GREATEST NIGHT ROCK AND ROLL HAS EVER SEEN. Jk jk jk It’ll be like the second greatest night. The first greatest night was when the Hoff sang on top of the Berlin Wall.

Also writer’s block. I kind of have it. It is problematic. I’m not sure if I have to relax or if I have to like get angry. Sometimes I write better when I’m filled with rage. No idea, it’s just like that. So quick, someone, make me angry. HURRY!

I just received a very sexy photo from Dr. Jimbob of GA Tech. It is so sexy I am almost afraid to look at it because it makes my LOINS CRY OUT. THEY ARE BURNING HOLY CRAP MY LOINS ARE ON FIRE. And I’m sure it’s not from the gonorrhea (this time).

It is a 8 x 10 glossy headshot of…THE DIAMOND.

(HINT: Not Dustin Diamond or Lou Diamond Phillips)

NEIL DIAMOND!!!!!

DUDE!

NO. YOU DON’T GET IT. IT’S NEIL FUCKING DIAMOND!!!!

No, no, no, YOU shut up!

He is smoldering. He is smoking hot. And god his hair…his beautiful hair…it is like cornsilk (fashioned into a fro helmet). Oh the Diamond is making me blush with that look. He wants me. I know that he wants me because he is telling me with his soul. That gentle pucker of his lips. His Romanesque nose. His butterfly collar. Say no more, Annie, I am yours forever.

He’s showing just enough of the signature Diamond chest hair, but not too much to be crass, that’s because the Diamond has class. He buys drinks for the ladies and pulls out their chairs for them before making sweet, sweet love to them with his birdsong.

The Diamond came in a protective plastic sleeve because that is how much people care about the Diamond. When you get a photo of the Diamond, the first thing you do is put it in a plastic sleeve. The second thing you do is put it on your fridge and then build a shrine around it. I will be sacrificing small children or lambs (whichever I can get from the deli up the street).

My fridge is redonk. The Hoff, Ricky Martin, the Diamond. Everyone who comes over will want to make sweet, sweet love to my fridge. As they should. I mean look at it. It’s so beautiful.

There really is only one person on this planet who truly appreciates the Diamond. And that is Neil Diamond. But holy shit, I heart him. Oh dear, I think he’s undressing me with his eyes! Oh Neil, you devil!

Thank you Dr. JimBob!!!!!

Someone has sent me a wombat. It is furry and brown and has little ears and has a nice big rump without a tail. It looks like a cross between a bear and a mouse. It is DANGEROUSLY CUTE. It should come with a warning sign because I nearly died. I began to feel dizzy and a little nauseous. I also experienced dry mouth, jaundice, inability to concentrate, restless leg syndrome, and a nearly insurmountable urge to high five. But that could be from other medication. I NEARLY DIED do you understand? That’s how cute this piece of shit is. WOMBAT: WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME? What have I done to you? I do not know who sent this to me, it is a mystery. A very mysterious mystery. If you have sent me a wombat, please let me know. His name is Wally. It came with that name. I always keep the name animals come with. I had a friend who got an old cat from another family, and he re-named it Helsinki or Stockholm or Oslo or something like that, which is a cool name, but not the name it came with, so I was like, dude, why would you do that? It’s like meeting a man named Joe and all of the sudden calling him Duke Fernando Castillo y Ruiz because that is a cooler name. Like, no! NO!

Also, my computer still sucks as does my life at the moment.

My friend Aura sent me this today and thought I should share. Because it’s important to share, my kindergarten teacher taught me that. Sharing is caring, sharing makes the world go around, it takes a village, two birds with the stone is better in the bush, if you see something, say something, etc.

I can totally imagine the mom sitting down with her son and being like, hi Scout, your father and I love you very much but we think you might have a camel toad problem and need help. We are not judging you, we love you and want to help you with your camel toad. It’s tearing our family apart. And of course the son would be like, no one understands me, I’m going to my room. And then blast his music and play Halo 2. And then the parents will be concerned that the music and video games are what’s causing him to hit the camel toad hard. Then maybe the father will think, well when I was his age I experimented and certainly had a few drinks and listened to the Beach Boys and my parents thought I was high on LSD all the time, even though I was just drunk. And the mother will think, but that was different back then. This is CAMEL TOADS.

Also does anyone want a kitten? My co-worker really likes to take in stray animals, and a cat in her backyard just had five kittens and they are super cute. The mom is grey and the dad is black and white. But one of the kittens is Siamese. I guess mom…gets around.

So New York Times told me that “teenage visitors” are “down” at MySpace. At first I thought they meant like “down” as in “hip” and “cool” and “with it” and in addition “the bee’s knees” and “the cat’s pajamas.” Then I realized they meant that there are, like, no teenagers on MySpace, thereby declaring MySpace dead. So now the “place for friends” is really like a “place for totally unhip dead friends who will wind up cold and alone with no friends, not even dead ones.” I don’t know how that’s going to fit on their banner, I’ll leave that up to the designers. Myspace is dead. The new hot jam is Facebook. So I have started a Facebook account with the help of my friend Doretta who is now my Canadian Minister of the Cat’s Pajamas. She will help me maintain the razor-sharp hip edge that everyone has come to expect from me. Doretta, mush mush. Help me get my profile running before Facebook is dead and I have to join another “networking” site. Anyway if you have Facebook, you can find me: annie at annietown dot com. Be my Facebook friend. “Poke me.”

In other news, I have signed up for this 40 days of yoga for $4 a day special promo at this studio. Let me tell you, I will KICK YOUR ASS AT YOGA. Oh yes. I am so AWESOME at yoga I will out-yoga your lily-white butt back to Level I. I will beat you so hard you’ll have to run to a Pilates class in tears. Tears of shame. Brought on by being beat at yoga. By me. Fear my Ardha Chandrasana, it will kick your ass straight into last week, natch.

Seriously though, it’s been pretty cool, but what I’ve noticed is that I sweat like one thousand times more than the average person. Why is this? During an average day, I’m not really that sweaty. But then I start running or doing yoga and all of the sudden I have jumped in a lake of my own human sweat. I’m disgusting. A mystery.

Someone sneaky and mysterious has given me hand putty to help with my carpel tunnel. I do not know who this mystery person is. Today a nice man in a brown outfit delivered a package in which there was a can of putty from Crazy Aaron’s Putty World. It must be a pretty crazy world because my putty is purple but turns pink as you play with it. Who sent it? There is no card that identifies this most generous person. So thank you, whoever you are. I am enjoying and maybe wincing a little from the pain. It also makes very satisfying popping noises and bounces, but I do not like to bounce it because then it will get dirty. Dirty putty is unhappy putty. However, I am happy. Please identify yourself.