Thw first person to tell me who this is will get a sweet, sweet prize.

Pony is excluded from this contest.

BE A WINNER.

And by being a winner, you are also kind of the loser. In many ways, we are all the losers of this contest.

I’d like to introduce you to my new friend. It is a marmot. Which is like a lemming or a shrew. Except it’s a marmot. This one happens to live in the Swiss Alps, of Switzerland. You know, the country that looks like a melting scoop of ice cream, not to be confused with Sweden, the country that kind of looks like a flaccid penis-rod. When I was little I got Switzerland and Sweden confused. Listen, I’m not proud of that, but I just thought I should be honest and open about it. Give me a break, I was eight. On a slightly related note, there is a new Swiss restaurant in my neighborhood and from what I gather, it only serves schnitzel. For those of you who like schnitzel, this is your jam. For those of you who don’t, then it is like a big finger to you. The one between the index and the ring finger, if you have to ask. Anyway this restaurant happens to be in the space, I believe, that used to be a club where a girl got stabbed to death by the bouncer. Or maybe she was shot. I don’t remember. Either way now it is a Swiss restaurant, I think. Back to the story.

Aura and her sister Andrea gave this marmot to me. They were in Switzerland and they were like WAIT, WAIT DO YOU SEE THAT? WE HAVE TO GET IT FOR ANNIE. As you can see this marmot, which I have named Das Marmotten because I’m guessing that means The Marmot in Swiss German (Marco, am I right?), has an accordion. Please think about the last time you saw a marmot holding an accordion. Right, you have NEVER seen that! It’s magic, right? Magical shit happens in Switzerland I’m telling you. Anyway this marmot is not just any marmot, it also DOUBLES AS A KEYCHAIN. OH WHERE ARE MY KEYS I CANNOT FIND THEM IN MY BAG, OH LOOK HERE THEY ARE ATTACHED TO THIS MARMOT. Or maybe HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN MY KEYS IT HAS A GIGANTIC MARMOT ON IT. It’s bigger than my hand. There is no way in hell I would lose my keys.

But wait! Wait! There’s more! It PLAYS MUSIC. It plays beautiful, beautiful accordion music that is so beautiful. And now, with my iPhone, I can play it for you. Click here to listen. If you are at the office, I suggest you CRANK THAT SHIT TO 11 AND ROCK OUT. Dancing shoes are highly recommended.

Thanks Aura and Andrea!!!!!! Holy crap!

IF I DO NOT GET GEORGE MICHAEL OUT OF MY HEAD I’M GOING TO SHOOT MYSELF IN THE HEAD.

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!

Listen. I am running out of TOONZ for my earholes. Please feed me TOONZ. Or else I will go hungry and feed on other things which will get ugly. UGLY. YOU DO NOT WANT TO EXPERIENCE IT WITH YOUR INNOCENT EYES. Actually I think there are enough people on Annietown to come together like one big happy family and exchange Muxtapes. Then we can all learn from each other and eat TOONZ for every meal. Then we can get obese with the TOONZ. And we can also make fun of each other for having inferior tastes in music, as outlined in this helpful diagram.

OK I have made an Annietown Muxtape for you all. It only accepts mp3s by the way. Eat it. Feed me. Do it. Zrzly.

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.