Everyone give yourselves a hug. We survived the Rapture.

Or did we?

On Saturday I prepared for the end of the world by going bowling. I trust that you guys went bowling too. It is what people do when they are preparing for the end of the world.

Fact: There is only one thing my doctor has ever told me to NOT to do. And that is bowling.

At the time I said, oh yeah, not a fucking problem. I mean how often does a person bowl? Well, it turns out, more often then expected. Bowling is all “hip” and “with it” and “trendo” now in Williamsburg, which is where all the “hip” and “with it” and “trendo” people are. I swear, I walked out of the train and I saw, like, a dozen handlebar mustaches. All oiled and groomed and everything. This mustache thing is totally out of control. Everyone’s appearance was so contrived. I actually felt UNDERDRESSED in the deli. Here I am, getting a Pellegrino to quench my thirst and be classy at the sametime, and I felt like oh man, I am totally NOT wearing the RIGHT OUTFIT to PAY FOR MY PURCHASE. At the deli. Where coffee is 99¢ and the bananas have healthy colonies of Drosophila.

True story: JoMo smokes really really really really really really lame cigarettes. They are American Spirits…ORGANIC. Oh yeah. ORGANIC cigarettes. I know, it makes no sense. Like, no sense at all. He says he does it to “support organic farming”. Which is retarded because all that shit comes from some corporate farm. You are not supporting Ma and Pa “Tobacco” Jenkins when you are buying ORGANIC cigarettes, but I digress. He goes to a deli in “hip” and “with it” and “trendo” Williamsburg and asks for his particular retarded brand of cigarettes: “Do you have American Spirit Organics?” and the deli guy goes, “Wuhhhhh?” And JoMo repeats it and then the dude behind him starts LAUGHING. I mean really just like LAUGHING in the WTF style. Organic cigarettes, am I right?

This particular dude had a handlebar mustache, skinny jeans, and….suspenders. (And also a wife beater). So JoMo, just got laughed at by a “man” wearing what was basically women’s jeans, with suspenders that were not functional because his jeans were so skinny and tight, and a handlebar mustache. I have to say, this was a very, very, very special moment for me. One of those Kodak things. So then I tell JoMo, hey, a guy with a handlebar mustache wearing my pants just laughed at your choice of stupid cigarettes and he looked so sad, like I had just punched him in the nuts. Also, cigarettes, $13 in NYC. There’s just like so many layers of comedy here. I can’t even control myself. Sometimes I really love living on Earth. I don’t think I can ever leave. Kind of like my really shitty apartment.

So, back to bowling. We all went to Brooklyn Bowl to celebrate the birth and life of Stephanie. She is the other half of “Choi Division” which is our fictional band. Due to tendonitis and all kinds of stupid injuries on my wrists (yes go ahead and make your handjob jokes here), I have to “modify” my bowling “technique”. Which is kinnddd of less about rolling and more about tossing the ball down the lane, whilst putting an insane amount of spin on it (or no spin at all). I rolled a few strikes with this insane “technique,” but not enough to actually win or break 100 or even break, like, 50. They were playing Ghostbusters too, so that was VERY distracting. I fucking love that fucking movie, you guys. I love the shit out of it. Also, I heard their fire station (which is an active station and a few blocks down from me) is closing. If you all can lend me a few MILLZ I will buy the shit out of that station and, also, leave the fire pole because that shit is hawt. You guys can stay there whenever you want.

So anyway, the point is, the bowling alley is pretty cool and new and trendo blah blah, but I guess due to the Rapture, their basement/bathrooms flooded. So they had port-a-potties parked outside. And the bouncer assured me, “They are really nice port-a-potties, the kind you find on movie sets.” Let me tell you something. This did not make me feel better. Oh yeah, Meryl Streep uses this bathroom! She’s a classy lady! And don’t forget so did Oscar (TM) winner Natalie Portman! She also uses this style of mobile john! i mean really come on. who are you kidding, it is a port-a-potty. People don’t install that shit into their homes for a reason.

My friend and general badass ladypants Mary Phillips-Sandy had asked me to do a review of Bridesmaids with her for a site. Posting it to the site didn’t work out, but I figured, shit, we watched the movie and did the work (which is to say, we talked about it), we should post it somewhere. So I will post it here.

It contains spoilers. If you like spoilers, then you will like this review, because it has spoilers, as I mentioned previously. If you don’t like spoilers, then I guess you shouldn’t read this and instead, get back to work already.

Annie: It was a big, fat meh, to me. Maybe my expectations were too high. I tend to have high standards. I’m Asian.

Mary: My expectations were low, based on the trailers. And the poster outside the theater that said “Chick flicks don’t have to suck.” How do we feel about the term “chick flick,” by the way?

Annie: I hate it. I hate it almost as much as I hate “chick lit.”

Mary: I hate it too. Yes. If only those words didn’t rhyme. We would not have to deal with this.

Annie: WHY NOT JUST FLICKS EVERYONE CAN ENJOY? i.e. Flicks that do not suck a big fat hairy choad and/or vagina depending on your preference.

Mary: Well, I’ll start by pointing out a few things I did like.

Annie: Okay.

Mary: I have always admired Kristen Wiig, so I was happy to see her in a starring role. I also found myself liking Maya Rudolph more than I ever did when she was on SNL. Their scenes together had great rapport: with a few exceptions that I will mention, their friendship felt authentic and real.

Annie: I like Kristen Wiig but I always thought she was a bit one note. She kind of always plays the same character, just at different levels of intensity. But I did think she was great in this. Her character was solid. And I thought Maya Rudolph was good too, though her character wasn’t as full.

Mary: I also appreciated the fact that Lillian’s fiancé was a non-entity, so this was not about a man coming between two ladyfriends. If it weren’t for that awful Helen, I suspect Annie and Lillian would’ve gotten through that wedding hoopla just fine.

Annie: All the dudes were basically non-entities, even the love interest.

Mary: Yep. So it really was about friendship among ladies in their 30s–which is groundbreaking in its way. It’s pathetic that I have to say that. One thing, though, about Annie and Lillian. I did not believe Lillian’s willingness to go along with the expensive Vegas trip when she knew Annie could not afford it. Wouldn’t she at least offer to help pay for her ticket? I would!

Annie: Oh, I know. There’s a lot of unrealistic shit though. Like Annie has that insane blow out at the shower, and then later she apologizes quickly on Lillian’s wedding day. I was like, COME ON. There’s extended scenes of Annie trying to ‘win back’ the cop, but there’s maybe one scene where Annie’s trying to win back her best friend.

Mary: There were moments where I felt very aware of the contrivances, which is part and parcel of any rom-com.

Annie: Yeah, they were just trying to tie up loose ends quickly.

Mary: And there’s no reason to expect anything more from this particular rom-com, just because there are ways in which it is doing something new.

Annie: Right, but what happens there is that it makes the tired stuff stand out a lot. Like the whole food poisoning thing.

Mary: YES okay, that.

Annie: Poop jokes are the lowest common denominator in comedy. “Oh! Everyone loves a poop joke! Tee hee!”

Mary: Everyone’s talking about that scene. Frankly, it was not that gross, I thought.

Annie: It wasn’t gross, it was just stupid and went on too long. LIKE OK I GET IT. OH LOOK WOMAN IS SHITTING IN SINK HAR HAR. (Spoiler alert.)

Mary: I’m sure it was fun for a bunch of improv actors to do, but there was an element of laziness about the idea.

Annie: I’m sure a lot of people love that scene. It just was kind of a low joke to get laughs. Super cheap, and devoid of actual clever wit that some of the other scenes have.

Mary: Yes. I read somewhere that Wiig and her writing partner, Annie Mumolo, originally wrote a fantasy scene where she tries on a dress and imagines her fantasy life in it, getting swept off her feet, and Apatow scotched it.

Annie: Because it was too ‘girly’? So he bro’d it up with a diarrhea scene?

Mary: No, the concern was doing a fantasy–they wanted to stay in the moment of the plot, which makes sense. And having a big comic set piece felt right, at that stage of the story.

Annie: Sure. I think it was probably a good move because one of the best things about the movie is that it’s not about Annie whining about being single. You don’t get the feeling that she WANTS to be married.

Mary: Good point. I loved the scenes with her and Jon Hamm, the details, like the way she snuck out of bed to put on makeup in the morning.

Annie: Everything tastes better with Hamm.

Mary: He excels at sleaziness. Something about his forehead, I think.

Annie: His o-face is really quite top notch. But I think the entourage/bridal crew had some character issues.

Mary: Okay, run those down.

Annie: There’s the sexed-crazed mother of three boys and then there’s her opposite, the girl who wants the Pixar-themed bridal shower. Then there’s the prissy country club lady and the Fight Club big, burly girl. The characters seemed based on opposites, which to me is an easy ‘out’ for developing characters, but again, this is a ‘chick flick’ or whatever you want to call it. It’s a comedy, so it’s not like I should expect fully drawn and developed characters.

Mary: That is the nature of the ensemble comedy, to some extent. Broad strokes. See what I did there? I will say, what this movie needed was more Ellie Kemper. MORE ELLIE KEMPER. She got short shrift. I don’t know why her subplot vanished.

Annie: A lot of the subplots did. Wendi McLendon-Covey’s character basically disappeared.

Mary: Yet the movie managed to go on for over two hours. What about the amazing Melissa McCarthy, who stole every scene she was in?

Annie: Dude she totally stole it.

Mary: David Edelstein wrote that she “gets mostly jokes exploiting her girth.”

Annie: She might’ve started as a stereotype, but she became something different. So I disagree. I don’t think it’s the girth that made her funny, though that was part of it. When the camera’s focusing on her ass as she’s bending over people–it was definitely exploiting her girth. But, that’s not doing justice to her whole character.

Mary: So once again, there was no need for the cheap jokes because there were other, better jokes in there. Melissa McCarthy’s character was fantastic. She’s the only one of these ladies who’s got it together. She knows who she is, she knows what she wants (puppies!) and she has far fewer hang-ups than everyone else.

Annie: Exactly. That was refreshing. Did you read that thing on Salon where Rebecca Traister said people should see this movie because it’s a social responsibility?

Mary: Yes.

Annie: I don’t think seeing this movie is a social responsibility. At all.

Mary: No, of course not. I’m reminded of something that, I think, Carrie Brownstein said in an interview ages ago—I can’t remember where, so I’m paraphrasing, but it was something about people asking what it’s like to be a woman in rock. And she was like, Well, you’re always being asked what it’s like to be a woman in rock.

Annie: She’s awesome.

Mary: I love her. I want her to make a movie with Fred Armisen. I would watch the hell out of that.

Annie: Double word.

Mary: But it’s true, though, that part of the conversation here is the way we talk about these movies, the way we decide what they do or don’t represent. The movie stops being a movie on its merits or lack thereof.

Annie: Right, this movie lacks a lot of merits, and has a lot of merits. But, no, it’s not a social responsibility. That shit makes me crazy.

Mary: At the same time, it is important to recognize the ways in which it does represent progress, or at least an enlarging of the cinematic menu. Even if it is an appetizer-sized enlargement.

Annie: I agree there, but fucking social responsibility? God. You know what is a fucking social responsibility? Fucking voting. Washing your fucking hands.

Mary: I’m curious, what was the audience mix when you saw it? The screening I went to was 50/50 dudes/ladies.

Annie: I saw it in TriBeCa, so there were a lot of white people who probably work at a hedge fund. It was a lot of couples, and the occasional group of gay guys, who really laughed hard when Annie called that high school girl a cunt.

Mary: That killed here in Maine, too. “Cunt” is a slang term for a baby lobster. Annie: Whenever there was a sappy scene, like when the cop did something nice-

Mary: People aww’d! Right??

Annie: Yeah.

Mary: There was so much awwing!

Annie: So. Many. Awws. SERIOUSLY, PEOPLE? So then I’d laugh at all the awws. I never aww at movies. Maybe I’m dead inside.

Mary: I saw this with a ladyfriend, and there were two dudes sitting in front of us. They aww’d!

Annie: Ironic aww? Or genuine aww?

Mary: No. No. They were feeling it. When she left the cake for the cop. My friend and I were like, ARE YOU SERIOUS?! So there goes that notion of who wants the rom in the rom-com. Speaking of cake, Annie’s “passion” had to be baking.

Annie: Oh I KNOW, that was weak.

Mary: I realize they had to give her something that would be montage-friendly. If her passion were, say, writing hilarious movie scripts, it’d just be her sitting there typing.

Annie: I couldn’t tell if they were trying to be serious or making a statement or making fun.

Mary: I thought it was serious.

Annie: Right, but her passion could’ve been anything. She could be training seeing eye dogs. That’s montage-friendly.

Mary: It didn’t seem to fit her character at all. I didn’t buy it. I didn’t buy Kristen Wiig decorating that cupcake.

Annie: Also the cupcake was gross. Anything but baking.

Mary: And of course she had to shove it in her face, alone, because of feelings.

Annie: Right, eat her feelings, etc.

Mary: But baking helped her get her man. Although I think they wanted us to think that the baking itself wasn’t what mattered, it was that he loved her when she was “true to herself.”

Annie: It would’ve been better, even, if she were a shitty baker. Like, Oh, that’s why the cake shop didn’t do so well. You can love doing something and be bad at it. That’s more refreshing, to me.

Mary: Speaking of the love interest, the cop, Chris O’Dowd. Why so many Irish/British people in Milwaukee? There’s him and Annie’s roommates. I respect that they didn’t bother explaining that too much.

Annie: They pointed it out, when she asked how he became a cop, and then it was over. But it was kind of stupid. They could’ve gotten anyone to play that part.

Mary: True, but I thought dropping him in there with minimal explanation was clever: I read it as a wink to the contrivance of the rom-com. They know we know they need a sexy cop, so here he is, let’s move on.

Annie: Oh, I didn’t give it that much credit.

Mary: I’m trying to be nice. Always trying to be nice!

Annie: Yeah. I wondered that if, as a lady, I didn’t like this movie, would I be called ‘catty’ or ‘jealous’ or something along those lines? And if I liked it, being a lady, would I be accused of being supportive of a movie that doesn’t deserve it?

Mary: It’s that idea that if we don’t support this movie, we won’t get any more.

Annie: Maybe we’re fucked either way.

Mary: Maybe. My fantasy is that in ten years we’ll look back on Bridesmaids and wonder why everyone made such a big deal about it.

Annie: I think that’s reasonable.

Mary: Because by then we’ll have smart, funny movies that happen to be made by/with women, maybe even with plots that don’t involve weddings or babies.

Annie: Right, and you won’t know/care.

Mary: And we’ll all ride our hovercrafts down to the multiplex.

Annie: Dude. Teleport. Hovercrafts are for chumps. Don’t be a chump, Mary.

Mary: Yes. Teleport, and plug into the popcorn tubes. Oh, we should mention Wilson Phillips.

Annie: Wilson Phillips was a cheap trick, but one that was on par with every other comedy.

Mary: Cheap Trick would’ve been good too.

Annie: Maybe better. The dude could’ve played that six-neck guitar.

Mary: Ha!

Annie: Oh, I’m sorry, it was only FIVE necks.

Mary: Bottom line, then: is Bridesmaids GOOD FOR LADIES y/n??

Annie: Oh come on, don’t make me answer that.

Mary: That is the correct answer!

Annie: Haha! I won!

I send my laundry out to get done. This is because I have a life to lead. Also this is what New Yorkers do. They pay someone a ridiculous amount of money to do their laundry. I feel that New Yorkers are always paying a ridiculous amount of money for something–shoes, coats, handbags, coffee. Except not cabs. Cabs are cheap here. I rode a cab in L.A. once. Have you guys done this? It’s like $1,000 dollars. That’s USD. Laundry’s cheap in L.A. It’s free if I do it at my parents’ house, but I mean, in general. Everyone in L.A. has a washing machine. Because they are civilized people. In New York, some of us don’t even have bathroom sinks.

Anyway, I get my laundry back and what I’ve noticed is that over the years, I’ve slowly lost a bunch of underwear and socks and shirts. Like I used to just be swimming in goddamn underwear and socks, and now suddenly I have like 3 pairs of each. Horrible. Sometimes I think the laundry people just steal my undies and my socks just so I have to do laundry more often, but actually they don’t do that because they are Korean and you know, Koreans try not to stick it to other Koreans, though who knows. Maybe they don’t give a shit. Point is, yes, I send out my laundry.

So in this last load, instead of losing something, I got a little extra something. Here I am putting away my neatly folded clothes because Koreans know how to fold goddamn clothes like champions, and I see this shirt. It is gray. I have many gray shirts. But this particular shirt does not belong to me. How do I know this?

Because it is a crop top.

Let’s discuss crop tops, shall we? Crop tops make NO sense to me. It is like, hey here’s a shirt, oh wait WHERE IS THE REST OF IT? I DON’T KNOW IT IS A MYSTERY. I GOT IT ON SALE IT WAS HALF OFF HA HA HA HA.

But I have a question: Where does one wear a crop top? Where are you like, hmmm what should I wear today? Oh I’m going to the office, maybe I should wear my CROP TOP. Or, hey do you want to go out to dinner? Yeah sure, let me just go home and change into my CROP TOP. Oh I have to appear in court today good thing I’m wearing my CROP TOP. Like I just don’t know when it’d be appropriate to wear one. Maybe when you go to Jazzercise on Tuesday nights.

IN ADDITION: Most people look like ASS in crop tops. I mean that. It’s just such an unflattering shape. Accentuates a good thing–perhaps–but at the expense of a lot of other things. EVEN if you have rock hard tasty abs. It just looks totally unclassy. My mother would totally be appalled. She would be like OH MY GOSH YOU SEE HER BELLY. WHERE IS REST OF HER SHIRT? And I’d be like dude, pay attention, it is a mystery.

CROP TOP.

Also: It’s like fucking COLD here right now. WHY ARE YOU WEARING A CROP TOP IN THIS WEATHER?

I’m turning into an old lady. Sad, but also, awesome.

To whoever barfed in my subway station this morning:

I want to salute you for being you. Thank you. You are a winner. You are the triumphant champion of Thursday night raging. I can tell you had a lovely night.

Here is how I think it went down: It started with happy hour. I find that his is how most Thursday night ragings start. How can anyone resist a 2-for-1? A two-for! Everyone loves a bargain, especially you. How about 2 for $6 special on drafts? How can anyone resist half off martinis? I don’t even drink martinis, but if it’s half off, I’m sure as hell going to drink the shit out of one. Or what about the $5 can of Tecate + tequila? Tecate is not a good beer. And tequila is not a good liquor, for the most part. But together they make even the saddest hour a most happy occasion. So it started there. At a bar, after work. Co-workers came. Then friends came. And then suddenly it is only 7 o’clock post meridian. You are having a very good time, but there’s a problem.

You are hungry.

This is where members of the group split off. But not you. You do not quit. You are no fucking quitter. You are a champion. You are the conqueror. You are a barbarian, a machine, a terminator, a killer. You are, in some ways, every role Arnold Schwarzenegger ever played, except for the kindergarten cop.

You decide you are going to eat the living shit out of dinner. You and friends decide on a place. Someone says, I know this Italian place. It is close. Close is good. You go. You are seated right away because its only 7:30. That is when the wine portion of the evening begins. You get the cheapest, most drinkable merlot. Cheers, clink, etc. You decide to order the spaghetti bolognese. Why not? You deserve it. It has been one hell of a week, even though, technically, it is not over. But first, another bottle for the table. You may or may not spill on your shirt. If you’re me, you probably spill on your shirt. But you’re not me. You are a person who is eating spaghetti bolognese. Without the salad though. Because salad is an unnecessary part of Thursday night raging. Salad is for civilized Saturday night dates with a lady and/or gentleman friend. Fuck salad anyway.

But then, another bottle of wine. At this point, if you are keeping track, you are on the third bottle for the table. But, you know, there are maybe five of you, so it’s not that big of a deal, right? Also you’re eating so that soaks it all up, so it doesn’t count. Right? Yeah, no it doesn’t count.

Dinner is over, and you, to be honest, have maybe a little rager going on in your brainspace. You are having a very interesting and awesome time with this drinkable merlot. Or now maybe it’s a granache. Whatever, it’s red. It’s on your shirt.

Ok how about ONE MORE drink? You know because it’s not even 9 o’clock yet. Let’s kick it at this other bar. I know a place. Now this bar is crowded. For some reason there are Australians in this bar. You are talking to an Australian. You decide to buy the Australian a drink, and also one for yourself. Not because you want to make pants sandwich with this Australian, but because the Australian is a garrulous and friendly kind of person. You decide on whiskey because, why not? You’re certainly not going to order Foster’s. They don’t have that crap here. It’s Tecate or whiskey. Again with the Tecate. Not a good beer. Later you order it anyway even though it is no longer the hour of happiness and the special is not in affect. This is because you thought the special was in affect.

Now it is official. You are drunk. You are not pissing on yourself or anything, but you realize, you know what? I’m an adult person. I have a good job, I’m a responsible person. I should probably go home. Do I cab it? Do I take the subway? Well, it’s only 11 o’clock. I should save money. This is what you are thinking. Money should be saved. Cabs are a luxury for Saturday night. This is Thursday, fuckers. Subway it is. Wait, is the C train running?

You walk down the stairs, and then. Well, you know how it went down. You feel something. A little rumble in the Bronx as they say, except you are in Manhattan. Funny how that works. And now you do the sway, that’s like the move where you are listening to Tina Turner’s “Private Dancer” in your private brain and really feeling it. Well it might be a Strokes song though. Should I sit down on the steps just for a second? NO, no the steps are gross. Haven’t been cleaned since 1995.

Wait…wait…something…is wrong.

Sploosh.

And then a pause. I think I feel better.

Sploosh.

You think, maybe a cab is in order.

So that is what you do. You don’t sploosh in the cab though. It is some kind of Jesus baby miracle.

You get home. Then you fall asleep, with your shoes on. Lights are also on. Pants most definitely on, though maybe it’s a little unbuttoned. Glasses somewhere. Dunno where. Phone somewhere too, most likely in the cab. Or in the bar with the Australians.

Then the next morning, a person goes down the subway, running to the train that is pulling into the station. And perhaps this person steps in your spaghetti bolognese.

This person may or may not be me, Annie Choi.

Congratulations, friend. You have kicked the living shit out of Thursday night. You deserve an award. I salute you.

My friend and bandmate Andy and his wifelady have purchased a home. It is a nice home in a nice neighborhood where everyone has a dog. We’re talking the kind of dogs that don’t fit inside purses. They are beefy dogs that could take down a squirrel if they weren’t so busy getting their bellies scratched by me (Who’s a good buddy? You are! You are!) In my neighborhood, the dogs are all wee and you see people with these rats strapped to their chests in a Baby Bjorn. Or you see people pushing their dogs in a stroller. That whole thing disgusts me. Fills me with rage. I know I’ve harped on this before, but until this problem goes away, I’m going to keep talking about it. I’d apologize but I wouldn’t mean it.

Anyway, Casa BuMu has a basement. The real kind of basement that has no windows. This is what Andy calls the “man cave.” This is where Andy and I will do manly things like shred on guitars and keys and bass and then do some karate kicks in the air and maybe throw some ninja stars to really meet our full badass potentials. This is where I will turn the amps to FULL ROCK and wail and do guitar solo backbends until I throw my back out because, let’s face it, I’m getting old. Sometimes my ass gets sore from sitting. From sitting, dude. It’s exactly what your ass is built for, and it can’t even do that anymore.

So in order for us to shred, I needed a new amp. We go on Craigslist and find a MONSTER amp for a reasonable price. It is 150 watts of melt-your-face power. This amp is in Bay Ridge, which is deep, deep in Brooklyn. When I think Bay Ridge, I think of thick accents and aluminum siding and, for some reason, awnings. Turns out, all these things are true. The man who sells it to us has to be the greatest man alive. NO, I mean that. No one is greater. This is because he is wearing a Van Halen cap. The year is 2011 and he is still wearing a Van Halen cap. He is keeping it alive and he is keeping it real. Also, his apartment smelled like weed and air freshener, but I suppose that is obvious. I asked to try out the amp and he hooks it up his behemoth keyboard and starts playing some savage rock riffs. Think of the band Yes. And not like “Owner of a Lonely Heart” Yes. Think, like, “Roundabout” Yes. NOTE: In order to watch this, you will need

1. a cape
2. a sexy o-face
3. a high tolerance for ‘jamming’
4. another cape because you may or may not rock the first one off

OH MY GOD YOU’RE WELCOME.

I just caught the lady who pees all over the seat. I know this is gross to talk about it, but I have to share it because I fucking just caught her.

We share the bathroom with some other offices on the floor, and most of the time the ladies bathroom is fine, it’s awesome etc.

But then sometimes there’s like A MESS OF PEE.

Everywhere.

EVERYWHERE.

Like the perimeter of the stall is covered in pee. Imagine if someone like hosed down the place with urine. Except this person doesn’t have a hose because she has lady bits. It is fucking insane and disgusting.

So I go to bathroom. I see lady come out, of the stall and I go in, and then it’s like raging waters.

And I say OH MY GOD.

Like I literally say OH MY GOD and then OH GOD THIS IS SO DISGUSTING! This is so this lady can hear me explode and get angry.

So then the lady basically runs out of the bathroom more or less.

Hopefully she will start using bathroom like a normal sober person and not hover while she’s drunk at 3:00 in the afternoon on a Tuesday.

This isn’t a club bathroom. This is no cha cha palace in the Meatpacking. This is the Flatiron, natch! We keep things classy here by not peeing all over the place.

But it’s just unclear how one lady can make SUCH a mess. Which leads me to believe she has two peeing holes and one is aimed at a 45° angle.

The New City Reader/New Museum site SUCKS IT. So I’ve posted a PDF of it here. Enjoy!

The Last Newspaper exhibit at the New Museum is in its last week so catch it while you can! In addition, I’m told that the newspapers from the entire show will be available for sale, in book form perhaps. Certainly not as irritating as in web form. But I do believe I got the last hard copy of the fauxbits when I was there yesterday. They may have more though, who knows? It is a MYSTERY. A DARK, SECRET, MYSTERIOUS MYSTERY. ONE THAT CAN BE EASILY SOLVED BY GOING TO THE NEW MUSEUM, BUT I RATHER KEEP IT A MYSTERY BECAUSE, QUITE FRANKLY, I’m lazy.

In other news, the fancy chair people I sometimes collaborate with, Emeco, teamed up with Coke (yes as in Coca-Cola) and Design Within Reach (yes as in Design Within Reach) to create a chair made out of 111 recycled Coke bottles. The chair is fucking awesome, that is, if you are a person who likes chairs or uses chairs for your ass or uses chairs to hold your stuff like coats, books, bags, the occasional half-eaten cookie, an errant glove, and dirty laundry. This week they launched the 111 Chairs Project where they gave one chair to 111 AWESOME BONER-MAKING people. I was one of the 111, along with Nigel Barker from AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL (wuhhhh) and the dude from The Faint. Listen, I’m not sure why I necessarily belong in this crew of people, but I’m honored. You can check out the project and my profile here. My 111 Navy Chair at the moment is squished into my apartment along with a gazillion other chairs. It’s becoming a problem, this chair thing. Because you see, I only have one ass, but I have many places to put it. Including your FACE. Ha ha ha!

Happy New Year, friends! It is 2011, if you’re using the Gregorian calendar. If you’re using another calendar, I have no idea what year it is, but I’m sure it is still a good year, though probably not a new year. It is probably just an old year, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad year.

This week I wrote a few pieces for the New City Reader, a publication for the New Museum here in NYC. You can get a copy there, or you can read it online. WARNING: The website is total poo poo. You know, it is not hard to put text on a webpage (hello Annietown), but sometimes people want to get “cute” and then they takes something simple and turn it to shit. INTO POO. Anyway, I wrote a few fake obituaries of architects. I am calling them “fauxbituaries” but I think I’m the only one calling them that. If you’re an architect, you’ll find the fauxbits to be pretty funny and all around awesome. If you’re NOT an architect, then congratulations, you are the real winner of life. WINNER!

Speaking of winners, I did not win the $355 Mega Millions last week. I know everyone thought I was going to be the shoo-in, but it just wasn’t my time, I guess. It’s a shame; I really thought I was gonna get it this year. I’m like the Meryl Streep of Mega Millions. Everyone thinks I’m going to win, and then I don’t and everyone’s like *gasp*. I’m pretty sure that Meryl Streep doesn’t play the Lotto. I’d like to say that this is the last time I play the Lotto but I really don’t want to kick off 2011 with a bunch of lies. I do love it when the Lotto gets up to some obscene amount of money that’s greater than the GDP of Central America. Everyone gathers in the deli on my block and talk about what they would buy. It’s kind of nice. I promised a lady in line I’d pay off her credit card bills and promised another guy a subscription to The Economist because he was buying an issue. I’d buy an apartment and a box of Shredded Mini Wheats.

I’ve been in my apartment for about 8 years now and for 8 years it has been a piece of shit. I knew that when I moved in, so it’s not like a surprise or anything. However, every few years everything falls apartment and then I realize how TRULY shittay my apartment is. I mean shittaay. You find one problem and suddenly it is like a million problems. Just as Biggie said mo money, mo problems, but in my case it is mo problems without mo money, other than paying mo money toward this shittay apartment because my rent goes up every year, so yeah, I guess in that case it is mo money, mo problems, but I’m not rolling in a fat ride with bitchez in the back or anything. Side note: No one says ‘fat’ anymore. Like oh that is a fat blog, bro!

So the contractor came, and he’s a nice man, with just a working command of the English language. And he is coming to deal with the cabinet, which I thought was fine, but just askew. Until someone said, dude, did you know your cabinet is like coming off the wall? And I then imagined my cabinet falling on top of me and, more importantly, my computer which is really probably the most expensive and most valuable thing in my life. Now some people may say good health is most valuable or love or children or good friends or unicorn princess fairies or baby back ribs, but you and I both know that it’s my computer. Sidenote: You should back up your computer today.

Anyway the man looks at the situation and he goes aye aye aye and turns to me and says, “This is no good” which really applies to my entire apartment, not just my cabinet. He’s like some kind of sage. Anyway he explains to me that the ENTIRE cabinet is held up by TWO screws and ONE screw is broken. He shows it to me. It is like this teensy skinny screw broken in half. So this cabinet with all of its stuff is being held up by one anemic little screw. Luckily the cabinet is jammed against a wall so it’s just wedged in the corner. So there you go. He puts in three more screws, using beefy Man-screws made out of bacon and he says, do you want me to put in more screws? And I say YES, SCREW THEM ALL. I literally say that actually without thinking. But as I said, his English isn’t expert or anything so he lost all the subtle nuances of SCREWING THEM ALL.

So then I say, hey, while I have you here….I point to the doorknob to my pantry which is about fifteen inches wide. Not even kidding you. The door is petite. The pantry is petite. Not sure why they even gave me a door really. The doorknob doesn’t turn and the door is falling off the wall. So he screws that in there and says “Be careful. You can lock you out of your food.” I really would not want to be locked out of my food. That’s up there with busting my computer.

And then there’s an issue with the bathroom step, which is falling apart. The wood’s coming apart and there’s this piece of “marble” that’s cracked. And he says “Why this here?” As if I was the one who put a step there. It makes no sense why the bathroom is a step up from my apartment but I guess it’s because the poo pipes are under there, I don’t know I’m not an architect. So he has to fix that.

And then he says, there’s this crack that’s running down that wall, you should plaster that and it’s time to paint, it’s been a long time. Which is true. Seriously it is never going to end. But what I really want is for him to replace the vinyl tiles because it is gray and depressing and about fifteen years ago some asshole who lived here tracked in gum into the house and now it’s petrified into the beautiful vinyl flooring. Sad face.

So really what I should do is either level this apartment and re do it from the ground up or I should JUST MOVE ALREADY.

THERE IS A LARGE ROACH ROAMING FREE IN MY APARTMENT RIGHT NOW.

It escaped before I could get the Tupperware over it. Then while I was cooking dinner (yes I was cooking) it came out from UNDERNEATH MY BED which, if you are keeping track, is where I SLEEP, and I ran over with a bottle of Tilex to “take care of it” and then it skittered BACK UNDERNEATH THE BED. So what I’m saying is that if I don’t find and destroy this little piece of shit tonight, I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning with it spooning me. Because THAT IS HOW LARGE IT IS. It is funny how the dogs in New York City are getting smaller and smaller and the roaches and rats are getting bigger and bigger. There is something horribly wrong going on in this town. Maybe it is the water. I understand that NYC water has some traces of pharmaceuticals, including active ingredients from a “popular sedative.”

Sidenote: Can you imagine what I’d be like if I DIDN’T drink NYC water? I’d probably be such a crazy uptight asshole. The water is good for me, clearly. It has stuff my body needs anyway, as the saying goes.

Anyway the point is, there is A VERY LARGE ROACH IN HERE. I think the roaches are getting ballsier and ballsier. Which would also explain why there are so many of them. Giant balls are, how do we say, productive. I don’t even think roaches have balls, but they probably do in New York because there’s also human growth hormone in the water.

I suppose this is where you can tell me to SMOKE THE ROACH because people are already doing that on my Twitter.