Archive: shame

Bag Lady

I’m going to Germany this weekend to visit a friend. I tell my mother this and she asks, will you bring something back for me? And I’m like you mean, a gift? And she goes yeah, a gift for your own mommy. And I go uh…depends on what it is/how much I love you? She goes I want a purse. And I think, oh god, here we go, this can’t be good. I ask, what kind of purse? She says, Aramis. And I’m like…Aramis? As in the cologne from the 80s?


And she says, yes Aramis, they have nice scarves and wallets too. And then I realize she means HERMÉS. As in, HERMÉS. As in, HAHAHA three-year waiting list for a stupid purse that, at the end of the day, is just a stupid purse and not like, I dunno, an apartment or a car or a miniature pony you can ride to the grocery store because how cute would that be? I’m like ohhh, yeah, no, that’s not happening. She goes, well Hermés has this tote bag that’s reversible. And I go I’m sure it’s very nice, whatever, and I basically cool-story-bro her. But she continues, yes it’s got really nice leather and the colors are very pretty. She says, I want one of those.


And I do a quick Google to learn that this tote she wants is literally over $3800 USD. I go no way. No fucking WAY. So I ask, why would I get this? And she goes well it’s cheaper in Germany. I ask why would it be cheaper in Germany? She goes because it’s from there. And I go, Hermés is a French company, as in France, come on even I know that and I’m not even on the waiting list. She goes France? Oh really? Well anyway, it’s what I want. I say, I’m not buying you a $3800 purse, nor should you be carrying a $3800 purse. She goes well in Korea it’s $7000. So I say, you want me to buy you a $3800 purse because in Korea it’s $7000? That makes no sense. And she goes, but there are ladies at church who have it. And I say, and you’re not one of them. And she goes, but it’s saving money! I explain that the way to save money is to actually not spend $3800 on a purse, you crazy, crazy woman.

Then she says, so…does that mean you’re not getting me the purse?


So it’s been over a month since I’ve last blogged. I know, I know, you hate me. Listen, I get it. I know how you feel. Sometimes I’m looking at a blog and I’m refreshing and refreshing and nothing is updating and I’m like DUDE WHY ISN’T THERE MORE FUNNY SHIT ON HERE FOR ME TO READ. And of course I’m reading Annietown when this is happening so it shouldn’t be surprising and YET IT IS.

But the good news is that I’ve been busy working on Book 2. I wanted to title it Number Two (as in poop, get it? Get it? No wait, I don’t think you get it) but everyone except me said it was a bad idea. So now it’s titled Letters to You and All Your Friends: [Subtitle goes here]. The manuscript is due in ERMAGERD THREE WEEKS WHY AM I EVEN ALIVE. Book comes out next summer! So I’ve been hitting it hard, the way Gary Busey hits the sauce. True story: I once saw the Buse in the ‘Bu (Malibu) and he was sitting there at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf with these ridiculous orange wrap-around glasses and white cargo pants (Srsly!). And someone went up to him and was like, Yo Gary Busey, how you been? And he was all, “busy, man, real busy.” And I’m like O RLY?

Also cargo pants: I do not trust pants with that many pockets. Why not just carry a purse and get it over with? I promise you will not be less of a man, only a man with less pockets.

At that same Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf I almost ran over Pierce Brosnan. I was in high school. So one could say that I almost killed James Bond.

So my friends, I am alive and if you are reading this, you are alive too. In that sense we have a lot in common. I’ve been busy but wanted to tell you all that I miss you. And I will leave you with this, from our friend Bob. He took it on Imja Island where there are tulips and this:

10 Things I Have Never Said

“I’m so glad we woke up early for this.”

“Let’s go to Queens!”

“I love Billy Joel.”

“I wanna lay out and work on my tan.”

“David Foster Wallace, FTW”

“Can’t wait for gonorrhea.”

“I’m so glad we woke up early for this. Again.”

“Let’s have a meeting about it!”

“Let’s go camping!”

“Let’s go get pap smears!”

Topic for Discussion

I am reading the New Yorker profile on James Franco. NOW I know what you are thinking: Annie, don’t you hate the New Yorker and its focus on first-world problems like the lack of artisinal food in certain Brooklyn neighborhoods and didn’t you, in fact, let your New Yorker subscription lapse last year, and aren’t you always raging against those cartoons because they are like Three’s Company episodes and all about misunderstandings, and aren’t you always complaining about how in the profiles they always talk about what the person is wearing, the state of their hair, what they are eating/drinking/smoking, etc. to the point where you can basically write a profile about that asshole at the deli or the cat at the deli because it seems so goddamn easy, only to discover that actually is is harder than it seems? Yes. Yes you are right about all these things. But the question on your mind should not be about how I feel about the New Yorker.

It should be about how I feel about James Franco. So answer to that question is yes, yes I still love him. Do I love him more than Ruffalo? I dunno they are opposite ends of the spectrum and, in some sense, representative of both sides of me. The ambition and productivity and multi-tasking and the other side that wants to stay home with my besties, Weed and Bong. However, Franco is still unbelievably hot so I dunno. How can a man be so good looking?

This is the question you all should be asking yourself when you eat dinner tonight. It is a question that may not be answered today, or even tomorrow. Think of it as an ongoing process. Like life or whatever.

****UPDATE: IT WAS NEW YORK MAGAZINE NOT NEW YORKER. I regret the error. HOWEVER, all the things I said about the New Yorker is true. And we probably don’t even have to discuss New York Magazine, that shit is like the Kardashians of magazine. But not like the dumb one, but like the ‘smarter’ one. No I don’t know which one that is. Whatever. Let’s read The Believer.


I wrote a review of my toaster oven on Amazon. You should probably read it and definitely buy it, if you are a fire enthusiast or prefer your toast to look like this:

I still have not found a good toaster oven though. It’s been really hard, you guys. Life is, like, so hard. Sniff.

Fun Expert

My father gives me a set of beakers. All of different sizes, including a tiny one that is so adorable you want to explode. These are all from his lab and MAY OR MAY NOT have been used to store caustic chemicals. But I do not care because these beakers are totally BOSS. They are awesome! I also got these little test tubes with screw tops, also very adorable. I have no idea what to put in them. My brother says to store urine in them but then he stops himself and says, actually you know what? It’s too small for urine–as if this is something I’m seriously considering. Yes, Mike, let me piss in a test tube and you know with this screw top, I can easily store it for…later? So I thank my father. I will enjoy these beakers. They’re even graduated! Bad ass, right?

So then my mother says, why are you giving our daughter beakers? What is that about? My father says well it’s for decoration. She can put pencils in them, store things, she can even drink out of them! My mother says, why on EARTH would Annie want to drink out of a beaker? She has CUPS for that. She doesn’t NEED beakers. Why would she want to drink out of that? My father says, because it is FUN! FUN! But, you don’t know FUN, do you? You don’t know it!

And then we all laugh because throughout all this, my father is wearing SUSPENDERS. But not just any suspenders. They are like 2.5 inch wide straps made out of the same material you would use for, like, a duffel bag strap. AND they are holding up plaid madras bermuda shorts, which do not actually require suspenders and also do not “go” with suspenders AND in addition, these are suspenders a carpenter would wear in order to hold up a heavy toolbelt, which, if you are paying attention, my father is not wearing because we are at home eating dinner together. The man does not even wear a toolbelt at work. And apparently not a regular belt. So a man wearing carpentry suspenders is telling my mother she does not know fun.

I tell my father, hey, why don’t I get you suspenders that are not, uh, THOSE suspenders. Something classy? And he goes WHY? Those probably cost, like $25? What a waste of money. And I go, how much did THOSE cost and he says $15 and I say for an extra ten United States dollars I would totally buy you nicer suspenders that don’t look like you are wearing an actual backpack except without the pack. And my brother and I have a discussion about suspenders, in which we bring up the rainbow ones that Robin WIlliams wore in Mork & Mindy (nanu nanu, what a retarded show, seriously that show is seriously retarded). So my father says what is the point, I do not wear these in public. But he is soooo close to wearing them in public I can feel it. I mean he’s wearing them around the house, what is to stop him from being like, shit I need to run out and get some milk, and then boom suddenly he is wearing suspenders in Ralph’s. This is what I’m saying.

But even backtrack from that, why is my father even WEARING suspenders? Why wear suspenders instead of a belt? It’s not like he has no belts. My father is a man with belts. So, I ask him this. What is up with the suspenders? He says because belts make him itchy. He has been wearing belts for over 60 years at this point and NOW he decides that belts make him itchy? How can belts even itch? They’re not made of wool. It makes NO sense at all. I don’t understand, but my father is wearing suspenders a steel worker would be wearing to hold up, I don’t know, some kind of badass tool that uses fire to cut metal. But my father is there at the kitchen table eating vegan spring rolls with his hands.

This is My Shit, Part II

I have moved into the new office and into my new desk. And I did throw stuff out, I really did. But some of my shit I just could not part with. And other stuff, I was like WUHHHHHHH? You know, I spend a lot of my life saying WUHHHHH. And also OH SHIT.

So here’s more of my shit.

JURASSIC TATTOOS. I believe it was part of a birthday gift. I have used exactly two of them so far. I felt so POWAFUL when I walked into a bar in hip-and-with-it Williamsburg with my fucking badass Jurassic tattoos. When the bartender saw me, he flipped out and poured me a shot of whiskey with a razor blade. SO EDGY YOU GUYS.

Glow in the dark dinosaur. Yes, yes, everyone, I realize it is kind of pointless to have a glow-in-the-dark toy AT THE OFFICE.

Ricola. This isn’t really special EXCEPT FOR THE FACT THAT THEY EXPIRED IN 2005. People kept telling me they don’t go bad. But let me ask you this: Let’s say you are sick and have a sore throat. Would you eat a circa 2005 Ricola? Ok that’s what I thought, dick.

Say you are in Piccadilly and you are eating a casual breakfast. Dare I say it is a ‘continental’ one. You wonder, hmm, what tea you should I drink? Probably not this one because IT ALSO EXPIRED IN 2005.

You can’t tell in this photo, but the sugar inside the sugar packets feels like one big piece of wood. YES EVERYONE I SAID WOOD GIVE IT A REST. This probably expired in 2004.

This expired in 2002. WHY DO I STILL HAVE THIS and more importantly, WHY DID I MOVE THIS TO THE NEW OFFICES?

Cotton pads in a zip-lock baggie. There is a very, very good reason why I have this. A while back I opened my desk drawer and found MOUSE SHIT. AS IN, SHIT THAT COMES FROM A FUCKING MOUSE. This was around the time we walked into the office and “smelled something funny” and someone discovered a dead mouse behind his desk. It was a heavy scene. So, I read online that mice do not like peppermint oil. You just douse a bunch of cotton pads with peppermint oil and they will take a whiff and go shit in someone else’s desk. It worked by the way.

Shoes, one pair. Brown. From J.Crew, but from 1995. I guess I was going to donate them and they fell out of the bag and have been sitting under the desk. So I was going to donate them and then realized, wait, these are kind of cute now because the NINETIES ARE BACK. My feet have not grown since 1995. I have whimsical little elf feet. Sometimes I frolic through meadows and jump off of daisy petals.

My architect friends used their laser cutter to make me these. They spent like an hour in AutoCAD doing this. I think we can all agree it’s the best use of CAD we’ve ever seen.

One Darth Vader, in LEGO form. Given to me by my homie-4-lyfe Nathan Bowers.

People like to give me bacon toys. It’s just something people like to give me. Nathan’s relatives used to give him tons of elephant shit. Like little figurines or what not. And I was like dude, do you even like elephants and he kind of shrugged. It’s one of those things that ONE person gives you an elephant and then everyone thinks you actually like elephants and suddenly you have this curio shelf littered with elephants. That might be my bacon. This is Monsieur Tofu and Mr. Bacon. They are frenemies of the state.

In related news, I would like a monocle but it is unlikely due to my Asian face. But man how badass would a monocle be? OH LOOK I HAVE 20/20 OUT OF (only) ONE EYE. The only dude who can pull of a monocle is Mr. Peanut.

CAMPING STOVE. I’ve had this under my desk since 2006. It’s not even MINE. I mean, really. Do I look like the type of person who’d own a camping stove? But this is what I know: During the apocalypse, I will be prepared. While everyone else cries emo tears into their can of cold, condensed soup, I will be having fajitas.



I meant to post this earlier. But if any of you are in the Los Angeles area and wonder, hmm if there was only a place where I could get a sunless tan and also a flu shot… Well, hit me up because I have a great recommendation. The bad news is that it’s in the VALLEY. But the bonus is that it’s ONE STOP SHOPPING.

Next door you can find a place where you can get a colonic, a knitting class, and get your dog groomed. Note that “dog grooming” is not code for anything. JK. It is total code for a handjob shack. OH SHIT ANNIE PLEASE BEHAVE.

This is My Shit, Part I

Our offices moved across the street last week, so we had to pack up our desks. Now for NORMAL people, it might take an hour or two to pack up their crap. They get their shit together and then they head to the nearest bar and catch the silver bullet or what have you. I think my co-worker packed her desk in like three minutes. Opened a box, threw everything in, taped it up. WHO’S BUYING ME A DRINK?

Then there’s me. I’m not going to say I am NOT normal, but let’s just say I am not “typical”. How about that? That sounds better than “abnormal,” right? The word “abnormal” always sounds so medical to me. Like oh hey, we found an abnormal growth. We think it might be a vestigial tail, etc.

Anyway, packing took me SEVERAL hours and I had to spread it over two days because it was so taxing. And of course every single co-worker stopped by my desk and had to comment on the amount of stuff I had. LIKE YES I KNOW DUDE, I’M PACKING IT UP AND I SEE THAT YES, I HAVE A LOT OF SHIT and also, HEY, DON’T YOU HAVE TO BE AT A MEETING OR SOMETHING? K THANKS.

I should note that I have a desk, and it’s small. I don’t have my own office or a cubicle. It is just a desk with a small three-drawer filing cabinet thing underneath. I’ve been there for about 5 years. And in that 5 years, I have managed to collect an amazing amount of garbage. Here is what I found:

This is a plate. My co-worker bought it for me on her trip to Israel. In 2005. Yes, 2005. I literally found it in my files. Just filed away, like a report or an expense sheet, in a hanging file folder. It is a regular dinner sized plate. Hand painted ceramic. It has a crack in it because plates do not like being filed away.

This is an alarm clock. It winds up. This means you have to wind it up every day. It was a gift from someone. It’s old. I got it and I squealed THIS IS SO CUTE! Then I wound it up and it was just the loudest thing I’ve ever heard. It made me anxious because it was like I needed to defuse a bomb RIGHT NOW before the whole building blew up. Kind of like that scene in the Hurt Locker. Where you are like OH MY FUCKING GOD HURRY UP YOU DICK WHAT IS THE HOLD UP? I originally had it at home, but it was so fucking loud I brought it into the office thinking it’d be better there, and you know what? It wasn’t. My coworker threatened to throw it out the window to “see time fly.” HA HA HA HA. (She really did threaten to break it though.)

These are golf balls. I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, oh hey, does Annie golf? The answer is NO. I do NOT golf. These ballz happen to say COSMO on the side. As in Cosmo magazine. As in, “Ten Ways to Sleep With Your Boss” Cosmo or “Be Bikini Ready” Cosmo or “Taylor Swift Talks About Music, Love, and Waxing Her Legs” Cosmo. My co-worker’s friend works for Cosmo and sends her a big box of shit every so often. Then I sometimes get little tidbits of awesome shit. Like these golf balls. What I did is chose two random people and mailed them the balls with a sticky note that says “As discussed here are the balls. Enjoy!” That’s it. No return address, no note, and unsigned. These are people I do NOT know. One was Nat’s boss and one was a co-worker’s father. Pretty funny right? Yes I can tell you are laughing.

No desk is complete without a reporter’s notebook with Anderson Cooper on the cover. This was from Aura and I still use it. I feel very very pro when I bust it out. LIKE LOOK AT ME I’M A HARD-HITTING JOURNALIST ALSO I AM A LOOKER ALSO I’M A VANDERBILT AND I’M LOADED AND I GUESS YEAH, I’M GAY BUT EVZ NOT A BIG DEAL I LIKE TO PICK UP HOT LATIN MEN IN AIRPORTS (true story, that is apparently something Andy Cooper did. I’m not judging, just merely making an observation).

Origami Christmas. It is the day Jesus made an origami crane and was all, yo check it out, I didn’t use glue or scissors to make this shit and then everyone was all, oooo ahhhhh it must be some kind of Christmas miracle!

A list of words my co-worker has a hard time saying or says it “weird.” It is actually work-related but I also like to have it around because it makes me laugh at her expense. I can be a real dick, but at least I say “poem” right. HAR HAR (sorry K, I love you. Let’s go to the muZAYum.)

Two kinds of hand sanitizer. I am a very thorough person.

Shot glass, that a co-worker got me from St. Lucia. I have never used it. But I keep it at the office because WHAT IF YOU WANT TO DO A SHOT AT THE OFFICE? THEN I WILL NEED A SHOT GLASS.

One pair of duck feet. I do not know where the rest of the duck is, but the feet are here with me. So if you guys see a feet-less duck, then you know who to call.

An agate. I can tell you’re jealous.

A drawing by Mr. Pony. It says “Why you lie to me Annie?” I ask myself that question every day. Aww. There is something about a sad bear that makes me laugh. Like you’re a fucking bear, you get to sleep half the year. Why are you so fucking sad? Like, I know why I’m sad. Because I’m not a goddamn bear. You’re a BEAR. Fucking man up, dick.

Typewriter ribbon, black. I went to this office supplies store on our street and asked if they had ribbon and they all made fun of me. They were like MAYBE YOU CAN PICK UP ONE AT THE STORE THAT SELLS PAGERS. No joke. I bought it online. It of course does not fit any of my typewriters.

Ukelele tab sheet. I know you have one too, so I guess this isn’t that weird.

I have more stuff, which I will “share” another day. Stay tuned. There is just so so so much more for you to see.



I think it’s juice? Tea? I have NO idea. What makes that color even? It looks like the water cooler had its PERIOD all over the place. It’s disgusting. And whoever did it is certainly NOT going to clean it up. Especially since I just yelled at the entire floor for being fucking disgusting. So no one’s gonna own to that. Not after me going OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? FUCKING CLEAN YOUR SHIT UP.

This is like only marginally better than the Lady Who Pees All Over the Seat. The big difference, other than urine, is that the LWPAOtS doesn’t work in the same office. This MYSTERIOUS PERSON WHO PUT THE WATER COOLER ON THE RAG is someone I see every day. Dude. I’m going to scream.

Maybe it’s Haterade.