It’s my mom’s birthday today. Part me was like, hey, what if I “forgot” her birthday and didn’t call? What would that be like? But I called her anyway and bid her birthday wishes because what if I didn’t call her? I kind of don’t want to know. I understand that knowing is half the battle, but the other half of the battle might be really fucked up. Scary even. Like, for example, I used to go to this bar a lot in my neighborhood. The same bartender has been there FOREVER. This older gentleman with a big beer gut. Totally acceptable bartender. He’s no Mr. Friendly but he’s no Colonel Asshole either. Anyway so I’ve been going to this place for years and years and then one night I’m there with friends, and JoMo goes to the bathroom and comes out with this horrified expression.

First of all, let me explain that this particular bathroom in this particular place is not what I’d call sanitary. Is it the worst bathroom ever? No. I have been in worse bathrooms, of course. One lady had said it was the grossest bathroom she had ever seen, but she was from California so I cut her some slack. In California bathrooms literally clean themselves. As for this bar’s bathroom: I’d say that it is clean enough by NY standards, but those standards are dangerously low.

So anyway JoMo explained that the bartender was in the bathroom too, had taken a whiz, and didn’t wash his hands, and then went straight back to work and fixed someone’s drink. So he rubs his pee hands all over a glass and rubs his pee hands all over the beer tap and then hands the pee beer with his pee hands to a person who then drank from the pee glass and said, thanks buddy, and left a tip. Then this guy was, you know, high-fiving people all night.

So that killed the place for me. See? In that particular case, I was better off NOT knowing half the battle. Obviously I had been going there for years and years and this man had essentially been pissing in my mouth for years and years. I mean sure he didn’t piss directly into my face hole, but there was residual pee on his hands so if you add it all up over the past 8 years I’ve been going there, this bartender has taken a really satisfying and luxurious pee in my mouth.

So now when I see this bartender, I just see two urinals for his hands. I was happier before, when I had no idea he was whizzing in my mouth. So what I mean to say is that I wished my mother a very happy birthday because I did not want her to pee in my mouth.

My naked neighbors finally got new curtains! Actually, they are blinds, and they even go all the way down so I no longer have to see their nether regions. I no longer have to see the dude talk on the phone (loudly) and scratch his testicles. For this I am grateful. You know what I was thinking? The dude would scratch his sweaty balls whilst on the phone and then eventually he’d switch hands so his ball-covered hand would be all over the phone. So what I’m trying to say here is that his phone probably smells like balls. OMG I AM NAUSEOUS. It’s like sometimes you use a mic and it smells really really bad. Like the contents of someone else’s stomach. It is kind of gross. So do you think his girlfriend ever picks up the phone and think, hmm, this phone smells funny. And yet familiar. Like my boyfriend’s balls. Anyway this is what I was thinking. And now, through the power of words, you are thinking it too. Enjoy that, it was for you. A gift from me to you.

Your welcome.

In other news: My lease is up. So I must decide whether I should stay in this crapbox apartment or move into another crapbox apartment which may or may not be the same rent. I have a feeling it might be more. So I must make a decision. I am thinking I should move to another crapbox apartment. Seems like the right thing to do, I think. I like that after months of my neighbors being naked and making loud sexy time, they finally get curtains, and THEN I move. Ha ha ha. Sigh, sob, laugh, repeat.

Last weekend I went to Detroit. Yes, Detroit. Yes, there. No, I didn’t get shot. No, I didn’t see Eminem. I did however drop my camera and shattered it. The ironic part is that I did this while TRYING TO PUT ON THE WRIST STRAP SO I WOULD NOT DROP IT. Basically it was like destroying $300. Like oh is that $300 I see? I better rip it up and then light it on fire.

Look how nice it looks! I did notice that I can still take pictures, I just can't see what I'm taking a picture of. Nor do I know what settings I am on. This could be a fun little device. Or it can BE TOTALLY FUCKING USELESS. Gah! I destroyed $300! If you see me on the street, punch me in the neck. Then, give me opposable thumbs. Obviously it is something I lack.

Anyway, I totally digressed there. So yes, I went to Detroit. One of my best friends on this planet Rosalyne is teaching at University of Michigan (surprise, surprise she is an architect) and she and the other teaching fellows pooled their fellowship cash monies to buy a house for $500 at an auction. Then, they installed cool shit. You can learn about the cool shit here. As you can see, it is very cool shit. They sold the house to some local artists for $1, which is also very cool shit. I would like them to come into my crapbox apartment and “deal with the situation”. This would mean ripping out part of a wall and sticking in another window, which is what Rosalyne did. Then of course, I would install curtains because this is what people do when they have windows. They put up curtains so they can be naked in private. This is something that happens pretty immediately and not, say, a few months after the fact. OMG I AM BEING PASS AGG.

I’m glad we’re friends.

I find you very friendly. Like, I would totally have a beer or a coffee or split an entire bag of Doritos with each and every one of you. I mean that. I don’t share Doritos with anyone. Sometimes people are like Oh I love Doritos, are those yours? And I’m like no…no why do you ask? Don’t you have…somewhere to be?

What I mean to say is we are all good friends. And like good friends, you guys e-mail or text or call or tweet me and each other. That’s great. This is all great. I appreciate these little golden nuggets of communication. Tarugitos de communicación del oro, if you will. I actually have no idea if that’s right. Doesn’t matter, really. Anyway, sometimes people e-mail or text or call or tweet and, like, do it wrong. Wait, Annie, you ask, is there a wrong way to do those things???

Yes. Dudes. Yes, there is.

Let us begin with some hypothetical examples that may or may not have happened in real life because they are hypothetical:

“Do you guys remember this IKEA commercial? It is AWESOME.”

Do you
A) TWEET THIS
B) E-MAIL THIS
C) TEXT THIS
D) CALL ME AND TELL ME ABOUT IT WHILE I AM NOT IN FRONT OF A COMPUTER AND THEREFORE NOT CONNECTED TO THE INTERNET

The answer is A and B. Tweeting links is what Twitter is genetically engineered for. You do not text this. Text is not designed for this. Texting a link is kind of like teaching a parrot to sing “Happy Birthday to You.” Yes you can do it, BUT WHY and in addition IT’S A LOT OF WORK and more importantly, IT’S ANNOYING. E-mailing is fine and reasonable. I’m cool hand Luke with that. But if it’s a link I’d love to see, then it’s probably a link everyone wants to see, erego, Twitter.

“Oh my God, I just got laid off from my job, I don’t have any money, unemployment won’t kick in for another three weeks, my rent is due what do I do? OMG OMG GAH BLARGH”

Do you:
A) TWEET THIS
B) E-MAIL THIS
C) TEXT THIS
D) CALL ME AND TELL ME ABOUT IT WHILE I AM LOUNGING AND WATCHING RERUNS OF “GREATEST AMERICAN HERO” ON HULU AND REALIZING WHAT A TERRIBLE SHOW IT ACTUALLY IS AND COMMISERATING ON MY CHILDHOOD WHERE I HAD BAD TASTE AND WONDERING HRMM WILL I LOOK BACK ON THE CRAP I WATCH ON TV NOW AND THINK THE SAME THING? HOW SAD I AM GOING THROUGH A BIT OF SADNESS NOW, OH DEAR MAYBE I SHOULD EAT MY FEELINGS I NEED SOME CAKE

The answer is D. I suppose you could do B or C, but, you just went through some heavy shit, why not talk person to person? E-mailing is fine, but, it’ll take me a while to get back to you. You clearly need to kick it and chill out. Have a good talk, a good cry, go punch something, perhaps a small annoying dog. Maybe we can meet up and I will buy you many alcoholic beverages. It’s not like you need to go to the office tomorrow.

“Hey I’ll meet you in front of the movie theater at 9:15! Buy my ticket if you get there first.”

Do you:
A) TWEET THIS
B) E-MAIL THIS
C) TEXT THIS
D) CALL ME AND LEAVE A MESSAGE.

The answer is C or D. I think this is obvious. It is certainly NOT A. The entire world does not need to know we are going to see a movie (especially if it’s something embarrassing, like Clash of the Titans in 3D), so Tweeting is probably the wrongest answer, if there is such a thing (and there is). I hate it when people Tweet each other being like “I an running five minutes late!” TEXT IT. If you must use Twitter, then direct message, that is precisely what that is there for.

“It burns when I pee.”

Do you
A) TWEET THIS
B) E-MAIL THIS
C) TEXT THIS
D) CALL ME AND TELL ME ABOUT IT IN DETAIL WHILE I AM EATING WITH MY PARENTS

The answer is actually E) SEE A DOCTOR. I suppose you can do all of the above too, just because you want to share?

This stuff may not actually apply to any or all of you. Most of my friends aren’t on Twitter or don’t text because their phones are dumb. I’m totally cool with that. So, long story short, I love you guys. You know what else I love?

This IKEA commercial!

My acupuncturist is Japanese and said something very funny awhile ago: “You know the Japanese, we see people having fun and we want to have fun too. But we’re Japanese so we want to have MORE fun.” Haha I love her, she just says it like it is. Then, she stabbed me with the needle. (Speaking of which, NYC peeps in need of a really awesome acupuncturist, email me. And ladies: This will do wonders on the lady-bits. I’m telling you, I’m not really into this hippie-dippie shit, but the lady-bits are in a fine state these days. Even I cannot deny it. I’m for serious! No, no, no you shut up!)

OK, I bring this up because my friend Stephanie Choi (no relation, but is the other half of our “band,” Choi Division) sent me something very, very righteous. It is the Japanese version of the SNUGGLIE and here it is:

It is like EXTREME SNUGGLIE. An EXTREME Snugglie that makes a bold, bold statement: “Hi America, It’s, me Japan, and I TOTALLY PWND YOU.” This makes other Snugglies look like a regular blanket without sleeves. It might even make other Snugglies look like a stupid cloth napkin. I’m foreseeing some serious Snugglie proliferation. Like…a Snugglie Cold War, if you will. Now America has to step up and find the next generation of Snugglie.

Canada will try to get in on the action, but no one will care. Everyone will be like, get out of our sandbox Canada! Go be polite and enjoy your national health care somewhere else. This is for big kids!

The Europeans will, as usual, laugh at this but secretly want it. I mean look at that thing! It’s a COCOON of AWEZOME.

I can’t wait for the Snugglie with wifi.

Dudes. My inbox is so totally awesome. Seriously, you WISH you had my inbox because it is so righteous. It is full of all kinds of crap. I mean real…garbage. Sometimes I can smell my inbox fom miles away because of all the hot trash in it.

Today I bring you audio clips!

That is from a friend or a stranger or maybe from someone who is pissed off. Maybe this person thought my dog shit on his lawn or something, except, of course, I don’t have a dog. Ha ha ha! A hilarious misunderstanding! Actually, funny story, I was living in this house with three other people, and this neighbor used to come and let her dog shit on our driveway and not clean it up. What a total bitch (both the neighbor and the dog).

OK, I guess that wasn’t funny.

But, you know what is funny? A neighbor (different one) used to come knocking on our door looking for syringes because he was dealing heroin in the neighborhood. The sad part is that my housemate actually had syringes.

OK, that wasn’t funny either.

Alright, this one’s funny: One of my housemates made a chore-wheel for us. A chore-wheel. We were, like, in our mid-twenties and thirties. It was humiliating. And, incidentally, we refused to do our chores. Humiliation is not a good motivator. That pissed him off. I guess that wasn’t funny either, more boo-hoo sad than ha-ha funny.

Incidentally, no joke, he was a captain. Like, of a boat. A ferry of some kind. But seriously, a captain. I thought that was sweet. I wanted to call him captain but he was like no, that’s OK. Please. No really. I mean it. Don’t call me captain. And then I was like well, what if I call you “Cap’n” like in Cap’n Crunch, and he did not find it funny. You know, maybe I am hard to live with.

Anyway, my office phone at work has this amazing feature that will email you a wav of a voicemail. It is like…a phone FROM THE FUTURE. It’s like the greatest thing that’s ever been invented. No. It is. Shut up. Anyway sometimes people leave me messages. Sometimes they end up on the blog.

This one’s from Butler.

That might be the most annoying thing ever. I was trying to loop it to make it extra annoying for you guys, but you are lucky I am not smart enough to figure it out.

Here’s another:

Translation: Uh…uhh…uhhhhh. Goddamn, I love my goddamn phone.

This was sent to me by Marco. Taken in a Taipei hotel room, I think.

It’s an Internet Hole! A hole from which you get the Internets. Some people thought the Internets came from the air, but actually it comes from a hole. See? You learn things here at Annietown.

Comments are back! Comment at will! I promise to be better about commenting on your comments so we can make sweet comment-love. Also, I need to blog more, I know this. I need someone to throw things at me so I remember. Preferably throw something soft, or something tasty. Or both. Yeah, both.

Sorry folks, comments aren’t working right now. Or maybe it’s working for you, but it’s not working for me. LAME. Sorry, I’ll try to throw money at the problem and see if it goes away.

I’m sorry, dear friends. I was sick. I know it’s no excuse, and I’m sorry I haven’t been here. But now I am back. I can now climb three flights of stairs without coughing up an alveolar sac, which, in case you’re wondering, looks NOTHING like a nutsac. Seriously. I myself was surprised. I mean a sac is a sac is a sac, right? Like a sac can only look like one thing, and that is a nutsac. But, NO. I was WRONG. Alveolar sacs and nutsacs actually do not look alike. I feel like I’ve been living a lie all these years. Feel free to share that fact. That one is yours to keep.

This has been a week of me breaking shit. The most recent casualty is my computer mouse at work. I think I spilled coffee and water on it too many times, so it got fed up and said, eff you loser and then the little red light wet dim, just like that scene in the original Terminator where the robot gets crushed in the George Foreman grill and it’s little red eye goes dim and it is all, so sad…so dark…and cold…so…alone. That was my computer mouse. Later it came back as sweet fucking liquid metal, and then it came back again, this time as a girl that is not Charlize Thereon but kind of looks like her if you squint, but I didn’t see that one, so I can’t say for sure. Then I guess it came back again to the past to go back to the future. God these things are so confusing sometimes. I need to waterproof my life, that is the lesson learned, friends.

I also busted my wallet. Normally I bust wallets because it’s filled with COLD HARD CASH and it’s like yo dawg, can you break a C-note and they are like uh no don’t call me dawg and I don’t have change, and I’m like whatever, loser!

So here is what I’ve figured out: In order to buy a wallet you need to spend money. That means it comes out of a wallet. But you don’t have one. But let’s say you somehow buy a wallet, but then you don’t have money to put in it. Like, this is some kind of weird black hole/time-space thing, maybe.

For the past two days, Annietown was down. It was…Anniedown. Anyway, point is this. It’s back up. My friend Ravi hosts the site and he went on vacation to Brussels, where he is eating Brussels sprouts, obv. I mean what else would you eat there? Belgium chocolate? Yeah right. Try finding that in Brussels. They only have sprouts there. Anyway, Ravi asked his friend to deal with the Situation and now the Situation is just a distant memory from yesterday and earlier today. Man I barely remember that. Do you? Good. It was so bad you obviously blocked it out. Me too. What?

So what happened while I was gone? Hrm . . .

This McLaren rolled up in front of a bar. And, let me be clear, it’s NOT the stroller.

No. If someone rolled up in a stroller to the bar, I’d be like yeah righteouusss, let me get you a brew, Infant-beast.

But no, I mean a McLaren. It’s, like, the most obnoxious car ever. I am pretty certain it is made of douche.

You pop the hood, and it’s like all douche nozzles and dickpipes. And, like, a hamster running around in a wheel. So anyway this car rolls up, and two people crawl out. Like literally crawl out. It is a car not meant for anyone who has arms or legs. The McLaren is best suited for those who only have torsos. Seriously the seats looked tiny.

So the two people go into some bar, that sucks, it is not the bar we are in, which does not suck. And I say, you know what would be righteous. If someone did this:

DON’T WORRY HE WAS NOT ACTUALLY PEEING JESUS CHRIST PEOPLE WHO DO YOU THINK I AM? The car costs like $1,000,000. That’s United States dollars! I am sure it has lasers that shoot people if they actually pee on it. Or like, it releases hounds.