New neighbors moved into the unit across the alleyway from me. So we are in two different buildings, but they are basically next door to me. If I go out onto my fire escape, I can almost touch their fire escape. That is how close we are to each other. We could set up cute little sytrofoam cup phones. That’d be cute right? Not really. Styrofoam is bad for the environment. Our beds face each other. Like! At camp! They are practically my roommates. Except they are not. Because they suck. That is not to say a roommate cannot suck, but if my roommates sucked, I’d totally throw them out of my house. I’d probably get all dramatic too, like throw their clothes out the window. I’ve always wanted to do that. It’s like a dream of mine. GET! OUT! OF! MY! HOUSE! And then there’s this cascade of clothes and bad CDs and random sporting equipment and maybe a TV if it’s not too heavy. The point is, my neighbors are NOT my roommates and I cannot throw my neighbors out of their house, which is sad, because I really want to.

They moved in weeks ago and didn’t have curtains. NO CURTAINS! Ladies and gentlemen, CURTAINS are among the FIRST things you put up. Curtains and toilet paper. Everything else you can do later. But you NEED curtains (especially if you live in NYC and you can touch your neighbor’s fire escape). And, of course, you NEED toilet paper. I cannot say for sure if my neighbors have toilet paper. I mean, they may not. I don’t know. If they don’t have curtains, why would they have toilet paper? But I can definitely confirm that THEY DID NOT HAVE CURTAINS.

So I did all these passive aggressive things like walking past MY window so it is obvious that YES NEIGHBOR YOU CAN SEE ME WHICH MEANS I CAN SEE YOU! OMG! And then I modeled good behavior by closing my curtains. OMG NOW I CAN’T SEE YOU! RAD! YOU GUYS SHOULD REALLY GET ON THIS CURTAIN THING. IT’S THE BUSINESS. So for weeks, I’d see my neighbors spooning or whatever, etc. Really awkward. It’s like coming home and finding strangers spooning on your bed. Like. Dudes. That’s.. my bed.

Fast forward to a few days ago. Neighbors! Got! Curtains! Joyous! Celebration! Balance was restored. Now we can both trade off having them open. That is what I did with my previous neighbor Monsieur European-Underwear Man. That is another story for another day.

So then, today, I come home. My curtains happened to be open. And there I see my neighbors. Having sex. Loud sex. With. Their. Curtains. Open.

So what I’m trying to say, is that my neighbors do not know how to use curtains.

Also I’m trying to say that my neighbors do not understand the value and sanctity of private space in the City of New York. Or they just don’t care that they are having sex in my apartment. MY apartment! Strangers! Having sex! In my apartment! Seriously, I just washed those sheets, too.

Also I’m trying to say is that what I have seen cannot be undone. There is no control-Z (command-Z if you are on a mac) FOR MY EYEHOLES.

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.

I am continuing to clean out my inbox. It’s like stepping into the Way Back Machine. Except the Way Back Machine is filled with all kinds of crap.

Here is something I just found. This was sent to me by Aaron. Found on a plastic bag that came around his new laptop. I can’t tell if they are warnings or instructions. Either way, you don’t need warnings or instructions on a effin plastic bag.

Remember you guys, don’t put plastic bags on your head and choke yourself. You probably only need to do one or the other, but not both. Both seems overkill. Just saying.

Also don’t put a plastic bag on a baby’s head. If you want to keep the baby fresh, put the bag over the entire baby and store it in a cool, dry place or in the crisper of your refrigerator.

A friend called me in the middle of the day today. He called because he had some very important news to deliver.

He told me that his high-class call-girl-cousin-turned-model’s dad died. I felt bad and then realized, wait, you have a high-class call-girl-cousin-turned-model? Then I said, oh I’m so sorry, dude, you have my sympathies and then he told me to shut the fuck up because the real important news is that

IT IS THE TWENTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF “U CAN’T TOUCH THIS.”

Yes. U can’t touch this. U really can’t. Sorry. I mean I know u want to touch it, but u just can’t. It’s just not possible. Mostly because I am so hot, therefore, u can’t touch this. I mean u can touch it, but then u’d get burned, so maybe it’s just best if u don’t touch it. Don’t take it the wrong way. Most people can’t touch this. Nor should they. So, just to review, u can’t touch this. Now, stop.

Hammertime.

Then he clarified that it’s the single’s twentieth anniversary, not the album. And then I was all, no derrr you asshat, the record is called “Please Hammer Don’t Hurt ‘Em” not “You Can’t Touch This.” What am I? An idiot? Bish, pleaze.

So in honor of the great MC Hammer who is busy melting his gold medallion of him wearing a gold medallion and his gold sledgehammer, baby I shall post something you cannot touch.

Dude that man is so…aerobic. He practically invented the Running Man. I mean have you ever seen anyone run in place like that? Now imagine if he were actually running! He’d be the Usain Bolt of hip-hop. Unstoppable. Also those pants are so effing street. Inside his pants there are actually other pants. Also there is the biggest set of balls you have ever seen. I mean it takes a real man to wear those pants, you feel me?

Remember when he tried to challenge Michael Jackson to a dance-off? I was like whoa, this guy is 2 legit 2 quit.

And that pretty much killed his career. Also, I heard he had a house in the San Fernando Valley, which is also kind of a dealbreaker. Though, Dr. Dre does live in the Valley too, but still. He’s Dr. Dre. He lived in COMPTON. To him the Valley is a nice part of town. But Hammer. He is so not street. I mean if you wore those pants in the CPT you’d get shot. You’d get shot with normal pants on too, but hammer pants? Might as well just paint a big target on your ass. Dr. Dre couldn’t even wear Hammer pants in the CPT and make it out alive. Seriously. U can’t touch this? Yes you can with a bullet. Just saying.

Whilst walking to the Village of the East I came across this beast. According to the banner in front, it is an “award winning” building. I believe the award is for Biggest Suck.

I know its hard to believe but the double helix band aid in front is not structural. It’s “decoration”, the way you might stab yourself in the eye so you can have a really cool scar that makes you stand out and, I suppose, win awards.

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.

Hello friends, happy New Year!

People have been saying LET’S MAKE THIS THE BEST YEAR EVER! And this is all peachy fine. HOWEVER, I’m thinking why should we make this year the BEST EVER? Why not just make it NOT suck? It’s not that I’m a pessimistic person. I’m just more into setting goals that are achievable. I mean BEST year? How can you possibly know that this year will be the BEST EVER? I mean you haven’t lived all your years yet, so “BEST” is kind of a hard thing to judge. This year might be the SECOND best or THIRD best. I mean maybe in five years you will have a really really awesome year and THAT will be much better than this year. So what I’m trying to say is that let’s just make this year not suck and it will bound to be better than 2009, and, quite possibly, the best, but it certainly doesn’t have to be THE BEST. If 2010 is better than 2009, then we can be happy with better. We can be happy that it doesn’t suck because honestly, not sucking is truly a big accomplishment and we can be proud of that. I’m already proud that 2010 is not sucking, erego, I have achieved my New Years’ resolution of not sucking. DONE AND DONE.

Also, I’ve also noticed everyone saying how 2009 was truly the WORST year ever. Again, you have no way of judging that. There might be really really shitty years to come. Also, I can think of a few other years that sucked more than 2009. The year was BAD, maybe, but it wasn’t THAT bad. I mean it sucked, yes, but I thought 2008 was actually worse. There were probably some years during the 50s that sucked too. I bet you year 1 sucked too. Transitional year and the whole year-re-numbering thing probably was a real pain in the ass. Like you know how after daylight savings you get all confused? I rest my case.

Los Angeles was fun blah blah blah except for the part where my family forgot to pick me up from the airport blah blah blah. It was like 3:00 on Christmas and I get off the plane and I’m like YEAHH I’M PARTYING IN THE CITY OF ANGELS! I go outside, call to see where my ride is and my mother’s like “Airport? Is that now?” And then I fall into some insane rage and I’m like did you FORGET TO PICK ME UP FROM THE AIRPORT and my mother says I didn’t forget to pick you up from the airport, I just thought you were coming at 3:30. And I say no, it was always 3:00. Keep in mind that my parents live about 45 minutes from the airport (WITHOUT traffic) so even if she thought it was at 3:30, she should definitely be ON the frickin road by 3:00. Which she was not. And she starts backpedalling and being like, no actually you’re brother is picking you up. And I’m like oh is he already here? And she says no he just left. Sigh. So I spent a good 45 minutes hanging out at the airport and suffering from acute rage. Yay. I love Christmas. So of course I’m at the airport yelling on the phone being like why do I bother even coming here for Christmas. Why don’t I just come another time when it is easier and cheaper to travel, we don’t even celebrate Christmas, it is just like any other day in our family. And then I realize I’m totally that asshole who is yelling on the phone at the airport on Christmas. And people are like all staring at me and my eyes are like spinning in my head and smoke is coming out of my ears. The works. Then my brother picked me and I said don’t you guys realize that if you fuck up I’ll write about it? Have we not learned anything? And he says no, do you have $2 for parking I have no cash on me.

But the rest of my vacation was rad and did not suck! Mission accomplished! My bandmate Andy Burne got engaged to his ladyfriend Julia! Nathan and his ladyfriend are coming to visit in February! I saw the Bauhaus show at Moma! I got cushions for my shoes! My apartment is really clean! And according to the Weather Channel “It feels like 1°F”!

Also, please note that Annietown has migrated. Things should be all awesome on your end. One of my best friends in L.A. Micah is taking over and hosting Annietown from his living room which may or may not have mice. Special thanks to Ravi who has been hosting the past 2 years and being a good sport about my asshole texts at 3 am OMG RAVI ANNIETOWN IS DOWN. Ravi I love you and you continue to be awesome and full of win and bacon, you’re two favorite things. Now Micah will be my bitch.

Micah! Fix my sidebar! (uh when you get the chance?)

I’m considering doing a redesign of Annietown. Part of me is like, why change it? It’s fine, it doesn’t have to be fancypants, I’m just sharing WORDZ here, not doing anything insane. Then the other part of me is like, well I could make it snazzier? i.e. HAVE MORE EXPLOSIONS. I shall ruminate.

Do not feed your two-year-old a jelly donut before a six hour flight. actually do not feed your two-year-old a jelly donut. Unless it’s made of vegetables. like cabbage. WTF. This flight might suck it.

The security guy asked me why I wasn’t spending Christmas with my family and he asked if I was Jehovah’s. I just said we didn’t celebrate because we are lazy. Then he asked me out. No, he was not hot.

A friend told me that a cabbie picked her up at a hospital and asked her out for a drink. It was 4am.

Once a cabbie dropped me off at my apartment at 3am and asked if I lived alone and then mentioned that HE WAS VERY VERY LONELY SO LONELY SO HARD TO FEEL SO ALONE. Then asked if he could come up.