| ||
CNN Comment Policy: CNN encourages you to add a comment to this discussion. You may not post any unlawful, threatening, libelous, defamatory, obscene, pornographic or other material that would violate the law. Please note that CNN makes reasonable efforts to review all comments prior to posting and CNN may edit comments for clarity or to keep out questionable or off-topic material. All comments should be relevant to the post and remain respectful of other authors and commenters. By submitting your comment, you hereby give CNN the right, but not the obligation, to post, air, edit, exhibit, telecast, cablecast, webcast, re-use, publish, reproduce, use, license, print, distribute or otherwise use your comment(s) and accompanying personal identifying information via all forms of media now known or hereafter devised, worldwide, in perpetuity. CNN Privacy Statement. |
<Blog> |
<date>10,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
I can usually spot a fellow music nerd with little evidence. There are the more obvious signs, the bands t-shirts worn to threadbare, the stubs from concert tickets posted in lockers. But there are extra subtles in the true nerds. These are the kids who race home after school solely to listen to music, not to watch TV or have a snack or even to get stoned. They'll listen to the same song over and over, trying to figure out what it does, exactly, to make them feel so alive. These are the kids who thumb through liner notes in the hopes of finding answers. Music nerds are a unique variation on the classic sense of nerd. Music nerds are not musicians themselves, and if they were to form a band it would be of the tribute variety. Like the band-aid Saphire says about loving music in the movie Almost Famous, 'They don't even know what it is to be a fan. Y'know? To truly love some silly little piece of music, or some band, so much that it hurts.' And that is what it is to be a music nerd. It's not cool, it's not scene, it's not hip. Being a music nerd means hugging your stereo, not your boyfriend, as you drift off to sleep. It means understanding Bob Dylan more than you'll ever understand your parents. I am a one such nerd. 'Half of what I say is meaningless' is to be a diary of expirencing songs. It's not going to be about my doing drugs or boys or whatever my latest pair of shoes cost. It's about songs, and trying to figure out the intangiblities of them that make this nerd continue on being a nerd. |
</post> |
<date>02,August,2004</date> |
<post> |
Axis: Bold as Love As much as I want to convey exactly what it is about a particular selection of music that makes it magical, I can’t. I can’t put my finger on what makes these songs so amazing. And I don’t want to analyze them until they’ve lost their power. Music is something to be felt, I think, rather than heard. And that perfectly defines ‘Little Wing’. The linear notes of one particular Best Of compilation tells me that the original idea for ‘Little Wing’ was developed while performing with Jimmy James and The Blue Flames in Greenwich Village. It was recorded for Axis: Bold as Love in October of ‘67. My conflict with Jimi, my Jimi, is his mythical quality. There is something about the man who grew up across the state from where I would eventually be born, there is something about him that seems so other-worldly. His swagger, his performances, his look all are conveyed with a kind of adeptness that mere mortals don’t possess. Jimi said, “I dig writing slow songs, because it’s easier to get more blues and feeling into them.” And in the painfully short two minuets and twenty-five seconds of ‘Little Wing’, he certainly packed as much feeling in as he possibly could. Even if I knew every nuance, all the terminology, for the guitar, I could not possibly explain the way ‘Little Wing’ floats out of my headphones. Some songs are an explosion of music. They fill every corner of the room and force you to notice them. This song achieves a similar effect, but minus the explosion. The music trickles out slowly, smoothly, effortlessly making you listen, and listen carefully. It’s interesting that in Jimi’s time the word ‘groovy’ was en vogue, because that’s exactly how I feel when I listen to his music. ‘Little Wing’ makes me feel… groovy. The song turns a perfectly normal situation into something that much cooler, groovier, because Jimi is there. And when aided with psychotropic substances, the effect is amplified. The song is also a mystery; who is this woman? We know she’s got a circus mind, its running round, and that she thinks about moonbeams and butterflies. But then she’s also giving Jimi smiles, comforting him, giving him anything and everything he wants. Does Jimi love her? Does it matter? The beautiful thing about this song is how aligned, and how perfectly matched, the lyrics and the music are. ‘Little Wing’ might just be every bit as breathtaking if Jimi had never bothered to pen words, because the guitar has such standing. Some have said, apparently, that much of the lyrical content on this record was inspired by Bob Dylan. I can see that, and I suppose it’s a fair assumption, but it’s probably more likely that their styles were simply similar. The quality that both Bob and Jimi posses, as far as writing lyrics is concerned, is their effectiveness. They don’t overpower the song with words, they don’t abuse metaphors, and they never come off as overly ambitious. It’s organic, smooth, effortless. |
</post> |
<date>27,May,2003</date> |
<post> |
Not much to report folks. Except for that I've come to the revelation that people tend to trust me with secrets. So much so, in fact, that I find myself being told secrets that I don't WANT to know. Perhaps people mistake my indifference for genuinety, they may think that because I am quiet around them that I am to be trusted. Nay- dear schoolmates- I never proclamied trustworthyness. Not that I will ever tell anyone about the people who entrusted to me that they are gay, that their fathers are in prision in California, or that they are addicted to physic 1-800 numbers. However, the very principal of the matter is that I've been told these things in confidence, and this confidence concerns me. It is a privledge and a responsibility I never asked for. On the DL, people, I got my John Mayer/Counting Crows ticket in the mail today. Though I hate this phrase, due to it's extreme over usage, I have to admit, it the confindes of this site, 'Sweeeet'. Now if only I can find some medication that will prohibit me from trampling over concert goers and security gaurds to tackle John... 'If I ain’t rap cause I flip burgers at Burger King, would you be ashamed to tell your friends you were feelin’ me?' Well said, Mr. Cent, well said. Bella Ciaro! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>26,May,2003</date> |
<post> |
Alright, perhaps I may have stolen this idea from a band, but bear with me. I can't help but consider the prospect of labeling people to songs. I like labels; I think they're bad and I hate being labeled; but I like them. Labels make things tidy. Labels don't leave room for questions. Alright; perhaps this is far-fetched. But when listening to my peers depict youthful incidents, I have to find something to do. So I match people to songs. This is my ideal society: when someone walks by you there song-- their soundtrack-- is playing. The rules: your soundtrack can change depending on your mood, but you can't have two songs playing at the same time. Examples: Donald Rumsfeild (Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangster) Monica Lewinsky (Devil With a Blue Dress On) The Clinton Administration (Welcome to the Jungle) And on to the people I think about.... 'Whore- shoes' (These Boots Are Made for Walking) Officer Dan (Gonna Gettcha Good by Shania twain) My OldER Brother (Fuck the Police) My OldEST Brother (Golden Years by david bowie) But what, may I ask of myself, is to be my theme song? So many options. Obviously 'Anna Begins'. Except I've never had sex, let alone tried to convince someone to deflower me. Perhaps 'Complicated' by Avril Lavigne except I'm complexly against Canadian faux-punk 'music'. After thinking it through and consulting friends I've narrowed it down to three: Suggested by Mary The Sweatpants Song (more commonly known as 'Comfortable' by [insert applause] John Mayer). 'Anna! It's ABOUT you. Hello? 'No makeup... grey sweatpants... so perfect' and 'your mouth was so dirty' was written ABOUT you.' (I have to admit that made me feel good to know someone else saw the parallels between that song and me. It's uncanny, people, I'm telling you...) Suggested by Chris She Talks To Angels by Black Crows. 'Because you, like, are catholic and stuff.' I like this one because I think it's about a girl who questions her faith. That or a girl who's phsycic (which I am not). Besides, I like saying 'Yes, she'll tell you she's an orphan... after you meet her family.' Suggested by me; Get Free. I live in this town, people, I need to get free. Oh how I long for New York.... And, dear reader, I haven't forgotten you. The noise I hear when you pass is elevator music. Why? because it's inoffensive and benign, yet I always end up humming to it long after the elevator ride is over. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>24,May,2003</date> |
<post> |
I just finished watching a great foreign flick, 'RINGU'. It's the original (Japanese) version of 'The Ring'. For those of you who haven't seen the ring, here's the basic plot: scare the shit out of Anna. I watched it in theaters with my best friend, Meghan, who is as uber sensitive as I am. We were literally crying and screaming and covering our faces. I'm fairly positive that this ruined the movie for everyone else within a 10 seat range. I kicked the guy's seat in front of me so much that he literally got up and moved! I also confess that I slept in my parent's room that night. It was a really good movie though, despite my abnormal reaction. RINGU however, was made in '97. I had to watch it with subtitles, but it was pretty good. If anything, it gave me a greater appreciation of the magic of Hollywood... Americans can seriously spice up a movie. I'm sure you're all pondering how I spent my Friday night (or maybe your not, either way I'm going to tell you.) I want with Mary to a Christian-rock concert. To be perfectly honest, I was a little bit uncomfortable. I'm indivualistic when it comes to prayer and to worship, so I felt strange doing it with so many people. I like Christian music, too. Sure I don't really ever listen to it, but I like it. I can't fault people for praising God, so I won't. I will, however, regale you with perhaps the most hilarious displays of I-don't-know-what ever to be witnessed. After a rousing sing along to the Pledge of Allegiance, the arena went pitch black. After a few dramatic minuets of this, the singer was spotlighted with a huge American flag, which he began waving over the crowd and announcing 'WE LIVE IN GOD'S COUNTRY!' 'THERE'S NO OSAMA BIN LADEN HERE!' 'GOD BLESSES AMERICA LIKE NO OTHER!'. Hey- I love America too- but this display of patriotism was a bit over the top. I was trying sooooo hard not to laugh, people, but I couldn't help myself.... Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>22,May,2003</date> |
<post> |
From my analytical musings to your ears: A Day in Reflection For some reason or another, I have been looking around at my peers lately and thinking how much I like (some of) them. Chalk it up to end-of-the-year nostalgia, or blame it on my ever-uncanny ability to be introspective; but I really love a lot of the people at my school. Many of them, I barely know; or visa versa; but I genuinely love these people! (Some names have been changed to protect the innocent) 'G-Dogg' is one of the most real people I have ever met. Not Jenny-from-the-block keepin' it 'rreal' in 700 dollar Dolche and Gabamma gloves, but real as in genuine. He has a no holes barred honestly, which may be taken as crude (ah-hem) at one point or another. I know that he listens to music like Hatebreed and The Ramones, due to the t shirts he prominently sports. And there are others among these inspired outfits. Including a mailman's uniform, a Public Enemy addidas sweatsuit (dripping of ironic oldschool rap sattire) and a Freddy Mercury eather jacket. Too top it off, his red hair has been permenetly styled into quasi-dreadlocks that really look nothing like dreadlocks at all. In fact, if you didn't know his hair is this way on purpose, you may think that he hasn't showered in many months. G- Dogg is rail thin in a sort of punk rocker way, but tall. He has freckles abound, which I have noticed lately, and a metal grin that never seems to fade. All these elements, combined with his innate ability to make even the primmest teachers laugh, makes him by far the coolest person I know. 'Feather' is slutty in a can't-touch-this sort of way. This MC Hammer-esque mantra is what is so great. People see a beach blonde supporter of Ambercrombie, and don't see much else... there's a lesson in there somewhere. As of late, however, I have gotten to know her much better. I admit that I once thought that she was the same shallow lemming that follows the crowd simply because it's easiest. But she's surprisingly smart. If something is seen as pointless in 'Feather's eyes, she simply doesn't give a damn. Example:'Who the fuck cares if Walt Disney built a bigger empire than the McDonald's guy? Aren't there, like, starving people somewhere I need to know about?' 'Kid-Whose-Name-I-Don't-Know' (or as I affectionately refer to as; KWNIDK) I know very little of this guy, but that's the appeal. All year long he has ridden my bus. For months, I explained away his silence with the myth that he was shy. Unsurprisingly, I was wrong. He's simply to cool for school. But not... and this is important... in an asswholeish way. Example: a girl from my neighborhood who hates me: Nicole disses on me for wearing bows in my hair and liking acoustic guitar CDs, yet claims to be way into punk. What music does she listen to you ask? The Canadian faux-punk shit like Good Charlotte and SIMPLE PLAN (!!!). Just who does Nicole's heart belong to... you guessed in KWNIDK. But he's cool enough to be like 'Oh hey' although he blatantly doesn't stand for double negative pandering. He's even walked her home a few times. Finally...Mary. I have become very close with Mary in the last few months. Seeking social refuge, I began hanging out with her earlier this year. There aren't enough good things I can say about 'Mawee'. She's inherently incorporated by the atmosphere at our school. She's untainted in every sense of the word. She's Republican. Most importantly, she allows me to vent and rave and occasionally copy her homework. She listens to my lectures on the delusional dance of the democratic party, and agrees that Hillary Clinton is a dangerously socialistic woman. I couldn't ask for a more caring or honest person to call a friend. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>21,May,2003</date> |
<post> |
After being inspired by the sites of others, I just may have found a potentially quasi-obsessive past time. If you're reading this, you've undoubtedly stumbled upon the wrong location: and for this error I am most sorry. I have little indication of whether or not these sorts of things will be interesting to anyone. All I can assume is that in some inconceivably cultured city, somebody will stumble upon these writings and look at my world with wonder. Can it be possible that this girl's environment is so artificial? You betcha. You have your coffeehouses, poetry readings, theater, art galleries, and flea markets; and I have a painfully predictable, dizzyingly image-induced, monarchy-of-the-preps ruled high school. Yet I bend to the will of the trendy, coware behind the facade of fake interest, and burry myself in widely-accepted protocol. I find little solace in the fact that school is ending for the summer, because this cycle will continue to perpetuate once again after a three month hibernation. Where do I find ultimate venting abilities? In my writings... and now, with much needed anonymity, I'm making them public. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>30,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
I am herby taking a break from the composed, poised teen act and slipping back into Jr. High. There, you've been warned. I am no longer responsible if you think I am a total loser: Oh....my...GOD! Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Guy-from-the-rocket sighting! I'll exlpain. No, I can't explain. It's too hard. The long and short, I am totally in love with this guy who works at The Rocket. The Rocket= ultra hip coffee shop downtown that has currently become my hangout for two reasons. 1) I like coffee 2) I am in love with the sex god that works there. Sex God remains nameless, I regret to inform you. He's so damn sexy. And I never use that word, ever! See what he does to me, I'm a blithering idiot. Good lord, he looks perrrrrrrfect. Perfect for me that is. Mussy dark hair, brooding eyes, tall, lanky. His uniform is obscure band t-shirts, All Stars, and jeans. And if starring at him over a cup of quasi-good coffee isn't awesome enough, he spoke to me. And not the usual, 'Here's your change/ I like your shirt/ You're probably going to be late to class if you don't hurry/ It's hot outside'. I saw him at Huckleberry's Grocery, this completely lovable organic food store. I spotted him buying soy milk as I was picking out starfruit. How romantic! I made a beeline for the soy products. (In doing so, might I add, I almost ran down a small hippie child with my buggy) And then the heavens opened and he spoke to me. The mini-conversation went a little like this: 'Hey...'- Sex God 'Umm, hi.'- Dorky Sophomore known as Anna 'I think I know you. Anna, right?' 'Yah!!!!' 'You and that blonde girl hang out at the Rocket, right?' 'Yah, that's Mary, my friend. I love the Rocket. The coffee is so good.' 'You do?' Laugh, oh gorgeous laugh. 'I work there.' As if he needed to tell me. 'Cool.' 'Yah.' 'You drink soy milk?' 'Yes, I'm vegan.' 'Cool.' 'Yah.' 'Well, I gotta go... Anna. See ya.' 'Mmmm.' And my life is complete. It was like something out of the weirdest Teen Romance Novel. HE FUCKING KNOWS MY NAME! How the hell does he know my name? How? I demand to know! Probably heard Mary say it or something, but that's not the point. He saw my face and associated it with a (correct) name. I love my life. I love it. I love it, I love it, I love it! If anyone out there now desires to read some truly insightful writing, I don't blame you. Not in the least. And please, I beg of you, flip over to urlLink http://mysecretlyintrestinglife.blogspot.com/. Katie is this incredible fellow high-schooler who writes with a comedic flair, and has a pension for actually writing well. She also is way cooler than I, in that she likes these awesome, underappreciated bands, like Bright Eyes and The Might Be Giants. Here's one her great insights. Seriously, I never would have thought of this. It's about Michael Jackson's song Billie Jean: 'This song is hilariously ironic to me because of the lyric 'the kid is not my son.' See, 15 years ago he was rejecting kids left and right; now...well, I don't even need to say anything here.' Brilliant! Ohmygod... I want to marry the Sex God. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
Since I was nine, I have been shipped off to camp for a week each summer. I like it, actaully. I'm totally inhibited for a week, in God's grace, and well, hot conselers. I've meet a lot of cool people over the years, and have a core group of really close friends who I make my annual Twinlow trip for. We call ourselves the Butterflys because we all were all in Cabin 6 that year, and it was the butterfly cabin. I guess we sound like the Ya Ya Sisterhood, but I guaruntee, we are no where near the South. And my name in not Sidalee. One girl I'm probably the closet with is Jenelle. God, I can't believe I'm going to say this--for the world to read-- we're pen pals. It's so Elementary School that we write letters instead of talk on the phone, seeing as we're about forty five minuets away from each other. Calls might not even be long distance. There's just something about writting; you can SAY so much more, without physically saying anything. We talk about the most random things, and yet at time the most poginant things. It's a weird sort of realease, kind of like jounraling or blogging. When you spell out what's going on in your life, you see it differently. Sometimes it's a reality check. And sometimes you think you're crazy, only to recieve a letter back assuring you you're not. More often than not, I feel honored to have Jenelle as a friend. She reminds me a lot of Mary. Untainted, inherenetly good. I will never unstand how some people are never tempted to do bad things. I'm not talking murder, little things. I guess no sin is a little sin in God's eyes, but there is a difference between robbing a bank and lieing to your parents. Right? Jenelle's mother passed away when she was eight. I don't know how to put that, I mean, it's a very sad fact. A fact I wish didn't exist. If anyone deserves a happy life, it's Jenelle. She has specail eyes through which she sees everyhting... somehow. And it's not even 'a silver lining to every cloud', more like 'never a cloud in the sky'. For instance, of my love life (or lack thereof) she writes: 'Maybe you are always 'in love with a couple of guys' but the boys are in love with you too! Perhaps not the ones you would choose, but they love you just the same. How could they not? You're beautiful as can be and a sweetie!' This makes me feel so so so gulity, because obviously I am not a sweetie at all. If only she knew! On a side note, I wrote a song on the guitar! Good lord, it's laaaaaaaaaaame. Lamer than my lame-ass poetry. I sounds like I'm in pain when I sing it. But I feel so free and awesome for simply finishing it. I love guitar so much. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
In eighth grade, at my gorgeous catholic school (which really does explain a lot about who I am, if you think about it) I had the single most poignant person for a teacher. Mrs. League taught nearly all of my classes. Religion, U.S. History, Literature, Christian Life Issues, and Social Etiquette. She was twenty-seven, just married, and gorgeous. Seriously, I aspire to look that good. Everything she did was somehow unexplainably cool. Examples: She never looked at anyone's records from previous years (she said that would give her prejudgments on people, and she was a firm believer that people change. Good to bad, bad to good.) She also expected more of me than I expected of myself, and graded me accordingly. Anyway, I'm feeling proud today. I don't know why. This epidemic will be soon followed by massive self-loathing and undoubtedly a trip to Confession. But anyway, I'm going to brag while I feel good about myself. This self confidence is few and far between. Here are some things that Mrs. League wrote about me: -' Mr. and Mrs. Z.... I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoy having Anna in class. I am grateful for her leadership skills especially. Anna has two 3rd grade 'buddies' in Mass on Thursdays. She is WONDERFUL with them and truly acts beyond her years. She is a pleasure to see each and every day.' -'I am impressed with Anna's gentleness. It is important for her to know that she demonstrates God's love to others.' -'She contributes insight and meaning to class discussions as well as an excellent knowledge base.' -'Anna handles social studies with ease... She has an excellent grasp of tough concepts, especially when it comes to government-oriented areas.' -'She is a voracious reader and will often research a subject further on her own. This is to be admired.' The truth be told, most of this is total crap. I mean, nice crap. Lovely crap. An idealistic view of Anna the Student. My catholic education, brief it was, damaged me beyond compare. Mrs. League was sort of a guardian angel, the kind that elected me Citizen of the Month whilst I daydreamed of running away from home. The angel that wrote me Honor's Recommendations when I oh pined for the love of Sean. The same Sean who pointed out my eating disorder to the world, I can still hear the taunt 'Anna the Anorexic!'. She was an angel who wrote letters to my parents during the days when I was tormented by Allison O' Neil and Angela Wilkins for being any number of things... pale, too smart, too opinionated, emotionally fucked up, unathletic. Oh God! I promised myself Cataldo would not end up on this blog. No no no... why the fuck does Junior High creep into ever area of my life?!? It's an unitchable scratch, a stain that bleeds beyond my skin. I wish I could wash away those memories, even if it meant getting rid of the good ones. Just to never have thoughts of inadequacy whenever I see a plaid skirt or a polo shirt. To associate something else besides a feeling of hopelessness with logo-less above-the-ankle socks. I wish I could explain how perpetual this feeling is... it's every week now! Every fucking week! I swear, it's post-traumatic-stress-syndrome. Like a Vietnam vet, I sit and have flashes of my years there. Shoplifting downtown and destructing the daycare. My trips to the office and the times I cried in the bathroom. Smiling, acting rebellious. Claire being expelled. Me being suspended. Britney Spears-inspired skirt alterations. Maryellen dying her hair red. Tampon-ing houses. Peeing on people's doorsteps at three in the morning. Truth or dare. Independent films. Lying, getting caught. Pancakes with everything-- and vodka! Jack Daniels, Peppermint Snobs. Throwing up. Laughing. Being laughed at. Ditching my old friends. Hurting. Lying some more. Being exposed. Missing seventh grade. Class trips. Being included and hating it. Affectionately.... Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
Yesterday my beloved Dr. Phil was talking to parents about answering tough questions that kids had. Such as: 'How do people get bald?', 'Why can't we have anymore brothers?'and the ever-tough 'Why do girls get boobs and boys don't?'. It seems like Phil could be hit with any question and have an immediate, appropreiate, and thought-out answer. The idea of an omnipetent--yet tangible-- question-answerer attracted me. Just imagine: asking anything you wanted to know and having the answer you NEED. Not the likely one, not the normal one. The truth absolute. Do you know what is one of the best tension releases? Singing along to Fiona Apple like a tourturred soul. 'I've been a bad, bad girl...' Affectionately... Anna, the Bad |
</post> |
<date>25,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
News worthy event of the week: Joey FINALLY got his license. He will be 18 in two months and yet he is just now is able to drive. As celebration, we stole the gloriously hip (and might I add, totally suburban) Subaru from our parents and went on a joy ride. Yah, just call me Anna the Outlaw. Alright, so it was really like we were handed the keys and sent to get milk from the grocery store... I was reading 'O' magazine today, a subscription held by-- who else?-- my mother. Oprah has a section called 'Things I Know For Sure'. Likewise, I here now regale you with a new blog featurette: Things I Know For Sure... -One can never be indecisive about plaids. -Spandex is a privilege, not a right. -If it is meant to be, it isn't up to me. -Dog collars can be condescending. -There are some things that never let you down; friends and the amusement of helium filled balloons. -Michael Jackson is a troubled soul. -Naming inanimate objects is both useful and entertaining. Stay tuned, the pangolin of excitement is bound to swing back soon. I'm overdue for something interesting to happen. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
Good lord, I have nothing to tell you about. If it wasn't so damn hot outside! Then I might be able to think up something clever to say about the Lyle Lovett CD collection I witnessed today. Or maybe something cute about how Caylee kept calling the seaguls at the park sea-eagles. I might even muster up a joke about 50 Cent... Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>23,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
That blasted bitch! I hereby revoke previous statements that portrayed JK Rowling in a positive light. No wonder she writes about w school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she should know--- being a total witch herself. If you don't want to know about the ending to The Order of the Phoenix, don't read on. SHE KILLED SIRIUS BLACK! Let me paint you a picture; there is a fifteen year old girl, donned in pink pajama bottoms and a high school track hoodie, sitting on her bed in her innocent pink bedroom reading a book. All she wants is to hear about her favorite fictional fellow teen, but what does she get? Her HEART RIPPED OU! The only person Harry had left, the only person that UNDERSTOD him, the closet thing to a father Harry ever had. The man who would've done anything for him-- KILLED! For good. Gone. No more. Cease to breath. Needless to say, I cried my ass off. I cried sorrowfully for thirty minuets straight. My chest heaved with sadness. WHY DID HE HAVE TO DIE?!? I would feel less pain if Ron died, or if Hermione died... yes, even if Dumbledore himself died. Anyone but Sirius! Oh god, I am still so incredibly sad. My dork-ism has reached cosmic proportions as I mourn the loss of a fictional character. The subsequent latter fact does not console me. It feels real, even if it isn't. I'm crying real tears, aren't I? Anyway: on to more suburbia bliss. Mom relented and finally let me get a 'supercut' today. I've always wanted to go there but she insists the people are untrained and unkempt. Instead I've always gone to the hoity-toity salon that charges $60 for a shampoo, cut, and dry. I hate the people there too. They have ridiculously hip hair styles, but not at my new favorite place Supercuts. My 'stylist' was named Pam. Pam had a truly spectacular Jersey perm. Just the right overkill on Aquanet, and the right tooth-comb picked bangs. She looked like she had walked right out of a Bon Jovi musicvideo. Her outfit included fuchsia press ons, acid washed jeans and an employee polo shirt. The haircut proceeded with a washing during which Pam poked me in the eye with her nail and allowed water to drip down my top (Pam: 'It'll dry, you'll live.) During the trimming process Pam informed me 'You got a real skinny neck', 'Gawd I hate Mundays... I need a cigarette break, you know?” and “It always smells funny in here”! The blow dry consisted of three minuets of lackadaisical dryer pointing. 'It's hot out; it'll dry outside real good.' Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>22,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
Alright, so I was wrong about The Order of the Phoneix coming out on Friday. This actually made me feel better about myself. It confirmed that I was not a total dork, I didn't even know the correct release date. This feeling was fleating, however, because I went to the Midnight Release 'party' at the bookstore. Okay, so I knew I was getting into trouble when I went to a book-release party. The perhaps sadder fact is that there are many other books that I dream would have midnight release parties. And at these, instead of wearing Wizard hats and carrying wands, people could come dressed as bitter Hitlers or distraught Mary Todd Lincolns or even enderaingly suicidal New York essay writers. There were three kinds of people in Hastings on Friday night. One group were droppy-eyed adults, some dressed in pajama bottoms and most carrying Grande sized coffees. These were obviously the parents of Harry Potter fans, sent by anxious eleven-year-olds to pick up a copy. Another group were the flamboyantly-aved HP fans. They ranged in age from about thirteen to, sadly, forty. These fans could be seen entering their names in raffles for the promotion posters, Harry cuttouts and bookmarks; all equally open about their love of the Magic world. On occassion they could be heard referring to the others in the store as Muggles, and talking about flying off into the night on their Firebolts. I belonged to the third group, the people there that were hiding thier faces. The fans-in-the-closet. I was trying, without aveil, to distract attention from the fact that I am a fifteen-year-old girl who wanted nothing more than to get the first possible copy of a children's book on her Friday night. The book is eight hundred and seventy pages. This fact alone makes me love JK Rowling. Only a fellow nerd would write such a lengthy tale, and therefore I feel a strong bond with the British Billionaire. I am ashamed to admit I am not yet finsihed with the book. I've been trying to soak in every detail and every posssible foreshadowing for the next two books. I breifly considered taking notes; but the dork level would then be taken to the umpth-degree. I perfer to stay somewhere between manic overachiever and OCD, though it requires much discretion on my part. Affectionatelty... Anna the Dork |
</post> |
<date>19,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
In Kelly Clarkson's 'Miss. Independent', she says 'What happened to Miss. Indepen-DENT?' Not, as previously thought, 'What happens to my cinnamon NUTS?' At the risk of sounding nerdy (oh wait, I guess I'm already a nerd: I have a website) the next Harry Potter book is released in t-minus four hours, forty three minuets. My excitement is thanks to Andria Nanni introducing me to the series in 6th grade (thanks a heap for making me a full fledged nerd, Andi!) But an underlying reason for my interest is JK Rowling. For those of you who are HP-inept (that would be anyone cool) each novel chronicles one year in the life of Harry Potter. I think he'll be sixteen (or fifteen? I'm not sure) in this one. Prior to this edition, JK Rowling has avoided most teenage boy things (i.e. the other magical instrument Harry poses, and the 'spells' he can 'cast' with it). Since I think that she is a good writer, she will have to bring up SOMETHING about it. Let me also express my feelings toward our neighbors to the north, 'Ohhhhh Canada...' (that's sung to the Canadian National Anthem, by the by). My dear readers, did you know that they have put gay marriage, the legalization of marijuana and HERION on the ballot? Now, the homosexual-marriage thing I'm okay with. I don't really care, since it doesn’t affect Americans at all. A Canadian marriage of a girl and a girl or the Canadian marriage of a boy and a boy isn't LEGALLY recognized in this country. And narcotics-trafficking from Canada won't be tolerated. But the chronic? There's not really much of a way to control that. We already have enough Chic and Chong wannabes here. Canada is three hours away! Good lord. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>18,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
For any one who is remotely close to me, they know that I have a huge problem with sleep. On average, I get about 5 hours. It's not rare that I get less than 3. During my more insomniac eposoids (15 minuets of sleep at a time, one hour a night) I have insane dreams. My dreams are pretty funny after the fact, like my mares of fighting for the British in the Reveloutionary War, and hiding in my hope chest from my friends. Lately, I keep having the same crazy dream over and over. I'm sitting on my bed and my mom screams for me 'Phoooooone!' and I answer and it's Justin Timberlake. I hate Justin Timberlake, in real life and in my dream. Justin says to me 'Do you know who this is?' and I tell him 'Yes, duh.' Then I get the distinct feeling that I hurt his feelings. And that is the end of my dream. I sent this dream to this terrific website and here's the analysis I got back: Hello Anna, Your dream is a warning about some trouble that is about to surface, the phone call was to tell you that you have a rival where you least expect it. Justin was trying to bring your attention to the problem arising represented by what he said, Do you know who it is. In the dream you replied yes, therefore this person is already in your circle and known to you. When you thought you had hurt his feelings it was also a warning that you will be hurt by this person who is pretending to be something they are not. Because you where sitting on your own bed this is reminding you that you have a secure foundation around you and you will overcome any difficult situations. Angel blessings Invisible Friends |
</post> |
<date>17,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
I would like to point out that although, yes, I did fail Integrated 1B, I still have a 3.4 GPA. I disgress, I am not stupid; I obviously choose to fail, right? Ok, not true. I'm so embarrassed about going to summer school that I dreampt about it last night. This morning on the way to summer school I nearly threw up. I literally had the windows rolled down and my head between my knees. I was TERRIFIED I was going to see one of my teachers. The only teachers who have ever known of my complete retardation have been math teachers. And if my, say, Global Issues teacher, saw me at summer school, his entier opinion of my would be dashed. S.S. should be, quite frankly, fun. I'm totally not joking ethier. My teacher is Mrs. Earle, who I like. She's this tiny little woman who is always happy about something. And when I say always, I mean ALWAYS. Literally. She never gets mad. Melissa and I tried so hard to crack her in math last year. I'm not sure if any of you are framiliar with the Tampon commerical with the 'Pearl, pearl, she's a pearl girl.' song. We changed the lyrics to 'Earle, Earle, she's an Earle girl.' Plus, Melissa, Feather, and Anne Claire are in it with me. So is 'Katie Cough', who really doesn't like me. It's only because I got defensive in Science when she called me stupid. Stupid, why? Because I left my locker unlocked in PE and got all the money (change included) and clothes stolen. I guess it was my own fault, but I'm not stupid. The cirriculum is sooooo pathetically easy that I almost feel BAD! We have 10 questions per section, and there are about 20 sections. And we have a quiz on every chapter. And whatever total grade I earn takes the place of my failing grade. So, theorically, I can get a 4 point oh. And although the course is designed to take 6 weeks, I can--again theorically-- finish (with an 'A') in three weeks. I feel bad for all the kids who tried hard and passed on their own during the actual school year. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>17,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
Thanks to Katie for 'letting' me steal this idea from urlLink her blog . -Is it wrong that I watched 'American Juniors' and voted for Grace? Because it seems like there is something inherently wrong with supporting that evil of that show. Which may, perhaps, be it's appeal. I've encountered many a stage mother in my day--believe me. But none who have actually exploted their children all the way to the Reality-Contest Show scene. -Is it wrong that I have worn the same tank top and boxers for nearly 48 hours? -Is it wrong that I have been listening to the same Stevie Ray Vaugn riff continuously for two hours? (How the hell one man is capable of that talent is beyond me) -Is it wrong that I have begun updateing this blog twice a day? -Is it wrong that I want to be a hermit? That's not really fair. Okay, a quasi-hermit. Is that wrong? Quasi-hermitum? -Is it wrong that I think that Pete Yorn and Jason Mraz are ubber lame? Clearly I don't think so, but why don't you weigh in. As far as I'm concerned, they're obvious John Mayer-envy is a little disgusting. You'd think they'd have a little more dignity. Although he's adorable, Jason Mraz not only has the same initals and number of syabells in his name (I guess that's debateable, he may not be able to help it) but also his performance in the 'The Remedy' video uses the same lighting as John's performance in the 'No Such Thing' video. And Pete Yorn has similar hair. IS THERE NO END?!?!? -Is it wrong that I want to learn to play the key-tair? -Is it wrong that I think everything tastes better with mustard? Even applesause? A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>16,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
Oh it's those lazy crazy days of summer and I, well I have nothing to do. It's so perfectly suburban I can hardly stand it. I'm so glad that I have this blog anonymously because I can tell no one in particular the most unAnna thing: I think I might possibly have an inkling of an interest in the band Good Charlotte. And there, hell just froze over. Who is the biggest anti faux-punk activist? Me. I still realize that they are no more punk than Eric Clapton is Alright, they play their instruments. Am I the only one who sees the music scene as pathetic now we equate ability to play a given instrument/not lip sync to artistic suprememity? Every drummer should drum, every guitar player should play guitar, every singer should sing. And one talent should never be substituted for another. I.E. ability to belly dance and hump air cannot replace hitting the correct notes of the song, no matter how simplistic (even if it is 'Baby, One More Time'). Dammit, there is just something about there evil songs! They're so catchy. Fuck me. 'Girls don't like boys. Girls like cars and money.' is positively restarted. And their 'Anthem' is the most hypocritical thing in the history of music. 'I don't ever wanna be you... don't wanna be just like you.' What the fuck, Benji and Joel (yes, MTV shoved their names down my throat... not my fault!) you are just like 'them'. Good Charlotte represents everything I hate: commercialism, selling out, wronging the sanctity of art, and the worst sin: making me kind of like them. So I hereby resolve to never ever like them, even if the guy with the tattoos is a little cute and even if the idea of having little old ladies instead of hot chicks in there video is kind of great and even if I never get their damn songs out of my head… Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>16,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
Random Question: In Kelly Clarkson's new song, does she say '...what happens to my cinnamon nuts?' Or am I hearing things? Because I swear that's what she says. What are cinnamon nuts? A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>15,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
My infatuation with John Mayer has, as I am not the first one to admit, gotten slightly out of control. No, I am not about to start stalking him/writing his name in blood ala Angelina Joel. It's just that every time I see his music videos/pictures/hear his voice my heart starts beating abnormally and it's slightly hard to breath. But, I like it. Oh this is so so so pathetic, but I totally love him. Before you laugh, allow me to explain...? Beyond having every desired physical attribute that I- shall we say- enjoy, it is his unbelievably perfect personality that I am in love with. HIS LYRICS! Oh sweet Jesus, his LYRICS! I hereby swear that I am not the only person to see the striking coincidences between myself and his muse, or whatever. I am trying to absolutely be totally humble and not a total nerd about it, but, like, five people have said 'God, Anna. That sounds exactly like you.' Hence: -Comfortable '... gray sweatpants, no makeup.... so perfect...your mouth was so dirty' (Sweatpants are absolutely my uniform, I only curl my eyelashes and wear chapstick, and I strive for perfection in everything. Plus, I have the mouth of a sailor.) -Your Body is a Wonderland '... your skin like porcelain.” (Since I was like, 5, the one single thing that people comment to me is my skin.) -Tell me What to Say '... you must have heard the line about your eyes a million times...' Theses are only some; I wish I could more effectively explain it. I really do... And think, on July Eleventh... oh... Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
The last day of school is basically the designated skip day. Teachers don't even bother to take attendance. You're basically suppose to go, but no one really does. The concept of actually going is hard for me to grasp, what is there to do? We've already turned our textbooks in, taken all our finals and cleaned out our lockers. Most people sleep in or go to the mall. But of course, in grand Anna-fashion, I had to think of something better. Long story short, we headed for Silver Theme Park. It's this wanna-be Six Flags in Idaho, about an hour from home. The main attraction is this roller coaster that goes underground and takes your picture. Again, my maturity was overestimated. After several faux-decapitation poses, Robin and I got the bright idea of... flashing the camera. I must first explain that in order to leave the roller coaster, you have to exit through the gift shop where the pictures are on display. And apparently you're not supposed to make obscene gestures, which includes displaying your bra. Successful in our flashing-ability (which requires one to promptly pull your shirt down before anyone else sees) Robin and I beat cheeks out of the coaster. Mary and Leigh were pissed ('I can't believe you did that, Anna! Where are your morals! Oh my goodness... oh my goodness...') By lunchtime Robin and I realized that we had developed quite a following of dorky jerk-off boys. Good times. By eight when we were supposse to go home, I had developed a massive sugar high (I only ate lemon drops!) And hour in the confides of a car with mio is probably not a good idea, but nevertheless entertaining. And my yearbook! What is it about yearbook signatures that makes me hate my classmate? I'm not even joking, people. I would go Timothy McVay on their asses if I had one more 'stay sweet!'. Examples: -'You are so sweet! Never change! You are gonna be a famous actress! Call me and we'll do something!' LETA -'It was fun being in your science class. You're a really nice person.' MEGAN -'Even tough you won't fuck me, you still rock. Give me your number.' SCOTT -'Fuck the police!' FEATHER -'Hey what's up? You're such a sweetie! Wow, we've known each other a long time! We have 3 mores years! Call me this summer!' JENNY -'You're hot.' CHRIS But my actually friends were so funny: -'I don't think I could have spent 95% of my time with anyone else... I will always remember when we got kicked out of the women's locker for using the steam room inappropriately ...' MARY -'... years from now; me having three kids and you married to either Jimmy Fallon or John Mayer/being an actress with 3 Oscar nom. and two Oscars. I'll fly from Boston to LA to visit you for the fourth time that week...' MEG -'I went from not being able to remember your name to now trying to remember the names of the children you will make with John Mayer! They are going to be the most beautiful kids ever!' ROBIN -'You should be part of his [John Mayer's] performance... you can stand at the side of the stage and do an interpretive dance. Just think of Your Body is a Wonderland...' LARUREN I'm a sophomore! Affectionately...Anna |
</post> |
<date>11,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
Tomorrow is my last day of school! And besides my English and Global Issues finals, I have two other (if conflicting) events. One is Drum Circle (see the 6th), and one is Melissa's water fight. She's having a huge end-of-the-year water fight/party in the park. It's going to be a lot of fun, if I go. Drum Circle--- well, I have no idea what to expect, if I go. I was kindov amped up and excited for it, except for what happened today at lunch. My lunch crew; Robin, Leigh, Mary, and Lauren decided to take a break from the norm and eat outside. It was a really nice day, and we were having some really in-depth conversation about our hair, so it was good times. But as we walked past Feather and Katie V. , Feather goes 'Annnnnnnna! I love your outfit.' I'm halfway positive that she was being sarcastic because I was wearing sweatpants, All Stars, and a t-shirt Sam gave me that says 'I Love NERDS'. (Katie apparently thought that it was revolutionary to say 'I love nerds too!' ---which it was not, because about a thousand random people said that today) Then she goes 'Annnnna, Ali is going to DRUM CIRCLE tomorrow, with us, and she doesn't hate you.' This was followed by several inaudible sentences. Needless to say, she and her crew were ether a) totally high or b) totally smashed. They looked and sounded absolutely stupid, like total alcoholics/potheads. And I realize that I don't want to be like that. At all. Dammit, catholic upbringing! Tomorrow will be interesting, I assure you. Affectionately...Anna |
</post> |
<date>10,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
Today, In second period English, I went insane. It only lasted for a few second, but I was definitely crazy. There are two more days of school left. There I was, listening to Buzzie drown on about something (it might have been his grandson) and I looked at the clock. I kid you not, but the minuet hand did not only STOP entirely, but it in fact went backwards. I couldn't breath! I was having an attack! Nooooooo, not one more second in school. And just before I went on a rampage, an announcement came over the speaker 'Attention: The clocks are momentarily been re-set, please excuse the inconvenience.' That aside, there are many other reasons for concern for my health, and the health of my fellow freshman. Some people call it Senioritis, but since I am clearly not a senior, I refer to it as Severe Prolonged Agitation and Zealousness, or SPAZ. SPAZ has begun to manifest in many people. Just yesterday, quiet little Mary had a fit of SPAZ, she involuntarily screamed '4 DAYS LEFT!!!!!!' when we were playing softball during conditioning. And of course there was Robin's SPAZ as she tripped up the stairs, although this was once said to be impossible. And the cause for this sudden outbreak? WE HAVE TWO DAYS LEFT DAMMIT! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>08,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
(Those which are realistic are italicized) 1. Meet, seduce, and become engaged to John Mayer at the Counting Crows/John Mayer concert Make eye contact with John Mayer at the Counting Crows/John Mayer concert 2. Become Norah Jone's prodigy and new best friend at the Norah Jones concert See Norah Jones at the Norah Jones Concert 3. Go to everyone Cross Country practice, both official and unofficial Go to the majority of Cross Country practices, if I can wake up in time 4. Not fight with my family on our first real family trip since I was nine Fight, but make up after, on our first real family trip since I was nine 5. Not become enamored with a unattainable guy this summer Not become too enamored with an unattainable guy this summer 6. Read all ten books on the Sophomore English Honnor's book list Read one book on the Sophomore English Honnor's book list 7. Learn to play 'The Sky is Crying' Learn to play 'Anna's Overtly Emotional Meanderings Entirely in the Same Cord' 8. Get my permit Procrastinate for two more years, and then get my permit 9. Watch no more than three hours of TV a day Watch no more than ten hours of TV a day, and do some yoga while watching SNL reruns 10. Do something meaningful Do some things that are sort of meaningful, but mostly just take up time. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>07,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
After the advent of digital cable in my home, I have been addicted to several channels. These include MTV2. The Independent Film Channel, Spanish MTV, and the Lifetime Movie Channel. The latter might just be my favorite. I seriously love to watch self-proclaimed 'Docudramas' in which a real, true-life story is exaggerated for dramatic effect. Such as tonight's feature, 'Death of a Cheerleader'. Perhaps the funniest part of 'Death of a Cheerleader' was that the film took itself seriously. We meant a sweet innocent catholic girl (Angie) who has transferred from her sweet innocent catholic school to the risky dangerous public school and meet risky dangerous peers. Angie is urged by the principal (the speech was, in fact, slow-motioned for emphasis) '....be the BEST.' Angie wants to be Editor of the Yearbook because she is a good writer. (On an unrelated note, why do you have to be a good writer to be Yearbook Editor? Um, what writing is there in yearbook? Typing names?) But is turned down. So 'Ang' turns to the popular crowd, who initiate her by anointing her with Mayonnaise. Eventually, Ang confesses to Stephanie that she wants to be just like her. Stephanie (TORY SPELLING) tells Ang that she's going to tell the whole school that Ang is weird. And what is a girl to do? Kill her of course! 'We're almost there and no where near it.'- Oh Gilmore Girls, where would I be without you? Affectionately.... Anna |
</post> |
<date>06,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
Let me begin by informing you of source of great (secret) excitement. We switched seats inmath and G-Dogg sits in front of me. He's only nice to me because he thinks my brother is cool, which isn't rare, but I make-believe that he really thinks I'm the cool sibling. That's a little sad, and I realize this, but when he pointed out the picture of a Mohawk from SLC Punk on my binder (for the um-teeth time), it made my day. Feather informed me in math lab (the class I take because I suck miserably at my actual math class) today that she is taking me next Thursday, to drum circle. Drum circle is this 'gathering' at the park where all the stoners go to get high. They also apparently beat on drums once they're there, hence the name. My brother goes on a fairly regular basis. Lately a lot of preppy freshman girls have been going... so I guess it was inevitable that I was invited. I am so scared that I'll be a hypocrite; telling my future children 'do as I say, not as I do'. And if I go to Drum Circle and do something regrettable, than I will have already let my future children down. But I'm a fucking conformist, and I don't want to be left out. Woe is me, what am I to do? Damn you blasted peer pressure! After school Leigh and I headed walked downtown (our HS is like, 4 blocks away from the epicenter of my city) and FINALLY purchased my cross country 'kicks'. My man selling them clearly assumed I was an accomplished runner, because he kept asking me things about arch support and if I had ever had any trouble with shin splints. I took full advantage of the awkward situation by completely going along with what he was saying. Leigh, bless her heart, was trying so hard not laugh when I said things like 'splendid' and 'terrif' about the full accommodations of each of the twelve pairs of shoes I tried on. To make this entire situation more sit-comical, I had to test the shoes. Which means I had to run outside of the store, up and down and around designated garbage cans, to 'really get a feel for' each pair. In the end, I went with the baby blue Pumas, because I like the way they look. Leigh and I than make a trek over to the movie complex, where we settled in to check out the new Pixar flick Finding Nemo. People were making such a big hubbub about it that I was super excited. It wasn't bad. Worth six and a half bucks. The bad part was that the air conditioning had been kicked waaaaaaayy up and I spent the entire movie trying to protect agonist frostbite. But it was very, very, very cute. I especially love the gimp fin Nemo had. I identify, except my handicapability is my lemming-like follow-the-leader qualities. I think I might love G Dogg..... Affectionately.... Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
It stirkes me how much I miss having a boyfriend today. I'm jonesing for some boy-love, of the physical variety. I find myself looking at every single person of the opposite sex and pondering a possible relationship. This is such an 'Anna-thing' to do. I love love love everyone and my friends are terrific, but there's just something about going on a date instead of having a John Hughe's marathon on a Friday night. I miss the awkwardness and the uncertainity. I miss having old people's 'tisk tisk's when we kiss good night. I miss going half crazy trying to figure out what he's thinking. I miss having HIM smell my hair- oh how my Loreal Strawberry Smoothie Shampoo is going to waste. I miss talking on the phone about sweater lint because I've run out of subjects and I can't hang up because his voice gives me chills. In short, I'm a little desperate. Do I have high expectations? Um, no? I'll allow you, the unbiast reader, to decide. All I ask for is a tall(ish/er) boy, my age or older, who has longish hair, a terrific sense of humor, the ability to carry on a linear conversation, someone who doesn't listen to faux-punk Canadian shit (or worse-- doesn't care about music) someone with values (they serriously don't have to be catholic, contrary to popular belief) and someone who LIKES ME. I'm so scared to dive back into the Singles Scene. This sounds a little silly because I'm fifteen years old, but it's true. For now, I will oh pine for my Mr. Right Now as I listen to some 80s pop (thank you WHAM) and continue to count down the school days.... only five left. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,June,2003</date> |
<post> |
I haven't updated my blog for a while, not for any specific reason. I'm a perfect procrastinator. Yesterday marks the unofficial 'step up' of all the classes. The seniors have said good bye. And how do 457 people bid adieu to their high school? Senior pranks of course! Yes, it's the grand ole tradition of trashing your ole la mauder. And on behalf of my fellow freshman and myself, I say thank you, class of 2003. You will be remembered. Thank you for leasing havoc via your SuperSoakers on us as we ate lunch in the Quad. And the life-size cut out of Christian Aguilera wearing a TIGERS 2003 t-shirt taped to the third floor window was a nice touch. But most of all, I thank you for filling the skywalk with balloons. I would like to add extra props for the schiz-nizzler who filled them with helium. Ah, you overestimate the maturity levels of fifteen year olds. The helium provided endless 'munchkin voice' entertainment. Another tradition of high school is the yearbooks. I would like to take this opportunity to sarcastically thank the retard on Yearbook Staff who thought it would be 'cool' to print the annuals on black paper... hey thanks! It's really awesome how I can totally read all the signatures written in non-gel pen! Also thanks for misinforming future generations that the play I worked my ass off for was called 'The Diary of Anne Frank' (I especially loved how you informed me that the play The Diary of Anne Frank was adapted from the book The Diary of Anne Frank) And the 'cast picture' which is missing my FACE, is lovely. Thank, guys! Dynamite job! Seriously though, I'm going to miss being a freshman. Because despite the hazing, frosh-slurs, and inability to participate in real school sports, I had a good year. And as much as I can't wait to get into the halls of high school as a sophomore, with my own freshman to tease, I'm even more excited for the summer. Only six more days until school is finally REALLY over.... and a month and seven days until John Mayer/Counting Crows. UNION! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>31,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Still is the light of your room when you're not inside and all of your things tell the sweetest story line You can be mad in the morning I'll take back what I said just don't leave me alone here Its cold here Come back to bed That's It. Promise. Just a little sample of Come Back To Bed . Dammit, it's so good in concert. God, his guitar solo at the Gorge... Anyway. The point is his new albumn is going to blow everyone away. There's a song on it he didn't do in concert, regretably so. It's called 'Split Screen Sadness'. I'm very interested; you're probably not. Get over it. Before I move on to less obsessive subjects I want to say that not only girl's identify with John. I was once singing Sucker under my breath during English. Ben (this is the first/last/only time ever ever ever he will ever be in this blog) said, 'Anna, it's 'when it rains/I'd be the talk of the day.' The supposed jock/'pimp' corrected my John Mayer lyrics. He then, of course, promptly ignored me for a week... such an ass. Moving on. I re-took my final and 'aced' it. In my book, getting a 'C' on a comprehensive math test is aceing it. It sounds pompous and lame and hypocritical but it's a sad fact; people think of me as Smart. Seriously Smart. I even fooled my (creepy, perverted, pedophilic) Global Issues teacher into thinking I was Smart. He stated, in front of our entire class, that I was possibly the Smartest girl in the Freshman class. Which is crap, because I can't even factor a trinomial let alone understand what that means. And my English teacher never used my name... he called me Smart Kid. This is only because I was reciting some lame sonnet to Mary to make her laugh, therefore: exempt. This is why I think people call me Smart. First, it's the whole categorizing for convince thing. It's just so easy to say...oh she's a slut, he's gay, she's a pothead, he's a freak. When I really know everyone- labelers included- are agonizing over their Label. Christ, I am. I hate that people think of me as preppy obsessive-compulsive Smart girl. Second, despite swearing like a sailor (being only slightly less hairy and tattooed) I don't smoke, drink, or have sex with random people. I shower regularly. I've never been in any real trouble with the Law. So these things combined means, apparently, that I am infinite in my knowledge. Sure, that's completely logical, right? Affectionately and Feeling Sufficiently Lame and Inarticulate... Anna |
</post> |
<date>30,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
urlLink Which John Cusack Are You? |
</post> |
<date>29,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
I really hate it when people try to sound clever, or funny. Because, if you notice, the people who try to be clever or funny usually aren't very funny or clever in the first place. They're over-compensating. Example: people who recite jokes they heard on the latest installment of Comedy Central. It's especially bad when they continuously repeat aforementioned joke. Sorry, Kid With Generously Gelled Hair, if the Michael Jackson Nose joke didn't make me laugh in it's third, fourth and fifth reincarnations, you've pretty much lost hope. Find a new shtick. Does anyone remember Hot Sex God Rocket Guy? I miss him today. I haven't really got plans.... maybe some chunky cappuccino would be good today. I remembered that I had made summer goals and here forth is an update. Out of ten goals, I have accomplished five. There still is hope for three. But as for limiting the amount of TV I watch and getting my permit... to bad, so sad. (To see full list, check out Sunday, June 08 entry) Mary update: nothing to update you on. Still a little mad, a lot hurt, and completely indecisive about what to do. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
So much for being mature... I was really getting sick of people thinking I was older than I am. I will herby refer to the John Mayer/Counting Crows concert in which Robin and I were mistaken for being of age to consume alcoholic beverages. And even at the salon tonight, my stylist asked if I was home from college for the summer. So the reasoning is a little of-kilter, the point is I have a new look. A younger look. I hope. Meghan and I had a loooooooong conversation today. It's officially happened, people. Meg has lost her marijuana-virginity. She is now a card carrying member of Stoners-R-US. Do I sound mad? I am, I guess. I hate growing up. I mean, I still distinctly remember the day that we first shaved our legs. It was a Friday, her parents were at dinner, and we were supposed to be babysitting her brothers and sister. Instead we snuck upstairs and used her mom's razor to shave our legs. I don't even think I had hair on my legs. I was ten! But it was all so innocent. Innocence seems thrown out the window these days. What's next? Loosing our virginity-virginity? Touchy subject, sorry. At least I'm being honest. I know neither one of us is stupid, and that everyone does it eventually... I'm done. No more sex talk. Ugh. Goonies countdown: 3 days. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
On the street where you live girls talk about their social lives. They're made of lipstick, plastic and paint, a touch of sable in their eyes. (All your life) All your life all you've asked when's your Daddy gonna talk to You. You were living in another world tryin' to get your message through. No one heard a single word you said. They should have seen it in your eyes What was going around your heart. In an effort to stop my pathetic Jr. High tendencies, I am not going to mention that there are (awesomely yummy) pictures of John Mayer is the new issue of Rolling Stone. I am not going to mention, ether, that Heavier Things will be released in two months. And I am definitely not going to mention that he was nominated for a VMA... no way. I'm simply growing to mature, people. Deal with it. I am, however, going to tell you about the massive panic attack I had today. Mr. Goheler called to notify my mom that I several things missing from my (cough) summer school (cough) curriculum. It was awful. The Units are so disappointed in me. I am so disappointed in me. I was feeling genuinely bad until Sam reminded me that Mr. Goehler is 'like, totally gay'. Then I played air guitar and lip synced to Bon Jovi (old school, of course) in my room until I felt sufficiently better. I reasoned that I was just too much of a Little Runaway to conform to the measures of Freshman math. Unfortunately, we live too far from Jersey for the Units to understand this logic, and I have until Thursday to re-take the final. I almost forgot! The Garland midnight movie this Saturday... THE GOONIES! I am syced, sincerely you guys. I'm all ready to do the Truffle Shuffle and crave 'Roc-key Ro-oAD?'. Of all of those medley kids, I've always been quite fond of Data, the Boy Wonder who can save lives with a pair of dentures. But that's not to say I don't appreciate the legend that is Sloth. 'Hee-ey you guys!' My blog is becoming ridiculously ridiculous. Sorry. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>27,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Leigh and I saw How to Deal tonight. Admittedly, I knew it was going to be a bad movie. But my desire for air conditioning and boy-ogling outweighed my synicality. And it was bad--- terrible in fact. Leigh and kept obnoxiously commenting on the Soap Opera qualities of the plot and fell to pieces when Halley was admitted to (I kid you not) General Hospital. It was a pleasant endeavor, but startling. I realized that I have a month until I go back to school. And I desperately don't want to. It's going to be a dozy of a year. I have Honors/AP History and Honors English, Advanced Conditioning, and I still have no idea what my other electives are going to be. Since I am a retard I signed up for Photography. Call it genetic default, my mom is a photographer. In retrospect, I realize that this is insane and I barely can focus a camera. I really want to write for the school paper, though. My column could be something of an analytical commentary thing. I could combat with the Staffer who habitually writes about how awful John Mayer is. He's annoyingly abrasive, but then, I am too. I seem to remember something about how even if John's fingers were cut off, he would still play with the stubs but his songs would suffer... i.e. 'Your Body is a Wonderland' would become 'Your Body is a Barren Waste Land'. Leigh and I were again discussing 'G-Dogg' (whose name, by the way, is most definitely NOT 'G-Dogg'. I just can't bare the risk of actually spelling out his name, because the second I do, he will find out. And since I have the maturity level of a ten year old, that can never happen.) She was doing this bike trip thing with him all of last week. Apparently, as a good friend, she was required to bring up my name. And apparently 'G' thinks that I 'very cool and yet very conservative'. I can't quite make anything of this, and I know that the second I try to analyze it. Leigh also had the pleasure of meeting his dad, who is exactly like him (as I hear). God, I wish I didn't care. And yet I do. And I hate it. Meg called today. I haven't talked to her for so long! We always do this, go weeks without talking. And when we eventually hang out again. Nothing has changed. We pick up right where we left off. It's the sort of friendship that makes me feel secure, and really lucky. I hereby make a commitment to spend more time with Meg, and to stop neglecting my best friend responsibilities. Tomorrow I will hang out with her. I promise. Or, at the very least, call her. Affectionately... Anna The Tragically Hip |
</post> |
<date>24,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Yes, yes, I know all of the four people who read my blog are feeling neglected (that was me being sarcastic) but now I have officially returned to the world of my Blog. Said Blog and I decided to take a break. We needed our space. Sound framilar? Alright, I'm holding a grudge and being petty. The real reason that I abandoned my vastly entertaining and enlightening blog is because our server was down. Highlights from my seven-day sabbatical: -Watching JAWS at three in the morning in the dilapidated dollar theatre across town -Fainting after cross country training -Going to Pirates of the Caribbean twice and deciding Orlando Bloom needs to exit the metaphorical closet. -Listening to 80s music and actually dialing 867-5309-eeinnne -Meeting Robin's ex boyfriend -Watching VH1s Icons list with Meghan and vehemently opposing the order of the list (excuse me? Jennifer Lopez ahead of Grace Kelly? Oprah Winfrey as #1?!?) -Getting pictures back from C.C./J.M. concert and nearly pissing my pants More tomorrow, I'm tired. Affectionately and Finally... Anna |
</post> |
<date>18,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Yes yes it turns out that it is a great day to be Cobain-ish. My brother, who incidentally does not want to be featured in this blog, has this Girlfriend. Girlfriend has been kicked out of her house, and now Girlfriend is going to our family dinner. I might add that this family dinner is a family dinner, meaning it is intended for the family. But Joey refuses to go unless Girlfriend is allowed to go. So Girlfriend will be staying at our house for a while. My guess is at least a week, which will be sufficent time for her to get pregnant; thus making me an Aunt. So I, of course, got very upset. Jake then decided to yell at me incohernetly for a half an hour about the number of towels I use each day. So I became more upset. I then watched Dr. Phil and had three generous handfuls of stale pretzles, and now I feel sick. A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>17,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
I wish I was like you Easily amused Find my nest of salt Everything is my fault I’ll take all the blame Aqua seafoam shame Sunburn with freezerburn Choking on the ashes of her enemy All in all we all are For, you see, when you live in Washington State remotely close to Seattle, you are intriniscly connected with Nirvana. And when you are feeling depressed you legally are required to listen to the poetry of Kurt Donald Cobain. You simply are. You must, at one time in your adolesence, go without showering for a week and wear flannel. Every year on April 5th you are required to say 'Man, today He did it.' and then at one point, cry. For the record; I am not suicidal. Come to think of it; I'm not all that depressed even. I just am bored. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>17,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
My brother wrote on his birthday wish list that he is requiring my entire family to create a piece of art together and give it to him. Fuck that. I would totally do it except for the fact that he is requiring it. That's not allowed. If I got things by saying they were required I would have an all-Vegan pantry and be legally emancipated. So, it's officially Day Two of the so-called ‘break up’. I wasn't planning on telling anyone, but I slipped (sort of) to Melissa today. She nearly chocked on her McMuffin when I told her. That simple act made me feel--- masochistically--- very good. I was quickly assured that Mary has always been a 'crazy ultra sensitive cult follower' and I'm 'way better off without her'. Melissa is always so fun to talk to; she wants me to start a band with her. I'm not exactly sure what sort of music we would play with my less-than stellar acoustic 6-stringing and her hard-core drumming. It would be interesting to say the least. The idea is definitely tempting. But think of all the other shit I'm currently doing? Band practice would surely cut into my Spanish MTV watching. Church camp is drawing near ladies and gentlemen. And I say this is all seriousness, truly, I love church camp. Just the simple fact that I can say 'This one time, at church camp...' kicks methophsical ass. (I actually used to say that a lot until I say American Pie and found out why people laughed) Five days of sitting by a lake in Idaho; now that's what I call a good time! Alright, so it's not Manhattan, but I swear to God a piece of heaven lives there. I was watching VH1 the other day and it has this show called Driven. It's all about how artists are all motivated and work really hard to become superstars. And I am totally serious, it had Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen on. Just how exactly can you be driven to do anything when you are eight months old? What, you struggled to control your spit-up? I mean, at eight months you can't even control your bowels! Good lord. I remembered a really awful thing I once did today. There was this girl in my third grade class who was really mean to Margaret. She used to call her names and one time she spat on her during four-square. So I made up a song about her and sang it to her face. 'Who hates Katie Carter? I do! Who hates Katie Carter? I do! I do!' I think that may have been one the meanest things I've ever done. Affectionately and Irrationally... Anna |
</post> |
<date>16,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
An update: I wrote that blog about Mary almost two hours ago, and I just got off the phone with her. (Of course, I was the one who called) She sounded completely different, and I knew this phone call was going to be a bad one. It was like breaking up! I mean Rachel-and-Ross breaking up, we're on ‘a break’. What the fuck? 'I just need space.' No, Mary, you need more time with that cult church of yours. I guess when you've never been around males beyond your family, you tend to intergrate the words 'break up' into your vocabulary without understanding the power they hold. Breaking up is not a game. She told me she was spending more time with kids from her church (who are now declared Satanists as far as I'm concerned) and realized she needed the aforementioned space. This is what I determined from what she said: her dad is a fuckhead who thinks I'm a Mary (the Virgin Mother)-worshipping Catholic and she is no longer going to be hanging out with me. Of course I started crying; but now I am just MAD. Mad at her hypocritical father, mad at her for listening to him, and mad at myself for not seeing this coming. But hell, at least I have REAL friends, Mary. Not fellow Satanists. I've at least had boyfriends, have a life, and have some distinction. I may be Catholic and I may swear and I may be completely emotionally fucked up, but at least I'm that way on my own. I don't have other people (including a judgmental ignorant satanic father) running my life or telling me what to do. One day she’s going to wake up and realize that turning people away and judging people by the way they worship God is not living Christ’s will. It's exactly the opposite. I was just beginning to think that Mary was a suplemental best friend (Meghan will ALWAYS be my best best friend, even when we're dead and gone. We made a pact when we were nine) When she wasn't sacrificing calves, etc. for her cult, she was an awesome listener. And she remembers a lot of the bullshit I talk about. Like New York, playing my guitar, being mad at myself for not being mad at others, falling in love with guys who under no circumstanses should I even be attracted to. She made me feel very sane, which is not easy to do. Except, she sort of was judgemental about a lot of things. I won't get into detail but they included premarital sex (can you guess who was for and who was aganist?) drugs, and cussing. Oh, god, my feelings are so hurt. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Something is wrong with Mary; and this time it is really true. I am about to disclose the stupidest thing I have ever done (keep it mind I have shoplifted and peed on people's porches...) I once read what may or may not have been Mary's diary. I was looking for paper (we were studying) when she went into the bathroom. There was this plain spiral notebook on her bed and I grabbed it. I read 'I go to a school where no one accepts me for me, and I have only one true friend.' I realize now how RETARDED it was to get myself into that mess. The entire page was filled with stuff, but I put it away. Still, I can never really get that out of my head. I know a lot of the stuff I write sounds similar, but not that bad. I was able to ignore it for the time because Mary doesn't act depressed. Plus, I'm fairly convinced she means I am the true friend, not to sound cocky, but she really does hate all our other friends. And we're so close. At times, though, I think she's hiding or censoring the things she says. The last couple of weeks, I have called her house at least twice a day. She rarely calls me back and when she does she says that she's just tired, and needs a little more sleep. I know that if she were mad at me she would let me know by now. I am really concerned. It's so over-dramatic of me, but I really think something is wrong beyond just our friendship. Anyway, I beat Anne Claire in chess! Oh yes, yes, yes: the sweet taste of victory. And I may have been hallucinating but I swear Mr. Sex God Hot Rocket Guy totally winked at me as I triumphantly announced 'Oh my gawd! Check mate!' Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
I kid you not, the preceding was a heading on an official congress webpage. I saw him on The Factor last night. Again, I kid you not, he was supporting the funding of a study of homosexuality in Indians... to the tune of two million dollars. When Mr. O'Reily said 'Congressman Weiner, I just can't justify this study of gay Indians.' he replied, 'It's not just gay Indians, Bill, its trans-gender Indians as well.' I disagree with almost everything that comes out of the Fuckhead's mouth (ha ha, Fuckhead? Weiner?) The congressman was very defensive and whinny about every topic discussed, but can you blame him? His name is Anthony Weiner . Imagine little Tony Weiner as a child, being taunted on the playground. That's so obviously the reason he became a politician, trying to triumph over his childhood. But it's empty victory because I seriously bet that whenever his name is announced at the Capitol, fellow congress people still snicker. And people are so busy cracking up no one probably listens to his Bills, and I bet his constituencies are all nineteen year old pothead college students who only want to wear buttons that say 'Support Anthony Weiner!' Anyway, I saw Hot Rocket Sex God today and still don't know his name. I also learned to play chess. I'm pretty good at it, and it is very strange for me to be good at a game that requires strategy. Unfortunately, my school is trying to hard to be 'Gansta' to have a Chess Club... which I would totally join just so I could say 'I was in Chess Club back in the day.' Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
urlLink How Would YOU Take Over the World? |
</post> |
<date>13,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
When I was getting back from the gym this morning, a completely unexpected occurrence knocked me off-kilter. Yes, I vowed to minimalize the amount of Jr. High shit in this blog. However, this is important and it doesn’t directly pertain to Cataldo. By some strange phenomena I haven't seen/spoken to anyone who went on to catholic high school. (This is everyone but me and Meg, as well as the Unnamed Evil Whore and Sean C.) You would think that I would have run into somebody---anybody--- in the course of a year. I've, of course, analyzed this situation, to no avail. I have no explanation; I like to think of it as Divine Intervention (thanks, Christ!) I had nearly stopped thinking about it until... dun dun dun-- it happened. I saw Suzanne and her sister downtown. I was quietly freaking out and trying to avoid them, when she Suze saw me. There was a terrifying moment when she looked like she was going to come and say hi, but luckily I scampered away. My reaction is, obviously, retarded and immature. In my perfect world I would have strode over to her and said, 'Oh my goodness! Suze!'. To be honest, Suzanne was really cool at CCS. It was her, Amanda, Danielle, Patsy and (eventually) Morgan who I most came-to-terms with. That is to say, I don't hate them. In the same aspect, I don't really care anymore: a major determination. Does it bother anyone that I've become the single most Analytical/Immature fifteen year old on the face of the planet? I read on article on Ryan Pinkster (I think that's it) ala Punk't fame in USA Today today. He's apparently four foot eight and one hundred pounds. I had no idea why that statistic was important, nah---relevant--- until I read that he is fifteen years old. Good lord! That's not tall. Being an Ogre myself (5'7.5') I haven't been four-eight since I was four. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>13,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Apparently Robin and I look twenty-one because they didn't check our ID when we wandered into the Beer Garden. Whilst inside, there was this gaggle of 20-something males who happened to look quite tasty. We didn't realize until they got on stage that they were Maroon 5. 'Anna Begins' was my favorite song of the Counting Crows set. Almost everyone was singing along and it was nearly the last of their performance, so the sun was setting and people had lighters out. The lead singer, Adam, was totally high. This was mildly amusing, particularly when we lied down under the piano to sing. There was so much marijuana in that concentrated area, it was terrific. What's better than having a foul-smelling hippie try to sell you pot? There was also a strange Native-American man (who reminded me a lot of the one who hit on Melissa at McDonalds) who was so distracting. He sat directly behind me for the first set (and then mysteriously left) and ate pizza. Before every song he yelled, 'Play some skinnard!'. John played some great new material, a lot more electric and blues-driven. He is so underrated as a guitarist. He went into a four minuet solo and did this indescribable jam. My mouth was gapping open and I think Robin took a picture of me looking that way. One song, 'Come Back To Bed' was especially enjoyable, if you catch my drift. One of the best parts of the concert was when John talked to me (the audience) about random things. Before 'Your Body is a Wonderland' he talked about how he was menstrual.... it was terrific. (There's so much about that concert that I want to explain, but I can't. It's impossible.) I stayed up until four in the morning last night, watching Empire Records and wishing that I looked like Steven Tyler's daughter. I'm not even tired this morning. I'm slipping back into my insomniatic ways. Download 'Rockin' the Suburbs' and feel my vibe. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>12,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Words cannot even describe, good lord- words cannot even describe... Prior to July 11, 2003 there had been three incredible moments in my life that I knew I would always remember. One was my first kiss. It took place backstage on closing night of A Mid Summer Night's Dream. Another was when Maryellen, Claire, and I tamponed and toilet-papered her neighborhood, along with all sorts of semi-illegal activities which bonded us as closer friends than I had ever known; I remember clearly and distinctly thinking that I never felt so alive. The third was opening night of The Wiz of the West, when I had my first leading role ever. Looking out at the audience, I knew I was born to be an actress--- no matter what. The John Mayer/Counting Crows concert beat all of them. I wish I could describe exactly what it feels like to want something so bad and to have it realized. For an ungodly number of hours I've considered what it would be to be in the presence of John. Every feeling of adoration was solidified with the first note of the first song. I simply fell into his words and into the music. I was completely unaware that anything else existed. He delivered me precious assurance within a span of an hour, singing the same songs he's preformed hundreds of times before. Then, during '3x5' he looked into the audience and for a single, shinning second--looked directly at me. Just out of nowhere. Do I even need words? Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>09,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Mary is really mad at me this time. Usually we talk on the phone twice a day and venture out of Hermitum every other day, but I haven't spoken to her since 'the incident' (see last Thursday) I've called her and left benign messages ('Hey Maweee! It's Anna, call me.') and yet she hasn't called back. Normally, when we get mad at each other, we still hang out and talk. After a while of grudge-holding we eventually give up 'Fuck! Ok; I'm sorry.' The longest I've gone without talking to her was when I went to the Capitol to be a Senate Page back in January, and that was only a week. 'Does it surpirse you to know that the total number of three identical pyramids equals the volume of one prism with the same base and area height?'- Integrated 1 Mathmatics, Chapter 9.7 I am so frustrated, I still have a chapter and a half of homework to do before I can finish summer school, not to mention all of the quizzes I have to take... and the final. I wanted to be done by this Friday, but I know remember that this Friday is The Concert. And there is no way in hell I would ever miss that concert... literally. I would walk to George (the town) if I had to. This is quite a statement because George is like, 300 miles away. I'm considering an all night homework session so that tommorw all I have to do is take my quizes. Oh shit, I just remembered I also have to take the Chapter tests. Fuck. I'm so screwed. I now have to have an all night homework session, and this won't even get me ahead. Ahh, the life of a fifteen year old procrastinator with ADD. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>08,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
I feel like a lazy pothead, minus the low sperm count. Oh wait, I'm a girl. Right; I don't produce sperm. Another shitty thing about Spokane: everyone is a fucking runner. So when I go running 'early' in the morning there are a million other 'early'-risers who are on the sidewalks with me. It really ruins the whole meditative feel. To avoid the 'Nice day to jog, huh?' rhetoric, I'm now waking up at 4:30 AM to run. It was really nice today because I ran to Meghan's old house and stood in the front yard for, like, ten minuets. I was thinking about how we used to sit on her front porch and read books about the Saints. I felt deeply connected to Saint Agnes, who was publicly humiliated before dieing a virgin. Meg liked St. Claire. Go figure. Back to my hometown-loathing: the paper is so fucking bias. I've never been to the Spokesman Review headquarters but I'm pretty sure I know what it is. I can just see it... the office would be nothing but 40-something white men in three piece suits. They would each have a picture of them dressed in camouflage standing over the carcass of a dead animal framed on their desk. Everyone's screen saver would say 'Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!' and swastikas would decorate the hallways. They would each have a youngish female assistant who they would sexually harass thirty times a day. And they all would take their lunch breaks at Longhorn Barbeque. So for the second time this year, I have written an anti-bigotry Editorial to the paper. In Response to: 'Gay Marriage? Never!' Dear Mr. Sean D. Mac an Airchinnigh: In your editorial you said that the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. I am herby taking that message to heart. You, and many people like you, oppose homosexuality; referring to it as 'sin', 'debauchery' and 'abhorrent behavior'. I think the question of morality with all people is promiscuity , and I oppose both homosexual and heterosexual promiscuity. What I find brazenly offensive about your comments is your arrogance. You call yourself a Christian, yet Jesus Himself said 'Let he who is without sin throw the first stone.' Is pride not a sin? While I don't understand or encourage homosexuality, it is a fact of life. Some people, Mr. Mac an Airchinnigh, are gay . They were born gay and they are going to live gay lives whether or not you like it. I happen to agree with Jesus when he said, “As I have loved you, so must you love one another.' (John 13:34) I pray that you come to live a life not filled with vehement opposition and homophobia, but with compassion and love for all God's children. I was thinking this morning about when I got kicked out of class last week. I think I wrote that I had never been kicked out of class before, but I realized today that's not true. In seventh grade I got kicked out of my Grammar class by a substitute teacher. He told me I was trying to attract attention by the way I was walking, which was totally not true. Looking back, that sub must have been a total perv. I probably deserved to get kicked out of class, though, for something unrelated. I can distinctly remember that Sean was laughing really hard at the time; I kind of miss Catholic school today. Correction: I miss Sean. Affectionately... Anna Subpost: I have just been informed by my 'loving' brother, the one who I am suppose to totally love more than any other family member, of several things. A:Blogging is for losers. B:Not to mention his website ever again, because it 'negative publicity' and C:They Might Be Giants suck. I didn't even know he read my blog. |
</post> |
<date>07,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
I have a secret dream that all the awesome Bloggers whose Blogs I have been reading will one day unite and form The People's Republic of America, a subcontinent where everyone makes me laugh and everyone gets in their two cents. Happy Deathday! Your name: Anna Z., Unbelieveably Bored Fifteen Year Old Who's Parents Won't Let Her Watch Road Rules You will die on: Thursday, February 25, 2016 You will die of: Burned to Death Username: urlLink Created by Quill Of fuck it, I'm going to watch Road Rules anyway. A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>05,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Today was an intrinsically difficult day. I was thinking too much again. It was a perfect day to listen to the poetry of Fiona Apple and feel connected to the carpet of my room. I was between thoughts of facts being mistaken for compliments and the irony of Diet Pepsi (crazy, right? I swear it made sense, but there are a lot of things that only make sense at 11:15 AM on the Kool Aid stain in the corner of my room) when I realized that I'm a little crazy. I suppose I know that being 'a little crazy' is a lot like being 'a little pregnant', so let me rephrase. I'm not Padded Room Crazy, or even Prozac Crazy. Even more true, I'm not Suicidal Crazy... rather the opposite. All I was to do is live (in a very abstract sense). I'm so terrified that by being an angsty teen from Spokane I'm not really living . I'm obviously existing , converting oxygen to carbon dioxide. And the most Catholic part of my soul reluctantly agrees that God has a plan for me. Note to the Creator: Is Spokane a necessary ingredient? I say this only because I am a semi-alright baker. I have, on occasion, forgotten certain ingredients and the final product turned out fine. I actually like chocolate chip cookies a lot better without the Baking Soda. That was a pitiful attempt at making a joke, I know. The Ferris Bueller in me wants to skip High School entirely. However the Sinclair Lewis in me knows that I need to eternally struggle with my place of birth. Lord knows he never would have been the same author if he hadn’t grown up in Saux Center. The struggle brought about through living in a shit hole feeds one’s art (so I’m told). The Mecca of my heart will always be New York City. I fell in love with the Big Apple when I was five. In an attempt to shut me up, my babysitter showed me the movie Annie. From Annie stems every deep-seeded desire I have ever had; to be loved, to have curly hair, to do summersaults into laundry bins, to sing and to dance--- but most of all to live in New York. When Ms. Hannigan ordered those orphans to make the floor “shine like the top of the Chrysler building” I swear to god I became a new person. I grew older and found SNL (although I like to think it found me). When I learned that the same New York Annie had tap-danced through was the very one that John Belushi made his home, I feel even deeper in love. I started musical theatre at seven, and when I found out that Broadway was in Manhattan I nearly wet myself. All loves in my life somehow cross with that city. I want to be a part of it so bad… The Burrows are great and Jersey is nice, but I want the city. I want skyscrapers, Radio City Music Hall, taxi cabs, street vendors, the fast-talking East Coasters. I want to maul around in Central Park, hang out in smoky Jazz clubs, thrift store shop in the Village, see every single fucking thing on Broadway. See, it’s not the longing to be Elsewhere that makes me crazy. It’s the degree, the power, the intensity that makes me question my sanity. The only thing that keeps me from going on a rampage seems to be any remote form of music or cinema or literature. Each transports me metaphorically Elsewhere, even if for a few minuets. Those minuets sustain me until my next “fix”. I'm an addict, except my drug of choice is Art instead of Cocaine. Affectionately… Anna, The Future New Yorker |
</post> |
<date>05,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
My high school, like every high school, is sectioned into cliques. I guess everyone's school has a differnt mixture of groups, and I guess it depend on the area of the country you are from. LC is basically a stoner's paradise (whichever administartor gave us off-campus lunch was insane), but that's not to say there aren't other groups. My favorite has to be the kids from the 'ghetto'. You see, Spokane has no ghetto, and ninety percent of the kids in that group have parents who are doctors. The things is, and the point of this post, that I don't belong to a group. There's something so inherently strange about the fact that I am indefinable. I've somehow dogged public labels, I missed the part of high school were everyone was sorted off (maybe I was sick or something). My friends are from such different groups. I can just picture Heather explaining me to one of her Elite friends. 'Anna, you know, the tall girl?' I've slipped through the cracks of our high school monarchy. I'm the illusive girl in your social studies class that has Something To Say. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sexy-illusive, not unattainable. I weave in and out as What's-Her-Name. And some days I feel preppy, some days I'm Kissing The Sky Responsibly. I'm a contradiction of terms. I love that I'm the anonymous girl who made you laugh when we were reading West Side Story and disappeared after the bell rang. I'm absent from the mixers and most parties, due to a mixture of both choice and circumstance. And at lunch; the most prevalent dichotomy of social classes? I'm on the Third Floor; metaphorically and physically. The floor where no one really goes or stays long. The cast of our Stairwell is ever-changing and the characters are just as vague as I am. I'm beginning to be more and more OK with my absence of a social order. It makes me not-so-average-after-all, right? My nonexistant rank can't help or hurt me; it doesn't give me a head-start or a handicap. It's just in my nature to bend the rules, I guess. And somehow I think that I'm going to be all the better for it. Somehow. Affectionately...Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Lately, I've been feeling really immature about my taste in music. I feel so hypocritical, because I don't always practice what I preach. Perhaps the most obvious thing is that I love John Mayer. It makes me seem so usual , so nothing-new. I embody the wide-eyed fifteen-year-old girl who obsessed over meaningful lyrics and falls in love with their author. Even as I'm writing this, I find it hard to believe what makes me so happy could be all that bad. And is he really? 'This is a song about talking to the person you haven't even met yet... and maybe their rolling around in the hay with someone else, but there not as good as you'll be. You just gotta wait your turn. He's out there; she's out there, their just learning what to contrast you against.' It's like he's speaking right to me. And if the music moves you, why is it wrong? If I've come to this realization, does that turn me full circle? I'm getting ahead of myself. See, I used to think that if I liked the song-- the music-- than that was all that mattered. Where did I get so jaded? When did I start judging people by the bands they liked? Does this now mean Nicole's love of Good Charlotte is valid? So now, if I think that all that matters is the given music, what the fuck does all my self-discovery via music mean? Oh my god, this last year can SO NOT have been a waste of time. And now I'm more confused. I truly wish I could stop being so analytical about little thing in my life. Here I go again; if everything matters, than shouldn't I analyze? Affectionately... Anna the Confused |
</post> |
<date>02,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
Now, we all know the only way to show your patriotism is to decorate your entire home in red, white, and blue. If you're intrested, msn.com has offered a USA-makeover list, with pictures. A praticularly ridiculous exert: 'Here, a wooden Uncle Sam stands against a World War II-era star quilt that has names sewed onto the stars. Layers of red-white-and-blue textiles build up to a star-spangled bedroom that offers fresh spirit even after the smoke of fireworks clears.' Happy Fourth, everyone! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
About twenty minuets into my class this morning, I realized that today was not a good day for me to be stuck in a room doing math. I have these days where all I can do is giggle and doodle, like some Jr. High virus. Its days like today where I feel like I have ADD. Mr. Gohler apparently took my giddiness for something else, and felt a need to tone me down. He attempted many times to get me to shut up. Including: moving me once, moving me twice, and yelling at me. He then tried the humiliation approach, where he made me show him the work I had done that day. It backfired though, because when he read 'Anna loves Rocket Coffee Guy' it only made me laugh harder. Long story short: I was kicked out of class. I have never been kicked out of anywhere before. I know I should feel bad, and I do. Not so much because I was being disobdient, but becasue Mr. Gohler probably is a nice guy and made him mad. I mean, who can have a Barry Manilow screen saver and not be awesome? Riding high on a very bad-ass feeling, Melissa and I headed for McDonalds, so she could grab breakfast. I have to set up the scenario well so that you can get the full comedic effect. Melissa and I are standing in line, waiting to order. I am looking at the Happy Meal 'McToys', Melissa is reading the menu. Enter: mulleted, Native-American, toothless assumed-intoxicated man. He buys a coffee, looks at Melissa in a very R. kelly-ish way, and says (loudly and in a lisp) 'DAMN! That's a finnnnne ass.' Melissa looks horrified, I start laughing uncontrolably. A bewildered McEmployee hands Melissa a McMuffin and her change, and starts laughing, too. The Mullet Man again informs us 'DAMN! THAT ASS!'. Tears are streaming down both of our faces now, and we gasp for air at the same time, causing us to laugh harder. It was truly one the the crowning glories of my McDonalds McEntertainment. Next, I was toted downtown by the Thomas family to catch the first showing of Legally Blonde2: Red, White, and Blonde. Easily one of the worst cinematic bombs I have ever witnessed. I'll save you six-fifty: Elle is pink, Luke Wilson is hot, the dog is somehow gay, Washington learns how to be sweet by wearing more product in their hair, and somehow a sorority girl is a drag queen. The end. It was such a nice day out, we walked around downtown a bit and headed for my favorite store, Boo Bradley's. Outside is a sign that says, 'Hey you! Come in here and buy stuff!'. It's this totally crazy place that sells the weirdest products I have ever seen. Such as obscene birthday cards, statuettes, wind-up toys, vintage movie posters, journals, and a number of truly odd things. A book of mullet portraits here, glow-in-the-dark pictures of George W. Bush there, all with manic Indian music playing throughout the store. Mary HATED it, and was mad at me for taking her there. I loved it, of course. How can she not find joy in a store that sells soap that promises to wash away your sin? Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>01,July,2003</date> |
<post> |
I promised that after my bout of strange self-confidence, that my head would shrink down to human size. I would like to personally thank Anne-Claire for this. She sure knows how to make a girl feel bad about herself, thanks! The following things are those which Anne Claire pointed out to me. I like to call it... Things That Are Wrong With Anna: -I am stupid for breaking up with Behren. Even though he compromised my morals and tried to take advantage of how much I 'loved' (please note the quotations) him. -I have split ends. -I am desperate. -I suck at math. -I am 'a little snobby' but I 'can't help it, and it's totally not as bad as Elissa'. -I talk too loud. -( ...after lowering my voice )...still talk too loud. She said it within the course of a normal conversation, adding the insults between 'my boyfriend is so hot' and 'I am so musically talented'. I could tell that she was waiting for me to flip out, but I couldn't give her the satisfaction. I didn't know how to respond, I couldn't say anything. I didn't want to let her add 'unable to control her emotions.' and 'mean.' to the list. We were at The Rocket when it all happened. Thank godness Sex God wasn't working. It would have been doubly bad if he had been there. The girl working the cappuccino machine heard every word, though. I want to hate Anne-Claire so much. The assault was totally unprovoked, and I was buying her lunch at the time. I hate myself even more, because after she was done with lunch, I bought her an extra bagel, with the expensive cream cheese. It wasn't so much to be nice, but she asked if I would buy her one. And I obediently did so, like a fucking idiot. Oh well, I hope she gets fat. Which puts me in this position; sitting and listening to Counting Crows 'Colorblind' whilst sulking. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>30,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
I am such a nerd. I'm getting my journal reviewed. Granted, it is by a urlLink total badass review site . I'm going to be reviewed on lots and lots of things that I haven't taken into account, though. Like having a cool layout. I choose this one because it is the simplest one. The showcase of my Blog is the writing, the stupid things I have to say, not what color the background is. I don't have links, a guestbook, pictures, cool things, quizzes, and all that jazz because I simply don't want them. Yes, I am bullshitting you. I don't have those things because I know nothing of web design. Oh, and to my Reviewer--- sorry for being defensive. As far as reviews go, it's my first time: be gentle. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
School will be here in three days. Say it with me, 'Crrrr-ap.' I live tomorrow for the Radiohead concert! I'm excited, but nervous. I feel like I'm trampling on foreign, uncharted grounds. I like Radiohead, but I'm not hardcore into them. I can picture everyone there as being totally Underground and far, far cooler than me. For about half the people there, if they knew I was into John Mayer, they would spit on me. (John, coincidentally, does a really awesome cover of Kid A-- a Radiohead song ) I'll be back just in time to enjoy sitting on my ass and do nothing. The next day I will re-enter the hell that some call High School. RANDOM EXERT FROM AN OLD JOURNAL THAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE MILDLY AMMUSING November ?, 2002 I'm going to be someone by process of elimination. I don't know who I am but I know who I'm not. Affectionately, oh yes, affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
I wish we didn't live in a world where people like Good Charlotte and Beyonce existed. I really do. The MTV VMAs were last night. And I watched. To be more adequate, I watched the VMA Extravaganza!!! . Said Extravaganza!!! began with the Red Carpet Pre Show and ended only after the adorably sexy Gideon Yago bided me adieu via the Post Show. Highlights of the show include: Beyonce being hung by her ankles, a lifetime achievement award being given to Duran Duran, Jimmy Fallon and the Fab Five, and the Good Charlotte performance. God, I love those punk kids.... ha ha ha. Just kidding. I became physically ill during the Good Charlotte performance (and again: they are not punk !)After they finished performing the Single Most Hypocritical Song in the Universe, they attempted to be punk by kicking over the sounds amps. My dad said 'Ohhh, watch out! Make sure the equipment doesn't fall on your dancers!' Was he making a joke? No, they had fucking dancers. Will the hypocrisy never end? It's been a while since I have posted a new featurette, so here we go. I've been writing a journal on and off since I was five, and a lot of weird things/thought/crap has bloomed from journaling. And wouldn't you know it; some of them are actually pretty amusing. And so, here is today's RANDOM EXERT FROM AN OLD JOURNAL THAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE MILDLY AMMUSING: December 12, 2002 My thoughts run through my head faster than I can think them. Figure that one out . Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
A while ago to decided to sponsor a child. You know those terribly depressing commercials on T.V. with children living in impoverished villages? Well, I was feeling really guilty once when watching one at like, three in the morning, and I signed up for a child. I got her picture and family description yesterday. Her family earns sixty dollars a month from her mom's job as a laundry woman . Her dad is unemployed. Her name is Kimberly... which I totally don't get because she's from the Philippines and doesn't speak English. Whatever. It doesn't matter. The fact remians that I am making a difference... I guess. I also got my class schedule! After about three minuets of initial shock, I am now thoroughly depressed. I am going to be up to my ears in homework. It is going to suck. I am going to have no time for anything else, which means (drum roll please)... I have got to drop cross country. Leigh is going to be so disappointed. She totally stood up for me when I was considering it last year. Mary and Lauren were telling me how I was way too busy and I would never have time... well, they were right. Here's my current schedule: Homeroom...Hagney Honors English...Mietzner Photography...Stimac AP Honors World History...Anderson Integrated Math...MENGERT Advanced Conditioning...Travis Integrated Science...Rambo As if this day wasn't eventful enough, right? Wrong. I am so lame. I was calling a bunch of people to find out who I had classes with, when I decided to call Mary. I had decided a while ago just to let things lie and pretend like nothing had happened. In part because I know I overreacted and also because I didn't want anything to be weird next year. Both stupid reasons to attempt to do an equally stupid thing. However, my idea was just to call her and be like 'Hey Mary! Oh my gosh I got my class schedule today, let's see if we have any classes together!' For some really under-considered reason, I legitimately thought that this would work. So I dialed, and she answered and I said the aforementioned salutation. She told me that she hadn't gotten her schedule and asked if I had just gotten back from my cruise. I told her yes and that is was very fun. I really can't pinpoint at what time in our small talk that things changed. One second we were acting all cordial to one another and the next I was crying. Crying... obviously. I cry about everything. I cried in Finding Nemo . I asked something about if this meant we could be friends again and she said No. I was, and am, so confused as to why our friendship abruptly ended. I deserve to know, right? One day we were laughing and watching Legally Blonde 2 (even though it really wasn't funny) and the next day she's getting her mom to lie for her about where she is. She told me that she didn't think we had anything in common anymore, that the people I hang out with (aside for her, of course) live lifestyles she doesn't 'agree' with (this means Heather and Melissa), and that she was now hanging out exclusivly with people from her church. She told me I swear too much. She sited some random time that I flipped a guy off downtown. Also, this is word for word; I'm not bothered enough by sex scenes in movies (???) And when we went to Boo Radley's I wasn't adequately upset by the many 'inappropriate' images on the postcards there. Something really unusual happened then. I got mad. I got really mad. I was crying and bitching her out at the same time. I told her I thought she belonged to a cult and that she was being completely unfair. Clearly caught up in the moment, I made this hilarious proclamation that sounds like it came from a rerun of Dawson's Creek. 'You know what? I guess we really don't have anything in common, do we? Because I would never treat friend like this. And you have to live with that. There's 6 Billion people in this world and like, 5 Billion of them live and think and live in a way that pisses you off... not everyone is like your little cult. I am normal, and what's more--- I'm not an inherently bad person. All of next year, you're going to see me in the halls and know that you fucked me over. Good bye.' So, in four days I start off the new school year A) with a schedule that is waaaaay too hard for me B) in the throws of a really awful fight but C) a really strange sense of un-alarm. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>26,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
First and foremost; I had a celebrity sighting! We were transferring planes in Las Vegas, when who should hop onto the very same moving sidewalk as me? PENN! Of Penn and Teller. The tall, broad-shouldered one with the curly long hair and glasses... the one who talks. Unfortunately, by the time I'd decided to say 'hi, I enjoy your work' he was gone and I was tripping over the end of the moving sidewalk. As if that wasn't enough 'drama' for one night, we had to board the second leg of our journey home. Oh. My. God. It was a fucking tin can plane! I swear to god, our travel agent was retarded. I know there aren't exactly a ton of passengers going to Spokane International Airport en route from Las Vegas (or anywhere else I guess) but Christ! This aisle between the seats was literally 20 inches wide. I've never been airsick before, not that I'm an experienced traveler or anything. It's only that the handful of times I've flown before I've always been totally fine. Tonight was the exception. Good lord, was it an exception. Let's just say I felt true appreciation for the inventor of the airsickness bag. I was feeling mildly better on the drive home. About five blocks from our house I suddenly had to throw up... immediately . I got out of the car just in time to puke all over some poor family's perfectly manicured lawn. Affectionately....Annnnnnnnnnnna |
</post> |
<date>25,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
So our flight isn't until eight at night. I wish I had realized this earlier. I cannot sleep on planes. I cannot sleep anywhere but a bed, and even that is a challenge. It's a good thing that I wasn't feeling up for yet another beach today. Joe and I explored and found some of the cooooolest places in the country, I'm sure. Alright, so maybe not the country but at least in all of Miami. Trift stores! Christ, the most amazing thrift stores you can possibly imagine. Literally stocked to the ceiling with all this stuff that Urban Outfitters models it's line after. The had the BEST indie music and then some Elton John. They played 'Tiny Dancer' and I felt so content and happy it was strangly normal. I got the single coolest t-shirt ever, and I can be garunteed that no one else will have it. It says 'A woman's place is in the house... and Senate'. I also got a few other brightly colored random t shirts. A bright green one that says 'Hoopsters' in black, and a purple one that says 'We are the Future!'. I love it! Speak of the devil, I did go to Urban Outfitters. But only becasue Dad had given me an unusually large lump of money and I haven't even begun the Back to School shopping. I got a shirt. A very awesome skirt. But the sales guy was an ASS and nearly refused to sell me the fucking shirt unless I gave him my number. Umm, no thanks. It seems like everyone here is like... ok, not to sound egotistical... but fucking hitting on me. I don't understand, and more importantly, want the attention. Leave me alone creepy Sean-Paul listening, SUV driving, community college attending losers! Which leads me to another dark subject. Homecoming. Call it lame, silly, whatever-- I want to go! I want to get a dress, get my hair done, get my nails done, get ridiculously high shoes, and put on way to much makeup. Am I masking a secert desire to dive again back into the whole hooking up/falling for another guy? God knows I miss that whole thing. But I really, really, really, REALLY do not want to get hurt again. School is coming way to soon. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>24,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
I realize that I didn't leave a farwell or at least, an explanation, before my vacation. So on this gorgeous day in Miami I am sitting in an Internet Cafe counting down hours until my happy return home. I've just disembarked form Paradise (our ship) and feel it necessary to relay some of the important things I learned thorughout the last seven days. 1. Being a Vegan and going on a cruise is like an anorexic walking into Cinnabun. 2. As the ship is a top of water, and subseqently upon waves, it (gasp!) moves. This strange cruise-ship-movement will make you sick. Period. 3. People in the Virgin Islands smoke lots and lots of marijuna. And they have no qualms about admitting it. 4. When you tell people you're from Spokane, Washington they will always ask where it is in relation to Seattle. Always. 5. Apperently, East Coasters refer to Oregon as 'Or-eee-goooone'. I had a lot of fun, nice weather, nice people. I have to say that the Cruise Director was one of the highlights of the trip. His name, and it says this on his nametag, was 'Karl with a K'. He had the best accent I have ever heard. He literally said things like 'Pip pip', 'Cheerio', and 'Bob's your uncle'. Previously, I thought that saying those things was reserved for Jimmy Stewert ala Mary Poppins. Don't worry... plenty for highjinxs to tell you about later. Possibly pictures. Kate--- hang in there with the whole Back-To-School Tramatic Stress Syndrome. I'm back in two weeks. Christ! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
First, agree to babysit for your father's partner's children. Babysitting is a sure fire way to loose both your dignity and your sanity! Make sure that you walk to the house; it's always attractive and professional to arrive sweaty. If you can manage to be five to ten minuets late, that helps to. Whoever got anywhere by being on time? Anal-retentive fools, that's who! Attempt (and fail) to remain collected when both angels rage inconsolably after Mommie and Daddie leave. Being bitten, screamed at, and kicked build character! It you’re really looking to ruin your night, wear you favorite t-shirt on this venture. Then, at dinnertime, allow for optimal exposure of said t-shirt. In no time you'll be covered in everything from Stewed Peas to Apple-Banana Gerber food. Who needs live action entertainment when PBS offers a plethora of intellectually stimulating animated features? The talent of such geniuses like Clifford The Big Red Dog, Tinky-Winky, and JJ The Jet Plane is undeniable. I myself was touched when Caillou (of Caillou ) proclaimed, 'Growing up is not so tough/'Cept when I've had enough/Bup bup ba-bup bup bup/I'm Caillou!' I shudder to think of a life without self-loathing. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
Last Saturday I wrote that I thought I was losing my angst and becoming well-adjusted. What bullshit. (see yesterday's post) I'm going to do reflect the blame for acting so irrationally, and instead place said blame on my illness. It's only logical that I over-reacted because I have a sore throat, right? I found the best picture of my brother and me today. It's from when I was four and he was six. Joe's wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles PJs, and I'm wearing some god-awful frilly nightie. We've got our arms over each other's shoulder and we're chewing on action figures. On the back, Mom wrote 'See Joe's 6 stitches- you can barely see Anna's 3 stitches. See the bruises on Anna's legs- she's a regular tomboy, always moving.' I was such a weird kid, seriously, I think my parents are amazed that I turned out relatively normal. I was so irritating and loud. I always had a million similarly annoying friends over. I was also big into women's rights, thanks to my mom's influence. After overhearing a conversation she was having with her friend, I denounced Barbies at age seven. No joke. Then I continued to play with American Girl dolls until I was twelve. (Meghan and I had so many stupid memories from her old house. Every game evolved the same plot; our dolls were orphaned and then someone rich adopts them. Then we braided their hair.) I used to obsessively read, too. That's my Dad's influence. I was the typical nerd-child with a flashlight under the covers reading books at midnight. I think that's why I'm so analytical about things today. This year, Jodi, a leader at camp who has known me for seven years, and I were talking about how much everyone has grown up. She stopped mid-sentence and said poignantly, ' You , gosh, Anna, you have changed. You've totally grown up. You're more mellow. More adult. But you're still the same Anna, and I really have grown to love your personality.' I guess it struck me pretty deeply. I really hate growing up and changing. But if I can still maintain the core of who I am, my personality, I guess I’m alright. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>13,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
I broke down and called Mary. It was killing me not talking to her for so long. We were fucking friends, I was her only friend! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. I FUCKING HATE HER HYPOCRACY AND I AM SO FUCKING HURT BY ALL THE SHIT THAT THIS IS DOING TO ME! I told her so much shit that I don't tell just anyone. And when she decided that we couldn't be friends anymore all those secrets flew off into a million places and I'll never get them back. I told her about Behren. I told her about my ED. I told her about Cataldo! The worst part, I can't tell just why I am so upset. Is it because I lost a friend? Or, worse, is it because she has all this shit on me and I have none on her? The worst thing I know about Mary is that she's in a fucking cult, she wears a size 7, and that she's (gasp) cheated on countless occasions. Big fucking deal. This is how my phone call went. I dialed. Lynne picked up. 'Is Mary there?' 'Yes, just a minuet.' Silence. I timed aforementioned silence. Two minuets. Three minuets. I heard muffled whispering and I pressed my ear closer to the phone, vainly trying to hear. 'Anna? We're actually on our way out the door right now and Mary's still not done getting ready. Can I have her call you back? Like, tommorrow?' 'Yes.' I hang up. Then I cried for a good twenty minuets. I suck, I suck, I suck. |
</post> |
<date>12,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
It's days like today that I irrefutably believe in Karma. Here's why. Throughout the school year I habitually play sick. In a good month, I might stay home three or four days. I do it because I hate school, and even one less day is enough to make a difference. I justify it because I'm a good student and I can get away with it. My teachers have just learned to accept that I have a low immune system which unexplainably becomes even lower during times of extreme stress (i.e., test days). So why is my belief in Karma solidified today? Three days before I leave for my cruise I am totally, seriously sick . My nose has not stopped running since I woke up. My throat is on fire. My eyes watery (which baffles me). I have a stomach ache from hell. Apparently there's a summer virus going around, and I have caught it. Infectiously... Anna |
</post> |
<date>12,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
I got a Washington State I.D. card today. It's the only I.D. card that I've ever gotten in which I look good. And I assure you, it will be the last. I hate the DMV. I hate it so so much. The second I walk in there I want to scream. I was fighting back obscenities for a good twenty minuets waiting for my number to be called. How anyone could work there all day is far far beyond me. Far beyond. Dad and I went to the annual Republican party barbeque tonight. Please, hold the applause. I realize that I've just lost about everyone who has ever read this blog. What? Anna a Republican? Yes, yes I am. (And if you [reader] are shallow enough to define a person by their political affiliations I don't want you here anyway) I'm what's known as a grunt worker. I ring doorbells. I hand out flyers. I ask for money. Basically, I'm professionally annoying. But tonight was just banter and faux-fun. We went to this House. House isn't really the word because it's a fucking mansion... the sort of home I want to live in with My Future Husband someday. The backyard is the clincher. Gorgeous. There was a band. Not my sort of band, but a band so up-tight and middle-aged they became cool. Several rounds of 'The Lazy Crazy Days of Summer' were sung, and it reminded me of Gilmore Girls episode. At least one hundred fifty people were there, probably more. Senators, Congress people, people running for office, all there. It was really nice though, because of the people there that weren't in office or running. These people, half of them, they get off on feeling important. Like, because they just had a nice chat with Congressman X they suddenly are powerful. The character list of these important people: Senator Jim: I paged for him in January. Totally jaded, but very smart. I'm working on his campaign this fall. Congressman George: My favorite! He used to live next door to my best friend in grade school, and I used to jump on his trampoline with his son. He wore a tie that had Elephants on it... unbelievably cool. He's just generally a good good man. Can't say enough good things about him. County Commissioner Larry: PERVERT! Looked down my top while talking to me, then asked if I would help his campaign. As far as I'm concerned, he can go fuck himself. Too bad my Dad already signed me up to help him out. Would-be City Council Person Terry: No personality. No way he's going to win. But occasionally you come across the unjaded people, they ones who are interested in community leadership for the sake of the community. Those are the people I engage with. One guy, who I'm going to call Ryan, is so hot. Here's a re-enactment of our conversation. The italics are what I wanted to say. 'Anna! How are you? Is your Dad around?' 'Hello. Yes, my dad is actually just talking to Jim.' I want to fuck you. 'Well I'll have to catch up with him later. How's school. Sophomore next year right?' 'Yes, I'm so excited. I really love LC.' Yes, but I desperately don't want to be in high school anymore. I hate LC. I want to fuck you. 'It's such a nice school. Are you working any campaigns this fall?' 'Yes, four so far. I'll be busy!' I hope you're working on all these campaigns.... so that I can fuck you. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>10,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
I saw Bend It Like Beckham today. I swear to god that the guy in the train station from Harry Potter was the dad. No joke. Apparently my haircut is still a big deal. Leigh was going on about how I look so much (get ready) older - which completely defeats the purpose. That might explain why a guy (who was, honestly, quite hot) hit on me downtown today. He was at least twenty-five. I really like The Cardigans right now. And The Tragically Hip. And Hot Hot Heat (even though they're totally mainstream). I'm still sticking with old favorites, of course. What would a summer day be without a little Ben Folds 5 and some show tunes? At least one round of 'Dance: Ten, Looks: Three' has to make it into the mix. School is starting so fucking soon. I've got to admit, I'm excited. I'll have an entirely different set of classes, set of teachers. I won't be a freshman anymore. I'll pretty much know my way around. I have G-Dogg to look forward to... I pray I have at least one class with him. I will be free of the bus! I'll know so many more people than I did at the start of last year. And I'll have an outlet for my OCD-- SCHOOLWORK! Isn't it sad that I'm looking forward to writing papers that exceed the limit of words? Re-copying my math problems even though I know the answers are still half-assed and wrong? Sticking my head so far up my teachers’ asses that I won't see daylight until next summer? Yes, yes it is. I realize that. But it doesn't change the fact that I am totally looking forward to doing all those things. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>09,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
So, I'm back. I'm trying to think of the best way to describe my week without being too terribly specific. It was incredible. I did not want to leave. I'm completely lame, but I've decided to leave it at that. Seriously, I'm sorry, but not all the sorted details of my adolescence need to be recorded publicly. I definitely missed home, though. I missed warm showers and clean feet. Oh yeah, I missed non-Christian music. Not that seventeen verses of 'Shine Jesus Shine' isn't wonderful, but there's only so much I can stomach. The first thing I did when I came home: listen to Fiona Apple (because it would never, ever make it into church camp ever) Then I scrubbed five days of dirt out from under my fingernails (attractive right?), found my new ATM card (I look like a crack addict in the picture, I wish I knew how to post pictures), and caught up on my vacuuming (therapeutic). Dammit: I think I'm losing my angst. I'm not meant to be well-adjusted! Good Lord. More posting later. I'm tired. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
Enlightening quote from Jem: 'But think of this - this coming year... you'll be 16... you'll be able to DRIVE... this is a very important milestone in your life! Having the ability to extricate yourself from your household at any given moment in order to pursue betterness elsewhere is a very very important ability to have!' Well, cats and kittens, I'm off to explore the betterness of elsewhere! This just may be the last hurray of my church camp camership, so I'll savor it while I can. Who knows? Next year I may try my hand at leader-in-training. That would be interesting. Emphasis on in-ter-est-ing. I'll miss the growing number of people that read my little blog. (And by 'growing number' I mean about 6!! That's a lot, so thanks guys!) Here are a few other blogs everyone should check out while I am gone. They all are my personal favorites that are A) Bookmarked B) Inspiring and C) Much much better than mine... urlLink http://oliviacherwood.blogspot.com urlLink http://www.sit.wisc.edu/~lkohlert/narcissism.html urlLink http://mysecretlyinterestinglife.blogspot.com/ Parting is such sweet sorrow. Mmmmm... Affectionately... Anna The Outdoorswoman |
</post> |
<date>03,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
You are Ferris Bueller (from Ferris Bueller's Day Off)! You're a smooth talker and a resourceful, quick thinker, and you play by your own rules. Fortunately, you use such things for fun and not to hurt anyone else. God only knows what would happen if you crossed paths with Lisa from Weird Science. urlLink Which John Hughes Character Are You? brought to you by urlLink Quizilla |
</post> |
<date>01,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
Last night was the night; the event. As Mary would say, 'Whoop-de-flippin'-doo!' The point is, I had an awesome time. I was scheduled to baby-sit for my dad's partner's children prior to the event. The Units went to see Seabiscuit, and I got a very good recommendation for it after they came home. That is to say, they're coming home was an event. They arrived (slightly tipsy) at 10:45, which left me fifteen minuets to get ready to hit the town/ get they smell of Apple Chicken baby food out of my hair. This was not easily done. I got to Robin's late. But it was worth it because not only we were in time, but there was a hubbub about THE HAIR. My new throwback to emo punk is a huge hit. Robin said, 'Oh my god, now I have a friend who looks like a model. Dammit. I look worse by comparison. This sucks. Not that your former haircut didn't evoke model-esque qualities. I LOVE YOU!' The movie was great, partially due to the extreme amount of sugar we beforehand consumed. I had licorice and taffy, not to mention a 72 ounce Diet Pepsi. We were clapping and cheering through the cast list... yah Corey Feldman! Sean Astin and John Pantoliano got cheers as well. I love the audience at the Midnight movies... everyone is my kind of people. Very hip and edgy, not a spec of Ambercrombie in site. I'm pretty sure everyone there had seen The Goonies already, because people were reciting dialogue throughout he show. I forgot how much I seriously love that movie... Data is so my favorite. I love his 'Power Pinchers'. My favorite quote, after he is rescued and his dad breaks the camera, 'That's ok, Dad, you can't hug a photograph.' Awww... Tomorrow I venture into the Idaho wilderness for five lovely days, and thus I will be taking a break from blogging. I'm going to be at church camp-- but I will be keeping a meticulous account of the memorable things that happen. Ciaro. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>01,August,2003</date> |
<post> |
Yesterday I got a really great pin from Value Village that from pre- child molester Michael Jackson. It has a faux-signature, which offsets the mustard-yellow suit he's wearing. I think it's either Thriller or barely pre-Thriller. I love it to death. I'm going to put it on my messenger bag next year. I also dropped a ridiculously high amount of money at Nordstrom. Among the things I got: the pink cargo capris (they sounds tacky, but I swear they aren't) and this low cut wrap-around sweater. The sweater is unbelievably soft and slightly risqué. I can't wait until it gets cold again so I can actually wear it. I love sweaters and ear muffs much more than I like sandals and halter tops. Despite the great clothes, I really hate shopping at Nordstrom. I want to buy almost everything I see, and I usually end up getting pretty damn close. I feel materialistic and vain. At least it's not Abercrombie. I would rather wipe Saddam Hussein's ass than shop there. I vehemently oppose any and all items purchased there. It's this whole lame sub-culture thing at school. No joke, Heather has referred to tons of guys as looking 'so Abercrombie!” To me the very word evokes nauseam. This is all, of course, in preparation for the impending school year. Ugh. I am so far from looking forward to it. I mean, I miss school work, but not actual school. I miss lunch on the Third Floor, of course, and I miss seeing G-Dogg on a regular basis. However; I do not miss Pedophilic teachers, the permanent smell of pot in the bathrooms, my locker being vandalized, or being three floors from my next class while the minuet bell is ringing. I'm really not looking forward to next year. But unless I get some Divine Intervention, it looks as if I'm destined to go. Yuck. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>30,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
The rest of the day was predictably uneventful. Lunch was lame, and Adrienne and I have a new inside joke... something to do with her rapping about me under the name 'Lil' A'. I actually don't really get this, but I laugh anyway. My tutoring class was alright: Darya: (some really fast Russian I don't understand) Me: English, please. Darya: (some really fast English I don't understand) Me: I'm sorry? Darya and Alina: (incontrollable laughter) Me: (Sigh) Alina: No, no we work now. I get a kick out of them! My teacher wanted to make me work one-on-one with this down-syndrome boy, Greg, and I nearly had to switch groups. My tutorees were very insistent that I stay working with them, ('Anna, no she work with us.') I was considering dropping this class, but I don't have the heart. An added touch, though, is that it is basically an automatic A. Will be going to ROCK tomorrow. Melissa is excited, I am apprehensive. I listened to Ben Kweller during passing periods. It felt so wonderful to pass people like 'Fraiser' while listening to the words '...the only things that are real are the kids who kid themselves...' Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
My mom is the single coolest mom on the face of the earth. I forgot my English book in my locker last night. Huge laps in my academic OCD. We have this completely ridiculous packet about the Trojan War due in first period, more specifically, Hamilton's take on it. And she is letting me stay home until 9 because if I go with it undone, I will get a F. And that's just not in the cards for me. I would break down and do something rash... like kick someone, etc. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
As I have mentioned, I am a urlLink Pisces . And after further inspection on the ideals of the Zodiac, I find myself amazed. '...Pisceans alternate between reality and non-reality in keeping with their introspective natures; their voyage between consciousness and an unconscious dream state...' '...they tend to get caught up in their dreams and views of how things should be...' '...Pisceans feel a great deal, and they also feel misunderstood much of the time.' Well, I find that interesting, anyway. I got almost no sleep last night, so today was sort of hazy. It seemed like we ran endless lines this morning in Conditioning. I vaguely remember something about apeture in Photography. I hung our downtown after school with Adrienne. We went to Boo Radley's and The Rocket, then I went to the Club. I almost broke my CD player on the Stairmaster. I realized more and more that I don't give people, meaning people in general, enough credit. At least I don't appreciate them as I should. My friends are awesome, and I should be really glad about that. Ohhh the sleepiness. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Dear Future Husband: Since it undoubtedly took me twenty or fifty years to find you (you know my luck, or at least I hope you do) you will have never known this high school version of myself. This 15 year old desperately wants you to know who I am now, because it's only fair. Why should the 65 year old get all the glory? You know about Spokane, I have probably casually made comments about how it sucks. But you may not know of how much it sucks. I will be living in New York by now, so I must be constantly giddy over my home life. But there was a time when things weren't so. I was a gangly translucently-pale dorky kid who spent her days daydreaming about a different life. I loved my family, I hated living with them. I loved my education, hated going to school. That's me in the present-tense, honey. My expectations for you are pretty high. I hope you are hygienic. I'm not a stickler for the whole toilet-seat up thing (you know Joey and Jake) However, if you take a shower and throw your towel on the bathroom floor, I may have made a fatal flaw in my choice of life partner. You're probably either a musician or a good-music aficionado, but if you ever listen to Good Charlotte in my presence I may have an incontrollable gag reflex. You better know what peanut butter I eat (Adams, thank you very much) I'll let you watch every football/baseball/basketball game without interruption, and I expect to have the TV every Saturday Night at 11:30pm and on through to 1am. If you don't like to hear off-key out-of-pitch show tunes, you may want to reconsider the whole marriage thing. Because I will sing them. Similarly, if you can't stomach Roman Holiday our marital life may run into some issues. (Hint: The next time we get into an argument you can end it-- just tell me I look like Audrey Hepburn.) I also am usually freezing cold, so you may want to invest in a good tank top-- the thermostat will read 70 during the winter months. Overall, I think this whole marriage thing will go pretty well. I really hope you're John Mayer, but that could change. Maybe you're better, though it's a little hard to imagine right now. Oh yes, and I love you, Snookums. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>27,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
I am at my Dad's office, at his secretary's desk, or as I like to think of it; the slowest...computer...in...the...world. Good lord. I have just finished my endlessly fascinating essay about Joseph Hamilton Heroic Journey Theory. I likened it to The Wizard of Oz. Not exceptionally clever, but I think it might slide. Everyone needs to watch urlLink Degrassi: The Next Generation . It is by far the best thing to come out of Canada since Mike Meyers. I just love those crazy Canadians with their unnecessarily drawn-ooout o's and their Maple leaves. The show is just so damn unrealistic. Wait, perhaps I am wrong. Maybe our neighbors to the North really do live such inoffensive lives. There is definitely something to be said about the acting abilities of the Degrassi cast. I think they're collective portrayal of teens is altogether fabulous. However, there are several other contributing factors to the astonishment of the show. I particularly love scenes where someone is under the 'infloooence'. Blame Canada! (for being awesome!) Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>26,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Oh sweet lord. I have found the mecca of all music. My enlightenment... Ben Kweller. I am serious, people, he is up there with John Mayer. No joke. I saw him on PBS. Yes, in the land ruled by Charlie Rose and Meet the Press he revolutionized everything. I had downloaded 'Falling' and 'Lizzy' and knew that he was terrific. However, in the misery of this cold, I downloaded 'In Other Words'. WOW. Not a lot of words... just listen to urlLink this boy . And be amazed. Sha sha... Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Some people I will never understand and yet, I love them anyway. 'ANNA!' 'Heather!' 'Oh my gosh, you look cute. Do you wanna go get drunk tonight with all of us?' 'Ha ha.' 'No, really. You should.' 'I donno.' Really strong convictions I have, huh? 'Well, we have to hang out more.' 'Yes.' 'I will call you. I have your number.' 'Alright, I gotta run.' I was assigned entirely too much homework as well. I also skipped my zero hour class and considered taking the entire day off (I am sick) I got mad at my locker, questioned my reasons for wearing a halter top, and was mentally molested by my ex-global issues teacher. You can't love to much one part of it.... Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
'This has just been one of those days.' Math Teacher 'This whole week has been one of those days.' 'Anna, you mean that this week has been what one of those weeks.' Girl in math class 'Ughhhh, shut up.' I have decided, or it was decided for me, that I am way too sensitive. I think Robin meant it as a joke, but it wasn't all that funny because it is true. It was declared after a particularly sticky situation with Meghan. Meghan is my stronghold, the one person I have been able to consistently count on through my life. She has always been there, and we have so much history together. Awesome as she is, ever since we became friends at eight year olds, she has consistently made me feel bad about myself. Just in day-to-day conversations, I tend to feel awkward and mean. Talking about something like shoe, Meg passive-aggressively makes me feel awful. Very belittled. I guess I had never thought of that before. I mean, I definitely felt bad before but it's it's bit of a revelation that maybe some of the blame is Meg's. Wow. Totally a revelation. This may take a while to fully digest. And strange... Anyway, we had a passive-aggressive awful disagreement about curling irons. Why is it that whenever I decide to stick up for myself that I always end up worse than if I had just taken it? And man, must I again mention: it was an argument about CURLING IRONS? I think I have serious potential as a professional whiner.... Anna |
</post> |
<date>24,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Um, yeah, Adrienne. I actually do. School was still pretty weird. There were far less police patrolling the school, however. And virtually no news crews. It just helps to think about the present instead of dwell on everything that happened. I had a presentation in English on Hercules. I was supposed to bring in a modern-day parallel from film. I brought in the animated Disney version of... HERCULES! I managed to do well, I think my teacher was pleased. Even if my choice of film wasn't very creative. I used the song 'Zero to Hero' to highlight how much people in Greece loved him. I got surprisingly nervous, I think my voice cracked. History was weird. Allyson, who professed her remorse for being mean to me on Monday, continues to ignore me. Nice, Allyson. So, in potential life-or-death situations we're pals, but on regular days, we're not? Very nice of you. The rest of the day was sort of a blur. I'm just really tired. More later. A. ... Anna |
</post> |
<date>23,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
The boy from yesterday was named Sean Fitzpatrick. I want to scream it at the newsreporters who keep calling him, '17 year old Male Junior'. He has a name. Sean. The school is so big, and Sean was older than me, so I never met him. From what kids at school are saying, he was a really nice guy. Sort of a loner, but very smart. He has a sister in my grade. I never met her either, but again, it's a big school. Somehow people tend to get lost in the sea of faces every passing period. There's a lot of confusion still. The main theory is that Sean wanted to die, but he wanted the Police to do it. Trite as it sounds, he might get that wish. He's still in critical condition at Sacred Heart. I want desperately for him to live. Yes, because he is a person and I believe all people are inherently good. But also because of his family. Think of them; they are branded by the terrible thing that he did. And on top of that the loss of their son? I just don't think it would be right to bestow such turmoil on a family that it already in so much grief. School is more quite now. But there is a benevolence that wasn't there before. People are hugging, some still crying. Everyone is bonded, even if through a tragedy. We just mostly talked today. It was nice to get everything out, but those discussions lead to so many feelings of uncertainty. How can we guarantee this won't happen again? We can't. It's incredible though, that in time like these I realize how much of the world is good, how many people I love. My parents, of course. But my brothers and my friends too. If anything had happened yesterday... I don't know what I would have done. Things are blanketed by such a remorse, such a sadness. But at the same time, this newfound appreciation is a blessing. I wish I could explain more carefully, more collectedly, about the situation at hand. It's still really new, but I think in the next few days things will start to return to somewhat of a normalcy. I'm spent. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>22,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Today was the scariest day of my life. I never thought this sort of thing would happen to me, not in Spokane, not at my school, and certainly not within 20 feet of me. Things are fucked up, and not just intrinsically. Things are fucked up. Someone brought a gun to school today. Someone woke up, put the semi-automatic pistol in his backpack, and trotted off to school. My school. My home. The audacity of that asshole to ruin my high school experience-- it's so overwhelming. Even harder to understand than it is to realize... why would someone do this? My day started off pretty poorly. I actually said the words, 'Today is going to be the worst day of the year.' and at the time, I didn't know how true it was. I hadn't finished my photography work, or my History IDs, and I was behind in Science. Melissa was mad at me because I was doing an awful job at explaining Conditioning exercises... very typical, silly things. It's amazing that in a few moments things can change. Robin, Lauren and I were eating lunch in our normal spot. We never eat anywhere else. All of a sudden we see these policemen and the Principal walking through the hallways. Mr. Swett said, 'Girls, you're going to have to move downstairs. No one will be eating on the third floor today.' I was pissed. I love our lunchspot. Plus, we were holding onto Leigh's cross-country bag and I didn't want to carry it around the rest of the day if we couldn't find her. And then suddenly the fire alarm went off. Once we got outside, police cars pulled out. I counted at least twelve, but we couldn't stick around the perimeter of the school. Teachers and police kept telling us to back off, walk farther away. Someone said that s kid had a rifle. The blinds were closed on the third floor in the room that was only a few feet from where we had been eating. More police came. The fire department came. A SWAT team came. I guess no one could really understand what was happening. We were told to cross the street and get as far away as possible. I can't even describe that feeling of terror. I was sure Leigh was locked in the building. I was sure that my brother was locked in the building. Alyson O., a girl from Cataldo with whom I have a sorted past, came up to me. 'I am so scared, but Anna, no is a time for amense. I'm sorry for never saying hi to you at school. I am sorry for everything at Cataldo...' The honest and sincerity of those words really struck me. How petty am I that I was concerned about loosing my lunchspot when someone had a gun in the classroom I was sitting across from? We waited outside for ever as a stream of endless police cars pulled up. People started driving home. One teacher put his arm around me and told me there was a 'situation in one the the science rooms'. My science room. My freshman science room where I learned the stability levels of neutrons. I was so pissed off that someone would be so selfish. Not fair, this world is everything but fair. I suddenly really didn't want to be there anymore. I didn't want to stand around and wait. I needed to forget this whole thing. Robin, Lauren, and I ended up at the Spokane Club. There were some other LC kids there, too. The news was on, loud. I watched Krem 2 unravel of situation. A 17 year old Junior had a pistol (not a rifle, apparently there's a difference) in a classroom. No one could say why. Negotiations were underway and... bang. A policeman shot the 17 year old Junior. Paramedics rushed in and took him to the hospital. The situation had been neutralized. Neutralized? Stable? Fuck no. Nothing will be the same at my school again. And there are still so many questions... It's just easier at the moment not to feel. I like it better to curl up in a ball and not think. Very shaken... Anna |
</post> |
<date>21,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Journaling is somehow really cathartic for me, like a huge purge of my emotions. I got this metaphor from Oprah, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I like Oprah. She's made a multi-million dollar empire from simply talking to people. That's impressive. But anyway, when I refer to journaling I don't mean this blog. This blog is more of a record, really. A timeline of suburban bliss. My journals are feverishly-written jumble of crap. They aren't like 'July 11: Today I saw John Mayer. It was a good concert. I wore my favorite sandals and new lip gloss.' They sound more like 'The Best Day of My Life Ever: Falling into his words and his music, unaware of anything else. Him, inundating my heart with precious assurance. Me, shiningly exposed miraculously complete...' And that's only a tiny hint of the insanity with my 100-page, wide-ruled, Mead Composition notebooks. But sometimes a girl just needs to write poems and songs about the trappings of Suburbia. There is something somehow wonderful about four-page descriptions of Harry Potter release party embarrassment. And, so, boredom ensues. The following are 40 things that about me that you don't know, probably. What can I say? I got bored. 1. I don't take baths, only showers. I take a lot of showers. I spend a great deal of energy washing myself. 2. I don't like shower gels or lufas. I only use bar soap. It seems cleaner, somehow. 3. I have lots and lots of tiny little scars all over my legs. They are from my era of being a rough-and-tumble tomboy, the result of my older brothers. A lot of them are just from nicking myself with a razor, though. 4. I am Vegan. 5. I often annoy my friends about their leather-wearing habits. 6. I don't wear leather. 7. It took me four years to learn how to swim. 8. I don't pop my gum externally. It is very difficult to master how to pop in inside of one's mouth, but if you can learn to, it is strangely satisfying. 9. I am easily intimidated. 10. I was suspended from school in the Seventh grade for putting lip gloss in another girl's hair and plotting to deface our school with feminine-hygiene products 11. I still regret never actually going through with the above-mentioned plan. 12. I use to shoplift all the time. 13. I sometimes lie in Confession. 14. I chew on my left pinkie compulsively. 15. I am fascinated with the mechanics of intercourse. I don't really think of it as a perversion, and I'm not all that interested in actually having sex, but just actual literal movement of it. 16. I waste my potential. 17. I hate math, and basically anything to do with numbers. 18. My parents hate each other. 19. I have lived in the same house my entire life. 20. I am very stubborn. 21. As a result of that trait, I never wore the headgear I was supposed to sleep in. As a result of that fact, I had braces for three years. 22. ... it was worth it. 23. I take a picture of my feet with every roll of film I buy. 24. I am very, very pale. In middle school an asshole/jerk-off/fuckhead named Brad Parker called me Albino Anna. It was very painful. 25. I am a different version of myself with almost everyone I know. 26. ... that is cheap. 27. I don't think premarital sex is wrong. 28. I do think that promiscuousness is wrong. 29. I hate small minded people. 30. I have been drunk one time in my life. And I still don't know if I was really drunk. I was 12, it was Jack Daniels. 31. It is easy to make me laugh, but not easy to make me think you are funny. 32. I think Audrey Hepburn is the most graceful women who ever lived. 33. I hate t-shirts that say 'Hottie','100% Angel','Cutie' and so on... 34. My favorite flowers are tulips. 35. I think long-stemmed roses are unimaginative and stupid. 36. I am not as smart as people seem to think I am. 37. If you knew me outside of the Internet, you would probably would be annoyed or offended by me. 38. I kiss the mirror, a habit from middle school. 39. I trust mostly everyone. 40. I am very naive. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>20,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Coming soon! To hold you out, a few words of Ben's... saki59: i never ride trains of thought anymore saki59: they never take me anywhere Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>19,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
KWNIDK (Bryce) was arrested in my 2nd period class today. It was awful. Really. I don't like him, but I (cough) understand what it is like to be in trouble and how much it sucks. Apparently the school officers can look through your belongings whenever they like, and that is what Office Dan exercised today. Subsequently, they found pot. (why bring this to school, I have no idea) I also met the coolest girl in my science class today. We have the same name, and she is awesome, if a little strange. We were all mutually talking in a group and some one commented on how tiny she was. Anna (her): People in Junior High used to call me Anna-rexic. Anna (me): ME TOO! Anna (her): Really? Anna (me): Yes, that is so weird! Anna (her): What's your sign? Anna (me): Uh, Pisces. Anna (her): I thought so, but your born in 88 right? Anna (me): Yes. Anna (her): Which fits perfectly, because it's the year of the Dragon... She told me a lot of stuff about my personality based upon my birth date and she was dead on. She literally asked, 'Are you pretty analytical?'... freaked me out. She also, told me, however, that I am 'otherworldly'. Really? I am? Uh, I don't really think so. I guess I am a totally daydreamer, but does the qualify as other-world? Huge news, which is trivial to all of you: Robin wore makeup today. It was the strangest thing. I walked into English and completely astonished. Robin is naturally really pretty, but today she wore mascara, and it was so weird. Someone in her Science class actually asked if she was a new student. Zero Hr. was cancelled, but all went alright. Melissa and I talked for an hour about Christianity and how we're going to start a Bible Study 'thing'. After we were talking about some personal stuff, assured no one was around, I noticed the ROCK/Team Death guy was doing his homework about ten feet from us. Well, I certainly hope he enjoyed listening to me talk about my qualms about staying pure till marriage. Can you say 'embarrassing'? Good lord. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>18,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Reason #312 to hate Spokane : Cold/flu season starts in September and lasts until June. It seems that I have caught the latest virus. It is only a matter of time before I go to my pediatrician, and our conversations go something like this: Dr. Morgan : You have pneumonia. Me: Really? Um, don't you need to listen to my lungs or something...? Dr. Morgan : [Listens to my chest] Cough, please. [Disgusting hacking ensues] Dr. Morgan : You have pneumonia. That's right, people, because when I get sick I get sick all the way. No half-assed colds for this girl; I get viral infections. So, aside from my cold there is little going on. I am tired, but what else is new. My director from The Laramie Project and And Then They Came For Me... asked me if I was trying out for the fall play, Little Women . I probably will, too. I want to be the one who dies. I've always wanted to do a dramatic death scene. The Russian girl I am tutoring (Yanna) cheated on her Vocabulary test today. She wrote the answers on a little piece of paper and cupped it in her hand. It was awful. It's frustrating because she is so good at reading, but she doesn't understand a word of it. And when I saw that piece of paper, which she had to have made in apprehension of this test, I wanted to cry. If I think it's frustrating trying to tutor her, imagine what it is like for her! Here she is in an entirely foreign country, and everything is totally unfamiliar to her. For all I know, she was the Brainiac of her school in Russia, and here she needs a tutor. It seems so unfair. Team Death lives! We, again, lost every game in Zero Hr. today. Our motto, 'Look alive, team Death!' Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>17,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
I love you Stevie Ray Vaughn! Rest in peace, but not too restfully. Keep up rockin' and the rollin' even up in heaven. Today was neither bad nor great. I got my locker to open without any help for the first time ever. Definitely an event. I did some good in-depth bible study this morning. I discovered that one of the guys from Team Death plays the guitar; quite well, actually. He is also in ROCK (fundamental 'C'hristian group at school) I'm simply way to busy to produce an adequately good blog. But I will leave you with this ultimatum: ' Take on Me or any other song in the world?' (Props to Ben) Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>16,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
I am trying to inform you (the reader) or my (the writer) excitement today. I am going to try to do this in a somewhat sane way. A-hem. JOHN MAYER IS GOING TO BE ON THE SEASON PREMIER OF SNL! HOLY CRAP! Just thought it might be relevant to say that. Because two of the great loves in my life, Saturday Night Live and John, are crossing. And I hereby bet you a million dollars that he will do a walk-on into a sketch. And it will be great, even if it isn't funny. Because the ability to use one's legs in talent enough when you are John Mayer. And if that information was not incredible enough, I had an awesome day. During Zero-Hr. we played volleyball. I was the only girl on my team, and it was so fun. Our name was 'Team Death', and we sucked. Hardcore. But it was really fun, because after our third match of loosing, no one cared anymore. So whenever the ball would come to one of us, we would just punch it directly forward in whatever direction we happened to be standing. Or kick it. And, in some cases, head-butt it. Somehow in my infinite maturity, this was hilarious. And I could not stop laughing. Really stupid crush update: I suck, because I am giving into the will of my hormones. My natural intuition and my unnatural analytic tendencies tell me that Robin knows this. I can see it in her eyes--- she knows . I really wish he would stop having lunch with us because it is bothering the crap out of me. That, and I can't concentrate on my food. After school I had intended to go to the Spokane Club to work out, however, I could not get my locker to open. But I turned a potentially disappointing afternoon into an awesome one. I went to the Rocket. I had a predictably overly-frothy Chai Tea with soy, and did all of my homework for the night in one highly-productive sitting. And then who should walk in, but (you guessed it folks...) Rocket Sex God. It was looooovely. He was wearing black pants a plain white t-shirt and a brown belt. I regret now forgetting to look at his shoes, but I bet you them were cool. I could get all romance-novel on you and explain how that t-shirt clung to his lanky frame, and how his presence sent shivers up and down my back, how I could barely breath... but I won't. Suffice to say he looked very, very good. But he was only stopping by to get his paycheck. And through listening to his conversation, I am pretty sure his name is Mike. At any rate, some one who works there is named that. And then I arrived home to see that Dad had bought Joey (brother #2) a car. This was unexpected, but not a very big deal. It is a 'perfect condition' 1986 model, so I don't particularly envy it. Joe just needed a car to drive to school and Dad simply bought him one. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
What can I say? The sound isn't working on my computer and I have no lyrics to be inspired by. Laurle, a very tall girl in my AP History class, recognized the Police lyrics on my bookcover today. It was wonderful. Turns out she has a very good sense of music. A very well-rounded sense, too. We annoyed Adrienne to death while talking about the finer point of Coletrane. I also came to realize I am developing a really unhealthy crush on this friend of Robin's. And it is really wrong. It is driving me nuts. No one must ever know of this atrocity. I am so glad my friends don't know about this blog. And if they ever find it, I will delete this entry. Because this crush is bad. And stupid. And it will pass in a week. Speaking of the opposite sex. I had to ride the bus home today. And we now have to sit three to a seat. And it sucks. So I was sandwiched between two boys rather ungracefully. And one turns to me and says, 'Anna. Do you know Mr.----------' (unnamed quasi-affair-having teacher) This was strange because a) I had no idea who this guy was and b) I think I would remember some one of his, umm, nature. (In a good way) So our conversation went like this: 'Umm, yah!' 'Well he was playing Jimmy Fallon today.' WHAT! HOW DID HE NOW ABOUT MY MINOR JIMMY FALLON OBSESSION! 'Seriously?' 'Yes. The basketball song.' 'Oh yah, that's a good one.' 'This is my stop.' 'Umm, bye.' Weird, weird, weird. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Alright kids. I fixed all of Anna's links and the Dickinson poem and added a guestbook. Then I thought I lost it all, but I actually didn't. Ha. So there you all are. Isral urlLink israldebruin.blogspot.com urlLink johnnyokay.tripod.com 3:53 PM-- Yes, you are a geneis. And here's a peak into the world of Isral for you all: xWONDERBOY85x : you have no reason not to trust me aside from the fact that i could be some 45 year 0ld child molestor xWONDERBOY85x : but i'm not so it's all good AnnaPants26: I'm glad. xWONDERBOY85x : just imagine... my whole blog and band page... all an elaborate hoax to lure some 15 year old girl from washington into my preverbial 'love cave' AnnaPants26: Shut up! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
I decided to read over some of my posts to see what a unbais third party would think. My conclusion: wow, I suck. I am boring, uninsightful, and continue to say the same goddamn things over and over again. Does anyone really care how much I like to listen to acoustic pop music? Who cares what my class schedule is? No one. Because--you got it-- I suck. So here I sit and make a pledge: I am going to get better. I am going to report on the same mundane uneventful crap that I am faced with every day, but with unforeseen eloquence. I am going to write about my History class and make it amusing. I am going to bash the forces of hypocrisy and conformity with untold articulation and wittiness. Or, if that fails, I am going to start writing fiction. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>13,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
This first thing I did this morning, right after I woke up: I played air guitar to 'Tiny Dancer'. And why is this weird, you ask? Because Elton John plays the piano . I then ate a bowl of instant oatmeal, read the 'In Life' section of the Spokesman Review , and roamed around the house looking for something to appease my boredom. Somehow, I've lost all interest in TV. I washed my hands (woo! OCD!) for a good five minuets trying to decide on something to do. I still have yet to find anything worth me showering for. Somehow I found my way to the urlLink Spokane visitor page . It is the most absurd collection of out-right lies ever formulated. 'The Spokane area is also known as the cultural hub of the Inland Northwest.' What the fuck?!? No, it is not . We have a total of five Africanan-Americans, and like, six Hispanic people. 'The Spokane Arena is the site of world-class concerts...' If by 'world-class' you mean Nsync coming here in '99, then sure-- we're world-class alright. If anyone here wants to see a decent concert they have to sit in a car for three hours and drive to the Gorge. Let's keep this crazy-train rolling! '...There are so many fun things to do in and around the Spokane region. Scream down the world's largest wooden roller coaster...' That roller-coaster is in Idaho . That's an hour drive from Spokane, people, in Athowl, Idaho. And my favorite lie, '...you'll find that Spokane has an abundance of attractions, activities and amenities to offer...' No, dammit, it doesn't. The very fact that I sit here bored to death is due to lack of the aforementioned. Affectionately... Anna Oh, and I'm getting my review on. urlLink All or Nothing Reviews urlLink Anita Review urlLink Fantasy Reviews urlLink Blunt Reviews urlLink We See Things in Black and White urlLink Compendious We Are the Beholders |
</post> |
<date>12,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
I am so young and naive that I am completely freaked out by death. I can't begin to contemplate anyone I know passing on. If someone I love ever leaves me, I don't know what I'll do. And the knowledge that nothing you can do will bring them back, living and knowing you will never see them again in this life, is so unconceivable. I've known three people who have died: Brita Bowman, my grandmother, and my grandfather. Brita died when I was eight, and I don't really remember it very clearly. I just remember not believing it. I though it was a rumor or something. Sort of like 'Ryan like-likes Amanda' except it was about a girl's death, not a crush. She fought that fucking leukemia like hell, but I guess it was just 'her time'. It was so surreal, less painful than it was difficult to understand. My Grandma Lois died when I was nine. She had cancer, and we had known for a long time that it was going to happen. When she first got cancer, I was eight. I remember sitting in the children's playroom at the hospital and starring at a big, colorful portrait of some exotic fish. There were all sorts of other toys and there were cartoons playing on the TV, but all I could focus on was the picture of those damn fish. I guess I though if I starred at it long enough, I could fall into the painting and leave my family. I couldn't stand seeing them crying and being so sad. I just wanted to leave. She died the next year. And whenever someone says the word 'cancer' I think of tropical fish to this day. Grandpa Ted died a year and a half ago. I went to visit him in the hospital the day after the surgery. It was the scariest thing ever. He had been fine, we were told, for the first 24 hours. But something had gone wrong by the time I went to visit. His last words to me were 'Anna...' And that's it. He started moaning and then his blood pressure crashing. Within the three hours I was there, he got really sick. The doctors reassured us that he would be fine, and since we live 10 minutes from the hospital, we went home. When I was sleeping, he went into cardiac arrest and died. It was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. My parents woke me up at two in the morning and told me he had died. It was literally like someone hit my in the chest. I still can't believe I will never see him again. He was supposed to come to my Jr. High Commencement the next week. I won't hear him laugh, I won't be able to give him 'grandpa hugs', he won't see my high school graduation, he won't be at my wedding. My children won't have a great-grandfather. All because of this stupid thing called death. I can't understand why someone would commit suicide when life is so beautiful and so precious. It's such a hopeless, desperate crime... death. And yet it looms above us each day. And yet, there is hope. When we die, we are only gone to this world. Beyond the threshold of the earth, there is more happiness and more joy than then we could have in a thousand lifetimes on earth. And when we cross over to be with the one that created us, again we will see the people we love. I know one day I will see Brita, Grandma Lois, and Grandpa Ted. The question is, what will I do with the time I have before that day comes? How will I spend my days? What legacy will I live behind? Of all the offenses I could commit in my lifetime, the one of the nameless indifference is the worst I can imagine. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>11,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Oh, Lord, did I ever mention that I am in love with John Mayer? I was listening, only listening, to 'Wheel' last night in my bedroom and I cried. It is soooooo TRUE! And so poignant. I will never be able to write songs like that. Ever. I am a dork, and that's common knowledge so we don't really need to go over that. I arrived at school at a quarter to seven, when my zero-hour class starts. And as my hand flew up to pull open the door I remembered: zero-hour had been cancelled. No words necessary for the stupidity that hit me at that moment. At least Adrienne wasn't there to see me, right? That would have fit in perfect with the fact that she totally hates me. However, it turned out to be a blessing. I walked to The Rocket and re-read my English assignment. Subsequently, I aced the pop quiz we had over it later that morning. No sign of Sex God, though. There's this wrestler in my 6th period science class who I really don't like. He bothers me to the umpth-degree. He will not stop hitting on me, and I can't stand people like that. What is more unattractive then a guy who won't take his hands off of you? And it's not cute when people call me obsessive-compulsive, either. Plus, he chronically commits the worst offense: over-gelling the hair. Eww. Do people (basically just male-people) actually think that looks good? To me it looks like they haven't washed their hair for a really long time and they used the grease in it to rub all around their head. Another person who does this is 'Fraiser'. I see him at the Spokane Club all the time. I really can't understand what bothers me about him so much. He's so surly and gentlemanly. And aside from the gel thing, he doesn't have any bothersome qualities that really stand out. He was on the local news tonight talking about high school kids and Sep. 11th, 2001. He's smart. But he seems so flawless that he comes across as totally transparent. I'm only attracted to people who have quirks or strong beliefs. Of which Fraiser has neither. God! Look at me, judging people again. I'm such a hypocrite. Tripp and I had a really weird conversation today. It went something like this: 'You're still so mean to me! I am not the same brat I was in elementary school.' 'Yah.' 'You suck.' [Sarcastic] 'Maybe if you weren't in love with me, then we could be friends.' Painfully awkward silence 'You're brother is so hot, Tripp.' 'Stop it!' 'I'm so in love with your brother! He is so hot!' So basically I dodged the whole 'love' thing. I have absolutely have no romantic feelings for him. But I did . Long ago in a foreign world called Jr. High. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>10,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
I was thoroughly happy when I discovered Spell Check is now available via Blogger. To quote Ben* 'Sweeeeet!' Moving on, school. My day went pretty smoothly. Robin dropped AP History. I would have berated her endlessly for sucking so much, but she was in all sorts of a terrible mood. And that is so un-Robin. She and Lauren poses some magical ability to make me always laugh. She inherited my cold, along with Leigh and Adrienne. Watch out people, I'm a walking virus-spreader! Anyway, she ended up going home after lunch. I feel awful for her. It's only the second week of school. Today I decided an explanation of Adrienne and Annica needs to be recorded. Annica is undeniably cool. I love her. I don't really know her all that well, but in the typical Anna-way, I love her. She is so damn smart. And she writes poetry, good poetry, and that too, kicks ass. Adrienne is a little more complicated. Adrienne does not like me. I am so damn intuitive, I hate it. I'm not being paranoid, which is sort of an oxy-moron in this case, but I digress. The point is, she always seems to be around when I do/say something stupid. It's naive to expect everyone to like me, but I can't stand it when someone doesn't like me. Particularly if I see them several times a day. She's in my Zero-Hr. Conditiong class, AP History class, and frequently eats lunch in the Stairwell. She makes me feel immoral , hypocritical, and stupid. The worst part is I think so highly of her! She is such a good artist, such a smart kid, and seems so nochalaunt about everything. I, on the other hand, am nonchalant about nothing . I have all this love and excitement bottled up inside and if anything strikes me as cool, I freak out. When we got pop machines with little elevators in them, I freaked out. When a John Mayer song is on the radio, I freak out. When I get a letter in the mail, I freak out. I am in a constant state of overreaction. However, life is undeniably good. I am so happy. Everything seems to be alineing. Melissa has inspired me to do Morning Devotions again, and I realize how centered this makes me. I also have new John Mayer material to swoon over, and that's a plus. Affectionately... Anna * The only reason I inserted his name was to show you how retarded he is. Never again will 'jock pimp Mack daddy' be featured in anything I write. |
</post> |
<date>09,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Alright, so there are so many awesome things happening in my life right now I can't keep them straight in my head. I just feel so damn happy all of a sudden. Right now, everything seems so cool, so great, so electric-- and the happiness is nearly tangible. In all normal-ness, I should be annoyed and tired. But I'm not. I'm happy in that manic Jr. high way. A. Melissa found God over the summer. She is so happy and so cool to the umpth degree that I just adore her. She is absolutely glowing with joy. She reminds me, in a weird way, of what I'm living for-- God. And that is so damn cool. B. I love everything about John's (we're way beyond last-name basis here, and I know it) new CD. What makes this situation cooler is that Robin/Lauren/Annica/Adrienne now understand that my musical tastes do not suck. When I called John lame (which he is, I know that. But I still love him. Hell-- Noggin is lame and I still love it.) Robin goes, 'Oh my god. You, like, think he's lame?' And suddenly they all got it, that I know how silly I am being. Truly a breakthrough. C. I have about seven crushes right now. Suffice it to say that the whole 're-enter the threshold of the Dating World' is terribly close to happening. I just love boys so, so much. I love their hair. And their shoulders. And their smiles. And their eyes, feet, hands, lips... Lesbians just don't know what they're missing. Seriously. D. My mom and I are talking, on a conversational basis, again. And this makes me a better, saner person. E. I feel like I am actually making use of my education. My classes are hard, but I am working hard to rise to this new level. F. I am meeting so many new people in all my new classes. A girl who I was best friends with, up until Jr. High, (when I left public schools) is in my science class. Things were really awkward between us last year, because we both are nothing like the 12 year olds we used to be. But we did a lab together today, and she was really, really nice. I made such a stupid assumption that she had turned into a lame druggie, and I was totally wrong. Just goes to show ya, don't judge a book by its cover. E. Frequent availability of Diet Coke. No more words necessary. G. Everyone seems to love me ever since the Certain Unnamed Cult Member-breakup. That person always sort of made me pessimistic, and now I've sort of broken free from my dreary outlook and I'm back to my silly, sunny self. I also have found another awesome blog that people need to see. And read. And become obsessed with. Becasue that's what it's all about people. Ladies and gentlemen, it's urlLink Isral's Blog . I like to think of it as the cooler side of high school... when you are 17, can have a job and drive a car. Unlike me: babysitting to buy CDs and relying on the Units. Oh well. I still love my life. Oh, yum. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>07,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Tomorrow is the release of Heavier Things . I will neglect all my homework and fall into his music all over again. I am going to wear my John Mayer t-shirt to school and I'm not going to care when lame people tell me it's lame. It is not lame. What's lame is that I'm second guessing a decision to wear a fucking t-shirt because I'm afraid of what some ass clowns will say about it. So here you go, style punks, here's a preemptive Fuck You. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>06,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
(A huge thanks to the Maternal Parental Unit for letting me borrow The Best of Sting and the Police .) Today I had a manicure and a pedicure at the community college, SCC. My mom, who is cool in her Mom-cool way, is obsessed with 'bargains'. She's too busy to clip coupons anymore, but she loves to find good deals on anything. Whenever I buy a new top, she always says 'That's nice. Was it on sale?' But she found that the advanced Cosmetology Students give pretty damn good services for cheap. And I emphasize the word cheap. My nice nails and toes cost ten bucks altogether. Afterwards, we went to Barnes and Noble, and I picked up The Catcher and the Rye . I feel like such illiterate fool since haven't read it yet. When we got home I was greeted with the weirdest letter ever. I've been accepted into this elite-nerd-freak program that offers full and partial scholarships to college for families of exemplimary students. Um, what? I failed my math class last year. And I never signed up for this program. And I'm still a sophomore. And yet a tentative interview has been scheduled for my and the Units in two weeks. This posses several questions: A. Who nominated me? B.Who was able to have access to my school records, or did the program even look at my grades? and C. What the hell? This program probably is illegitimate or something. But it really had me thinking. If it is was legit, and access to my records and a nomination was needed, there is one person who it would have had to have been. And this brings me to an issue I've briefly alluded to before, but never, ever talked about. The issue is about some very questionable 'exchanges' between me and a teacher last year. Nothing physical. And nothing that was wrong, really, I guess. Put with my analytical spin, the inconsequential things that were said were blown into a very unhealthy, completely ridiculous, attraction. Very Alicia Silverstone ala Crush (minus the murderous and sexual undertones) Basically, I freaked out over being called 'perfect' and became obsessed with one of my teachers. But it wasn't entirely subjective; a lot of what he said was totally weird- which is why I freaked out. Just yesterday he talked with me about my tan when I was supposed to be in fifth period. Ahhh! I am a whore. I should not like this guy. Stop it, dammit. Stop stop stop stop. Oh the complications of a hopeless nerd. I also need to address the whole Christian with a capital 'C' thing. Guess who found God this summer? Melissa. She had me read this paper she wrote for her Journalism class. Predictably, I cried. I never knew she was so unhappy. A lot of what I found out was really personal, but I'm so happy she's in a better place. It's so strange that everyone is changing. So many people are becoming so less annoying (not me, however) and so much more mellow. Maybe it's just the contrast between the Class of 2006 and the new freshman that I am bombarded with. Either way, though, I'm happy about it. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
Score one for athletic non-athletes: I got into Zero Hour Conditioning! I literally said the words “Woo hoo!” after I found out. My entire existence is going to change, and I mean that seriously. I now will be forced to actually go to sleep at bedtime, as opposed to lie in my bed and mutter “Spokane sucks” over and over again. Class starts at seven AM. Melissa and Leigh are in that class. This leaves me with a free period. The overachiever in me desperately wants to take a seventh class, but somewhere in my sanity I know I shouldn’t. I’m like a morbidly obese dieter who knows not to eat that cookie, but wants to so badly. Moving onward; let me do the ceremonious complaining about the “damn” freshmen. I know, I know, I was not like that last year. Yes, I carried around my schedule, terrified I was going to get lost, for a month. But I did not freak out when my locker didn’t work, I didn’t scream at my friends from across the entire hallway, giggle obnoxiously at everything, or make my sole purpose in life to attend the Mixer. I’m sure there are a lot of freshman who don’t annoy me, but I have yet to actually witness one. Next week is “Hello Week” this, by sheer definition, is lame. If I had any morale in my body, and I seem to be lacking that in my angsty teenage existence, I might be excited for “80s Day”. But I’m not. Nor am I excited about “twin day”, “sports day”, or “career day”. Speaking of the latter, what the fuck? I am barely able to decide on what jeans to buy, and now I am deciding my career path? I’m guessing that we’re supposed to dress like whatever thing we plan/except on being. But imagine if we were to dress like what we actually will become. The halls would be masses of suffocating software technicians, temps, and assistant managers. There would definitely be a street walker or fifty. Remember Kid Whose Name I Don’t Know? Well, guess what? His name is Bryce. He’s in my Photography class and he is laaaaame. Basically, he embodies everything I think is wrong with the world. Good Charlotte listener, user of unimaginative profanity, BLIND hater of our president (…because he only hates him because it’s cool to hate him, not because he knows a thing about foreign policy. That I might respect.), BLIND affinitive for “punk” music (…obviously, not even remotely close to real Punk) It’s so frustrating. There is so much anti-authority, anti-social hierarchy potential there. And it’s all wasted, dwindled down into his hypocritical All-Star wearing feet. And don’t even get me started on the Homeroom experience today. I basically released all frustration into thirty minuets of Ritalin-needed “ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!” It was so fourth-grade of me, and now I want to crawl in a hole and die. Much thanks goes to Robin, who appeased my inability to focus by letting me copy her math worksheet. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>03,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
I woke up at 5:00 this morning and realized how much I am going to sleeping. Thanks to the apprehensiveness and stress of school, I'm back to me erratic four-hour slumbers. It amazes me that some people can fall asleep by simply lying in there beds. Why was I not blessed with such a gift? I am such a procrastinator; I have been trying to relay the urlLink Coolest Thing Ever in my blog since I got back from the Radiohead concert on Monday. But the aforementioned stress, apprehensiveness and the added fact that I was freaking out about quitting cross country (now only a minor thing, everyone was cool with it. That is, except Dad. But What can I do? Nothing will ever be good enough, and I am learning to accept that) took up to much room in my consciousness. So here is the story, that is unfairly being told three days late. I was surfing some blogs a while ago. I do that sometimes when I'm in an 'ugggh' mood. It's so reassuring to read about a random stranger's world, because every now and then one really strikes a cord. I found one of the best blogs ever (right up there with urlLink My Secretly Interesting Life ) Everything in this woman's world seems to be undeniably cool. She works at Adult store. That is, not really triple X, but the sort of store that would make Certain Unnamed Cult Memebers' (bleached) hair curl. She is just so damn cool, I'm amazed. Her writing reminds me of Sarah Vowell. I love it. So I told her so in an e-mail, and shamelessly added my link. I guess she was curious, and checked out my blog. She read, like, the entire thing . If that in itself isn't awesome enough, she wrote this incredible post relative to the whole Certain Unnamed Cult Member breakup. I swear, every word she wrote in that entry was poetry to me, and so exact and so inspiring I can't stand it. I cried and cried and cried when I read it because it was so honest and so true. And painful. And I know exactly, exactly what she means. Only she articulated it better. I really wasn't sure how to describe my hurt until she did it for me. Usually I selectively quote, using only the most inspired words. But every word in this paragraph is perfect, and I know when you read it you will understand exactly how I feel: 'But your girlfriends are different - they're smart and funny and cool and egg you on to be your wittiest, brightest self. They're there for advice, for hand-holding when you need it, and you pour your heart and darkest secrets into them like they're a sponge, ready to soak you up. You give them your love, wrapped as messily as it is with your insecurities and neurotic behavior and secret love for some crappy band that you'd never tell anybody else about. And all you ask is that they love you back. It's the greatest gift you can give anyone, your love, and in high school it's so intense and pure and loyal and beautiful, this love you give before your emotional walls are fully up to guard you against this exact thing. That why it hurts like FUCK when the recipient abruptly shrugs it off, like it meant nothing. And why you never forget it.' She continues on about some Certain Unnamed Cult Memeber-esque former friend who ended their friendship. This girl's justification for her actions was completely different from Certain Unnamed Cult Member's and yet totally the same. Oh god, and she makes me feel fucking ridiculous for wanting to be so mean to Certain Unnamed Cult Member. Right now my hurt is still so fresh and so intense that every time I see her, I either want to cry my eyes out or stew in complete and total ANGER. I want to remember every bad thing about her. How she paused a minimum of 20 seconds before answering anything. How we together we solidified our mutual isolation and social anonymity. How all her notes were written in pencil and in oversized childlike handwriting that drove my obsessive compulsive ass crazy. The time she told me her mother thought I was a bad influence. But then I think of how comfortable it was to have a constant friend. Having half of our classes together, I always had a 'Study Buddy'. I always had someone to eat with. I always had someone to hang out after school with. I always had someone to geekily admire Connor Haffety and Stevie Weller and yes, even somehow attractive teachers, with. And even know that I have people to do all those things with, it doesn't feel as secure. Our friendship had been a comfortable worn-in sweater, and I could always put it on when I felt the need. Now I am a sweaterless mess. I've really got to get over this. It takes up too much time and energy to be sad. You have got to read it... urlLink One Good Thing . Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,September,2003</date> |
<post> |
*My Honors English teacher is my new role model. Honors English is the saving grace of my schedule. *I am probably going to drop AP History, and I hate that. But when I can't even understand the syllabus, it's a sign that there might be a problem *Unnamed cult member bleached her hair. Leigh and I laughed endlessly about how awful it looks. I am such a bad person, but her follicle disaster made my day. *A boy in my Photography class, the same as the one who was in my Global issues class last year, has a thing for me. Feelings are NOT mutual. He laughed at our wonderfully nerdy teacher when he dropped his camera today. And he over-gels his hair. Doubly intolerable. *This hilarious guy from Sac has a thing for Robin... hmm. *LEIGH GOT HER LISENCE! *Just about ever person from the Preppy Elite are in my classes. It sucks, I really don't want to have to be within ten feet of any of them. *My former Health teacher thinks I am suicidal. It's really weird. I'm deeply offended. But despite that, I still find immense humor in her attempts to subtly console me. This is the stuff of great comedic inspiration. 'How are things ? Things at home? Do you have some after-school activities that you’re getting involved in?' *We metaphorically marked our territory today and ate at our place in the stairwell. Woo hoo! Why do I love our spot so much? *I was randomly hugged by lots of people today. And I was surprised to find that I missed a lot of them. *G-Dogg is still immensely attractive to me. What is it about him?!?!? Uh. RADNOM EXERT FROM AN OLD JOURNAL THAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE MILDLY AMMUSING: April 17, 2001 My faith in the goodness and the fairness of the world has been shaken, but after all of this shit it has been sustained. More later. I hope to post a full listing of the antics today. Oh, and I really hate freshman!! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
I need a new hobby. Because it just isn't normal to sit around and daydream as a pastime. I mean, really, I daydream beyond reason. I can spend an entire hour just starring off into space and thinking about something else. There is always running. It's too cold to run outside now. So I must resort to the treadmill. This actually isn't that bad, at least I can listen to music when I run now. I'm doing volunteer work for several campaigns, none of them that I actually want to do work for. At the risk of sounding repetitive, I am just too bogged down with all this... shit. There is really no other way to explain it. It is shit. Stupid things that shouldn't bother me, habits that border on obsession, an innate and powerful longing for something else. No necessarily something better, just something else. There are so many things in this life I want to experience, so many things I want to understand, so many beauties to witness. And I feel like I'm not living, I'm only walking and breathing and memorizing stupid dates, people, places, equations--- none of which is meaningful. My friends are meaningful, and the times I share with them are special and important. But there is still that SOMETHING that is fucking missing and I want it so bad it hurts. My own perception must be the root my troubles. I can't seem to concern myself with the here are now because I see so far beyond that. There is something past new shoes and eyeshadow-application skills. There is greater happiness to be had then at the bottom of a 'fifth', more fulfillment than all the honor-roll plaques and impressive credentials provide. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>27,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
I say today's title a lot. 'I aspire to have that sense of humor', 'I aspire to play my guitar like he does', 'I aspire to be that talented in my math class'; the list goes on and on. It's my own little way of reminding myself that there is so much personality to be had in this world. One such person who inspires me to aspire to be like her (tricky word-play!) is Sarah Vowell. She is a phenomenal writer. And when I say phenomenal, I mean it all the way down to my toes. She amazes me. Out of the crap-land of Billings, Montana came this incredible essayist. (Her current abode? New York. Obviously.) Every essay she writes is dripping with wit, intelligence, and beautiful, graceful mastery of the written word. It's incredible to read her stories-- really it is. It gives me the warm, homey feeling of talking to an old friend. But there is also that damn intangible aspect that every good writer has. The extra thing that makes me want to read her stories about Abraham Lincoln or Species-on-species abuse instead of, say, sit on my ass and watch MTV2 ('Where the videos are') And I am going to be in her presence, thank the lord. She will be coming to Eastern on April 16 and I will go. And I will love it. For know, I have to think of something wonderfully witty and smart and memorable to say to her. Who knows? Maybe in her next book, there will be an essay entitled 'Washington State is full of loons' or 'That Strange Pale Girl at a Convention in Spokane'. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>26,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
My mom and I went to a different church today, just to check things out. Southside Christian Church, which calls itself 'A center for life change' I honestly don't ever care to return. The congregation is huge and the music is really great; but there is so much more to a church than just that. There seemed to be no substance behind the glittzy electric guitar worship songs, no significant message. There was a sermon, I suppose. It outlined this whole system of 'necessary' ways to be purposeful. My mom and I are, apparently, not past Step One. This is because we need to Choose to Belong. (Over dramatic rolling of eyes) Puh-lease! Who among us but God Himself can judge where some one is in their faith journey? Not to mention, who can patronize some one else for it? Good grief. We then ventured to Costco. If you are not a resident of the Northwest, then you have no idea of the beauty you are missing. Costco is a gigantic wonderland of wholesale groceries... 90 oz. bottles of mustard, 24-roll packages of toilet paper, frozen ready-to-serve meals sold in 12 packs. The clincher is the 'samples'. Now, you may have experienced samples in your local grocery store, and I can attest that you have no idea how amazing they can be. All the new foods and all the old favorites are cooked and served for your sampling pleasure. Its is beautiful. The clincher for my parents is the monumental savings. Books are pretty decently priced. I FINALLY got my own copy of 'Live From New York', because I am too cheap to buy the hardcover one. When we were on a quest for my favorite vegan bread, my mom caught up with an old friend. It seems like half of Spokane was, at one point, my mom's dearest friend. This woman was quite sweet, although she talked with my mom for a small eternity. While they discussed the finer points of my genetics ('Her eyes are like John's, Sue, but she has your face...') I met her utterly good looking son. He was wearing a 'The Ataris' t-shirt, but I can forgive that. Why is it that every guy I have sincere interest in either lives in Cheney or goes to U-High? Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
I have never loved the actual act of running; it is hard, it often burns, and I have thrown up on several occasions. There is just something so terrificly self-righteous about off-handedly saying, 'When I was running five miles the other day...', not to mention the masochist's pleasure I get out of running until I nearly pass out. I'm not even a good runner! I am slow and I run like a flamboyant gay man (picture pointed toes and strange leaps) Nonetheless, I do it. And out of the struggle I find that I like myself a hell of a lot more when I am in good running shape. There is an anatomy of a good run that I am unable to pin down into words. 'Why the hell am I running? I bet Bridget Jones' Diary is on Starz right now...' slowly morphs into 'I-think-I-Can!'. Then comes the best part, the Eye of the Tiger theme song, the 'I-Know-I-Can!' Saturdays bred good runs. And they also bred good thoughts. I feel completely ungulity about my love of the song Love Soon--'a song about talking to the person you haven't even met yet. Maybe they're rolling around in they hay with some one else, but they're not as good as you'll be. You just gotta wait your turn...he's out there, and they're just learning who to contrast you against.' (As proclaimed by the lovely John Mayer) My parents think it's weird, unhealthy, that I don't like to go anywhere on weekends. And who knows-- maybe it is. But I find it exhilarating. I go to school five crazy days of the week, and I only get two days to balance out my mood. I need Saturdays and Sunday afternoons to simply breath. Sure going to a good movie is fun, and hanging out with friends is beautiful. There also lies an equally great excitement to be had sitting around your house wondering at life's little happinesses. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>24,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
Photography is now my favorite class. Why? Because as I grow more into Slacker-dum, I find that I appreciate minimal classwork more and more. We took self-portraits today, and all of my pictures turned out hilarious. The best part? As long as I have the apeture and exposure correct, and as long as the pictures are in focus, I get full credit. Pep con today, which was great. The con itself was a complete waste of time, but in a positive way: classes were cut to a half hour each. And lunch was extended to almost an hour. Highlights include Milton the Senior doing his (dead-on) Michael Jackson impression and when we were allowed to leave. Anna and I decided to skip our fourth period and go to The Rocket. It's not really that big of a deal, though, because everyone skips fourth on days when we have cons. We played chess and talked about the strange attraction we each had towards the guy working that shift (not Rocket Sex God, I am sad to report) I had to pass my old Global Issues class when we snuck back in during fifth period, which was awkward. That perv/teacher used to call me 'perfect' last year. I think it would surprise him to know I no longer re-copy notes, let alone that I am skipping class. I'm trying very hard to be a typical high-scholar and not care what teachers think of me. And I am unsuccessful. But, really, who thoroughly doesn't care what people think of themselves? I could kid myself into thinking I don't, but that would benefit no one. Especially not me. I do care. Everyone wants people to like them, to think that they are funny, to think that their silly little habits are endearing. Everyone wants to special, even if they want it in different ways. Maybe the preppy person wants people to think she is gorgeous and the nonconformist wants people to think he's hardcore. But nonetheless, each sort of person wants to be special in their own way. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>23,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
Leave it to Robin to get me invited to a party of awesome proportions. There will be things such as amazing, worthwhile music, inherenty beautiful people, marijuna, 'G-Dogg', and a fair amount of nonconformity. Wait; back up. Did I just say what I think I said? Yes; pot. P-o-t. The illegal drug. Which is illegal. And mind-altering. The one with that telltale smell. The one I have been terrified of until late. I refuse to not write about the subject because it directly affects my life. Very directly. My mom was a hippie, my brother hibitually smokes it to avoid... something. I, however, am a marijuna-virgin. So, I guess this is what they call 'expirementing with drugs'? Do I fit the description of the disgrunted youth who turns to a bong to find meaning in her life? Am I doing this to be considered 'cool'? Is it that evil, evil peer pressure? No. There's just a burning curiosity about it. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>22,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
*Do you enjoy pointing out all the negative aspects of your regular companions' penmanship? *Do you like to bark at your lifting partner as if you are her superior? *Are you four-eleven? *Do you experience bouts of childlike behavior, followed by a long succession of insults? *Do you like to zone in on one person and pick apart at her self-esteem until she has a break down? *Do you like to regularly say, 'You are a loser!'? *Is your name Adrienne? If you answered yes to two or more of these questions, then I honestly hope you fall of the face of the earth. Really. At the risk of sounding like a total delequent, today Robin and I skipped first period. It was totally unnecessary. However, I require some form of adventure in my life. We went to The Rocket. On the dollar of my Dad, Robin enjoyed a Sticky Bun and I enjoyed a Chia Tea with soy milk. But more important than sustenance was the conversation, of course. There is something so beautiful about having a friend to be completely honest with. I honestly hope that everyone has a friend that they can skip class and pour their hearts out to. We had a fire alarm later in the afternoon. Other than that, I was dangerously close to drowning in the Sea of the Mundane. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>21,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
There is nothing like a Jewish, accomplished guitar and piano playing guy challenging some hip hop fools. Ben Kweller, I just might love you. Here is an interesting question posed by my entire AP History class: what is the multiple thesis? Thesi? Thesis-es? One would not really think that something would entrance a group of overachieveing, college-anticipating tenth graders as much as that very question. I mean, Alexander T.G. you are awesome, and I have nothing against the Plebians... but how can I concentrate when I have no idea how to pronounce that damn, illusive word! Guess who TOTALLY does not have an 'A' in math anymore? We all knew it would never last. I have to make up a test, and that might put me in B-range, but I will never see the likes of a ninety-seven percent again. I feel only slightly bad. And by slightly I mean not really bad at all. Lately I have been annoyed with so many people. I am trying hard not the break. Leigh would not let up today in homeroom. We were voting for homecoming queen, and I decided that I would not vote for one canidate. Leigh would NOT SHUT UP: 'Why aren't you voting for her? 'Leigh, let it go.' 'No, I want to know. Tell me.' 'Leigh!' 'Tell me, tell me, tell me.' 'I'm serious...!' 'I want to know, I want to know. Why won't you tell me? I want to know! Tell me!' Leigh remains awesome despite her only-child syndrome. I should state that. She is one of my closset friends. And she is terrific, upbeat, and a genuinely good person. But really, sometimes she is so much so I feel like I may get a cavity. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>20,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
So, I guess I catch a lot of crap for being Vegan. Whatever. It's my choice, and I guess I 'choose' the consequences. Mostly it's teasing comments from friends and family; nothing that really makes me feel anything other than irritation. No more! I have described before the lame, tries-too-hard wrestler in my photography, math, and science classes. He annoys to beyond belief, beyond control. Me! I get along with everybody, and not in a good way. I will absolutely go out of my way to make others feel even minutely comfortable. I get some sick, sadistic pleasure out of it... some weird 'martyr' thing. But he makes me want to vomit. Really. I have never introduced myself to him, never initiated a conversation with him. And I never ever will. He wears totally perverse t-shirts with completely degrading innuendo on them, often will dress in head to toe is roadsign yellow, and talks in this voice... shudder. To sum up; I can't recall ever meeting a more irritating person. During sixth period science, he came and sat down next to myself and three other girls. He didn't exactly talk to us, but he was looking through this (sick, inhumane, nauseating) rifle catalogue. We ignored him, being productive little Brains who choose to further our analysis of the laws of physics instead of engage with him. But he started telling us how 'cool' the guns were, etc. How they were sure to get 'a lot of game'. Me: Guns are not cool. Guns kill. Death it not cool. Animal Murderer/Freak: What? No way. Hunting is a sport. Me: Do the animals get rifles too? I don't think so. Hunting is murder. A.M./Freak: God, you're a BITCH! [The second time in my life I have been called that. Several people looked at me.] Me: Grow up. A.M./Freak: So, do you think paintballin' is wrong too? Huh? Huh? Me: Get a fucking hint... I'm too 'bitchy' to talk with you. I would cry, but I am too mad to cry. Where the hell does he get off calling me a bitch? I handled the situation completely inarticulately, and I felt like I had the word 'BITCH' tattooed across my forehead the rest of the day. I mean, what am I supposed to reply to something like that? So, anyway (in that tone of voice) Umm, maybe Robin and I just had a very monumental conversation? Yes; yes we have. If I start wearing things made of hemp and constistantly listen to 'No Woman, No Cry' don't be too surprised. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>19,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
I guess it is a little odd--nay, narcisstic-- of me to fill this out. I stole it from someone else's blog. It looked like fun. 1. Spell your first name backwards: annA 2. The story behind your journal username? My Blog title is from the Emily Dickenson poem in my sidebar. I used to be totally obsessed with Emily Dickenson, and I came across this poem about a month ago. I thought is worked. Anyhow, it's a better title than the last one. Describe your... [ x ] Jewelry worn each day: Usually none. But my favorite peice of jelwery is one I bought with a quarter from one of those machines... it's a bright purple compass the size of a half-dollar. [ x ] Pillow cover? Cabbage Patch Kids. [ x ] Coffee cup?: Melissa gave it to me for my birthday... bright yellow with little ducks all over it. [ x ] Favorite shirt? Ethier the one from the Counting Crows/ John Mayer concert or the one I bought from the flamboyant gay men in Florida. [ x ] Cologne/Perfume? Clinque's Happy. I bought it duty-free from our cruise ship in August. [ x ] CD in stereo right now? Norah Jones Come Away With Me, but The Jousha Tree is in my portable player. [ x ] Piercings? None. Who or What (was/is/are) [ x ] In my mouth Many fillings. [ x ] In my head I hate AP tests. [ x ] Wishing on a star I will marry someone amazing. [ x ] After this Shower [ x ] Fetishes Rocking out to 80s soul jams-- ie 'Tainted Love' [ x ] If you could get away with murder who would you kill- I wouldn't. [ x ] Person you wish you could see right now- Gideon Yago because I would like to tell him that I read all about Gideon the military judge and I thought that although it was emensly boring, I still love his name. [ x ] Is next to you- The lyrics to Gilbert and Sullivan's Song of the Major General from Pirates of Penzance [ x ] Some of your favorite movies- The Virgin Suicides, Drop Dead Gorgeoud, Lolita, The Royal Tenebaums, Roman Holiday... [ x ] Something you're looking forward to in the upcoming month Nothing, isn;t that sad? [ x ] The last thing you ate? Hot Tamales [ x ] Do you like candles? Yes [ x ] Do you like incense? Most of the time [ x ] Do you like the taste of blood? I've never thought of that, but no. [ x ] Do you believe in love? With all my heart [ x ] Do you believe in love at first sight? Yes [ x ] What do you want done with your body when you die? I want to be cremated and have my children toss me out of a helicopter somewhere beautiful. [ x ] If you could have any animal for a pet, what would it be? Probably a goldfish with a good personality. [ x ] What are some of your favorite candies? Hot Tamales [ x ] What's something you wish you could understand better? Hypocrites and fundamentalist Christians (same thing really) Also, people who are mean for no good reason. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>18,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
In AP World History on Friday I sighed in the form of a sentence; 'I just get so worked up about school projects. And then they are due, and they turn out perfectly well and I feel like such an idiot. I just get so stressed out over them.' 'No you don't.' I will give you a million dollars who said that. Yes, yes-- Adrienne. I have been trying since last year to like this person; to find something to appreciate about her. She is smart (yes, but she flaunts it and her handwriting is awful) She doesn't care what people think about her (at the expense of other people's feelings) She is consistant (-ly mean) About the only thing I can think to honestly admire about her is that she managed to get through varsity tennis last year, despite my old pal Mr. Grab Ass was her coach. She reminds me of girls from my second grade class, Ali and Jessica. They called me their best friend but they used to make me cry every single lunch-recess. It was such an impure friendship. I was always crying. They were always being mean. But you could bet that by Free Time at the end of the school day, I would have weasled my way back to them. The only thing I got out of that friendship was a lot tissue-paper colleague's. She wrote this note to me the third week of school. I keep it in my Bible. That's sort of my way of keeping it safe, so I don't rip it up the next time she says, 'Anna, you're a loser.' Anna- You are such a cool person and I am so glad that you have become my friend. You're so smart and so funny and you seem like such a passionate person. I'm so impressed with your involvement in politics and world affairs, even f we don't understand each other. I know I can sound sarcastic and bratty sometimes, but I don't want you to take it personally. I'm not always careful about what comes out of my mouth!! Love, Adrienne P.S. John Mayor is cool... Proverbs 30:31 Luke 12: 23-27 So now I feel bad again for not liking her. But being friends with Adrienne is like hugging a cactus. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>18,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
She bought the followng things today: a futon for Jake's abandonned room, three pairs of bras and panties for me, and a huge box of Cinnabons (which I morally cannot eat) She is now sitting in her bedroom and watching 'Newlyweds; Nick and Jessica'. What the hell is up with her. A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>17,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
I became very, very mad yesterday. It seems like the now trendy thing to do is pretend that you clothes and fashion don't matter to you, as if you are above that. Talk about retarted shit. Because the girls and guys who preach this are the ones who spend every penny on clothes from Abercrombie... the only difference is that they are 'Vintage Abercrombie'. The insanely priced t-shirts are now in colors like taupe and cranberry instead of hot pink and lime green. I have tried to ignore this, I have tried to pretend that a trend-movement was not underway in my Honors English class. Meghan has been my 'best' friend since we were eight, although we have nothing in common (really) anymore. Because she is the biggest trendy person I have ever met, in every sense that it is possible. The preceeding conversation took place on the bus after school yestersday: Meg: You know how I used to be really into style and fashion last year... [leaves me no time to respond, although it would have been a resounding YES] well, this year I am like, not. Me: [With a really questioning tone of voice] Really, Meg? Meg: [Self righteously] Yes. Me: Where did you get that outfit? Meg: Shirt: Abercrombie, Pants: Abercrombie, Shoes: Nordstro- oh. Me: Yah. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>17,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
After almost two months of dropping “leave me alone” signals, I got fed up with Retarded Junior today. I rather suspect that he seeks me out during lunch. I guess this is easy to do, because I firmly refuse to leave our hallway. (Although it is now becoming trendy, and this is really sad) He walks around with his backpack on, and I can’t remember if he has ever sat with anyone. Which is why I tried to be nice, which is why I politely disagreed with his political theories, which is why I never corrected the retard when he lumped me into His America--- the aristocracy which he so pines for it to be. The first time is approached me today, I smiled and said hello. He brought another Junior, who is not unfortunate looking. This boy introduced himself but I have forgotten his name. All was fine, even when Robin’s ex boyfriend unexpectedly showed up. We were all in high spirits because it was the weekend. And then he returned. Conserveto: Blah blah blah blah blah… you and me as staunch conservatives… Me: WHOA--- BACK OFF! I AM NOT A FUCKING REPUBLICAN!! I don’t remember what happened next because Robin and Leigh were clapping and I think some other people were laughing at me, and I just felt so proud and relieved. Affectionately... Anna, the no-longer Meek |
</post> |
<date>16,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
I am going to tell you exactly what happened yesterday that is making me feel so awful. I think I might rather prefer that you don't mention it to me, consider this your disclaimer. But for my own sake, I have to let it out. Subjectively, I suppose it isn't a big deal. It wouldn't be to the majority of the population, but to me... well, read on. I decided to go to Melissa's youth group. In all fairness, she had warned me that it wasn't very devout, and that it was pretty much just a gathering of kids who play 'grab-ass' and act self-righteous. But I was feeling such a need for God from the ROCK meeting that day; I just wanted to go. My dad dropped me off early--way too early. Thirty minutes early, to be exact. It took me a while to find which door I went in. When I got there, I realized that there was a long time until Melissa, Anna, Chris, or Leigh would arrive. I began to feel all panicky and suffocated even though no one was within ten feet of me. I have worked really hard overcome that sort of feeling, and I thought that it was long gone--- but I guess I was wrong. I couldn't breath. I needed to leave. So, basically, I ran out. Yes, that's right--- I literally ran away. It was raining really hard, and it was seven thirty or so by then, so it was dark. I was in the most urban part of our suburb, all alone, dripping wet, and really upset. I have no idea why. Then everything started to mount in my head. Quick synapses of everything that is bothering me... Joey not graduating, Adrienne calling me a 'loser' constantly, my Dad complaining that I wasn't doing any extra curricular this year, Sean still being in the hospital... And things were playing through my head like a movie, and conversations playing at the same time... I started crying like a freak. Heavy sobs that heaved through almost my entire body. I kept running. The rain kept thundering down on me, and I became aware that I was wearing flip-flops and my feet had gone numb. I kept slipping, and I couldn't run with them on. So, I took them off and carried them. And I ran home. Five miles, uphill, in the rain. I made up some lie about Youth Group being cancelled to my parents, ate something, took a half-hearted attempt at a shower,wrote that last blog, and crashed into bed. And I slept. I slept throughout the entire night, and I never do that anymore. I woke up and had breakfast before anyone woke up. I did my devotions and felt numb still. So I went back to bed. I got to school by second period. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
It already seems like it is winter, and it's not even past Halloween yet. It's been consistently dark at 5:30 for the past week. It's more of the state of mind of winter; desolate but hopeful. Today was another day of extreme highs and extreme lows. Melissa dropped zero-hour conditioning (low), I had an awesome time at ROCK (high), I had an unfortunate run-in with my own perception (low, low, lower-than-low) and my Photography teacher bathed me in compliments (high). I feel so half-assed for not explaining myself all the way. It may seem like I am excluding things from my blog, or like I am leaving out crutal details. I wish that were the case. It's just that I feel so confused most of the time. Really, it's a miracle that I am able to explain what little I can. Sometimes I feel so nomadic, directionless. It's probably the loneliest feeling in the world. And I guess that I feel lonely a lot. I'm usually surrounded by people, well-meaning kids who want me to like them and who maybe even like me, but I just can't relate to them. I want to, I want to a lot, but there is just Something that is missing. An intangible Something that I can't seem to see throw all this crap that clouds my vision. Life of late reminds me of a game I used to play with my brothers. Whenever we went to the mall with my mom, we would become deathly bored within 15 minutes. As she shopped, we would find the nearest escalator. Jake and Joe would run up the stairs that moved down, racing each other. And I would try to do it, too. Maybe it was because my legs were shorter than their legs were, but I could never do it. I would just be stuck in the middle, trying desperately to be including with them but going nowhere. And isn't that just a huge metaphor? I keep trying and trying to finish the race with everyone else, but no matter how much I struggle, I remain in the exact same place. Desperatly reaching out for something to cling to. What the fuck is it? Oh, it may also be the most frustrating feeling in the world. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
You may think that this title means that I did LSD today; and I did not. It means I read it in The Perks of Being a Wallflower and felt as if today I might as well have been on said hallucinogen. Robin told me this morning that she is undergoing treatment for depression. It wasn't the biggest shock of my life, but it hurt to hear her actually say it. I don't know what to do, and I wish I could articulate it all better. One of the most painful things I've ever heard was when she said, 'I wish I was you, Anna.' It hurts so bad to see her hurting, and I wish I could do something to help. Worse; I have the sneaking suspiscion that aside from her family and her doctor, I am the only person she has told. To make my already screwed up state of mind even more so, I have the weirdest feeling today. One of nostalga and longing for Cataldo. It wasn't cataldo, persay, but a wonderful part of Cataldo: walking home with Asa and Danielle in eighth grade. We had the deepest conversations about everything and nothing and I felt so understood I could hardly believe it. I just miss that, I guess, to put it in simple terms. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>13,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
Right on, Laurel. What is up with people wanting to hang out with me? Tammara ate lunch with us today, she is super nice and always made me laugh during molecule stabilization last year. I should get to know her better, but it's so much more convenient for me to only half-listen to her stories about... Whatever she was talking about. My (awesome) English teacher was gone today, which postponed my vocab test for another blissful day of studying. We had a fabulous sub who tried desperately to make us laugh. His jokes would have been good, and I might have wholeheartedly laughed, if it hadn't been first period. The highlight of my day, and I say this honestly, was at lunch when Lauren made the Lauren-like mistake of thinking we were talking about a 'cake party' instead of a 'keg party'... Robin: Ha, yes we'll totally get a keg... we must buy a keg! Lauren: Oh yah! One with that special, green frosting! And on to haircut news. My haird dresser was named Courtney, and I very much appreicated that she wasn't talkative. She was, however, the sort of stylist who took her agression out of my poor, ravaged hair. I didn't actually know you were supposed to pull on a flat iron, but whatever. I like my hair. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>12,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
I have had an amazingly introspective, deliciously angsty night. My brother, who is older than me and therefore wiser in a way I will never understand, drove me downtown. It was raining in the sort of way that you might forget it is raining if you aren't looking hard enough. The raindrops stuck to the Subaru, too beautiful and important to slide off. They blurred the painful lights of the wannabe city. It was one of those rare times that I didn't mind that the Repeat button was stuck and that the same song kept singing to me. I listen to the same songs over and over again, anyways. I like to know songs. I like to understand them. Sometimes I can forget or not listen hard enough and I will find out that there is something I missed. I felt infinite, because a book told me I was. I just pretty much thought about why I am. I thought about all my friends and the ones I've lost. Which is weird because then I came home and Meghan called. And this only made me sadder because we have nothing to talk about anymore. I was too tired to pretend to understand her, because I don't, just like she doesn't understand me. What ever happened to the times when listening to the Top 40 and playing with our dolls (even though we knew we were too old to) sufficed as a best friendship? And then I sort of crawled into a teeny corner of depression where I felt sad and lonely and detached. But it was strange because I felt like this was all so eventual, so long-time-coming. I felt hapless and hopeful and nostalgic for listening to Backstreet Boys in agreement and watching Zoog Disney. And I cried a little, and then felt dumb for crying, so I cried some more. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>11,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
I am much disappointed in my grocery shopping skills. I opted for a normal sized bottle of Adam's (PB for those not in the know) But to my dismay I discovered that I had indeed purchased the unsalted, trans fatty acid-free version. There is just no reason why anyone could ever want to eat that stuff. Really. Milled around looking for something to do, as is the bliss of Sunday afternoons. I decided to go running, because I had not been running on something other than the gym at school or the tread mill for a while. I love to run in my neighborhood and completely zone out of all consciousness other than my feet hitting the precisely exact pavement. It's awesome. People call it 'the runner's high' because it is such a intense feeling of nothing. I literally don't think at all. So there I was, being Zen like and just about to push past the pain threshold when... I tripped over a tree root and fell on my face. Those words make it sound so simple, so commonplace. I wish I could more aptly describe the embarrassment of falling from all grace in front of your neighbors. Picture some serious-looking red-faced girl in a sports bra and running shorts trying to be all sporty (which I most certainly am NOT) what with my attire and specialized shoes, totally eat sidewalk. So pathetic. And yet so wonderfully me. Affectionately (and still bleeding)... Anna |
</post> |
<date>11,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
Today was another weekend-day which exemplified Consumership at it's finest. GAP freaked up my day Ben-style by playing 'The Hardest Button to Button' while I was in the dressing room. ('What? A White Stripes song? At GAP?!?' ) I will spare you the horrid details of my downward spin into the fleeting high that is shopping. But I will tell you that I did buy the sweatshirt I have always stole from Leigh-- the softest, warmest, coziest thing you can buy for fifty-four dollars and thirty-one cents. I happened to buy it at the one, the only, REI. I'm not sure if you (the reader) are familiar with REI. It is a store that originated in Seattle, expanded to Spokane, and eventually diffused to most of the Inland Northwest. It is a magical store. The shelves are filled with GORP, Nalgene bottles, hiking/skiing/camping/ kayaking /canoeing/fishing/rock- climbing supplies. (And a bonus, no hunting gear) And the employees! For every humus-eating, leghair growing, same-sex-oriented female, there are two or three shaggy-headed, gorgeous, rugged, man's-man males. Yum. We also wandered to B&N where I bought a delicious story that, in its first page and a half, made me fall madly in love-- The Perks of Being A Wallflower . My demands in life are few, but I hereby demand you to read it. If you have a heart, and I honestly hope you do because life is futile without one, you will love it. It is self-proclaimed about '...the dilemma of passivity vs. passion' Our dear Charlie is '... caught between trying to live his life and trying to run from it' Once again someone has torn truth from my world and written it in perfect, definitive words. 'So this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.' Truer words may never have been spoken Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>10,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
Plans for tonight: 10 PM showing of Office Space with Robin, Jamie, and Anna (not me, other Anna). Sounds like it will indeed be a joyous affair complete with me screaming out the dialogue in certain scenes ('WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT YOUR FLAIR!') I will overdose on sugar, as is ritual, then come home, catch a re-run of Degrassi, and promptly fall sleep in my jeans. Today was fine, thank you. As is usual, nothing happened really. I was actually called on in History, which managed to keep me awake, despite a tempting desire to fall asleep (...damn Pelopenisans!) The Junior from last Friday approached us again during lunch. I tried very hard to avoid eye contact and busy myself with the eating of carrots and fiddling with my backpack. No luck. At least he didn't actually sit down, though. He said something about me not smiling enough, to which I replied, 'Heh' unenthusiastically. Poor kid, he needs a life. My advice to him is stop wasting time courting me and find someone more worthwhile. Perhaps someone more interested. Together they could have mad, passionate Republican love. I can picture it; him romancing her with Rush Limbaugh quotes and exerts from The Conscience of a Conservative . Dad bought a new scanner. It is a gorgeous piece of machinery. You can now view pictures of me and my silly little life urlLink here Meanwhile, I am off to enjoy my little life... pretty much anyway. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>08,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
Kate, I am assuming you are the only person who will understand today's title. I was in the girl's bathroom today after lunch, when my fellow females and I, in a word, primp. It's a sick trait of being female; every one primps. Especially if you are teenage are a lot of girls who may claim that they, 'Oh my gosh, totally don't give a shit about how I look.' They are lying. If not to you, then to themselves. But that's not my point. My point is that I was wondering what everyone was thinking about. Aside from choice of pony-elastic and shade of lip gloss. What they were all thinking about in general. Like, what their morals are. And goals. And beliefs. And secrets. And dreams. I bet you all the stars in the sky that if you knew me outside of your computer screen, you would not know that I blog. You just wouldn't. My closset friends don't know, and I tell them everything. Everything else, that is. So, standing wedged between a freshman with a body glitter issue and a junior searching for her contact, I was overcome with a feeling of comradery of the human race. Why? Because Glitter-Fetish-Girl and Former-Four-Eyes had morals, they had goals, beliefs, secrets, dreams. Maybe they didn't type them into a Blog, or write them into a journal. But there thoughts were written in their hearts. It felt poignant. We were alike in our differences. I make no sense, and I would try to make this post make sense except I love this song so much that I think Rilo Kiley is the best band ever and listening to 'The Execution of all Things' seems way more important than trying to be prophetic. 'Soldiers come quickly, I feel the earth beneath my feet...' Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>07,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
Sometimes stuff in life sucks. Sometimes it is hard to see past the bad. In my present, infectious, state, that 'bad' is snot, it's an inflamed throat, my fever. But it's incredible how being absorbed in the Bad can make you appreciate the Good. Good is when your friends call you before class to check in, when they relay a message to your mother that they will think about you in your absence. Good is bonding with a can of your favorite soda and falling into the boy-with-guitar dream that your DVD so aptly displays. Good is when your friends rally around a cellphone during lunch to communicate to you, in your Bad state, that they love you. Good is when you paramountly realize that they care. And Good is the effect such a simple realization can make. ...Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to lose my way with words Guess you had to be there Guess you had to be with me Today I finally overcame tryin' to fit the world inside a picture frame Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to lose my way but let me say You should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes it brought me back to life... -3x5 (As sung by aforementioned Boy With Guitar) Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>06,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
Since school has started I have lost ten freaking pounds . Absolutely and definetly 'freaked' up. There is absolutly no rhyme or reason for this. I have been getting my protein and taking my vitamins. Being Vegan tends to make you healthier, a little stealth, but healthy. It is just not natural to loose ten pounds in a month, especally when the only significant change is school starting. Grr.. anger. Ah, as you may have guessed by the post time, I am home sick. I went to my zero hour class and nearly drowned in a my own personal sea of snot. So a decision was made to return to my bed. Where I sit and read magazines and attempt to finish Catcher in the Rye . I bought that book three weeks ago and I have yet to read past chapter five. Joe has yet to turn in his Senior picture and quote. Ah, procrastination runs deep in our family genes. His favorite movie is Half Baked, which is terribly funny in the easy-humor pot-is-funny kind of way. I'll spare the reasoning, but suffice it to say that Abba Zabba candy bars are funny. And he wanted me to take a picture of him with one sticking out of his pocket for his sr. picture. We then cruised on over the Fred Meyers for One Hour Photo, which we then realized actually lasts an hour. We passed the hour by driving way too fast up and down hills. At one point we went to the park, where he was going to show me this little cleared out area where he and his friends hang out. Here is a reenactment of what happened: Joe: ... yeah, I think 'G-Dogg' hangs out here. Me [In loud pitched squeal]: Oh my god, I love 'G-Dogg'!! [Joes turns around] Me: Why are we leaving? Joe: 'G-Dogg' is hanging out here. Hopelessly daydreaming about my future life, one devoid of Spokane and rich with content. Affectionately... Anna (or what's left of me anyway...) |
</post> |
<date>05,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
1. Pajamas 2. Cuddling up to Ballerina blanket from infancy 3. WATCHING SNL 4. Loving SNL 5. Eating Tufrutti faux-ice cream 6. Laughing with wild abandon 7. ... this includes snorting 8. Diaper Thongs 9. Seeing a 'live' (but not really live, since I am in SPOKANE) performance of 'Clarity' 10. Falling asleep watching Degrassi at four in the morning And there you have it. Justification for self-induced anti-social interaction. Ah, the wonder that our lovely new computer. Hurrah! It is a gorgeous little friend. I am proud. I am also aware that I have become reliant on the computer over the course of the summer. I love having this blog. In my extreme dorkism, I find true joy in writing silly, cathartic posts. It suits me better to have a long e-fest of ranting rather than a number of more traditional teenage activities. Enjoyed a nice chat with Melissa last night. She is quickly becoming my favorite person in the world. She is so supportive and so assurded about everything. It makes such a difference just to know that someone is listening to me. We're both struggling with similar 'issues' I guess, and it's so nice to relate with someone. If someone would have told me last year that I would look to Melissa (of all people) for guidance there is no way I would have believed them. She has changed so much, so much for the better. She is still dealing with reprucutions of last year, but she is primarily happy and I am so happy for her. The day was rather dismal. My cold seems to be mutating into a Super Cold with inhuman abilities... such as creating copious amount of snot and erratic bout of the chills. Ick. Alas, I am still lost with my English vocabulary (which I find terribly trivial) Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
I feel like crawling in a dark, small corner and becoming mute. Not only am I sick, but my brother gone without telling where he is for the third weekend in a row, and I am terrified that my grades are going to take a plunge. I feel overwhelmed in AP History, and would resolve to drop it if I still could. Unfortunately, the deadline for dropping classes has passed. I am also terrified that Joey (delequent older brother) won't have the credits to graduate. On top of this all, there is the typical redundant desire to escape the boredom here. And so it continues. Robin is passively aggressively mad because I decided not to go to SNL premiere tonight. Instead I will sit home and write my review, oogle over the tastiness of John, again say 'Jimmy is so much better looking in person!', as well as yearn for New York and its subsequent coolness. Tomorrow Mom and I are going to Melissa's church, which will be a much needed assurance of omnipotence. Ah, but there is laughter in my life. If you have a soul, urlLink click here . If you know me at all, you will understand the ABSOLUTE RIDICULOUSNESS that Old Navy has dwindeled to. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>03,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
School of Rock rocked! Woo! Soooo good, really. Watch it. Love it. Feel the power of the rock. Robin, Anna (not me, someone who's parents are also not very creative) and myself indeed felt the power of said rock. I was laughing so hard. Anna is cool because she dated this guy named Chris (who is Christian) As a result of this guy, she is also trying to stop swearing. So we mutually bonded in this bascially impossible endeavor. And plus, dude, her name is Anna . We're like twins, minus the whole looking similar thing. Here's something I will never understand about myself. I totally just paid twenty-one dollars for a hotel-shampoo sized bottle of Clinque. DORK! TOMORROW IS THE PREMIERE! AHHH JOHN!!!! WOO! (Forgive the laps in composure) I know I've been posting a lot of lyrics lately, but c'mon: this is my new favorite song.... WASTED & READY Force field super shield AA. Junior high love affair is OK. Jump on the big wagon cause I'm so Cal. I'm big in every way. I'm running as fast as I can. She goes above and beyond her call of duty. She is a slut but X thinks it's sexy. Sex reminds her of eating spaghetti. I am wasted but I'm ready. If you wanna move it so, why don't you make it go. Prove to everybody who doesn't understand. All the nights, all the fights. You are out of sight. Some say more with their hand. I'm running as fast as I can. She goes above and beyond her call of duty. She is a slut but X thinks it's sexy. Sex reminds her of eating spaghetti. I am wasted but I'm ready. I am wasted but I'm ready. I am wasted but I'm ready. Running as fast as I can. Running as fast as I can. Why am I dealing with this feeling? I'm maxed out like a credit card. I'll continue to be my worst enemy. It's easy but it seems so hard. You're near but you seem so far. And so it goes... Wow, I really love my life. LIVE ON ROCK! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
Ah, yes. Things seem heightened and and wonderful. Lunch was very strange indeed. I was sitting in our normal spot, being my normal giddy (retarded) self, when all of a sudden this guy strolled over. I spoke to him once last year, I believe, about the attacks on Iraq. My political beliefs have changed since then, clearly. He knows my Dad (from the Spokane league of staunch/freak/corrupt conservatives... ha ha) as well as a few other people I know. He started talking to me about the two of us being the only Republicans in the school, etc. It was indeed an awkward situation. I don't even know this guys name. Oh, but he knows mine. He would not shut UP! GOOD LORD! I wanted him to leave. I really don't want to discuss the finer points of abortion while I am eating my lunch, thank you very much. And Robin, Lauren, Leigh, Annica, Adrienne, and Sally seemed to offer better conversation than critiques of our school's bias newspaper articles. Contrary to this kid's ideas, I have better things to talk about. Like John Mayer, 80s songs, and the trivialities of my day that usually occupy our conversation. And I almost had summed things up when Leigh goes, 'Anna's not really a republican anymore.' This comment launched an even more awkward series of reasons why ('blah blah gun control blah blah death penalty...' At one point Robin and Adrienne started singing my favorite Flock of Seagulls song to bother me. And then Robin goes, 'Hey-- remember when we were all six and didn't care about politics? That was great.' Tripp and I had a discussion on the bus. And he explained to me that he does not hate me. It bothers me that he is so critical of me. We hardly ever even talk, but at one point in time he was really a good friend. I honestly cannot handle it when people dislike me, so I guess it's good to know. But I would rather have never had that discussion in the first place. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
Another night slips away In other words i should say There are no words he should say There are no words In his eyes i see the fear that only time could re-appear If only time could re-appear Now’s the time Somethin’ to take it away, to take it away, to take it Don’t let it stay, don’t let it stay, don’t let it The butterflys are passive aggresive and put their problems on the shelf, but they’re beautiful He’ll realize the only thing thats real are the kids that kid themselves and the demise of the beautiful What is beautiful? The multi-life is better than the one we’re in the one we knew Cause everyone is seein’ through everyone They’re steppin’ on His gold terrain He’s movin’ on with bold refrain His blatently old campaign Is movin’ on Somethin’ to take it away to take it away to take it Don’t let it stay don’t let it stay don’t let it The butterflys are passive aggresive and put their problems on the shelf but they’re beautiful He’ll realize the only thing thats real are the kids that kid themselves and the demise of the beautiful What is beautiful? What can’t stay goes away It starts stopping when it stops stopping |
</post> |
<date>01,October,2003</date> |
<post> |
First, everyone check out urlLink Kate's post for today. This is the stuff I aspire to write. KWNIDK (Bryce) does not like Good Charlotte. In fact, he hates them. Surprise, surprise: I was wrong. Either way, it's good news to know. By the grace of God, I have an A in math. Wha...? I know. I am amazed. Actually I have an A in every class. See, people! Who says physiological obsessions (re: my OCD) are all bad? Got lazy at lunch and felt a need to hang with my pals then got to ROCK. We had a conversation about inseams. Lauren, Robin and I are all very tall (5'7', 5'9', 6'0') None of us can find correctly-fitting pants. They are all too short. Supposed schedule for this weekend: Friday School of Rock at RiverPark Square, SNL premiere on Saturday at Robin's (Jack Black/ John Mayer) and of course, church on Sunday. Adrienne wants to go to breakfast at the Club beforehand. They serve the best oatmeal in town, apparently. If I decide to try out for Little Women I need to do it quickly. I have to have a monologue by the sixth. Callbacks are the seventh. I just hope that I have enough time in my schedule to do it. With the amount of homework, it seems unlikely. Ugh. Speaking of my theatric escapades, I have been informed that there is a picture of me ala ...And Then They Came For Me floating around our school site. It is the one from the yearbook, where you can see everyone but me. Sort of. It was suppose to be an artsy/dramatic photo, but it ended up looking silly because we were all laughing. (I am the in the last row, second one. The one smiling, although I am suppose to be depicting a holocaust victim.) urlLink Nice, right? Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>30,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
Profound statement serves as today's title. But after drawing map after map of Meso-American civilizations (think: Moche, Aztec, the mighty warring communities of the Toltecs) I am exhausted. I am really looking forward to next year's AP American History class, where I will frequent words such as 'Massachusetts' and 'Jefferson' instead 'maize' and 'quipu'. School resumes tomorrow for me. I have resolved, however halfheartedly, to be a better student. I am apathetic, I am lazy. As of late, I would rather lie on my bedroom carpet and listen to Miles Davis or Coletrane than do any scholastic endeavor. I came down with acute Senioritis the first day of my freshman year; I want out! But I know that wishful thinking is getting me nowhere. I've got to buckle down and make it threw the next two and three-fourths years intact. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
So what does it mean when I am once again confused and angered at the world of PBS cartoons? Yes; I spent a listless afternoon babysitting. Only three months and I can get a real job, where I am paid over five dollars and hour and don't have to watch cartoons about Asian-feline fun. Yesterday, however, was lovely. Robin got her nose pierced at the another hidden gem in the rough of Spokane... 'Ring of Fire'. They pierce everything from your belly button to your hand webbing (I know!) Collectively, the store owns a pet iguana in a large cage with a heat lamp. Odd, and yet fantastic. Robin, did not cry or scream or do anything similar to what my reaction to a nose-intrusion would have been. From payment, instruction and procedure, it was all finished inside of fifteen minutes. After meeting Leigh at Nordstrom, we again ogled over our former-English-student-teacher, who just so happens to work in Shoes. The mall was begin decked out for Santa's arrival, but we pushed threw the crowds are purchased the Violet hair dye. As we were getting into the car, I saw something stranger than an iguana is a piercing salon. Reindeer on leashes, being walked by two middle aged women. We stared, dumbfounded, until they joined the large precession of people marching to the park for the lighting ceremony. We returned home to Robin's. We sat in the small upstairs bathroom. I requested some Kweller for our own little ceremony... the pissing off of Anna's father ceremony. We found that the dye smelt distinctly like grape-flavored Dymmatap. Much time was spent fussing over my hair and the placement of dye ( the ends only! in the back ! ) After I was tinfoiled up like some baked potato, we let it stay for the expanse of Saving Silverman. We washed it out in the bathtub, momentarily turned the white porcelain to a deep purple. And then, the moment of truth. 'Before you look it the mirror, Anna, I just want to tell you-- its not...' Purple. It was not purple. At all. It was the same color as it had been before. Exactly the same shade of black-brown. We dried it, and it remained unchanged. However, if the light catches it right, you can see the violet shade I'd be promised. And I found that I prefer this to blatant, 'I'm a rebel!'-dyed hair. You have to look closer to see that my hair is unique, that it is defiant. My hair now showcases myself. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>27,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
Tofurky is like the best Vegan food known to man, aside from peanut butter. There was, predictably, a small squabble about Joe's unfortunate run in with a telephone poll in his new car. However, that conversation was quickly neutralized after I decided to talk to Jake about college politics. I felt like the Pied Piper, marching him off without his consent or knowledge even. He really gets fired up about the supposed-socialists he calls peers. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>26,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
Almost Famous is a very good movie. I want to be the female version of Cameron Crowe. Except I don’t want to write for Rolling Stones, and I don’t want to loose my virginity is a hotel room orgy. Really, though, there is an ever-looming sense of the future when you’re fifteen that you can’t really ignore. Someday I am going to have to get a job, someday I will have to pay rent and buy my own groceries. I’ll wake up one morning and find out that my new residence is the real, real world. There’s no question of that certainty. The question lies in what I am going to make of it. I had two very, very vivid dreams last night. In the first one, I was shopping at a thrift store. And one of the Russian girls I tutor was there. I gave her a dress to try on. She was very happy, and she didn’t yell at me like she does in class. In the second dream, I was babysitting for this family. And the mother told me I could never baby-sit again. I started to cry, but I felt like a liar because I wasn’t sad at all. And the father hugged me and said he wished I could still work for them, except his wife was crazy. And that made me cry even harder. So I stole their daughter when they weren’t looking. But their baby son, I left him. Tomorrow is thanksgiving. My family will yell, and then we will sit and eat and pretend no one was ever mad. Affectionately… Anna P.S--- Why did Ben Kweller have to up and get married? Such a travesty... |
</post> |
<date>25,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
Check out my mad photoshop skills, yo Every once and a while a little fake ebonics is good for the soul. Leigh's parents are so awesome. Her dad is this ultra-nerdy Librarian and her mom teachers about something so obscure I can't even remember it at Gonzaga University. They are Unitarian. They want Leigh to (direct quote) 'lighten up!' They are concerned about the environment. They buy free-range meat, dairy products, and eggs. They take her to places like France and Italy not because they have a tremendous amount of money to toss around, but instead because they want their daughter to see the world. Leigh's elementary school was this new-age program where the parents had to 'Be Active in Their Child's Learning Journey'. 'Learning journey', how beautiful. When I was younger, I used to tell people I was adopted. I wanted to be like Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden or Sarah in A Little Princess . I wanted to be different, special. My farce never really worked though, because I look way to much like my brothers. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>24,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
A word to the wise; after another massive snowfall do not walk a) to the car b) to your classes or c) anywhere else. Last night I had the brilliant idea to write down all the things that keep me from falling asleep, maintaining sleep, and thus being an overall normal, well-adjusted and sleep-satisfied teenager. 11:06- Listen to 'Wheel', sigh wholeheartedly. Drift off while thinking about New York, a happier life, oh--and John. 11:39- Awake from a distinct itch on my left earlobe. 11:42- Open blinds by bed. Sit on floor in front of window. Stare at snow. 11:42:30- Cat joins me. 12: 09- Go downstairs and admire snow from living room couch. Drift to sleep poetically. 1:12- Wake up. Think about the book I was reading earlier. Consider running away from home. Fall asleep again. 2:00- Move to TV room. 2:15- Move back to living room. Turn up heat to seventy-two degrees. Write a stupid poem. 3:00- Ok. No fooling now. Time for sleep. Go to room, chew comforter violently. Realize chewing on my comforter tastes like the time I chewed on an aspirin. 3:02- Brush teeth. 3:03- I am going to be sorry tomorrow. I fall asleep. 3: 23- Wake up for no reason whatsoever. Listen to 'Wheel' with the volume level on 2. Fall asleep. 4:17- Wake up to the sound of my cat clawing the door. She wants out. I let her out. I then can't fall back to sleep. Look out window. A fucking raccoon runs across the street. I live in hickville ! I hate Spokane! 4:20- Sleep. 5:30- Alarm clock welcomes me to the world of the wake. Eww. Tomorrow my oldest brother comes home. Oh, I shall undoubtedly have a future report on his latest lecture. Be it on the harmful effects of pot, alcohol, or giving in to other people's standards. it is sure to make me want to strangle him. He is insaneng isane, urlLink here is his website to prove it. But I love him. Both being burdened with a disgusting gene that makes us translucently pale, we can at least relate on that level. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>23,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
Much thanks, Isral. Christmas shopping today. I have ordered my father's presents and today bought Joey's. We browsed through Barnes and Noble. Here's another difference between him and I. As he leafed through Mexican Travle books: Dad: 'Sigh... I wish I were in Cabo right now picking the sand out of my toes.' Me: 'I wish I were in New York right now, wiping the bum pee off my shoes.' I pined for the Coltrane box set for some time. Josh Groban has a new CD out, and I wanted to cry when I saw it. Last Christmas, I bought Mary his last CD. She was in love with Josh and his curly locks, like I love John Mayer and his brooding eyes. Its really pathetic that I can't let that whole thing go. I eventually found my way to a hippie store, a beautiful place where I buy a lot of cards and posters. Everything is very peace-not-war (plus tax) and there is usually a lot of strong incense burning. I noticed the dreadlock-sporting guy behind the cash register was averting eyes with his boss the same way my brother does when he comes home from 'just hanging out' (POT) I bought a 'Free Tibet' card and an very profound bumper sticker. Does anyone remember when Hot Topic was hardcore? Sometime over the summer they started selling out-- opps, I mean selling Good Charlotte t-shirts. Same thing. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>22,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
I got my hair trimmed this morning. My mom insists on going to this overpriced salon, where they charge upwards of forty dollars a cut. I hate it. They play the worst, sickest music there ('Candy', Mandy Moore) and use about ninety different products on my hair. I feel like screaming 'It's only hair, okay?!? I do not need wax and moose and shimmer-spray and hairspray and after-shampoo-conditioner! Leave it alone!' But I am far too unconfrontational to actually do it. Instead I smile blankly and say things like, 'Oh, a new gel? Neat!' Later, I went to Costco with my dad. To him, the grocery store is a microcosm of the world. He shops for frozen novelties like he maneuvers in the courtroom. If he wants to speed down the center or a crowded aisle, he will, never matter how many small children and elderly women are in his way. If he can't find something on his list, he will demand a employee direct him both apologetically and promptly to the item. He is a lawyer, dammit, and he never got anywhere by playing nice. I could never live like that. And whilst I was muttering 's'cuse us... sorry...' to shopper among shopper; I saw them. The whole damn Brown family. There, browsing innocently at the wine selection, were the very people who cut the deepest in my nightmare of middle school. Mrs. Brown was my seventh grade Literature teacher, who ignored me at most costs other than to berate me for my apathetic attitude towards The Pearl ('Don't you see the deeper meaning here, Anna? The Pearl is a more than that; it's humanity!') Mr. Brown was my Grammar teacher, who also held a law degree, though he no longer practiced. His class is now a blur of verb conjugation and sentence diagramming. He was the strictest, strangest teacher I ever had. Yet I secretly believed he was fantastic. He used to tell us stories about growing up in the South and the nuns who used to teacher him. When I was suspended, I had to go around to all my teachers and request work to do during my disclusion from the rest of the school. I remember exactly what he said, because it was the first time I let myself cry about what was happening. After giving me several pages of work, he looked at me firmly. “Anna, I want you to know that the Anna who did those things is not the girl I have seen in this classroom.” “Yes, sir.” I thought I might actually faint, my head was swimming for hard. “I am disappointed in you. I don’t know what else to say.” Those words stung so deeply. My parents didn’t even say that. They were just mad. But he, he was actually upset for me, not just about me. And this man with such a grasp of the English word, my Grammar teacher for God’s sake, was at a loss for words. And then there was Asa. I had known him before Cataldo, at summer camp. We danced together and he mad me laugh. He was full of life and kindness and humor. When some Saint Al’s boys wouldn’t leave Megan T. and I alone at a interschool mixer, he told them to leave me alone. At our final eighth grade retreat, which I helped plan, we found this big huge rock—a boulder. It was moss-covered and damp; it overlooked the lake the retreat center was on. We sat there and just… talked. A nice talk and honest one. Tonight was strange. I hadn’t seen them in a long time. What are you suppose to say? So I just looked. I smiled, nodded, and then moved on. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>21,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
Card Robin made me today: Dearest Anna, I love you so much sometimes I wish I was cool like you. I m grateful that we have become tha great friends and that we have gotten to talk about how fucked up/ slash not really our lives are/slash were! Anna, I [heart] you! You make my day great everyday. I hope you know how cool and beautiful and specail you are in my life. You Are so incredibly awsome and I don't know how to spell! Robin/slash just kidding The card was my 'payback' for the card I gave her in September. She had just done a schedule overhaul and was stressed out to an unRobin degree. The '/slash' thing is something we say all the time now. It’s a very convenient way to shorthand a conversation. I suggest it. I bought a new journal is October with Adrienne and now its nearly full. There are only a few pages left in it. So much heat went into it. I wanted to explain every bad feeling away when I first bought it. The first few entries are really sad, bittersweet ones. After I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower, everything was introspective and bleak for a few weeks. Ever since I was a small, small child I have these out-of-body moments. I feel like I’m suddenly looking at my life on a higher plane. By definition, such a feeling is hard to explain. I told a friend about it once at Cataldo. Usually it’s right before I fall asleep or right before I get out of bed. I feel like I’m somewhere between now and never. How I feel like maybe there is no one else alive at that very second, and that for some reason I am really special and different for that moment. I don’t think she really understood what I meant, “Um, maybe that’s what drugs are like or something.” Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>20,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
I am the master of blogging. Check out that fucking amazing stud. I love boys. A... A. |
</post> |
<date>19,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
Actually, I think it was yesterday. But it was celebrated in my second and sixth period as being today. What's a girl to do? The 'G' stands for something about Geography, a deep passion of mine, so I was thrilled to receive a 'I [heart] Geology!' button. The saddest thing about that statement is that I really do love Geology. Rock formations are really cool if you let them be. But really, who coined the acronym 'GIS'? Every single male person I know said 'Happy GIS, Anna!' apparently it is something sexual (which I was later told by a fellow tutor) I've come to conclude that the maturity level of my fellow high schoolers is still overrated. It was the worst in my Photogrpahy class, where the over-hormoned boys who sit next to be freely discuss the preference of hand to masturbate with. Um, gross? I talked to Erinn briefly today at the Library. She had G-Dogg's school picture with her. Oh. Good. Lord. Its G-tastic! He's completely turned to the side, flexing a bicep for the camera. Only he would think to do something so ironic and beautiful for something so school-sanctioned and lame. School pictures, by definition, look like crap. The Library is really beautiful, though. It has these huge bay windows that overlook 'the falls'. (The falls are actually a short portion of the Spokane River forever emortalized in countless propaganda stickers.) It was snowing, and everything looks so take-my-breath-away gorgeous. I re-read some Emily Dickeson stuff. What an amazing poet. I used to read her stuff all the time. I had a picture of her on my binder for a few months in Junior High. Then one day, X@n Gilmartin (asshole, asshole, asshole!) made fun of it. So I promptly replaced it with a picture of Aaron Carter... Because he was 'ohmygosh, so hot!' But really, I don't think I should be held accountable for that stupid things and people I liked at that age. I had a lot on my mind. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>19,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
The electricity for over 20,000 people is Spokane went out last night. Thanks to this, my alarm clock did not wake me up. Thanks to my parents being awesome, I did not have to go to school. The winds reached hurricane strength (seventy miles per hour in some more remote places) and there was an awful lot of rain. Sitting in my bed in my pajama pants, singing to 'Long December' I didn't even have to try to feel happy. Maybe I was in such a good mood because I actually slept. I had a really vivid dream, too. I kept remembering it all day. I was at the Opera House and John Mayer was having a concert. I brought a elephant on a leash. Somehow we got backstage because of the elephant. Like in all dreams, everything seemed really normal. John decided he liked the elephant, and sang a song about it. I spent the rest of the day writing really bad, temporarily prophetic poetry and listening to slow songs. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>18,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
Emorey is such a weird kid. But for the record, I, like all other high school students at LC, I have a homeroom. My homeroom teacher is named Mr. Hagney. I used to think that he really liked me, because he remembered my name every week. This from a man who called Leigh 'Lee-a' for an entire year (every week Leigh would say, 'Here! And it's just Le-ee.') Today: 'So how's drama going?' [Blank Stare, long pause] 'I'm not in Drama.' 'Oh, I thought you were.' So obviously, he really knows nothing. Not very long ago that would have plauged me. I used to really think that in order to be a successful student, your teachers should like you. And I tried my best to suck up to every last one of them, for years. It wasn't until the last weeks of last year that I realized kissing someone's ass, especially when they are really scum, is sick. When I was younger, I honestly did like my teachers. And I used to be really nice to them. While my friends were drawing on their desks and talking during spelling tests, I was the bookworm who couldn't wait until Book Orders were delivered. In sixth grade I was a even more anal freak than I am now. That's really the age I caught a lot of crap for it. It didn't phase me, though. Because even though my classmates resented me for always raising my hand and volunteering to clean the overhead during recess, they were still my friends. My mother volunteered at my Elementary school and often ate lunch with my sixth grade teacher. When I was in seventh grade she told me about a conversation she had once had with said teacher. She had told my mom that I was trying too hard, that my classmates were bitter about me often winning Star Charts Contests. She recommended that my mother tell me to cool it, to take it down a notch. When she told me about all this, I answered 'Well why the heck didn't you tell me!' (I wasn't swearing then) 'Are you kidding? Like I was about to let her bully my daughter into deliberately not doing her best!' And things seemed so clear to my mom. Like, screw what the other kids thought of me. Its that sort of down-with-'the man' mentality I think I inherited. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>17,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
No sleep for me last night. I tried and tried. It's so awful being a sleepless freak. I feel asleep somewhere between three and three fifteen, only to be fully awake again at three-thirty. I became very mad at myself around four, because I had to leave for school in a little over two hours. So I cried and listened to a burned CD I shamelessly entitled 'Grab the tissues'. After a very distraught, long journal entry I concluded this: I am a freak. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me? Aside from never sleeping, I'm never content. Its the damn nagging feeling that I've forgotten something, that something is missing. I don't even feel lost. That's maybe the worst part of feeling this way. Because I feel firmly planted here. I know exactly where I am, I just don't like it here. It's High School, it's Spokane, its everything and nothing at the same time. Are these the best years of my life? That's the saddest, most depressing question ever. One might argue that they absolutely are not, but how do you really know that? What if taking the school bus and reading shit like The Odyssey is the best time of my life? What if it never gets any better and I end up living in Spokane the rest of my life? Maybe everything has to suck a little now. Maybe the missing piece of my puzzle is out there, beyond what I can see right now. It's past the notebook paper and the Chemistry worksheets, beyond college even. If there's happiness out there, all I want is to take a little slice for myself. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>16,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
A lot of people like Dave Matthews Band. I am one of them. The best way for me to like a song is to recognize some lyric in it. To identify with something the song expresses, to agree with that statement. And that absolutely holds true for 'Ants Marching'. For those unfamiliar with DMB, or with the song, there's a line that goes, '...and remembers being small, playing under the table and dreaming'. It's a beautiful-sounding statement, the way Dave sings table and dreaming' higher than the rest of the words. It's so prophetic, so simply perfect. When I was a toddler, my mom would videotape me and my brothers all the damn time. In almost every video of us playing together around the house, I crawl around aimlessly in our rec room. There used to be a big, wooden coffee-table-makeshift-endtable in that room. It was pitifully ugly. With a sturdy lipped bottom to hold up its four legs, it was an eyesore I'm glad we no longer own. But as a toddler, I used to crawl on to the bottom and get stuck. And I would just sit there. I wouldn't call out or cry or anything similar that you might predict a toddler to do. On one such tape, I fell asleep under that table. When I got older, my brothers and I became graffiti-obsessed delinquents, marking up walls and furniture and making my mother a sad, sad woman. Though my brothers were partial to Crayola-ing the fuck out of their bunk beds and bedroom door, I opted for the dining room table. 'ahha' was my tag of choice (because I couldn't make the 'tails' on the 'n's short enough) After I achieved the desired affect, I would lie on my back under the table and admire my handiwork. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
Modest Mouse is incredible. My love for them is so pure. I like them because their music is good. Not because someone I aspired to likes them, not because they're hip. They are just an excellent band. Especially 'Night on the Sun' or 'White lies, yellow teeth'. Robin says, 'You only listen to music by bands no one has ever heard of.' And I took that as a compliment, in a way. My musical tastes are on such a higher plane than they were even last June. But I think that's just what happens to people when you're this young. My theory is, at this age, everyone is searching for some sort of identity. There are the kids who want to be thought of as punks, ones who want you to think they're 'thugs', others still who want you to be scared of their dark eye makeup and love for songs about death and destruction. It's not even limited to music. I've seen people change into 'born-again' Christians, following the Bible to a tee and walking a straight path. Others still find they have a appetite for alcohol, or for drugs, and devote their lives to such things. Some girls attach themselves to boys, to their boy, and identify theirselfs as So-and-so's Girlfriend. High school is teeming with this identity epidemic. As a freshman, I felt so bellow these people who 'knew' who they were. I wanted that sort of self-assuredness. I wanted something to swear by, like they all seemed to. But with another year comes a change. I don't want people to identify me with something. I want to be Anna. And with every growing year, I'm reaching that goal more and more. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
I identify with Sarah Vowell, my dear idol, in that I do not think in clear sentences. I think in short synapses and brief fragments. I find it hard to converse in complete scantiness sometimes, too. I'm so scatter-brained, and there is usually so much on my mind-- conversations usually jump from a frenzy of relation and agreement to silence and a lot of head-nodding. I had an awful headache all day. My head felt literally throbbing . My English class collectively received the necessary 90% and thus, no more vocabulary. Victory is ours. Is it wrong to have an intolerance to bad music? I would think its not, but according to Robin, it is. I thought it was a universal concept to dislike anything of poor-quality. Am I judgmental because I do, indeed, define a person partially by there musical tastes. To me it seems like what sort of music you adhere to speaks a lot for what kind of person you are. And I just don't understand why believing this is wrong. 'Your first name of Anna has given you a quick-minded, sensitive nature. It gives you a clever, creative ability in art, music, singing, or drama and an appreciation for refined surroundings. Your sociable nature expresses affection, kindness, and thoughtfulness to the extent that it is difficult for you not to be affected by others and governed by your emotions, rather than by logic and reason. As you respond to love and encouragement from others, your romantic and dreamy nature can easily lead you into love affairs. ' Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>13,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
The things you hear on the bus. Glorious. My English-Nazi (sometimes referred to as a 'teacher'. Although that implies 'one who teaches', and I have learned nothing this quarter) has set perhaps the most rigorous standards in any class I've ever taken. On our vocabulary tests, ninety-percent of the class must receive a ninety-percent or better. What happens if, say, sixty-four percent accomplishes this? We take the test over. And over. And over some more. Tomorrow marks our eleventh quiz over the same damn words. My day has not been great. I studied and studied for that damn quiz, which ultimately paid off, but also lead to an even more sleep-deprived me. I also managed to accomplish nothing in History. Nothing academic, anyway. I talked to Sam about electrolyte-enhanced water and Indie music. All in all, I simply had no desire for real study today. And I am allowed to do that. But I now suffer the consequences. Hello homework! And I've got many a section of notes to copy come tomorrow. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>12,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
What defines a crappy morning? Is it recovering from your three and a half hours of sleep? Is it forgetting a pair of socks to wear for PE? Is it somewhere in remembering you have a quiz in first period? Is it a general feeling of 'Oh, shit, I hate school'? I submit that it is a culmination of these and many, many other things. But my day was salvaged, as usual, by 11:08-- lunch time. By the end of third period, it has been five and a half loooong hours since breakfast. So a glorious lunch of tufu squares was well appreciated. Robin's ex and his very, very good-looking friend who are both 18 (and therefore out of school) joined us for lunch. Minus the ever-present awkward vibes between Robin and John (said ex-boyfriend) it was a pleasant experience. I was called, sincerely, smart and classy. But the high of my day came in my tutoring class, fifth period. We've begun our first novel, which in reality is basically glorified 100-page disaster. Somehow it passes for literature in the eyes of this crazy teacher, whose name I have yet to pronounce correctly. Biard. How the hell is one suppose to say that? Bird? Beard? Anyway, if she's not up to offering the correct pronunciation, I'm not up for saying it right. So, clearly, the 'novel' is worthless, and not the significant part of that class. The significance lies in, surprise surprise, a boy. A Junior named Trevor. Trevor is amazingly charismatic, the kind of person who sucks you into their realm without trying at all. A vehement Pink Floyd and Gonnies fan, it takes a lot of will to not stare at him for the fifty-two minutes fifth period entails. We read the book for most of class, where I was very good about concentrating on explaining English words like 'handcuffs' and 'within' to Darya. One character in the book was the 'popular and perfect' boy named David Ruggles. Most of the first chapter explains how every girl wants to walk to class with him, and how gorgeous he is. As I was leaving class, Trevor held the door open for me and said, quite cleverly: 'I'll be your David Ruggles... walk with me.' Such and exchange was much appreciated, and I found that I have now developed a deep crush. Oh the joys of being fifteen and female. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>11,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
I wish I could say that today I am observing Veteran's Day and doing something patriotic and/or meaningful. I'm not, though. I feel legitimately bad about this. However, some days just make me feel like all is right with the world, like things are simply the way they should be. The feeling is carried over from yesterday. I have known Nicole since fifth grade. She was the new kid, I was the teacher's pet. She was into Backstreet Boys, I was at a musical-taste point between the Eagles and a future (short-lived) Nsync infatuation. We were friends, briefly, in my eleven-year-old way. Where we went to one another's houses and were scored on friendship abilities resulting from quality of the snacks we owned and compatibility of our thoughts on things like boys and Disney movies. I digress. The point is, we were friends and then we weren't and now we are again. I disliked her as recently as last year sitting 'Nicole disses on me for wearing bows in my hair and liking acoustic guitar CDs, yet claims to be way into punk. What music does she listen to you ask? The Canadian faux-punk shit' We've both grown up over the summer, it seems. She's learning the guitar now, and even asked me for some pointers. But the reasons I forever love her is because she bestowed some glorious news upon me last Friday. Ladies and gentlemen; G-Dogg has a band. A band! A fucking band! His band mates include KWNIDK (Bryce) a pot-obsessed kid from my math class last year, and some kid from another school. Words can't convey the extent of my love for him. Perhaps a series of exclamation point and various symbols can? !!%!#(*&!@!!!!(&&((!!! Doesn't really work. Oh well. Last night Robin, Leigh and I saw Love, Actually . We spend such a massive amount of time at that theater. It's sad because Spokane is so boring we have nothing else to do. Unless we joined our peers in a round of bong-hits, this is as exciting as it gets while we are temporarily boyfriendless. Affectionately... Anna PS- My review is up at Saddle Shoe reviews. Sadly, I recieved a seventy-seven precent. Though it is not the worst 'grade' I have ever gotten, it certainly is a blow to the ego. |
</post> |
<date>09,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
My names means 'Graceful-Perfect-Oath'. I think my parents had high expectations for me, judging from this fact. It's strange to imagine them preparing for me to be born. I am their only daughter, and I have been told that lone-female offspring often enchant parents-to-be. My oldest brother used to sit on my Mom's lap and talk to 'Baby Anna'. In my early years, my brothers bestowed great knowledge unto me; such as how to stir my chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, and gravy together for dinnertime fun. They expanded my vocabulary to include words such as 'poopy' and 'booger'- which I grew to use frequently in preschool and church. Joe taught me all about the Nija Turtles (this was before they were retro and hip) Jake taught me the art of the Whine. With my brothers, I was a daredevil. I could jump off the top bunk, I could eat that cookie off the ground, I could step on all the sidewalk cracks without major trauma to my mother's vertebrae. Reflecting upon my childhood (which isn't over, despite how much I wish it were) makes me declare this: I want to have children. Not now, of course, but once I am married. I want to have lots of children. I want to meticulously plan their names, anticipate their arrival. Paint the nursery, buy expensive bottles and a diaper genie. I want to read Richard Scary books to them and take them to the latest Disney Movie. And, you know, I don't think I will regret them when they are awful. Even when they throw up in the minivan on car trips, or when they pee all over the bathroom. There doesn't seem like a more honorable job than parenting. Procreating, bringing more humans into existence. Note to self: make sure future fiance wants twelve rugrats. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>07,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
In you care to refer to the July 14th post, you might understand the insanity of tonight a lot better. I'm really at a loss as for how to describe this all. Words don't exist to convey how ____ I feel. I wrote then, 'By some strange phenomena I haven't seen/spoken to anyone who went on to catholic high school... You would think that I would have run into somebody---anybody--- in the course of a year. I've, of course, analyzed this situation, to no avail. I have no explanation; I like to think of it as Divine Intervention...' Lauren, Robin and I went downtown to see Elf tonight. As soon as we approached the escalator, I was accosted by a completely unexpected site. Amanda and Megan T. I had deluded myself into thinking I really never would see them again; that they were simply a stain on my adolescence. I had assured myself I wouldn't see them for many years, decades even. I would daydream about that day; I would be successful and happy and at peace with everything. They would be overweight, wrinkly, unwed outcasts. They might even be panhandling or living in a cardboard boxes outside my Manhattan apartment. I wasn't prepared to see them. It has been three years since I kissed Cataldo, and it's pain, good-bye. It's ironic that I saw specifically Amanda and Megan. We weren't close; not at all. But we understod one another. I envied them so much, in such a painful way. They were the girls who had it all. They were happy, they were wealthy, they were talented and smart. As for me? I was Zeimander. They were nice, to be fair. But talking to them made me feel entirely vulnerable and immature again. I felt like I did on the very first day at Cataldo. I felt alone, I felt awkward. We talked for what-- three whole minutes? Yet it was enough time to make me question everything. It all seemed to wrong, incorrect. Like this wasn't the way things should have turned out. I should never have gone to Cataldo. I guess I downplay its reasons a lot. It's true that I went there because my parents wanted me to have a good education. But there wasn't much place else for me to go. Joey was expelled from Sac, the local Middle School, and my parents couldn't, just simply could not, send me there. It was something to do with embarrassment. I question what would have happened if I didn't go there. If I had gone to Sac, things might be entirely different. I might be well-adjusted, less self-conscious. I might be smarter, I might even put my intelligence to some use. But then again, maybe I wouldn't. Maybe things would be the same. Life is full of these questions, questions without answers. Doesn't that seem unfair? We can't change the choices we've made in the past. We can't take back the things we said, or undo the wrongs we committed. How could the eleven-year-old me know that Catlado wouldn't be the wonderland of knee socks and bible stories I needed it to be? How could I have guessed that I would be touched my such hurt? I couldn't have. If there is truly a reason for everything, I will never understand Cataldo's reason. But maybe we're not supposed to understand it all. Maybe we're suppose to simply let it be . And more than that, we're suppose to be better people for it. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
I haven't laughed as hard as I did today in forever. When Mary and I decided to opt for Conditiong for a PE credit instead of the regular Lifetime Fitness, I sucked. There is no other way to put that. I was pitiful. And today, I squatted 135 pounds! MORE THAN I WEIGH! My legs hurt some, but it is a small price to pay for conquering the world of body-builders. I'll move right on to lunch, because that's the important part of today. I have been toying with the idea of starting a band for a while now. Robin said she wanted to learn bass, and Annica already plays drums. So thus the idea for our yet unnamed band grew. I don't understand the science of laughter. But I know its contagious. It has to be. Somehow we started throwing out ideas for song and CD titles. It was decided that our first single will be a remake of 'A Spoon full of Sugar' and the rest will be strange, deeply metaphoric songs about things like true love and soy bacon. Screw the ab-roller, goodbye to crunches; from now on all workouts will just be me sitting around and laughing. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
A huge thanks to the terrific laugh Mom gave me with today's title. I know that Meghan has been erking my lately, and that's true. She has. She's been a pain. But I will never, ever not be her friend. Ever. I was having such a long morning. My Honors-English teacher pulled me aside to ask what, exactly, was up with my recent plunge in grades. Upon producing a very, very, old assignment I was able to bump up my grade quite significantly. However, I felt like a loser-slacker. Everything I do seems less than half-assed. Quarter-assed maybe, if that. And in homeroom Meg made me feel so happy. She was reminding me of all these really funny stories from seventh grade. Like the time Maryellen and I 'researched' a 'tribal dance' from Indonesia and performed it for extra credit. Oh, good Lord. It was such a lie. We made all of it up. I don't even think there are tribal dances there. But that's so like Meghan to cheer me up. Erk-ing as she can be sometimes, she is still my best friend. At the club after school, Heather was working out. We Stairmaster-ed together and then this guy named Brock (I am almost positive that it not how it is spelt) lifted with us. We messed around playing basketball in the gym. Heather invited me to go smoke some pot with her. I almost said yes, and I would have. Its only that I don't think I want the first time I experience something like that to be so spur-of-the-moment. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>03,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
( Shady Lane , Pavement) There seems to be nothing significant to write about today. I feel really 'blah'. It's the end of a quarter; one-fourth of the year is gone. Sadly, this means three-fouths of the year are yet to be had. Guess I'm not as optimistic as I like to think. I was sort of thinking out loud today and I was remembering when school used to be fun. That was before much was involved in the learning process. I was an incredible kiss-ass, which sadly garunteed all '+'s on my report cards. I really wish I hadn't supplemented my education that way. School lately seems like such an annoyance, so tragically unimportant. It seems like I'm taught so that I will do well on the next test, not so that I will actually learn something. It's such a overused argument, it's all so cliche. But that's only because it's so true. So indefinetly what school is. This seemingly endless cycle of busywork, study, test, repeat. If I'm lucky, I find out something new along the way. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
I woke up this morning to snow. Goddman snow . And I won't be gone until April. Is it any wonder that I hate Spokane? Last year at this time, I was in love. I should rephrase. I thought I was in love. I was in the realm of unrequited adoration. Cody is a Junior this year. I fell for him when he played the role of 'Nazi Youth' in our play. I have been thinking about it lately because Robin and I have been talking so much about finding some boys for us to fall in love with. My 2002 edition on my diary (back when I was still and pen and paper girl) is filled with things like this: 'So we talk. And we're looking into each other's eyes the entire time. No one does that. We talk ideals-- foreign policy, hypocrites, freedom, Canadians-- and it's like a movie. Like, God, he's really listening to me. Really listening, too. ' Basically, we never went beyond hugs and good conversation. I could absolutely kick myself. I suck because I can never make the first move. I'm too busy trying to figure out what he's thinking, what anyone is thinking. I'm trying too hard to remember every word of everything he, anyone, says. And while I'm thinking, while I'm committing words to memory, I forget that I'm actually there . It starts to seem like I'm watching myself from another room. But my point, The Point, is that I am a woman on a mission. Starting today, I am actively seeking a boyfriend. Not a date. Not a makeout buddy. Someone to fall for. Watch out. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>01,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
It is too hard to keep referring to him as Molesting-Global Issues-Freshman-Teacher-Asshole, so I am resorting to calling him The Tooth. This is a nickname Mary and I gave him last year, because one of his front teeth is majorly messed up. He has no other dental abnormalities except that damn tooth. It's completely crocked. I don't understand why he doesn't do something about it. For a guy who cares so much about his appearance, it amazes me. That's not the point. The point is that I had another fucking dream about him. Yes, again . I had recurring dreams starring him last year for several months. And I thought they were gone, over. Apparently not. I'm pretty sure it was sparked by another awkward interaction with The Tooth last week. Allery, this neighbor/girl in my photography class, and I were shooting pictures around school and I was telling her about how I run near her house all the time. The Tooth must have been having his prep period or something, because he was in the same hallway. He was behind me and said, 'No you don't!' teasingly. And then scampered off. So here is my dream. I was taking pictures on the second floor with a large group of boys. I was taking a lot of pictures and they kept falling out of my camera like polaroids, except they were eight-by-ten glossy black-and-whites. The Tooth came up to me and smiled, 'You're so much different than last year.' I then I stopped taking pictures and ran away. Clearly, there is something to that. I mean, he said 'You're so much different than last year' clear as a bell. What am I in comparison to last year? Fuck, I know I am happier. Than why did I run away? This is going to bother me. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>01,November,2003</date> |
<post> |
So basically, last night held extreme potential for being a huge, awful flop. Megan's party was canceled last-minuet due to her parents recent revelation that she is, indeed, a pot head. It was FIFTEEN degrees so there was even the possibility of trick-or-treating, also because I look twenty years old-- no respectable parents would give me candy. So, consumed in a cloud of disappointment, Robin and I made our dasterly plans. We would put off the marijuana-rite-of-passage for another time, preferably one where G-Dogg is again present and parents are not. We treated the brave souls who ventured out in the freezing temperature. Best costumes goes to a white, suburban eight-year-old dressed as Jimi Hendrix. We decided to go downtown and mill around there, which proved to be pretty fun. We saw Scary Movie 3, and it sucked as I expected it to. We then did the ceremonial window shop for lingerie, which is hilarious because I am neither sexually active nor well-endowed. Some of that stuff is just so unbelievable. Where is a modern-day use for garters? We concluded that we need jobs, and I am all for this. I need a steady income about as badly as I need a boyfriend. We talked to some guys Robin knows from Somewhere, who were extremely flirtatious as well as funny. The rest of the night was spent watching The Matric Reloaded and having a typical girl's-night conversation: 'Keanu Reeves is sexy.' 'Yah, but not so much with sort hair.' 'Yah.' 'Yah.' 'Wait, why is he wearing a dress?' 'I think that's just his coat.' 'Oh.' 'Yah.' 'He's still pretty hot.' 'Yah.' 'Yah.' We then listened to music, but good music that made us happy. 'Sad and happy at the same time.'- Robin Good times. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>31,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
…I’m the only living person in Glendora. Excuse the melodramatic lyric quoting. Today has been only slightly more prosperous than the days before it. Many a person called, many a nice conversation was had. Joey has a friend, Will, who calls relentlessly until my brother finally accepts his calls. My parents hate him, sighting him as a “bad influence”. Good god, open your eyes, parents! My brother has become nocturnal over this vacation. He sleeps until seven and stays up all the night smoking pot. Last night I went to the laundry room near his room and it reeked of his little hobby. He has no shame. I think I am becoming one of those obnoxious people who talks about her dogs too much. I have two, Lucy and Rosie. I do, admittedly, recognize the fact that they are not actual people and subsequently I should not think of them as such. Lucy is a twelve-year-old Brittany Spaniel without a tail (it’s actually quite common among Brittanys, though) She had puppies halfway through her life, a surprise to almost everyone. Our vet had advised us she couldn’t have any. The result was five gorgeous Brittany/ retriever pups. We kept Rosie, who is perhaps the most beautiful dog in existence. I talked with my brother about where he wanted to live when he graduates from UW after watching Full House with him. He frustrates me because he thinks and decides things so directly. He must be the kind of person who thinks in complete thoughts. He rationalizes everything so that it works for him… he thinks what he thinks with defined points as to why he arrived at such decisions. Maybe I’m jealous of that, because I think so ir rationally. Affectionately…Anna |
</post> |
<date>30,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
I sat in bed for an hour this morning, trying to soak in some more sleep. It only served to make me frustrated. I had trouble sleeping, in part, because of a really bizarre dream starring “Frasier” (screw the pseudonyms… his name is Brandon) It bothered me because I hate him so much. He doesn’t belong in my subconscious. Mr. Sandman, please send me only shirtless John Mayer dreams from now on. Ha ha. Watched several scenes from Now and Then (AKA cinematic gold) I really love the era. I wish I had been alive then to freak out about the Beatles and wear crochet ponchos. I am completely jealous of my middle-aged parents who got to live then. Though my dad did not really take advantage of his time, my mom was quite the hippie. She vehemently claims to have never smoked pot, which is of course, obviously not true. My aunt has hinted at it several times and has been met with chilling looks from my mother. I also re-alphabetized my CD collection. I have a dream of one day, when I am fairly successful, owning hundreds of pristine CDs (most of mine have many a scratch) and devoting a room in my apartment solely to them. There will be a chair, candles, a stereo/record player, and bookcases full of CDs. It will be a lovely room, I will sit in there for hours on end listening to music. It’s not until this later point in my day that I realize how little I actually accomplished today. Oh well, I really need this break Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Fahrenheit 451 actually reminded me a lot of The Giver . That was one of my favorite booksgrowing up… I just thought it was so disturbing but so possible. F. 451 paints the same kind of atmosphere; a society totally under the control of something very, very dark. I don’t claim to be well-read or even close, but without books, well, clearly that’s a scary idea. My favorite character wasn’t Montag, but Faber, the former college professor. I especially liked; “I saw the way things were going, a long time back. I said nothing. I’m one of the innocents who could have spoken up and out when no one would listen to the ‘guilty’, but I did not speak and thus became guilty myself. ” Alright, there is my little rant about the genesis of Isral’s literary recommendation. I was supposed to go running with Leigh today; unfortunately, my mother scheduled a dentist appointment without telling me. More than a cleaning, I had to get a crown. When I was at summer camp five years ago I chipped my front teeth getting into a canoe I had fallen out of (I am nothing if not graceful… ha) I’m both not quite sure why its necessary to get one of the teeth crowned and indifferent to the reason. Whatever. There are few things I dislike more than getting shots in my mouth; it just seems so bizarre and wrong. I was there for almost four hours ! I was so glad to get home. The director of the Summer Study programs called tonight. He is so over-enthusiastic, but I guess it adds to his charm. At any rate, he answered a few of my questions (they offer a full Vegan meal plan!!) and gave me some more information (despite my goal of playing Sullen Mystery Girl, I may turn into another walking advertisement for the program). I really like what I know about it so far, and I think that five weeks out of Spokane will be a perfectly lovely summer. It’s more expensive than an entire year at Cataldo, though. I can’t blame my father for wanting to make sure its every bit as legitimate as the glossy brochures claim it is. I’m back to school next Monday, but I am trying like hell not to think about it. For now I will make really great CD mixes and listen to Kweller like school doesn’t exist. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
My brother and are a freakishly similar. Tall, gawky, pale things with abnormally large eyes and jet-black hair. We both are nerdy overachievers who talk too loud and have no bounds to our opinionated-ness. We are also both bad drivers. Which partially explains last night’s very, very scary incident. My brother was driving with a “friend” (a pretty, lovely nerdish girl who I suspect is romantically linked to Jake) on the freeway. They were meeting some other people to go sledding (because we aren’t skiers… an unspeakable crime in Spokane) with some of his pals. He was driving my father’s beloved truck, came upon an accident and swerved to get out of the way. He then drove through a chain-length fence and rolled three times into an embankment. The ambulances were already there (thank god) for the other wreck. They carted Jake and his ambiguous pal off the emergency room. They were entirely fine; though I’m sure a near-fatal experience broke the mood of the alleged non-date. My father’s treasured truck now lays totaled in the AM/PM Towing Agency (classy, no?) My mom responded differently to this accident than most sane people do. She hurried home from collecting Jake (neck brace and all) to record the eleven o’ clock news, which showcased the accident. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>27,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
If they start playing The Ring on HBO, I will die. Seeing a decomposing girl or hearing the hair-raising score when I channel surf... it will really mess with me. I've been reading Fahrenheit 451 today. I'm terribly proud because I am almost finished. Though I was planning on tackling The Great Gatsby over break, but 451 is very good. Next I might move on to Clockwork Orange or something by Chuck Palahniuk. I'm planning on becoming a hoity-toity elitist intellectual reader for the New Year. Ha. In the New Year, there will be some things that I want to change, I guess. It’s so convenient to resolve to change because I have a new calendar (Actually, it’s a lovely Audrey Hepburn calendar. My Mom saw it at Boo Radleys and, quite rightfully, knew I would love it.) I have turned over all sorts of resolutions in my head. Floss more? Drink less pop? Be more diligent in my homework production? I have, I think, come up with a good one. I am going to take more chances . Currently, I am the play it safe girl, and I am so over that whole shtick. This resolution lends itself to all other sorts of self-improvements. It will make me more honest, more decisive, less whiny and boring. Ultimately, it may just make me happier. That, or maybe I’ll drop the resolution mid-January. But at least I will have given it a try. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>26,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
I once went to a performing arts camp at Eastern (the college for kids who got Ds in high school,but still want the college experience... if only for the keggers) It was an really great workshop, though. We put on A Mid Summer Nights Dream and I was awarded the part of Helena. And despite being watered down and shortened, despite from my bittersweet unrequited crush on Demetrius, I had the time of my life. There was a background dancer, Felicia, who played one of the fairies. I was only 12, just entering junior high, so I was also completely unknowing about the seethy world of cussing and sluttyness. (This was, of course, before we watched TV) Felicia wore thick black eyeliner and tiny tube tops to rehearsal. She would sit on boy's laps and hand feed them their lunches. Everyone seemed to love her. My friends in the camp, Jessica and Sara, were my age and equally ignorant. And so we collectively strived to emulate her... trying out swearing, just to see how it felt to say 'shit'. The boy I 'like-like'ed at the time was named Graham. He was fourteen, tall, and lovely. Felicia, for some ungodly reason, befriended me and encouraged a new, dangerous form of flirting. I would sit on his lap, giggle incessantly at his jokes and pretend that he was the most brilliant person I had ever met. I rolled up my jean shorts and the sleeves of my t shirts everyday that summer. Though I was welcome to fawn all over him, Graham crossed the line at reciprocation. The fucker. During a long break once before our cue, we were backstage together. It was some sort of breaking point of the crush. His spiky gelled hair! His smirk! His overall appeal! I was dying a slow, slow death. I wanted him to like me so badly. And he knew it. 'Nervous?' 'My dad is in the front row. Yah, I'm nervous.' Then, in some romance-novel fashion, he put his arms around me so that our faces were within a few inches of each other. I would have died of happiness except I had lost all ability to feel anything. 'What would you do if I kissed you?' Panicking, I racked my brain for something to say. Anything to say. 'Umm, I, ummm.' And the asshole removed his arms and laughed. Laughed! Looking back, Graham embodies everything I loath in teenage boys. The smirking arrogance and over-gelled hair. I had just turned twelve, and knew nothing of boys. I knew so little, in fact, that I was entirely blind to fourteen-year-old playing Puck. Thomas. He was a gem. What he lacked in hair gel, he more than made up for in acting ability. Aside from seeing right past Felicia and Graham, he was also a four-point-oh student who listened not to Shania Twain (as I did at the time) but to people my parents listened to… Janis Joplin and Nat King Cole. My summer was redeemed, and Thomas and I went on a date. It was my first date, a play to which I still have the ticket stub. He lived in Cheney, so it wouldn’t have worked out. But the knowledge gained from my “Stage Door to the Future” summer will continue to influence me. Wherever you are, Thomas, thank you. And wherever you are, Graham and Felicia, fuck you. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Christmas came and went, with large quanties of wrapping paper and numerous discarded bows to prove so. I recieved so many CDs I could open some strange (yet wonderful) music store entirely devoid of hip hop, rap, or synth-driven songs. I'm currently drowning in a sea of quite lovely sweaters and scarves, and magazine subscriptions. It's sad, though, because as the years march onward, Christmas losses it's sparkle. I was too cynical a child to ever believe in Santa Claus (that and the ever-disheartening fact that I have two older brothers who told me everything) But there used to be magic in Christmas mornings. Amped up from Christmas eve's sugar and Garfield's Christmas Movie, I wouldn't sleep much. Stockings were landminds of candy and the completely thoughtful Christmas presents my mom totted in them. Then there were the presents, dolls every year and doll outfits... The winter when I was convinced Zach Hanson was the boy for me and I was given poster after poster sporting his 11-year old drummer likeness. There was the Christmas my parents bought me my own stereo. And the presents still are so lovely (thanks in part to online ordering and specifically outlined wish lists) My parents are generous. My brothers are thoughtful. The only difference is me. I can't get into the Christmas spirit. But still, it wasn't a day without smiles. My cousin lost his first tooth, loved the Yo-Gi-Oh action figures, and offered me 'snowman poop' (more commonly known as marshmellows) That, and Leigh made me a pillow. I think it's my favorite present. She sewed it herself... lilac, my favorite color. And in her (loveably messy) handwritting, this is written in the center: Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that can not fly. Hold fast to dreams for when dreams go, life becomes a barren feild frozen with snow. -Langeston Hughes And, urlLink Isral , I fell so terrible about last Saturday. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>24,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
My cousins who still live in Germany include Theo (the partiarch, the one who speaks English)Hedwig (his wife, and c'mon--- she shares a name with an owl in the Harry Potter books) Kathrin and Anja (their daughters) Here is a few selections from his christmas email. 'Hallo, I hope, this letter finds you all well. We all doing fine here. Please forgive my delay in writing for such a long time. The most reason was:In summer, our computer was unfortunately infacted with a E-mailworm and all saved adresses get a infected mail. Sorry for this trouble.' 'Hope, you John has a good business towards. Hedwig and I don`t have vacation on Christmas and New Year, but we booked a trip over 17 days to South Africa, start on 1.th march 04. Because the time is late, I give this message by e-mail.' ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am strangely orally fixated. It's nothing sexual, but I am one of those weird people who constantly puts things in her mouth. I chew on pens and other assortments of plastic things. I chew my fingernails. It's gross. And for being such a germ freak (i.e. washing my hands over and over) shouldn't I also be concerned about the airborne bacteria that lands of my mechanical pencils? I bring it up because I was just recently chewing on a CDR stand. This was stupid, and I didn't realize I was doing it until my lips turned numb. And my tounge. And now they are burning... Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>23,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Worn out from babysitting. Can't think well. Also did not eat anything all day because of said babysitting... I was this (imagine hand gesture) close to eating babyfood. I did, however, watch even more PBS Cartoons. And, you know, Dragon Tales is really growing on me. However, Sagwa still remains completely insane. I also was peed on. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>22,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
No particular order 1. John Mayer/Counting Crows concert 2. Ethan Haberman, sweet lord, Ethan Haberman 3. My failed cross country career 4. My first, and probably last, cigarette 5. Crying during Rugrats 10th Anniversary show 6. Rocket Sex God knowing my name 7. The gay thrift store in Florida, particularly my father's reaction 8. Spokane Club hangouts with Mary (' Wait, does this work your arms or your feet ?') 9. Our lunch spot 10. Unearthing the beauty that is Saddle Creek ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Enough of that. Today I left my house twice. The first time was to collect the paper, and the second was for the dual-task of walking my dog and bringing in the mail (talk about being productive!) I also watched Home Alone and read many a Christmas card addressed to 'John, Susan and kids' instead of Jake, Joey, and I actually having names. I ate a lot of food, without actually having a proper meal. Ahhh; I welcome a holiday weight gain. There was a shallow attempt to read Night , but again found that the death of Jewish people isn't, surprisingly enough, very uplifting. I hadn't listened to any John Mayer music since my insomniac post a while ago, and today I wept and listened to Wheel (yes, that's right; I am totally emotionally stable) It's strange, different songs effect me in such different ways. Literal songs, the ones with plenty of pronouns and fully-constructed thoughts usually don't do much with my heart. But Wheel absolutely kills me. I don't know if that is what the song is meant to do, but the song is just so fucking truthful. I don't even care that it's about Jennifer Love Hewitt, my crush doesn't play a factor in the beauty of the song's message. 'You can't love too much one part of it' is, silly as I am for saying so, that most genuine reasoning on LIFE I have ever heard. And that way it is sung, the desperate tone it is sung in... ugh. I may never be cool enough to not listen to this music. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>21,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
tico tico 44: haha i wonder if there were ever a wrestling match (present times) where they just stopped in the middle, said 'aw fuck it!' and started wildly making out A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>20,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
My summer is shaping up. Because I cannot possibly imagine another summer of aimlessboredom and because I hate Spokane with a seethy passion, I plan on shipping out. Hello, urlLink Summer Study programs. I'll be just like Jessica Darling and escape the vast lameness of a town I can't stand. Unlike the pre-collegiate kids in the brochures with their bright colored tube tops and rhinestone-encrusted sunglasses, I'm not in it to for 'FRIENDS! ACTIVITIES! CLASSES! EXCITEMENT! TRIPS! SPORTS! NIGHTLIFE! EXPERIENCES! FUN! MEMORIES!' but rather the miles it will place between myself and home. In all the summer camps (and there have been many) that I have been in, I turn into hyperactive-singalonger, high on sunscreen and bug repellent. Not so this summer. I will resume a role of sullen teenager, dress in all black, and use the Creative Wiritng class as an outlet for sexually charged poetry. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>20,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Here is a word to the wise; never, ever, under any circumstances drive with Leigh. Last night alone she almost hit a car, drove up on a curve, and created a 12-car pile up in the mall parking lot. One terrible woman rolled down her window and yelled at us, ' Where the fuck did you get your license?' (To which I yelled back ' Hey lady, fuck off !' I felt very powerful.) But Leigh started crying. Some people are so mean. Other than that, our attempt to enjoy our Friday night was fruitless, not that I would admit so to Leigh. She was happy to enjoy some concotion from Panda Express and a lame Julia Roberts tearjerker. What is wrong with me? I have not been able to hold back tears in a movie since July! But that in itself it not why I would care to forget last night. If one more mall employee with a swagger and overgelled hair hits on me in any way, I will boycott the mall for good. Has anyone who has used a line such as, oh say, ' Those are sweet pants .' established a meaningful relationship with the receiver of such shit? Has love resulted from ' Hey, can I have your number ?' Doubtful. Unless the girl was named Cookie of Candie or some other food product. To further propel my sour mood, I have been assigned homework over the break, and for this I want to administer the oh-so-uninteresting Bubonic plague (which, I now know, killed 38 million Europeans within chapter nine alone... stupid rats) upon my teachers. I also have to read Night . Somehow, I just don't think that the holocaust and the birth of Jesus coninside. At least it's not lengthy. From outside appearances, it looks like the sort of thing I would have been reading in fourth grade. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>19,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
I do not claim to be exceptionally knowledgeable about The Clash. But, my god , who doesn't know that the name of the song and half the lyrics of that damn movie-montage-favorite song are 'London Calling' and not 'Runmen falling'? Ah, but who cares about Robin's lapse in sense when school is not more than a bad, bad memory. A nightmare that I will get lost in once more in two weeks. (I am so optimistic!) Actually, I was fully applied in my learning today. I even made an attempt to enjoy my youth. Although this is actually done by laughing at the kids eating across the hall from us and cursing under my breath at Mentally-Molesting teachers who shall remain annoymous. My mom is in Tacoma, visiting my aunt. She is the perfect example of my mom's side of the family; a recovered alcoholic, a recovered narcotics abuser, a born-again Christian. She lives for Sundays when she can go to her hoity-toity new-age church where they 'talk His talk and walk His walk'. Like with all of my mom's relatives, I rarely see her. I've never met my maternal grandmother or my mom's other sister. But I've seen pictures, and I look a lot like both of those women. My telling eyes look identical to Cathy's (I always look like I could burst into tears at any moment) my hands are tiny and my feet are big like hers. It must bother my mom, cause the resemblance is uncanny. AJ thinks I'm going to Harvard. Psh. I have this storage box in my closet full of purely junior high stuff. There's my uniform and hair bows, along with notebooks and projects. I also have a composition notebook with a postcard of the virgin Mary on it. Inside is my old journal, and I will now share with you how far I have come: (kept in mind my i's are dotted with hearts... ew) December 7, 2001 'I was having such a fantabulously terrific day to day. First off, we had free-dress. Then it was a half day. Plus, I didn't have to take my makeup science test OR turn in my math homework. Also, we switched seats in math!!! [this is where I drew a diagram of where every single fucking person in my class sat]' Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>18,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
So, blog seems to be safe for the time being. Don't worry, though, I won't stop my crazy, nerdy blogging. If e-pirates (bad analogy) shall invade my journal, I shall flee to another address. I'm reaching the homestretch. Seven more school hours until the politically-correctly titled 'winter' break. I am looking forward to it so, so much. Ah, just the idea of hours spent reading The Bell Jar (which I am reading, and I like it. But I never seem to be able to finish it) and listening to music makes my heat sore . You know what else makes my heart sore? Boys. Especially when there is a boy who is awesome and Jewish and in your Conditioning class who smiles at you and who looks a lot like John Mayer. And you like him even though he sings along obnoxiously with all the other 6-foot varsity-basketball-playing men/boys to 'My Girl'. Except when he sings it, it sounds beautiful. And you hold on to the image of him singing all day, even when some gross pop-rap song comes on about taking off all your clothes. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>17,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Has anyone ever notices how angsty hobits look? Hahahahaha... forever the best. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>16,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Confessions of a Crazie Ah, well, the word is out about my blog. Though it's place is cyberspace remains a secert, knowledge of its exsistance is now very present. (' Anna, are you gonna write about this on your Blogger? ') And I have been given full membership of The Crazie Clan. The Crazies are a people Robin 'discovered'. Crazies seem like normals people, but its deep down that they are purely insane. Her Grandmother (' Where's my rain bonnets?? ') is the tribe leader. And because of my weblog, I am a member. Really, there isn't anything in this (nerdy) blog that my friends don't already know. There's a lot of stuff I leave out, just because its too boring to write about. I just don't want them to see it. There is something to that desire for them not to read my online version of a diary. There must be, or I would freely give out it's address. Maybe it's that 'My Letter to the World' is so intimate. It's a darker portrayal of me, a more cynical Anna than the one who giggles through entire lunch periods. It's also private. I devulge the majority of my thoughts and feelings without second-thought. But some of these things, I want to store them away and keep them private. Their mine. If that makes me selfish, than I am selfish. So, if and maybe when curiosity gets to my gaggle of pals; read the above paragraph. Then leave. urlLink This makes me sense to me. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
If only to sustain that I am a BAD AWFUl DISGUSTING person. I will never speak ill of Adrienne again. But there is no way in hell that she will ever be allowed to read my blog. Ever. 'Hey, it took me a long time to reply to this because i wasn't really sure how. you are a so much different than any other friend i've ever have. you divulge a lot of things to me (which i'm used too, i don't know why but every time i meet someone new without having to pry or anything people just trust me with their past) but at the same time you have a lot of secrets (which i would never demand you to reveal to me even if it seems like i would, and if it comes across like i do than i will try to stop that). my written letter was a partial reply but well... only partial. this e-mail made me feel really good, because i really have been trying to act mature about the issues i face with you. there are touchy subjects that we disscuss in a way that i've never experienced. you are an amazing person and i don't want you to think that i feel otherwise. i look up to you in many ways, and our differences intrigue me to continue the friendship, espessially since you've been abandoned before. please don't think ill of me 'complaints' i will avoid pestering you because i always feel that my parents should trust my decisions, so there is no reason for me to be questioning those of my friends! happy holidays! two more days till LOTR!!' I am a bad, bad person. |
</post> |
<date>14,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
I have a recurring dream about my front teeth rotting and falling out. It's really disturbing. I had it last night and woke up terrified. I had night terrors until I was twelve, and I felt like I was going to have one again. It is the worst feeling ever. I would lie in my bed, paralyzed with fear over absolutely nothing. I was just so scared. I would cry uncontrollably and wouldn't be able to lie down in my bed, afraid whatever-It-was was going to get me. It's no way for a kid to live. I discovered that the family computer burns CDs in two minutes, while the office computer takes over thirty. I wish I would have found this out sooner, but isn't that the way it always goes? Winter Break in four days. I am going to cry, I'll be so happy. I plan on doing massive amounts of the following: A. Listening to Bright Eyes B. Listening to Rilo Kiley C. Listening to music in general D. Reading either The Great Gatsby or Death of a Salesman (subject to change) For now, I will burn more CDs for people who are worthy of listening to something this beautiful. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
An official welcome to urlLink Sam . Sam, if you give anyone this address I will kill you. Then, while on my muderous rampage, I will kill Mrs. Anderson as well. But you won't be alive to enjoy a History class without her lack of any knowledge. Except about skiing, I should give her that. One of my favorite things you wrote: 'World History (AP): the most pointless class... we have hardly learned anything all year... seriously. The redundancy of the class, along with content that is shallow enough for an ant to cross, makes it totally horrid. I took an advanced placement class so I could learn more... but it feels like I am in a third grade class (toady we shared our sitcom on the Mayan civilization. a completely worthless way to learn about such an important people, and the class as a whole spent less than 10 minutes discussing the topic with has the possibility for years of intriguing discussions).' So, so true. I think there's probably something in my (dorky) blog about you're attempts to provoke discussion. But it won't work. Ever. Also; 'I want to expand my options, to make my own life. School binds a person down like nothing else on earth. You are expected to conform tho the demands of the few, and are not able to express yourself beyond how they want you to. School to me, just seems meeningless... I could be doing something much more productive with my life, but am forced to adapt to a schedule with two thousand other people my age.' Totally agreeded. LC isn't necessarily worse than other Spokane high schools, but what erks me is when kids from U High or CV say things like, 'Oh, I wish I went to LC!!' in that enthusiastic, disgusting way. What, cause we have the Rubber Chicken? 4,000 people dressed in either neon orange or cherry-apple red manicly screaming about.... well, this year it'll be pirates. Of course, I'll go. To do otherwise is blasphemous. But maybe you have more 'Tiger Pride' than me. (I'm serious about giving out this address, by the way.) Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
'Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much because they live in the great twilight that knows not victory or defeat.' -Theodore Roosevelt What does it mean when your father sends you the above quote? It is so dead-applicable to my life. I haven't honestly taken a risk since I was thirteen. In the words of Mary, 'You gots ta git some self-esteeeem!' (This was last year, of course. We used to say that all the time, because our Health teacher always talked about how young girls needed self-esteem. She was convinced every female under the age of twenty had some form of fatal eating disorder.) So, this is going to be a post about Mary. I can feel it. I haven't seen her since early October... Christ, she's in my homeroom . I've heard bits and pieces that she has mono. My secret theory is that her parents are going to start home schooling her again, if they already haven't. She is going to reach a huge disappointment when she reaching adulthood and sees that the world is not going to cushion her like her family and cult do. I am so bitter. Once, last year, I was upset cause we were going to have to sit through a Sep. 11th anniversary thing for two hours during our Global Issues class. She convinced her mom it was unnecessary for her to go, and Mrs. Thomas took us back to their house. Mary lives only a block way from this beautiful park. We were feeling aimless and loved that we were legally truant, so we went to the park. There were this big, rubber U-shaped swings that I used to play on when I was little. It was so poetic, they were squeaking in the breeze and calling to us. We swung on those damn swings for over an hour, until we had exhausted the 'I'm flying over that tree! and that house!' and felt too dizzy to stand. The grass was so warm, and I felt officially befriended and just... content. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>12,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Did you expect it all to stop at the wave of your hand? Like the sun is just going to drop if it's night you demand. Well, in the dark we are just air so the house might dissolve. But once we are gone, who is gonna care if we were ever here at all? Well, summer is going to come and it's gonna cloud our eyes again. There is not need to focus when there is nothing that is worth seeing. So we trade liquor for blood in an attempt to tip the scales. I think you lost what you loved in that mess of details. They seemed so important at the time but now you can't even recall any of the names, faces, or lines. It is more the feeling of it all. Well, winter is going to end and I'm going to clean these veins again. So close to dying that I finally can start living. Small miracles shot out in every direction from my day. My English grade, after a brief meeting with my teacher, has been upgraded to a nice, fat B. Not necessarily good, but no longer life-suckingly bad. My History and math grades still need work, but it's only a midterm. I will have math up to a C by semester and History up to an A. I just have to get my lazy ass away from the stereo and to my desk. If I simply do my work, I will do well. Enough crap about school. How about crap about the Rocket Sex God? He dyed his hair, so gorgeous and auburn. He was wearing those Rivers Cuomo-like glasses and a Mr. Rogers' sweater. Leigh and I order coffees, and he pointedly pressed my quarter change into my hand. Never before has change-exchanges been so sexual. His eyes are so piercing and so intense. Coffeehouse visits are turned into romance paperback works of art during his shift. Babysitting until late, then I might soothe my insomnia by watching SLC Punk. I need to feel the power of 'And this city was still the same...I mean, look at it! There's nothing going on. That's what I saw when I looked out over the city: nothing. How the Mormon settlers looked upon this valley, and felt that it was the promised land, is beyond me. I don't know, maybe it looked different back then.' Here is a picture of Urban Spokane 'Urban', a park... what a joke. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>11,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Int. Englsih Honors 10A-- 79 % Photography-- 98 % AP World History Honors-- 82 % Int. Math 10A-- 67 % Reading Tutor-- 100 % Int. Science 10A-- 98 % I just got my mid term. You might be able to guess that. I am so screwed. I am so stupid. My grades have never, ever, ever, ever been this low before. I am trying very hard not to cry. It is not going very well. WHY THE FUCK DO I NEVER WANT TO DO MY SCHOOLWORK ANYMORE? Why don't I ever try... ever. Breath I am not my grades. I am not my grades, goddammit. I AM NOT MY GRADES! |
</post> |
<date>10,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
you're the conor that is bright eyes. you keep pulling out brillant beautiful songs from your head and they just get better. you rock the house down on stage and are a sweet shy kid off of it. you're the best conor to date. urlLink which conor oberst are you? brought to you by urlLink Quizilla I really can't formulate enough of an entry. Except to say, no one should live life without Bright Eyes. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>09,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Some kids are assholes. The same guy who 'accidentally' grabbed my chest last year during a fire drill was assuming such an attribute today on the bus. About his girlfriend, 'Should I fuck her and dump her, or just dump her and fuck someone else?' I really want to be like Charlie in The Perks... I want to write really deep, revealing, meaningful, sort of vague but precise letters to someone I don't really know. Re-reading that scentence, it sort of describes my blog here. But I want the texture, the feeling of stationary and a pen, the purchase of postage stamps and the minty-flavor of sealing an envelope. Maybe I will just pick someone's name out of the phone book. That's not practical or smart at all, and yet I still really want to do it. I guess I'm just naive. Somehow I always think things will work out. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>08,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
I have issues with... present discipline disease ambivalence water urlLink Take Word Association Test How can I have issues with water? A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>08,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
We're studying King Arthur in English, and try as I might, I seem to be fascinated with the culture of his times. There were sets of rules written for everything, clearly defined social moves for any situation. My favorites are those rules of 'courtly love'. From what I gather, Courtly Love was a big deal amongst the horny noblemen and women of the 6th century. Men were to follow certain formalities in order to maintain in the good graces of their lovers. Oh, how I (perhaps patheticly) admire the beauty of these wonderfully politically-incorrect generalizations! 'Being obedient in all things to the command of ladies, thou shalt ever strive to ally thyself to the service of Love.' 'Thou shalt keep thyself chaste for the sake of her whom thou lovest.' The strangest, and loveliest ones: 'Every lover regularly turns pale in the presence of his beloved.' 'When a lover suddenly catches sight of his beloved his heart palpitates.' 'A man in love is always apprehensive.' 'He whom the thought of love vexes eats and sleeps very little.' Yet some are very true. Indeed, here is my favorite: 'When made public love rarely endures.' Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>07,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
I can't believe the weekend is already over. I need to just keep reminding myself I have ten school days until Winter Break (seventy classes, sixty five hours...) I've got remain strong and sane. I woke up early as usual today. Church was lame. I was so cold through the service that I could hardly wait until I got home. At which point, my father informed me I was to help him put up the Christmas lights; more coldness. We drove to the mall, and the car's heat did not fully kick-on until we reached it's parking lot. We got a space far from the entrance to further escalate the warmth-deprivation. Tacky tinsel and faux-frosted doors would be lovely if they didn't happen to decorate the mall . I found minuet joy in KB Toys, Barnes and Noble, and Atmosphere (a hippie place) but it was soon buried in being hit on by an employee at Best Buy, using a public toilet, and circling the parking lot for a small eternity searching for the car. So much for the spirit of the season. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>06,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Wait, so who found her Royal Tenebaums soundtrack today? Me?? You bet I did. Amongst my mother's vast collection of Christmas CDs, it lay face-up displaying it's glory. The discovery made me so happy I almost cried. This is the soundtrack that made me want to learn about music. Robin came over very distraught today. She walked, which says a lot cause we don't live close at all. There was some sort of family meeting and she got pissed about it and said, 'So if this is a family meeting, where's my father?' Screaming ensued. All was fine after a small talk and extensive sympathizing. We joked more about running away from home to go live with foster parents somewhere in Minnesota. It's a soothing idea, one we talk about whenever things feel too shitty. The difference between Robin and I is that she really would do it. Not me. If I'm going to run away it will be to live out my starving-artist fantasy in New York, or to live with a accent-happy lover in Prague. Leigh did very well in her race. She called me three times before, more nervous than I have heard her; 'ANNA! WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO DO! YOU HAVE TO CALM ME DOWN OR I AM GOING TO THROW UP OR FALL DOWN OR PEE MY PANTS...' She placed 23rd in a 200-person race. Way to go Leigh! She's the best. Now, if only I could figure out a proper Christmas gift for her. I am having a really good day. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
I just read every single one of Andrew's 'easyjournal' enteries. And now I am listening to John Mayer and feeling beautiful. I sometimes love the inability to sleep. It builds self-esteem. A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>05,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Tonight marks my first insomniac post. Consider it an experiment in sleep deprivation... When I was younger, I had a terrible complex about my last name. As it starts with a 'Z' and as a result, I was last for everything. Roll call, student-of-the-week, last kid to present her report on Ladybugs, I was even last in my Royal Academy of Dance exams. So I vowed as a seven-year-old to marry a name whose last name started with a letter in the first half of the alphabet. I was obsessed with this concept. When all my friends were deciding that Jonathan Taylor Thomas was cute, I could not count myself among my love-struck peers. I really loved my fifth grade teacher. Her name was Mrs. Heidenrich and I was the only kid in the class who liked her. When I whined about having to read a filmsy, 100-page book for our new American Reveloution unit, she let me read a book about Sarah Revere all by myself. When the other kids were discussing the book, it was my job to sit in the back of the classroom and busy myself in analysis of Sarah's life. Stranger still is that I was so pleased with myself that I didn't have to read with the other kids. Even then, I thought they were destined to become lemmings and hip-hop listeners. In sixth grade I was the MC for our school's annual talent show. My co-host was a boy named Michael, who was the only student in the entire school who was taller than me. We did a very good job, I thought, until I was supposed to laugh really hard at a really bad joke he made (something to do with a piano song title) I happened to be very sick that week, a large cluster of snot was lodged in my throat. As I faked laughed, I hooked a luggie off the stage. Michael was very nice and pretended nothing happened. No one really seemed to notice but him and the kid who was about to play piano, but it still is burned into my memory as one of the most embarrassing moments of my childhood. When I was nine and at church camp, my swimming buddy tried to do a back drive off the floating dock. She dove underneath the dock and got stuck. Everyone was called out of the water and she eventually came out, very blue but otherwise very fine. Still, ever since I have nightmares about being stuck under that damn floating dock and not being able to get out. I used to eat dog biscuits with my brother. We used to think if we ate enough we could speak dog-language. One day my mom found us sitting inside our Brittany Spaniel's doghouse snacking on some. She then forbid us to eat them ever again. I became very angry at her, as did my brother. G-dogg said hello to me this morning and tipped his hat like gentlemen used to do in movies like Fred Astere and Humphrey Bogart used to do in old-time movies. I almost curtsied, but didn't have the courage to. It's really hard to let myself like someone like him. Because he is possible, but he is wonderful and mysterious and makes me grin like a seven-year-old. It's dangerous to want him. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
*You may notice that the Guestbook has been removed from my site. We had a nice run,Guestbook and I. I would like to thank the following people; Isral for enhancing my blog with it's presence and signing it religiously, Ben for freaking up my guestbook, and all others who contributed to it. I'll be babysitting tonight, it's not the most exciting Friday night known to man, but I will be paid well. Leigh is doing a crazy Footlocker-sponsored race in California this weekend. I am sad to see her not Spokane-imprisoned and suffering through it with me. Joseph (brother #2) was granted permission from my parents to drive to Portland with his girlfriend. She is checking out an art school there, and I'll bet money he is looking at the community colleges in the area. I have to get some sleep this weekend. It's ridiculous. I was getting about five on a regular basis for a while in October. But I met my demise after Halloween. You can actually notice a difference in my handwriting; which is admittedly an odd area for sleep deprivation to show. But my l's are more loopy and my handwriting actually looks tired. As opposed to when it looks fairly neat, at very least it looks awake. Example are in my urlLink Pictures section... you will see what I mean. I'm going to find a new book to read nerdily this weekend. Someone had the great idea of filming The Real World: Spokane on Saturday. The idea was sparked when we were talking about the credits/intro to The Real World... how the 'cast members' are doing something like looking at the Eiffel tower, turn around, and pretend to be surprised in a good natured way that there's a camera in their face. The Real World is so ridiculous, but that's not to mean I wouldn't make an excellent reality-TV roommate. Especially in a really nice mansion, on a season where the housemates travel to say, Europe? Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
I am considering trying those new audio-posts. urlLink One Good Thing has a hilarious one about talking to Jesus. There are time when I get so frustrated, when I feel so overwhelmed, all I want to do is cry. I came home to an empty house today, and I had lost my key. I couldn't get in through the kitchen window, as I do on such occasions, because it was locked. It was so cold outside, I only had a sweater on. I just started crying. I tried to pull it together so I could go next door and see if they had one of our spare keys... (Ding-dong) Me: Hi [ sniff ] can I please [ sniff ] borrow the k-key? If you [ sniff ] like, have it? Neighbor: Are you okay? Me: Oh yah! I'm fine! [ smile to prove point ] I finally got in, and my brother had been home to whole time, ignoring my pleas and knocking because he didn't want to drag his lazy ass out of bed. So I called him a fuckhead, and subsequently felt like I was as mature as a ten-year-old. Last night, someone accidentally turned the heat off in our house. Big mistake. Not only could I not fall asleep, but I was cold as well. It was awful. I couldn't figure out why I was so cold, although was covered in three blankets. This morning my mom checked the thermostat and realized the mistake. The overnight temperature in our house? 47 degrees... in our house. I talked to Anna's friend who moved here from Kansas today. I know Kansas may not be the cultural capital of the world, but to a native-Spokanite myself, it's far better than my current abode. She seemed to think it wasn't so bad here, and things turned very funny thereafter. If there is any person more outspoken about how much Spokane sucks than me, it's Anna. I will leave you with a quote from her anti-Spokane rave: 'It's like, there are people and then there are Spokane citizens. We're a different breed; an intellectually-challenged, country-music fanatic, 'let's all pretend we're diverse' breed.' Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>03,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
There are twelve hours there's a day between us and you called to say you're sorry in your own way There are oceans and waves and wires between us and you called to say you're getting older And sometimes planes they smash up in the sky And sometimes lonely hearts they just get lonelier How did you survive all those fires and floods? How did you survive your insufferable friends? It was the plow that broke the western plains And its just my heart gets rejected by my veins And sometimes planes they smash up in the sky And sometimes lonely hearts they just get lonelier and lonelier and lonelier and lonelier and lonelier and lonelier and lonelier and lonelier And sometimes planes they smash up in the sky And sometimes lonely hearts they just get lonelier Sometimes the world closses in and I suffocate on my own thoughts. Please, God, deliver me from myself. I want to sleep but I don't have the energy to. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,December,2003</date> |
<post> |
Really, everyone who reads this needs to expirence Coletrane's 'Favorite Things'. John Mayer is coming to Idaho in February. Lets see, who will be my valentine? One guess. Today was very nasty. Monday night was another semi-sleepless one, because my body felt like it was morning. I felt very rested and could not sleep. So I milled around, looked through old pictures, listen to Rilo Kiley and did not even attempt sleep until 2.45. Needless to say, I was very tired come third period. The day was very blurry; another brick in the road of high school loathing. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>31,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
I’ve identified another inherent part of me. One of those traits I’ve probably had all my life and just forgot to notice. Whenever I meet someone or read about someone, I always identify with them. It doesn’t matter who it is. I always find something about them that we secretly have in common. And if it’s a person I know personally, I will amplify those similarities when I am around them For instance, Robin. Robin likes to laugh, but it’s a sad, bitter-sweet kind of laughter. She’s so sad all the time. She’s vibrant and good-humored but there is always this underlying theme oh “Oh shit…” whenever we’re around each other. We have one of those entirely fucked-up, co-dependent friendships in which we feed off one another’s sadness. Everything is louder, bigger, funnier, more tragic when I’m around her. Then there is someone like Dunn. She’s had the worst adolescence of us all, and yet she’s the sunniest. Even though I find something really unsettling in her mania, that full-mouthed smile that really never goes away, I feel compelled to wear the same persona in her presence. It’s really sort of sick, in a way. Because I know she’s covering up some horrible things with those pearly-whites, and yet I just join in. Melissa. Suddenly I’ve very devout and everything is “sooooooo sweeeet!” or “sooooooo funny, oh-my-gosh!” And when I’m pretending to be having a “suuuuper” day around her, I feel dishonest and dirty. From her, though, Melissa’s latest Christian exploits are genuine and sincere. My chameleon-emotions aren’t exclusive to my inner circle. They spill over to my parents, to my teachers, to the school bus driver and that kid who always opens to door to History for me. It dizzying. How long have I been doing this? Why do I do this? Do I even have a personality? Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>30,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
I took my cue from the dregs who never go to class, and left today after lunch. Downtown Spokane is the bottom of the South Hill, and my school is at the very end of the hill. We’re across the street from just about every fast-food place you can imagine, which is convenient, I suppose, for the non-vegans of the school. We’re several blocks from River Park Square and Riverfront Park (see a theme there?) which is nice. The weather was perfect today. My kind of perfect. We’re experiencing a spring-fake out. Things are crisp but warm enough for just a light sweatshirt. In the true nature of our generally shitty weather, the snow had covered piles of leaves which were today rattling around reminiscent of Fall. The sun was shinning for the first time since October. I felt so connected to the world. It was definitely one of the moments where you feel like you’re sauntering through a movie montage, right before a really great love scene or something. I made my way to Boo Radley’s across from the park. Right after I opened the door, I could hear a beautiful political debate betwixt the cashier and a customer. This is not uncommon at Boo. They were talking about how ridiculous the mission to mars and the possible mission to the moon are. How the government is pumping millions of dollars into NASA when we have a fucking huge deficit and at the same time, rebuilding two foreign nations with little to no help from anyone else. The thought had pissed me off, too. There are so many more things we should be concentrating on. The 1969 mission was simply an “up-yours” to the Soviet Union… we needed to establish a space program. News flash Bush, the cold war is over! In fifty years your grandchildren will be breathing through gas masks, but I guess you’d rather inundate the NASA nerds with endless streams of cash than save your own environment. Asshole! Annnnyway, I sort of chimed in because I was feeling political. The balding costumer was pleased at this, citing me as “the kind of youth we need more of”. This, of course, was pretty ironic since I was illegally truant at the time. I thanked him, bought “Give Up” (Postal Service) and rode the city bus home. I could go on and on about the wonders of Spokane Transit, but I’m off to see ‘Monster’ and maybe a midnight movie (it’s Physco tonight!) Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
I have decided I want to marry a man liike Ben Folds when I grow up. If I ever grow up, that is. I have a feeling that even at thirty-five I'll still have crushes on video-store clerks and daydream about being a rockstar. Besides, I agree that no one ever really gets mature. They just become better at faking it. I went to urlLink Hastings last night. It's probably the best place in town other than Time Bomb or Bood Radley's to get music. I was looking for the Desaparecidos, and they didn't have it. But I did find the Postal Service EP 'Such Great Heights' and I love it. Looove it. I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles In our eyes are mirror images and when We kiss they're perfectly aligned And I have to speculate that God himself Did make us into corresponding shapes like Puzzle pieces from the clay True, it may seem like a stretch, but Its thoughts like this that catch my troubled Head when you're away when I am missing you to death When you are out there on the road for Several weeks of shows and when you scan The radio, I hope this song will guide you home They won't see us waving from such great Heights, 'come down now,' they'll say But everything looks perfect from far away, 'come down now,' but we'll stay... I tried my best to leave this all on your Machine but the persistent beat it sounded Thin upon listening That frankly will not fly. you will hear The shrillest highs and lowest lows with The windows down when this is guiding you home Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
urlLink This completely does not relate to my post, but its very interesting. Conor is very articulate about Veganism. Its so comforting to listen to other people talk about it; its such a huge part of who I am. I have met two Vegans ever... because in Spokane, Washington no one is Vegan. Even abstaining from red meat is considered freakish. (This is when I think of college and sigh with hope of my future) The Decemerists are incredible. Wow. 'And here in Spain, I am a Spaniard/I will be buried with my marionettes' I am not the flirting type. Or so I like to pretend. I do not flirt intentionally . And regardless of what Leigh says, I do not bat my eyelashes. However, on occasion, I am genuinely interested in what men-folk say. And I lean into everyone when they are talking, so it's not flirting. So there. Hypothetically, let's just say you're in your Creative Writing class and maybe a transfer senior maybe flirts with you, and this time you intentionally lean it, and your heart sort of flutters. And you notice that his eyes are very green and he is very articulate and maybe like the Bright Eyes t-shirt you are wearing and your ' Save Wildlife Prairies ' book bag. And your friend sits next to your cracking up because she knows exactly what you're doing. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>27,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
urlLink HOLY HOLY HOLY MOLY Ok, John Mayer and Conor Oberst are on equal par. He's into animal rights and a vegetarian?! What's a pubescent girl to do. So many singer/songwriters, so little time. |
</post> |
<date>26,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
Ross is hilarious. “ I’ll be 15 soon! Does that mean I’ll be cool?” “Will you still be Ross?” “Yes…” “Then no.” (Mutual, good-natured laughter) “Psh, Ross Version 15 will totally be cool.” English 10B (not Honors): I gave up with the overachieving shit that left me so completely sad. I am now in regular English and could not love it more. I’ve never had a class with Lauren before now. Our teacher is out of his mind and laughs nervously about everything. I love you Mr. Campbell! And I love that I have two days to work on a 15-problem assignment. AP World History Honors: I knew no one in this class (as in second-period) except Elliott. Over the summer he started hanging out with Brandon and subsequently now listens to rap and talks like a wanksta-gansta. A friend of an aquateance (Bethany) asked me to be in her study group. Awkward? Yes. But it was a much welcomed invitation. The best fucking class in the history of the world ( urlLink Creative Writing ): Journalism, apparently, did not have a big enough turnout. Our teacher, urlLink Mr. Lang , has a booming, commanding voice and drops names of literary celebrities beautifully. (Kate: He mentioned This American Life!!) Teaching methods aside for a moment, his personality is exactly what draws me into people. Distinct, opinionated without being close-minded, self-deprecating and good-humored. The best teachers are those who can appertain with their students, who can relate to them on a level aside from academia. I really want to push myself to do well in this class. You can tell all the other kids really want to be there, they are writers. People like urlLink Katy Fitzpatrick are in the same class as I am. Katy fucking Fitzpatrick. A side not I didn't want to write, but now find myself doing: Brandon. Grr. Perfection appearently exsists in blonde Honors students. I want to hate him so badly. Brandon is like a pimple about to spring out of an unsuspecting pore. You can feel it there, under the surface, about to explode on your nose for the world to see. It's going to be bad . And when whatever I feel about Brandon fully errupts, it will be worse than any blemish. It's going to be gross and unrequited and sick and more enveloping than G-Dogg. The class is going to push me. I will have to have another living soul read my poetry. The thought terrifies me. But I need feedback, I need to have someone tell me how to get better. Writing in my weblog is great… but, in all honesty, it seems contrived at times. Like when I disclude major aspects of my life so to avoid my own discomfort. And, of course, everything is one-sided, not at all universal. Maybe this will be a defining part of my early life. Maybe someday, post-Columbia Journalism school and pre-baby making, I’ll print a book. And a front page will read “ Thank you to my friends, family, and Mr. Lang”. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>26,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
I think I officially know what I want to be when I grow up. While talent isn’t actually necessary to be commercially successful (see: any band on TRL) stage fright can put damper on performing. Oh well, I have another, less scary, notion. One hint: I know . No school today, it’s the end of semester break. I ventured to Robin's, where Dunn (first name Anna; such a copycat) and Rob went to work on my traditionally unkempt mane of hair. There was a huge potential for disaster, seeing as we used regular kitchen sicssors and neither friend had cut hair before. But it looks great, exactly they way I wanted it to. Choppy and messy and uneven and perfect. Rob's mom was at work, so we had the house to ourselves. I sat in the middle of the kitchen and we blarred Rilo Kiley. It allowed Dunn and Rob to be inspired, and my hair ended up eerily similar to Jenny Lewis'. Not bad. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
I have identical six-foot tall bookshelves in my bedroom, each with six shelves. They are monstrous, huge things that take up all floor space in my rather small bedroom. Although they boast two shelves each of picture frames (think blurry shots of New York and cheerleading mishaps) they house many, many books. And therein lays the problem. With the onset of my resolution to be more well-read, wonders the likes of The Bell Jar are getting crowded. Hence, I undertook the task of cleaning out the shelves. There are simply too many books I don’t reference or read. Historical fiction seems to be the theme of my book ownership. Let the laughter ensue! The hookey-est of this genre: The Voyage of the Great Titanic: The Diary of Margaret Ann Brady Elizabeth I: Red Rose in the House of Tudor Cleopatra VII: Daughter of the Nile (ah hahaha… I know!!) Red Scarf Girl Indian Captive Greater Than Angels The Journey Back The Molly Collection ala American Girl Summer reading, school reading (stolen from school): The Hound of the Baskervilles Tess of the Dubervilles Romeo and Juliet The Prince and the Pauper O Pioneers! Then there are those which I plan on reading to my children, but won’t get around to. I just know it: A Wrinkle in Time A Wind in the Door Anne of Green Gables The Giver All Harry Potters (including the British-printed ‘Philosopher’s Stone’ and ‘Goblet of Fire’) All Shel Silverstein collections Tom Sawyer Heidi Black Beauty Robin Hood Moby Dick O. Henry’s complete works New Jr. Classic’s Fairy Tales and Fables All of them, going to waste. The must be lonely, cold and ignored. Spiteful, even, of The Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock and Roll (Revised and Updated for the 21st century) and The Perks of Being a Wallflower . So, I was in moral crisis. Who stays? Who goes? Does Absolutely Normal Chaos take premise over Bloomability ? Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging over The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever ? Fuck it. I’m just buying another bookcase. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>24,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
Its times like these that I am really, really glad I have my friends. I feel like a fucking hillbilly. My father is in Seattle on business. My mother, in his absence, has decided to go ballistic on Joey. He didn’t come home last night, which is not unlikely or surprising. I have no justification for planning his eulogy at times like these. I know he will come home eventually, whether it’s in a few hours or a few days. But I still feel like he is going to overdose nonetheless, and I start to prepare myself for a late-night phone call with the worst news imaginable. That’s morbid, irrational, and completely fucked up. Yet I do it all the time. He finally waltzed in (presumably high… bloodshot eyes and smelling strongly of alcohol) at six tonight. Someone had pierced his ear with a safety-pin and another person had drawn all over his face with black marker. After yelling with my mother upstairs, he retreated to the kitchen where I was watching TV. And we talked… actually, I talked and he listened. He actually listened , for the first time since I can remember, he didn’t leave the room or tell me to fuck off. He sat there and took it. I didn’t censor what I said, but I also don’t remember much. I just… told him I hated what he was doing and that I didn’t want him to die. Just when I was getting going, my mom announced she had called the police. The police . My father would have absolutely died . We’re not royalty, but there is some level of decency and a façade of “ we’re happy, really !” that he clings to desperately. And having a squad car pull up to your house doesn’t exactly fit into this. “ What drugs do you have on you?' My mom looked in-fucking-sane. I have never seen her so mad. “Acid.” How the fuck can you say that to your mother? How?! Anyway, my brother took off before the police came, so there was no actual arrest. But still, I think I should legally change my name to like, Sally-Ann Bubba or something like that. I have decided all therapy bills in the future will be paid for solely by my parents. And I am going to find some pricey, new-age physiatrist, too. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>23,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
I did not go to the movie theatre again last night. I did not go to the movie theatre with the sole intention of seeing, 'Win a Date With Tad Hamilton'. I did not squeal like some sort of estrogen-pumped teenager when the Topher Grace removed his shirt. And I absolutely did not cry at the end when the boy got the girl and they danced in the rain. Because if I did these things, it would mean that I fell for another big-budget, poorly written, vapid, shallow, glossy romantic comedy. It would mean I have no sense of shame or any hint cinematic taste. Urrrrgh! Damn you, Leigh, and your contagious girlie notions of cinema! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>23,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
New pictures up in the 'Pictures' section. Some very strange and funny stuff, I assure you. A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>22,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
My friends basically rock. AnnaPants26: what the fuck lauren? your uncle? Waterwoman429: sweeeet Waterwoman429: haha Waterwoman429: my uncle's dog's name is tilly AnnaPants26: what's cooler than being cool? Waterwoman429: ice cold!!!!!! AnnaPants26: whats 8 times 9 AnnaPants26: quick! Waterwoman429: 72 AnnaPants26: WOW A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>21,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
Wipe the adorable smirk off your face! I should hate you! Melissa gave me a call tonight. 'Jesus Christ was an Only Child' was blaring on my stereo (how fitting) ' You've just been on my heart lately, sweetie, and I wanted to give you a call!' It sounded so disgenuine. I can't help it, I heard sarcasm in her voice. Rationally, Melissa is not a sarcastic person at all, so I must have just amplified the wrong syllables in my head. Maybe I just hate pity. Or attention. The jest, and probably the soul reason for calling me, was an invitation to devotional meetings at her church (aptly named 'D-group') I am trying to decide how I feel about this, and I have yet to come up with an appropriate description. Joining her groups means having to play nice with several people I don't know (and we all remember what tends to happen when I'm introduced to large groups of people... hello Prozac!) But I really want to get over all that. I need to mature, and quit being so fucking self-conscious. On another note, I read that Death Cab for Cutie and Bright Eyes have been mentioned on 'The OC' several times now. I am outraged. That (ridiculously good-looking) Adam Brody should not be allowed to like them. He's on the fucking OC . I have wrestled with the conflict, 'To watch or not to watch.' I think I made a wise decision. Aside from watching a vapid soap opera, I know I would become obsessed with Adam Brody and start buying YM for the locker pin-up of his adorable smirk... the asshole. Listen to some Bob Dylan, it will do your heart a world of good. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>21,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
It’s weird how you can think about something so much that you forget how much it’s on your mind. Eating snow flakes with plastic forks And a paper plate of course, you think of everything Short love with a long divorce And a couple of kids of course They don't mean anything Live in trailers with no class goddamn I hope I can pass high school means nothing Taking heartache with hard work Goddamn I am such a jerk, I can't do anything And I shout that you're all fakes And you should have seen the look on your face And I guess that's what it takes When comparing your bellyaches And it's been a long time Which agrees with this watch of mine And I guess that I miss you, and I'm sorry if I dissed you -Trailer Trash , Modest Mouse Sleepless Anna is a confused Anna. All last night I kept thinking, “It’s time to go to sleep.” and then I didn’t. How can I be so tired and not be able to fall asleep? It makes no sense. So I listen to “Lonesome, Crowded West”. The polaroids on the cover are all taken in Washington. One is an artsy shot of a hotel in downtown Seattle that I recognize. Most are pictures are of farms, though. They compliment the music well. I wrote a really long poem last night. I don’t understand what it is about being awake at three in the morning that makes me feel so poetic. But maybe its one of those little secrets of life that you don’t need to understand to enjoy. I like that quietly rapturous feeling. It makes me sort of sad, though, because I feel happiest when I’m by myself. People don’t bother me, not really. It’s just the things that people do that bother me. I’m trying to decide if it’s better to be closed to most people and safe or uninhibited and risk getting hurt. Should I have to decide who I am? Shouldn’t I just let me happen naturally? I could really use a cigarette to calm me down. Unfortunately, though, I am all out. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>20,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
We worked on portraits today in photography. My partner is a kid I went to elementary school with. He’s perfectly nice, but the assignment bothers me. I hate having my picture taken like this. The best pictures are the ones with a good story, ones were you don’t look very good, but you look happy. All of the pictures I pose for in this class turn out stiff, mean even. Like I am mad at the camera. Portraits are intimate… every imperfection and pore show. There’s nothing to hide behind with a nine-inch lens in your face. It’s very unerving to come out of that class and suddenly aware of how I look to other people. It’s awkward, like a second-coming of seventh grade. I skipped my English class this morning. I had the three-day weekend to read three scenes of Julius Caesar, yet I opted to instead lose myself in my newest Modest Mouse CD. (Some call my a slacker, I call me a music-appreciator) While in The Rocket, nurturing my remote caffeine-addiction, three seniors walked in. I only know this because they were wearing “TIGERS ‘04” spirit shirts. I am honestly surprised that they had time to eat their bagels with all the gossip they were spewing. It was truly disgusting. Through the Jazzy Indian music (which was actually quite good) I hear things like this; “Who does she think she is! I mean, I love her, but come on, Jessica, you’re not that hot!” “…and I was so drunk, I hardly remember anything!” “She’s a whore, a dirty whore. But she’s so cool, I totally love her!!” What a perfect representation of Spokanian youth. My favorite part was when one girl excused herself to the bathroom for a few minuets. And the two remaining girls tore into her… “What is she wearing! I love her, I totally love her, but what the fuck!?” “I knooooow! Oh my god, those pants do not fit. But I love her…” Ew. I was looking up Google Images on “Spokane” this afternoon. And this is one I found. How perfect an image of what life is all about here! The (white) wife standing and rubbing her (white) husband’s shoulders while he suns himself. Oh yes, there's a (white) baby, too. Poor kid, he 's going to soon realize how doomed his life here will be. God, even the dog is white in this picture. It could be on a pamphlet for the KKK. I have this ongoing idea about making a documentary about the lives of disaffected youth in Spokane. There are so many things that happened here… its hard to focus in on an angle. The history is the violent Native American-murdering kind. I keep coming back, though, to the idea of sullen youth kids with no outlet for their artistic expression, since the music scene is shit and the art scene is nonexistent. It would be interesting to talk to kids from different age groups. I just feel like writing my continuous daydream in here in case it’s ever fully realized. Time to listen to a cowboy. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>17,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
I can't understand why I have never posted these lyrics before. They are so beautiful. The song is by Jewel. She's an ugly girl, does it make you want to kill her? She's an ugly girl, do you want to kick in her face? She's an ugly girl, she doesn't pose a threat. She's an ugly girl, does she make you feel safe? Ugly girl, ugly girl, do you hate her 'Cause she's pieces of you? She's a pretty girl, does she make you think nasty thoughts? She's a pretty girl, do you want to tie her down? She's a pretty girl, do you call her a bitch? She's a pretty girl, did she sleep with your whole town? Pretty girl, pretty girl, do you hate her 'Cause she's pieces of you? You say he's a faggot, does it make you want to hurt him? You say he's a faggot, do you want to bash in his brain? You say he's a faggot, does he make you sick to our stomach? You say he's a faggot, are you afraid you're just the same? Faggot, Faggot, do you hate him 'Cause he's pieces of you? You say he's a Jew, does it me that he's tight? You say he's a Jew, do you want to hurt his kids tonight? You say he's a Jew, he'll never wear that funny hat again. You say he's a Jew, as though being born were a sin. Oh Jew, oh Jew, do you hate him 'Cause he's pieces of you? |
</post> |
<date>16,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
You know the saying, ' Easrdroppers never hear anything good ' (or something like that?) Joey's dealer called last night and I 'accidentally' (purposfully) heard the worst thing I could ever hear over the phone. My brother ordering ' crack '. I was numbed by this. My brother has been kicked out of two schools and Boy Scouts of America (for life ) and charged with several misdemeners and a felony. My brother regularly smoke cigarettes, drinks alcohol, and does a) marijuna b) mushrooms and c) ectasy. And yet I was still shocked at this exchange of words. Floored, even. I was so happy this last week, I was convinced that he is going to graduate. He was being so nice, he wasn't angry at me or my mom. He even had a non-hostile conversation with my father. And then this... What can I say to describe how I feel about this discovery? He is my brother, I love him. And he is literally risking his life . Willing and unneccessarily putting himself in a life-or-death situation. He is so selfish ! How can he do this to me and to Jake, not to mention my parents (who have already lost a child)?? The audacity to care only about himself and what he wants... a higher high. Health risks aside, cocaine is illegal . He could go to prision. My brother in that orange jumpsuit that he has been able to illude for the last five years. So, I confronted him about it. I printed out a list of health risks from the internet about cocaine. I told him I loved him and I didn't want to see him die... and he was furious . How dare I! Annoying little sister, always getting in the way of his fun. The tattletale. It reminded me of everytime he would hit me growing up, only the pain was in my heart this time. He doesn't realize how his actions affect the people around him. My mother, rubbing his back after an all night drinking binge. My father paying off his court costs, pulling strings and trying to save face. Jake, not understanding. And me. The tattletale little sister. The one who gets in the way of everything. The ' stupid ', ' fat ', ' ugly ', obnoxious little girl who is too far from cool to ' get it '. He looks at me like a foreigner... Not matter what I do, nothing could make me understand, God knows I've tried. I'm so easily manipulated by him. He can charm his way into my wallet. He can get me to lie for him. And I hate him for taking advantage of me like that... I hate him for calling me such awful names, I hate him for being selfish and careless and cruel. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. But, really, I can't hate him. He's my brother. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
urlLink Which Lord of the Rings character and personality problem are you? brought to you by urlLink Quizilla Psh, you know it. A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>14,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
In my spectrum of boy-ogling, there are two kinds of crushes. There are the brief, fleeting infatuations which come on strong, triggered suddenly, and die off just as quickly. These are nice, easy-come/easy-go, make-me-smile crushes. And then there are the ones that stick. Ah, G-Dogg, how do I love thee? Let me count the innumerable ways. An aspect of G. I have yet to explain is (was) his hair. Similar to dreadlocks, but… not. He basically went a year or so without combing it, and his (gorgeous) auburn locks formed quasi-dreadlocks that are notoriously his. And just what, exactly, could top this? How about shaving a money sign into the back of your head?? With the construction of such a follicle masterpiece, how could anyone not love him? The weekend is shaping up. It seems like Dr. Martin Luther King’s birthday will be celebrated by listening to motivational speaker Happy Watkins and later smoking marijuana. Thanks to M.L.K., I get to dwindle away brain cells and have my ass fall asleep on the bleachers at the pep con… ah, but with equality ! Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
“We spotted the ocean/ ahead of the trail” I have a problem; I get portions of two different songs stuck in my head at the same time; they run together to from a hyperbred of a song. “ Can I have my cake?/Can I have you too?/ I’ll send an S.O.S. to the world” (a mixture of John Mayer and Sting and The Police) Lately, I think Anna and I are getting closer. We get along so well, we have really good conversations that imply the world ( SLC Punk reference there) Our math teacher calls us “Anna squared” and I love that. Today we begged her to buy a class pet, and I had a stroke of brilliance. Since the plan is to obtain a hamster (a small rodent animal) it is only fitting it be named “Isosceles”. Kudos to those who get the joke in that. Tomorrow is my last official day of Zero-Hour. No words necessary… or possible. Sadly, I will depart from the Crushable-Jew and Hot-piece-of-ass-with-a-great-smile, but I will be saner for it in the end. I squatted 155 pounds this week, and subsequently felt very proud. Granted, I also power-clean 80, but really, who’s counting? Adrienne, Robin and I plan on starting a Yoga course this month, so I’ll still stay relatively fit. (Ah, and by the way, the holiday weight gain totaled 3.5 pounds… again, who’s counting?) I feel just like everything is breaking free. Second semester will be my salvation. That, and my upcoming guitar lessons. Cross you fingers and hope it’s a John Mayer look-alike. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>13,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
Oh, the waves of addiction are going to consume me soon. I can feel them waiting to swallow me up with their enticing nicotine. And yet, I don’t want to stop. In my completely fucked-up realm of living from school-day to school-day, smoking is the only time that I feel calm… at all. I know it’s bad, I know it’s stupid, I know it’s going to slow down my mile (and I recognize that that isn’t nearly as bad as the other health risks) But the second the smoke hits my lungs I feel docile, I stop analyzing everything. I just sit and breathe and taste the smoke. Meghan really is experiencing some strange “ That Anna thinks she’s so cool! Well, I’ll put her in her place! ”-syndrome. As I skedaddled to homeroom, so I could review for project with Adrienne, she became angered. Hence, “ God, Anna, you always have to do everything better than me!” Yes, Meg, I really want to beat you to homeroom. You sure got me there. I discovered something out about myself today and I hate it. Deep down, as disgusting as it is, I secretly am concerned with what people think about me. It’s so gross. And here is the proof: public speaking. I had to speak in front of my fellow AP students for 5 minuets this morning. And I bombed . I couldn’t even distinguish the shaking of my voice from the shaking out my hands as I held the note cards. How come I can dance (pre-high school) in from of 500 people without so much as breaking a sweat, put on a cheap accent whilst portraying a holocaust victim, give speeches at school and yet standing in front of twenty people freaks me out? I hate public speaking, but I hate that I care about it even more. I tried to remind myself that the kids in front of me were the ones who listen to Chingy and got drunk at mixers. These were the kids who stand for nearly everything I hate. And they made me nervous, those Ambercrombie-worshipping, materialistic, animal-eating, environmentally unconscious nasties and the wanna-be ganstas … good god! And so, today was not the best day. Today was a shitty day, in fact, the kind that breeds chain-smokers and therapy clients. Affectionately… Anna -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *I may be overusing the exclamation points tonight. |
</post> |
<date>12,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
First and foremost, I just witnessed perhaps the funniest CD compellation commercial. Kate’s has infinity for On Tha Down Low (which, along with R. Kelly and Mary J. Blidge features homoerotic suggestions) But it has been topped by the advent of Thug Nation , which boasts:“ Whether you be a hustler, a gansta, or a P.I.M.P., Thug Nation gonna keep your game in check. ” It also gives a tremendously thug purple bumper sticker that says “ Holla 4 Thug Nation !” if you call and order in the next twenty minuets. A glimpse into the scary world of my ineternal conflicts: Situation #1: Crying like a girl while listening to my CD mix “Sad songs to be sad about” Anna, you have to get off your carpet and do something more productive. I do not want to do anything productive. I want to be morose and silly. Morose and silly don’t get your History project done, now do they? Arghhh…!! Situation #2: Flipping back and forth every minuet or so between VH1 and Oprah Is it really important that we know how the guy from American Idol got his stomach stapled? It’s somewhat interesting. Better than Julius Caesar. So what if J.C. sucks the life out of you? It’s a necessary evil. Arghhh…!! Situation #3: Braiding my dogs hair What the fuck are we/you doing?!? [No answer] This is so stupid… [No answer. I am giving myself the silent treatment.] …and pointless! Arghhh…!! I have projects due this week in Science, History, English, and a huge one in Math. I also had a goal to do some extra credit in Photography and start training to Track. I need something to blame for my lazy ass and apathy. But it all comes back to me. Too tired and worn out to do anything productive or important. All I want to do is sleep, but it’s not really an option. I hate being a teenager. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>11,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
The follwing are exert from what may just be the best song ever written. It is entitled 'Livin' in Spokane' and it is by Spokanite-band The Trailer Park Girls. Where the weather's fine and the sun is shining and the grass is green and the river's clean urlLink and another sex offender moved into my neighborhood Yeah yeah yeah We're not cool like Seattle Don't got a big needle shooting up into space We keep all our culture in the yogurt at Safeway *Spokane* Our cops are always smilin' They wave at the kids shooting hoops at the park If you're black and you drive You're gonna get pulled over *in Spokane* Where the weather's fine and the sun is shining and the grass is green and the river's clean urlLink and another smelly biker just opened up a new meth lab. *Spokane, in Spokane* Where the weather's fine and the sun is shining and the grass is green and the river's clean And another neo-nazi just bombed Planned Parenthood *Spokane, in Spokane* We've got South Hill snobs *in Spokane* We've got the Hillyard dogs *in Spokane* Yeah, there's been another murder *in Spokane* We got the Lilac's bloomin' *in Spokane* They found human bones in a furnace in *Spokane* We once had an Expo in *spokane* We get alot of snow in *Spokane* and things move pretty slow in *spokane* Yeah we're stuck in line at costco *in Spokane* Just a little west of idaho Yeah, we're spokane Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>10,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
Barnes and Noble, although slightly evil, is still the best place to spend a Saturday afternoon. I saw Matt, who coherced me into buying 'Louder Than Bombs' by The Smiths. It's excellent. He tsk-tsked my school-spirit display of last night, dispite my best efforts to convince him it was nothing. “The world network of junkies, turned on a cord of rancid jissom, trying up in furnished rooms, shivering in the junk-sick morning. (Old Pete men suck the black smoke in the Chink laundry room and Melancholy Baby dies from an overdose of time or cold turkey withdrawal of breath.)” - Naked Lunch , William S. Burroughs Why did I decide to read this book and when will it start making sense? Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>09,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
We won! Much, much, much more importantly Stevie Weller, my former flame/infatuation/object of extreme physical urges was at the game, visiting from college. Speaking of which, I had my ass grabbed! Cool! Oh wait, I am a pseudo-feminist and having a punk freshman touch me is totally un cool. The prick. Bobby B. (who was another perverted ass last year... there was much attention played to underwear, particularly mine, which pissed me off and made Mary quite upset) was hanging out with us and, indeed, was drunk. He begged us for a ride home and we oblidged stupidly. He was slurring his speech and standing too close and falling over himself. Cool! He talked to me about how different I was from last year, along with a lot of other 'come hither' things I couldn't understand. He was, however, sober enough to notice me house on the ride home. 'Hey, wasn't the kid who called in the bomb threats to Sac... didn't he live...?' 'Yes, my brother.' 'Whaa...?!?' Ah... the hijinks of Spokane kids who have to make their own entertainment. Illegal activities are surpassed only by smallmindedness in this place. A. .... A. |
</post> |
<date>08,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
I am so rarely blessed with an awesome day; I had almost forgotten what it feels like to be so happy. I am getting ahead of myself, first I need to explain Rubber Chicken. Rubber Chicken is a spirit competition between LC and Ferris (our “rivals”, I guess) It’s ultimately the biggest display of school spirit all year, which is not either interesting or fun. Everyone dresses in black and orange, mouthing off about how great our school is. News flash; its not that great. From my seat in the ass-numbing bleachers today I saw a sea of Caucasians, peppered barely by the occasional (and rare) black or Asian student. It’s ridiculous that the administrations spew bullshit about school diversity and yet we have none . It’s easy to be 'open' and 'accepting' of different races when the minority is so small. Ew. But such rave remarks about our school is commonplace at pep cons. And its not the hipocrasy I have to deal with but the length of time spent watching the great ordeal go on. I thought I would never leave. Anna D. and I treated ourselves to a nice lengthy conversation/lunch afterwards. Rocket Sex God was working a new shift, and so we were graced with his presence. Today he was wearing his glasses (!!) and a plain t-shirt with some sort of wings drawn on the back… such extreme hotness baffles me. We ended up missing fourth period entirely, and on our way back to school we were stopped by a religious zealot standing outside our school. He was holding a sign that said something to the affect of “ How have you praised Christ today ?” in gigantic colorful letters. And he was blocking us from crossing the street to getting into school. “ Well, have you ?” “ Uh…” collective weirded-out noises came from both Anna and I. “ Well can you at least give me some scripture ?” “ Uh…” Anna looked like she was going to erupt in hysterical laughter at any second. “ ForGodsolovedtheworldhegavehisonlysongthathewhobelievedinHimshallnotperishbuthaveeternallife. ” I said without pausing for a breath. It was the simplest and first thing that popped into my head. “ Very good! Well, ladies, I hope that you continue to praise Him and lift up His name !” “ God…bless…you…” Anna said between bits of muffled laughter. The second we crossed the street we could not hold back. It was the best kind of laughter. They were feverish, shrill laughs. The kind of giggling that makes you feel giddy and uninhibited. I couldn’t even breath . We just stood laughing until I my stomach hurt. Due to this, we missed the begining of fifth period and we’re let into our classroom (damn you “ No Tardy ” policy!) And guess who happened to also be out of class? Who could make my boy-oggling afternoon better? Who?? G-dogg… but of course. And all through our mini-conversation they same Rilo Kiely songs we running through my head. “Indifferent but distanced perfectly/projected endlessly/SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL” Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>08,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
Returned to the oblivion of school today. It was awful, but that’s entirely expected. I remember talking to a girl in the library last year… She overheard me talking about how much easier high school was than I had expected. She looked at me, and said “ Just wait until next year. Then you’ll see !” So this is the sophomore slump. And it is driving me insane. Yet, there is so much more to life than school… maybe it sounds contrived or like I am trying to justify my current C in English… I just can’t help but think school is not the be-all end- all of my life. I am more than grades. I am more than homework assignments. I am more than the state-wide WASL test. Though this hardly passes as news; I’ve been treating my GPA like an expendable entity since October. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reasons why Meghan Kathleen is pisses the fuck out of me and is not a good friend: 1. Meghan is a liar. Meghan lies about the most trivial and arbitrary things possible. It literally ranges from she-said/he-said bullshit to where she is spending her weekend. It pisses me off because I would think of all people, she would at least cut such crap around me. 2. Meghan exhibits the maturity of a fifth grader. Sometimes I think that her maturity-growth was stunned somewhere is 1999. She can’t carry on a conversation without interrupting other people, instead talking about mindless crap about people I do not care about. Really if What’s-Her-Face is sad because she accidentally cheated on So-and-So I DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK ! 3. Meghan belittles me. She knows exactly what to say to hurt me, and does it all the time. After so many “ God, I’m just kidding !”s I start to wonder what the point is. She is mean to me. And it’s that simple. I don’t like being called stupid. I don’t like every bad thing in our past being brought up (“ Remember when Maryellen was too cool for you?”) The worst part is, she launches such attacks when my defenses are down. I have never been good at standing up for myself, and she uses it against me. I know this means that there is something really fucked up with her emotionally to want to hurt me all the time… but it still hurts. 4. Meghan is superficial. How many times do I have to tell her I don’t care were she bought her latest whore-pants? I do not want to know her latest cup size or the new place she’s getting her highlights done at. Those things are a crutch. Meghan is one of the most gorgeous people I know, but you can’t even see her face through the pounds of makeup she cakes on it. 5. Meghan expects me to be a shoulder to cry on… but does not reciprocate. If she is watching the OC or even a “good” Lizzie McGuire, I could be sobbing and she would put me on hold. That’s the way she works. We used to be so close, and I need her in my life, but its asking way too much for her to be the sole beneficiary of all care. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- See, there is a reason why this blog must remain private. That’s quite possibly the most through and most mean thing I have ever written. Worst still, I mean every word of it. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>07,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
I'm an irredeemably eejitous, liberal, disgustingly generous, relatively well adjusted human being! urlLink What are you? Brought to you by urlLink Rum and Monkey From my brother's druggie-circle website, ' All the lyrics and all the tones in the world could not express the explosion of emotions that are being felt. Winter brings on a plague of depressions. I have said it before and I will say it again, Its hard to raise hell when its cold out. So I say fuck the 23.5 degree tilt to our axis. Fuck the constant phrase of 'What do you want to do.' Winter is the hard drug season, and crack is knocking on our door.' He's like a fucking poet when he wants to be. When I was so vehemently (arrogantly) opposed to drug use, I used to think I would never like my brother's crowd. But now I see them as confident college-bound smarties. They don't use drugs as a crutch, but as enhancement. They make their own happiness, but the occasionally illicit material heightens it all. I love this song so much I could listen to it all day long. Bright Eyes rocks my (limited, narrow, very contained) world. Your hands on me Pressing hard against your jeans Your tongue in my mouth Trying to keep the words from coming out You didn't care to know Who else may have been here before I want a lover I don't have to love I want a girl who's to sad to give a fuck Where's the kid with the chemicals? I thought he said he'd meet us here but I'm not sure I got the money if you got the time He said it feels good I said I'll give it a try Sick days rock my little world. Via la fever. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>06,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
My guidance counselor is awful; I think the only thing she knows about me is my name... though even that is pronounced wrong ('On-nah Zee-mance') It's more complicated than interesting, so I will spare the details. In the end, my awesome tutoring-administrator (also the senior English department head) wrote her an email requesting my desired schedule changes be made... I don't know if anything good will come out of this, but let's hope. Our theory for summer extravaganza; road trip. Dave Matthews Band comes to the Gorge practically every summer (for the last many years or so, at least) and it would be the perfect summer trip. Lauren is a hardcore DMB fan, I am a mild one... well, we all listen to their stuff, we all like it. This is saying a lot since some people (Leigh) still listen to their Save the Last Dance soundtracks from seventh grade, and others listen to Green Day (Adrienne) Our musical tastes are so varied, Dave Matthews is about the only thing we can agree on. A road trip to George, Washington (the place, not the dead president) to see a senic-surrounded amphitheatre would be perfect for us. My only reservation is who, exactly, would drive. Not Leigh . We might never reach the concert. Joey drove me home today, as I was feeling too sick to go to sixth (ok; basically I was not in the mood for yet another nature film... plus, Rambo remembers to take attendance so my presence mattered little) He was smoking something that was, surprisingly, not pot! ' Here.' he said, handing over the brown cigarette-looking thing to me. [I looked at him questioningly] 'It's like a cigar .' And, though I swore off cigarettes after discovering first-hand that they make you smell like cigarette smoke (who knew?) I inhaled. I was surprised because I didn't cough. I was proud. Maybe there is hope for me yet as a chain-smoking, neurotic, tortured writer. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
Most people know about my loyal fixation of admiration… G-Dogg. With his trademark penny colored hair forever uncombed hair and wardrobe of band t-shirts and paisley, his presence in a hallway will make me temporarily retarded (books have been dropped, shoelaces have been tripped over) My connection to him is via his Senior sister, a comrade of Joey’s who also dabbles in the fine arts of thrift-store shopping and drug harboring. He was in my math class last year, sixth period and my favorite part of the day. He was able to be just personable and exocentric enough to grasp my attention without being obnoxious. He’s captivating and alluring with strong political convictions and causes. He is immediately likeable, friends with nearly everyone. My first conversation with him went something like this: “Heeee-ey, you’re Joey’s sister, right?” “Um. Yes.” “Cool, cool. He’s a good man. So wait, you didn’t go to Sac… you went to Cataldo, right?” “Um. Yes.” “Cool, cool. I have a few Cataldo connections myself. Fine establishment, not my thing, but cool.” “Um. Yes.” Math was my class of choice to slack off, doing hardly any work. I talked to Erin and politics. If you will recall, I was a sickenly staunch Republican at the time. (I was going through a phase) With tenderness, he refuted most of what I said, but with intellect and charm that ultimately won me over. And that was it, after less than ten conversations I was hooked. I can only imagine what image he conquers up when (not that it is likely) I come to mind. I was such an ass then, even though I was fairly timid I was also pompous. I see him occasionally, and I want to desperately proclaim “ I’m not that stupid anymore! I even am OK with drug use! I think Modest Mouse is amazing !”. However, usual conversations are limited to, “ Hi, Anna”, “Good morning!”. Leigh’s beautiful theory (which is more like a gross overstatement combined with wishful thinking) is that we are “soooo right for one another!!” that we will eventually come together is a passionate love affair culminating in our senior year. I like the idea of passionate love affair, but the fact that it is so far away makes me feel pathetic. I feel like a spinster. Is it any wonder I am in desperate need of male companionship? Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
It occurred to me that in the history of this blog, I have not once mentioned Michael B. Which is strange, considering my ever-present love and skill at analyzing the fuck out of everything and everyone. Michael and I have an interesting connection. For you see, we're betrothed. Michael and I, aside from both being the offspring of crazy-ass room mother co-dependents, are also the same age. We went to pre-school together at First Presbyterian First Pres. was the school for overprivileged spoileds, where the teacher-to-toddler ratio was pleasing to the well meaning parents. Practically the only memories I have from that time was (a) throwing up in the vice-princepal's office and (b) a child dressed as Jesus ridding a teacher dressed as a donkey in honor of Palm Sunday. I do not remember Michael, although there are pictures to prove that we co-existed in the same place. Kindergarten I do remember. A major part of my youth was spent dealing with archetypes, characterizations. These include those such as The Nosepicker, The Pants Wetter, The Fat Kid, and The Freakishly Tall Kid. Michael and I shared the honor of the former. Though I stopped growing in seventh grade and now reside at an average five-seven and a half, the mentality of towering over my peers gawkily is still there. I admired my petite classmates who were proclaimed 'cute', whereas I was always 'smart', 'energetic', or (my personal favorite) 'mature!'. So Michael and I were in the same boat. He was only slightly taller than me, but the shared sentiment was the same. We both hated being tall. Considering the great gender dichotomy of Elementary school (and, fuck-- face it, most pre-adulthood) we didn't not play together at school. (We did, however, both have desks brought in from the second-grade classroom so that my circulation to our legs was not cut off during Penmanship Time.) But when my mother started volunteering after school hours, twice a week I was totted off to Jenny G.'s house. Michael and Jenny were neighbors, and we shared many game of tag during those blissfully innocent times. But of course, innocence never lasts. There were school plays to be put on and parts to be assigned. As the two who looked near middle-aged (at least closer than the other Care Bear t-shirted peers) we were made of be husband and wife. Taunting and teasing ensued. An isolated incident of playing one another's significant other would not be so bad. I think it was the seven more time this occurred in my young life that clenched the fact that, 'Hey, its the lovers!' became commonplace. Yes, Michael and were fond of the spotlight. He can actually sing on key, belting out notes like a male version of Christina Aguliera (minus, of course, the skanitude and the fact that she is female) And I was the girl given the limited solos in which I spoke lines rather than sang them. Now there's talent for ya! But from the tender age of five to the less-tender and more acne-ridden age of twelve, we were the thespian couple. Like Benifer with less glamour and recognition. So what on earth is cooler than being pinned together through childhood for height reasons? Why, you're moms placing bets on engagements of course! Indeed our mothers were set on our eventual marriage. And still are, for that matter. Though now almost a foot lies between us. Plus, I wouldn't date a football meathead unless he was doing a Cameron Crowe-esque expose. But yes, there is my homage to Micheal B. I hope he's having fun running around with guys in tight pants after a ball made of dead pig. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
Without sleep again, I crawled into the living room at five this morning to enjoy I Love the 80s and I Love the 80s Strikes Back episodes. My brother stumbbled in around six. He must have had a massive bong-hit before he left, because he ate, wordlessly, for thirty minuets. (No fear, though, he left my Ice Dream alone) We talked a little about Modest Mouse and school. This summer he is going to be living in Portland with his girlfriend on some hippie commune. Jake is planning on staying in Seattle and getting a summer job there. My mom will be taking classes at the community college and my dad will be working. And if summer dosen't sound lonesome enough, there's always next school year. My dream of a quiet, peacful house is closer to being coming true. And with its realization I feel strangely scared. The dynamic of my home life is changing. It wasn't very hard when Jake went off to school. He hadn't been around much, and when we did see one another we usually argued. But Joey has been my pal since we were babies. There is evidence of our closer connection from home videos dating back to before I was born. Jake will yell at my mom's stomache ('HEY BABY ANNA! BABY ANNA!!') and Joey will 'show me' his toys and talk in a barely audible whisper. Despite all his problems, I still feel a stronger bond with him. And now he is leaving. I mentioned Joey's problems... there have been a lot. My parents tried to hide a lot from me when I was younger, but not anymore. Maybe that's because they are too big to hide now, or maybe its because they are tired of keeping secrets. I guess the first real instance I can remember of him getting in trouble more than the usual 'talking to' was when he was eleven. It was the summer and he and a friend had pitched a tent in the backyard. My mom came out to check on them in the middle of the night, and she found them sharing a bottle of wine. Things escalaed from there. Trouble at school, as is typical. But then he really hurt my parents when he said he didn't want to go to church anymore. He got kicked out of Sacajewa and charged with a felony by fourteen. My parents sent him to Northwest Christian, he was kicked out again. He started going to LC and started doing more drugs. He's been arrested so many times now... it seems commonplace. I feel kind of shitty for airing out his problems, but they have really hurt me too. I don't think he sees that when he breaks into people house (summer 2002) or is found drunk in the park (summer 2003) that it scares the crap out of me. What semblance of discipline will be gone in only a few months, and the thought of him out in the world with no protection terrifies me. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>01,January,2004</date> |
<post> |
Here’s one way to spend your new years night; listening to Kermit the Frog signing ‘The Rainbow Connection’ and drinking can upon can of Diet Coke. Apparently, the lovers the dreamers and me are not close enough to finding the illusive connection. The quest continues. Sleep continues to evade me. I feel so edgy and soulful milling around wide awake at three in the morning, but come sunrise, when I still can’t sleep, I only feel shitty and frustrated. I was, at one point, motivated to do something about this problem, but since my parents refuse to let me take medication (citing that it isn’t a “real big” problem and the possibility of addiction) there is little I can do. I sound so stereotypically off-put when I talk about my parents. I love them with all my heart, but there are some days when I feel like we’re engaged in a bitter war of petty battles (“ Anna Marie, do not move the broom from the broom closet!” “Anna Marie, you can not play that music that loud!” “Anna Marie, your backpack does not belong in the living room!”) They are genuinely concerned about my social life, which is actually worse than having them yell at me. Not matter how hard I persist that I hate big crowds and gatherings, my mother is just not satisfied. I deliberately hang out in smaller groups of people. Hanging out in large groups seems so impersonal. In those instances when I do, I feel like everyone is fighting over conversation time. Everyone is waiting for their turn to talk. And no one really pays attention to what anyone else says… I hate it. I wonder if being misunderstood comes with the territory when you’re fifteen? Or maybe it’s simply the difference my parents and I have in defining “well-adjusted”. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
That’s Anna D and Anna , for those not in the know. I just love our nickname so fucking much. Even better is the fact that our math teacher gave it to us. Then factor in the fact that Anna and I have practically the same conversation every day: D: You’re like, my favorite person in the world! Z: I know! I know! D: We like, get along so well. Z: I know! D: Like, we have really good conversations! Z: I know! We’re basically fourth graders who have just discovered the facts of life, and feel the need to talk about them loudly and obnoxiously in public. I can’t recall how many times we’ve been given weird looks, cat called, or asked for phone numbers when talking about- oh, say- masturbation. But I feel like I never got a chance to act like this, I was twelve-going-on-twenty one in junior high. I’m compensating for lost immaturity. -------------------------------------------- My brothers were both cub scouts. I helped paint their Pine Derby box cars, I attended den meetings, and my mother even bought me one of those damn t-shirts. I went to ever single pot luck, dime-a-dip, and patch ceremony. Then when they became Boy Scouts, I went to their meetings, their summer camp, their flag ceremonies, and helped in their fundraisers. I wanted so badly to get to wear those uniforms, with the blue little scarves and the arm bands. I wanted to go camping and play with fire! How I pined for those patches! Did I want to sell cookies door-to-door? Did I want to weave baskets? Wear green? Do anything having to do with Girl Scouting? No. I wanted to be a boy scout, yet because I lack male genitalia, I wasn’t allowed to. So, Boy Scouts of America, I fucking hate you and Boy Scout Sundays and if I am ever hit on in my own church again I will notify your troop leader immediately. No matter how low-cut my top is, I am not asking for “it”. -------------------------------------------- I am supposed to go to Adrienne’s Academy Award Party tonight, but have no real intentions of doing so. I think it’s a cute idea to dress up in theory, but not in execution. I much prefer flip flops to heels and eye boogies to make-up. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
I wonder if anyone else has these days where everything is suddenly exactly as you wanted it to be. Robin, Leigh and I went malling, in celebration of the legalization of Leigh’s driving privileges. We went far out to Northtown, which was actually kind of nice. We bought a lot of unnecessary and unseasonable crap (tank tops in February… it just screams senseable) and saw a craptastic film, Havana Nights . More soft-core porn fun! I never really understood the appeal of Latin men until this movie. Suffice it to say that I do now. I ran into two old friends at the mall, as well. Katie and Holly; Katie I saw this summer (camp) and Holly who I haven’t seen for almost two years (camp) Hugs and cheers all around. Holly hadn’t seen me since the removal of orthodontia equipment, thus the cheers. Robin and I became eleven year olds after the movie. We like to go into really uncharacteristic stores and try on the most hideous formals we can find. I grabbed something off the “ My parents are Mormon !” rack; it had short-sleeves like a t shirt and no neck line. The waist was under my chest and it was bright purple. Robin went for another incarnation of the same dress, only in a disgusting beige color. We laughed and laughed and Leigh didn’t get the joke. Afterwards, Leigh took me to Robin's and we jumped on her trampoline. I haven’t been on one for longer than I can remember. My cousins had one when I was in third grade, I think. They scare the shit out of me, really, because I saw a Dateline about accidental trampoline fatalities. But it was dark out and I was shoeless and everything felt… peaceful, calm. We jumped and jumped and jumped until we could see our breath in the air and the stars were out. Then we put on our sweaters and lied down and talked about the future poetically. Thank god for a good night’s rest. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>27,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
Well, that’s it for the glory of five hour nights. That’s it for waking with the sun. That’s it for being remotely sane. I have entered a new phase in insomnia: complete and total inability to fall asleep. Two consecutive nights now. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but try it for yourself and see what you think. I can not concentrate. I can not remember anything I did today except I baby-sat and I may have eaten an orange at one point. My pants are falling off my ass, and I have circles under my eyes that rival the Grim Reaper’s. I look like I am in the ending stages of a terminal illness (well, close enough, anyway) My parents are concerned but remain strong in their opinion that I am perfectly well and do not need a physician’s care. This pissed me off more than restlessness. They don’t understand that- yes, there clearly is something wrong in this situation. I might have sleep an hour last night, but I can’t really recall. I went downstairs and watched VH1 music videos and infomercials until it was time to make some coffee (the elixir of life) and go to school. I seem to look even paler than usual (quite a feat) I fell asleep in science for another twenty minuets. We were watching a movie about baby wildlife, wherein actors gave voices to baby creatures with their mommies. Not stimulating enough to hold my attention. It was perfect Nirvana weather, raining and wet. We’re having an early spring. I listened to In Utereo over and over again, hoping to hear something I didn't hear the other hundred of times I have listened to it. I finally gave up and had some dry cereal. I watched Peter Pan while babysitting. After all this exhausting activity, I am hoping that I will be able to fall asleep tonight. If not, I am checking into my closest psychiatric ward. I always wanted to be like Esther Greenwood. Maybe this means I should throw all my clothes off the top of a building tonight? Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>26,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
French pop songs are so sweet. I think that tonight is going to have been one of my favorite birthdays. Leigh, Liz, and Paige broke into my locker with gifts, I had balloons sent to me at school, and Lauren gave me urlLink this wonderful hat . And I haven’t even celebrated with them yet. Gosh. Adrienne took my Homemade Gifts Only policy to great heights. She drew me the glorious picture of John Lennon, some abstract stuff, and burned me a beautiful CD (French pop songs, Beatles, etc) My mom bought me the mobile I desperately wanted, and the sketches will hang from it. I feel so old today. But naïve and childlike at the same time. We went to dinner at Muzoa, this vegetarian place downtown. Note to Sex God: you may have been displaced in the list of most gorgeous Spokane Food Feeders. When the Vegan server at Muzoa walked towards my table, I swear I heard harps playing or something. The boy- no, man- created a lapse in time. When my dad ordered the free-range steak, he laughed and said, “ Making us work for it, right? ” And wished me happy birthday over and over, and I nearly exploded with happiness. I’m trying to stray from the material aspect of my birthday, because it was really nice to be there with my family. Jake sent me a “For Our Grandma” card, in the grand tradition of sending one another off-occasion cards. Joey gave me the Kirt Cobain journals, and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. The best gift from my parents was my charm braclet. My mom has always said I can have one someone, and this one is absolutely gorgeous. The first charm is a little heart that says “ Sweet Sixteen ” engraved on the back. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
My new, slower-paced, English class is glorious . We have it in the jewelry room, so we sit on stools around big tables, covered each day in new butcher paper. Lauren and I take the entire morning to draw all over them, portraits of students, decorative lyrics, and tic-tac-toe games. At the end of the day, our “desks” are like mini-murals chronical first period. I don’t want to make this sound trivial, because it’s a very sad, sad story. But I don’t want to personalize it too much, either, because it’s so unsettling. A girl from Robin and Annica’s church died in a car accident last week. They hadn’t seen her for many years, but Annica in particular was friends with her when they were very young. I can’t imagine dying in a car accident. I can’t imagine dying, come to think of it. All throughout grade school, I would watch Now and Then , christened as ‘Tinnie’ for obvious reasons (obvious, that is, if you see the movie and were in my life to witness the “I have no chest! My life is over!” stage) There is a scene in the movie in which Roberta pretends to drown in the river, to see who her real friends are. I think I base a lot of what I think about death on that movie. Death has always felt mysterious and out-of-reach, like movie plots. Something I could only experience through a screen. Whenever I’m faced with the idea that the things and people around me are mortal, that one day we will die, I find it impossible to grasp that notion’s enormity. How will I move on after someone I know dies? How will I be able to function ? Will I be able to? So, perhaps immaturely, I just decide to put those thoughts in the farthest corners of my mind. I think of something Claire said to me. We were thirteen and sipping merlot around 3 AM in the park near Maryellen’s house. It was one of those balmy summer nights when everything seemed to stretch out forever in front of you. I was loved then, because of those girls, I was special and I had a place in our world. And Claire said, prophetically, “ Live in the moment .” Tomorrow I will be sixteen. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>23,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
I have the sinking feeling that I am just what I loath. I may be part of the trio of girls who talk loudly and disrupt others throughout class. I don’t think, even though it doesn’t make up for my membership in this disgusting group, that it’s entirely my fault. I am a mere pawn in Leigh’s evil gossip game. While Leigh talks to Liz and me a mile a minuet about things I have little to no interest in, we--futilely--attempt to correct her. We balance out her breakups stories with “ It’s-not-really-any-of-my-business ” responses. Occasionally, we even get a chance to converse with one another , in a more relaxed, less frenzied manner. She’s this really small girl with dark hair and braces. She laughs nervously a lot, which I find rather winning and sweet. We were working on adjectives today and in my description she included the word ‘quirky’ so I think the world of her. (Tomorrow I will ask her what music she listens to and paint and more accurate picture of her) She was telling me of her friend/boyfriend woes. Apparently, she is interested in her “ closet guy friend ” and not sure if the feelings are mutual. Ah, I know the story well. After offering some bullshit response about honesty, the *Senior spoke. “ Honesty is fucking NOT the best policy. You girls need to realize you have all the power in the relationship. We’re working for you.” And those were the words that cemented it; he was officially endeared. The conversation soon included pot, school, running, and my Catholic school. “Did you have to wear plaid skirts and knee socks?” “Well, yes, actually.” “Thumbs up, then.” Eyebrows are raised in what might be interpreted as a nudge-nudge, wink-wink manner. [Laughter, on both parts] After school, when we were on our way to our respective lunch spots, Liz turned around and said, “ Anna, how do you flirt?” “Excuse me?” “How do you do that?” “Do what?” “Flirt.” “Flirt?!” I should make it clear that I am not the flirting type. In any scenario. I usually opt for the stare-at-him-while-his-head-is-turned-then-turn-away-blushing-when-he-sees-me. I do not flirt. “ I do not flirt.” “Please. That was some skill.” Oh, lord, I really hope that wasn’t interpreted as flirting on Senior’s part. Because… I’m not actually sure, actually. Because flirting is not me, I guess. Remember; I am quirky! I’m unconventional. I’m… I don’t flirt , dammit! Affectionately… Anna ------------------------------------------------------- *Yes, it’s a pseudonym. Deal with it. |
</post> |
<date>21,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
This movie rocked my world when I was twelve. Anna, lovely girl that she is, took the morning (and most of the afternoon, to be honest) to carefully explain the finer points of radicals and midpoints to me. We went to The Rocket, and it was glorious. There were tons of people there. One little girl was sitting in a corner wearing a Hutton Elementary (my grade school) t-shirt. She looked exactly like a pre-adolescence Robin, red hair and all. She looked lonely, so I mentioned that I went to Hutton and she flashed the biggest smile in the history of 7am. I was browsing through my old MP3s today, deleting stuff I am ashamed I ever downloaded (i.e. that damn Matchbox 20 song I still can't get out of my head; 'baby, baby, baby ...') I came across either the best Alternative-Christian Rock song ever or the worst. I guess I can't actually name any other Alternative-Christian Rock songs, or Christian Rock songs for that matter. It's been on my computer for a really long time. It's called 'One Girl Revolution' , has bongo drums, and includes lyrics like; ' I'll shot the shot-- bang!-- that you hear 'round the world '. I'm pretty sure I downloaded it after I saw Cadet Kelly (prior to Duff's sellout) or some other family-friendly made-for-TV movie. The song continues to haunt me. There usually exsits a clear line between sucking and not sucking in the music department, as far as I am concerned. And this should, by all measures, suck. But something in the bongo drums and the line ' I declare my independence from the critics and their stones/I can find my revolution I can learn to stand alone ' brings me back to when I first liked this song. I distinctly remember it was burned on some CD I made, and I would play it when I went running. I would play it before school. I would play it when I was doing my homework. I would dance around my bedroom to this song. And it sucks! I should recognize this! But I don't! It's not just 'One Girl Revolution' . It's not even this song that's bothering me, not really. It's that it represents all those fucking junior high ideals that I can't get rid of. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>20,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
urlLink urlLink Which Survivor of the Impending Nuclear Apocalypse Are You ? urlLink A Rum and Monkey joint. Quote of the day (via my mother): 'Oprah's really white.' Then later, 'I'm Beyonce!' followed by strange, middle-aged pelvic-thrust dance moves. There is a show on ABC Family after school called 'Switched'. I've flipped by in occassionaly, but never managed to catch a whole show. The premise is two people from two cool, but drastically differnt, cities switch lives for a week or so. And guess where one urlLink Annette (age:17, favorite music: rap, pop) lives... fucking Spokane! And the girl she switched lives with was from Romania or something, but lived on a travleing circus. You would think someone like her would be used to strange folks. But even she was weirded out my the things here: cat grooming, bowling, cliff jumping. It was the most pathetic show ever. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>19,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
Please take just a few moments to watch urlLink this . It could be life-changing. It made me cry. A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>17,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
I’ve been listening to Ben Kweller today. In Harriet’s Song, he says “ You say I’m blind/ I think you’re wrong/Harriet’s got a song” and the exact note and tone he uses to say “ song ” brings me to a church camp song, which brings me to church camp. Right, right, I’m no religious zealot. Far from. (Incidentally, I saw a man on the street yesterday wearing a t-shirt that said ‘ Recovering Catholic’ , which is relevant, I guess) But I was raised in the faith, sort of, and my ass has been shipped off to church camp for eight summers now. I attend one week sessions at Twinlow Camp, and if there is one place on earth that feels like home, it’s Twinlow. The smell permeates in the back of my mind, as well as my duffle bag, for long after I leave. It’s dirty and usually hot, but some of the happiest moments of my life have been there. And I owe that to a really strange assortment of friends, The Butterflies. We are not the fucking Ya-Ya Sisters, non of us are very religious, and we see each other a handful of times a year. But we’re close. We were christened ‘butterflies; when we were eleven, because that was the name of out cabin. The group has morphed and changed over the years, so now it includes young men, but we’re still together. (Even though we live all across the state) Karlee. She’s still cheerleading, though not for her (“ mothering fucking retarded ”) school. We get together and pick up exactly where we left off. She brings out the loud, irritateive eleven-year-old in me (shamefully so, actually) and I suppose I do the same for her. We talk throughout the year, keep up on one another’s lives, and generally motivate one another to continue spending that one, glorious week at camp. Jenelle, as I have written about before, is my pen pal for life. There’s Christi, with whom I have told my deeper, darker secrets. Paige sends me chain letters to piss me off (it works, by the way) and I think there’s no one better prepared to be happy than her. The twins, Trevor and Travis, crack me up and I love them for it. And then there is urlLink Seth whose brother is Ethan. Oh yes, Ethan Haberman. Well, there is a lot to say about him. My entire infatuation with John Mayer correlates with my love of Ethan, if that shows the enormity. Whenever it rains or I’m considering things in my life, I always find that my daydreams resolve themselves with us marrying. He is simply beautiful. Tall, relatively fit but not beefy, with dark hair and boyish facial expressions that seem to relay something wonderful. He smiles a good deal, and it’s an entrancing, contagious smile that lights up everything. Did I mention he’s a musician? He plays guitar and sings. It actually hurts to hear his voice. It’s a low, deep (not Barry White, but deep) assuring sound that emanates from deep in him, and it washes over me like until I’ve forgotten that there is such a thing as time. Really, it’s an impractical way to treat your secret love, because when he says something like “Pass the ketchup” I freeze. I just realized that I intended for this entry to be about camp and it morphed into an entry about Ethan. Oh well, it inspires sappy love song-listening and bad poetry. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>17,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
Melissa shaved her head! I have made a very long, detailed, and somewhat strange list of all the things I want to do in my life. Said list includes everything from the standards (bungee jump, skydive, parachute) to the very odd (touch a mummy, meet the Pope, eat a pretzel in Monaco from one of those street vendors) Anyhow, number 26 on this list is “ Shave my head ” and Melissa did it. I guess it was some sort of declaration about how she doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her, and how superficial people can be. Her hair was gorgeous, mind you, and long, so it was really a change. She looks absolutely gorgeous even still, minus the hair and everything. She said it was liberating, and I should do it too, but there are many things to consider: 1. My parents 2. I will be cold 3. I love my hair Melissa always reminds me that I need to spent time with her, but our schedules don’t coincide… ever. Whenever she has a day off of the huge collection of church-related functions (youth group, devotional group, mission trip meetings, church, Sunday school, etc.) I suddenly have something stupid, but necessary to attend. I think her, Anna, and I will go see The Passion next week. I watched the interview with Mel Gibson. I totally understand the appeal of her hyper-breed of Catholism (I actually think these masses are cool, to be honest. Latin is awesome) but I’m not totally sure about his mental stability. It was tradition at Cataldo for the Eighth Graders to do a Passion play every Easter, and I was Mary Magdalene. I really want to see the movie, but there is the little fact about my inability to abstain from sobbing in any movie ever. This is the fucking passion. I might pass out or explode or something. Although Saturday’s events weren’t anything outrageous as far as LC is concerned, word of my pot de-virginization spread quickly. Several strapping young lads, those neo-hippie hotties, expressed excitement (“Man! We totally can hang out now! Are you going to Drum Circle next week?!”) My brother told some people, I guess, and David told some more. All in all, I was accosted several times. It wasn’t too awful, I suppose. I’m not sure how I really feel about it. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>16,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
No church yesterday. I was surprise, but not all that disappointed about it. Surprised because my father thinks attending Sunday service makes you Christian, although I certainly disagree. I wasn’t disappointed because, well, I didn’t want to go. Instead we went to a vinyl sale downtown. Every man there seemed to be Seymour ala Ghost World in my eyes. Middle aged, argyle-sweater wearing lovelies who may or may not still be living at home. There was some really great stuff I should have bought. But I don’t have a record player so it’s probably moot to buy a record I can’t listen to. My dad is likely to buy one soon, which shall be fun. I would love that. We ventured off to Barnes and Noble, which has become our Sunday afternoon routine. My dad treats me like an intelligent adult, and we each buy a book or a magazine and drink something from Starbucks. I’m a chi-with-soy girl, and my father likes double-shot espressos. I bought High Fidelity, and it’s excellent. I wish I were British so badly sometimes. I’ve begun to just talk like I am, in hopes I might fool someone. At the very least, I’ll have the lingo down by the time I end up living there. Leigh, Robin and I went to a different Starbucks later that night, coffee-ed it up and meandered downtown. We listened to Dave Matthew’s in her car, even though Leigh is anal about volume control. She’s a terrible driver, but I love her. We watched High Fidelity back at Robin’s house. I suppose for regular people, it would have ruined the book, but it only made me want to jump further into it. Robin owns every movie ever made, and can quote full scenes from each and every one. She would make a poor music critic though, because she loves the movies too much. She finds something sweet, prophetic, and funny in everything. This is the girl who liked Mona Lisa Smile. We held a small birthday party for Conor Oberst, as well. There were streamers and confetti and cake with candles. My friends are a blast. I wonder if it’s sane for someone to hold a celebration for someone they don’t actually know, but it doesn’t concern me too much. I thought it was sweet. Today was a homework and cleaning day, and although I was invited to “toke up” at David’s house (long, unfortunate history with this person… he listens to shit music and therefore not worth any space in my blog) I didn’t want to go. Ten days until I can watch Sixteen Candles with irony. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
I wasn’t sleeping, and somehow became convinced that there was a candle-holder in the China Cabinet that I needed. Though no candle holders were to be found, I did come upon three things: a) a pipe b) acid and c) a baggie of pot. So, I found my brother’s hiding place. I giggled to myself because I do the same thing. My mother is like the Gestapo, she will find what she is looking for. Periodically, I find things oh-so-slightly moved in my room. I’ve never understood her method of justifying her snooping, but it’s something I accept. And therefore our respective bedrooms are no place to hide anything of value. My journals are hidden in the heating vent. Back in my klepto days of middle school, I hid my stash in the garage. Robin called around two the next day. Her mother went to Eastern and would not be home until late that evening, Anna had some nice pot, and was today a good day to complete our proclaimed rite-of-passage? Yes. I grabbed the pipe, selected a few choice CDs and trotted off to Robin’s. We played some Bob Dylan and proceeded to the backyard. The actual process of inhaling marijuana is not anything like I thought it would be. It’s exactly like smoking a fag, really, and only slightly more illegal. We smoked outside for maybe fifteen minuets, finished a bowl and retreated to the warmth inside. We lied down in her living room, blasted Simon and Garfunkle, and I suddenly became very lightheaded. It was like that feeling of complete calm before you fall asleep. It was such a lazy, warm, happy feeling. I always thought that being high meant acting crazy, bouncing around and being out-of-control. It’s not. It’s better. Things felt dangerously poignant and beautiful in those moments. Kathy, I'm lost, I said, though I knew she was sleeping I'm empty and aching and I don't know why Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike They've all gone to look for America All gone to look for America All gone to look for America It was like a musical orgasm. I swear to God. I’ve always like that song, but it was different then, and now it’s different forever. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
Today I smoked pot. I smoked a lot of pot. Two bowls, spilt between Anna D., Robin, and I. It was everything I thought it would be. We listened to Simon and Garfunkle, and when 'America' played I was so happy I almost cried. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>13,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
I sleep through the night and woke around six; the sunlight was streaming through my windows on my face. I was home relatively alone… my mom was at the school, my dad was at the office and Joey was recovering from his perma-hangover. The light was so beautiful, so lovely. I didn’t want to leave me room because I was afraid I would come back and it would have darkened and I wouldn’t get to take advantage of the unseasonable sun. I sat in my bed and looked through photo albums all morning. My mother studied photography for many years, and she is the most talented portrait-taker I have ever seen, bar none. My favorites are those with my brothers and I, making funny faces or sitting around at the dinner table in our pajamas. Looking at each snapshot was like peaking back on that moment in time… remembering who I was at the particular second. It was so lovely. Robin called around noon, and I walked over to her house. There is still a liberal amount of snow on the ground, but it was 40 or so degrees (which is, for anyone who lives somewhere reasonably normal-tempered, quite warm) Robin and I had a very nice long talk about music and life and Spokane over a CD I burned for her (‘ Anna’s Haircut’ ) We were excited about the show tonight. We went downtown and saw ‘ The Triplets of Bellville’ . Who knew such an artsy, non-Spokane film would play right at our very own AMC?! There were probably about three lines in the entire film, but it was a masterpiece. The unconventionally-sketchy and over-exaggerated animation was incredible. I loved it. I loved the story. I loved the music. I loved it. We stayed downtown the rest of the afternoon. I spent most of the rest of my money at Boo Radley’s. I bought vegan soap (called ‘ Dirty Hippie’ soap) vegan candles, and a glass hand with all the fortune-telling lines on it. I also chatted up with the cashier, who loves my love of the store. From the amazing music selection to the vast vegan selection to the ‘ Anti-establish mints’ , the store is like my piece of heaven. I went home and had a very nice dinner, consuming both Boca and “Chik in!” My dad picked up Robin, Lauren, and Amanda for the show and dropped us off at The Detour. The club was really crowded and small, sweaty a gross with all the people. The crowd was disappointing, because the majority of the kids were wearing stud belts and had dyed their hair black. I saw two of my brother’s friends, though, which was nice. Oh, yes, and The Rocket Sex God was there. Ah-hem. The Rocket Sex God. That’s right. There were some very, very, very good-looking boys in my presence. I fell in love with every single one, too, and neither silly or immature for doing so. The first three bands were wretched. The kind of “I hate my parents! –SCREEEEEEEEEEEAM”/ “My girlfriend broke up with me! SCREEEEEEEEEEEAM ” stuff which passes for music. This is when I decided that Amanda, who I had not met before, is the greatest person alive. She grabbed the ass of not one, not two, not three or four, but five random boys. It wasn’t people she knew or found particularly attractive, it was just something she felted compelled to do. After all, our gaggle (which eventually included Leigh, who met us there) were getting plenty of chest, leg, and ass-action the entire night. It could have been all the pot around me, it could have been my sheer happiness, but I became some sort of high. Everything was very, very funny. Everyone was very, very beautiful. Around this time, Eloi hit the stage. The band we were here to see. I had talked to all the boys that night, thinking each one was increasingly cuter. They played their first song, a nice, skillfully-played song but with poor vocals. At one point I turned to Robin; “ Did they just say ‘I breath for Jesus’?” Song ends. Eric takes mic. “I just want to share with you guys that we’re a band devoted to Christ. We want you to help lift His name up. C’mon, let’s praise Him.” The next song, this time distinctly about lambs, sanctuaries, and purity blared from the stage. Without a second thought, Amanda lifted up cupped hands above her head and started swaying. And this is when I died of laughter. I laughed and laughed and laughed until I didn’t think there was any breath left in my body. The boy behind me was holding me up because I couldn’t stop laughing, he laughed along with me. I was heaving and crying and gasping for breath. We left early… I tried to collect myself. My laughter faded into spontaneous tuffs of noise. We couldn’t find Leigh’s car. A bum hit on us. We found a road sing laying on the ground, displaced from its hole, and carried it with us for a block or so. Amanda peed her pants a little. We drove home with the radio on very, very, loud. It was the best night. The perfect night. The perfect day . Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>12,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
The sophomore English department holds a chili-cook off every year as a commencement to the technical writing unit. My cohorts and I have been working on boring memos, business letters, and proposals for several weeks. Though I had very little part of making our “ Good Chili ”, it was a success. Members of the community and students come to school to judge the hottest, most unique, and best overall chilies. So that’s when I met Tasha’s brother. I remember reading a book once where relations between people were described; how every once and a while you met some one with whom you hear an almost audible click. You fit together. Though this click was one-sided, it was glorious. Oh good Loooooord. Its days like today where I realize that-- no, I am not over the boy-ogling days of my pre-pubescence. I love boys, I love everything about them. There is something so completely beautiful about the shape of a boy’s shoulders, about the shape of their arms, the messiest, softest part of their bed head. The deep, but gentleness of their voices and the stony, soft glare of their eyes. I love boys. Especially when they are wearing Nirvana t-shirts, are Vegetarian, and are named Brandon. The rest of the day sort of followed that same pattern. One of my poems was picked for this art project at school. I was, of course, excited about being selected. But all happiness was lost when I had to recite my (low-quality) poem for a recording, which will experience district-wide publication soon. On occasion, when the mood strikes or we’re practicing radicals, Anna and I pass notes in Math. Yes, this act is unashamedly pointless, but nothing makes my heart lighter than a good note-exchange. My brother went to the Emergency Room after school because the piercing in his lip was so infected he couldn’t remove the earring. He’s recently been getting into harder drugs, and with this comes a whole new set of pals. The over-pierced, over-sexed, over-drugged metal-heads who scowl at the world through jaded eyeliner. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>11,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
Alright folks, no school this Friday. (Good bless teaching improvement day.) But I have decided on something; I gots to get myself together, yo! In my family is it considered somewhat-ok for students to fail miserably in the grading department for one semester of their lives. And that semester is gone, it’s past, it’s over. Seeing as I have missed entirely too much school lately (glorified tooth cleanings and last week’s filling fiasco, along with my cold that will not die) my new quarter does not look much sunnier. I have, sadly, accepted the fact that Columbia will never accept me, even if I take a leaf from Elle Wood’s book via video-essay (those who understand this are awesome, bonus points if you get ‘ You mean like a road trip? Let’s all go! VACAY!’ ) But with a succession of Cs and only one solitary A to my name, I need to do some damage control if any college will accept me. That said: I now reserve the rest of this entry to be entirely grade conscious, like the good ol’ freshman days. 1. English with Campbell- Easily the easiest class ever. Lauren and I just draw on butcher paper and giggle about Mr. Campbell’s jewelry analogies (I’m not kidding, he teaches Jewelry 101) I don’t really think it’s possible to get anything below an A in this class. 2. AP History- Yes, I stuck it out for the rest of the school year. My new study group is horrendous, but the girls are semi-nice. Plus, Jordan is in that class and he always makes me feel smart (minus the pilgrimage references; long story. Just never mix Jerusalem with Mecca.) I will manage an A if I work my ass off. 3. Creative Writing- I will earn an A if I can get over my fear of reading poetry in public. Liz and I are toughing this out together. Otherwise, this class is a really good way for me to hang out with Leigh and scrounge what little literacy I have in the form of non fiction, semi-biographical essays. 4. Math- I suck. I will always suck. It’s never going to end. If I work my ass off I may manage a C. 5. Reading Intern (my tutoring class)- A. 'Nuff said. 6. Science- This class really snuck up on me. I think it was the final that brought my grade down so much. The rest of the year is Cosmology and Biology, so I don’t have any fear. I love both subjects, and I’m excited about non-mathematically related future tests. I’ll be sweet sixteen in fifteen days. I am hoping that this birthday will be better than last year. I had just returned from my Senate Page in Olympia, and I was tired and cranky. Mary was in Florida with her family (her little sister, Grace, is in a wheelchair, so they get free trips every year from Make a Wish Foundation) Ellen, Melissa and I went to a play and ate Vegan cake. They were very sweet when they made ‘ Happy 15, Anna ’ posters and put them all over the school, but it was still a pretty shitty birthday. Oh, God, Valentines Day is this weekend. No matter how disgustingly sterotypically-teenage it is to say, it's my second year in a row without someone to share it with. It's true. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>10,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
Adrienne is being really very kind lately. Robin and I have thought over all possible reasons for her recent kindness, and have resolved to this point; Adrienne must be reading my blog. No, really, I have no idea why she is being so nice, but whatever the reason, I thank her secretly. My friends tend to be awesome... I would come to school if by 'school' you meant John Mayer's bedroom. I am very sedated on cough syrup. I will return tomorrow and attempt to not snot all over you, but I will have to exercize great restraint. Are we still playing squash tomorrow? Also, if you ever feel like getting up at an ungodly time, I kind of have been itching to go to Our Lady of Lourdes Cathedral morning mass on of these days. How about Ash Wednesday? The service is at 6:30, but its for god so you shouldn't complain! -Pants Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>09,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
Hee hee, emo. What is your emo band name? by urlLink spiralinghalo Your band name is: Airplanes to Bolivia You sound like: Rufio You will be signed to: Island Records Your emo lyrics are: 'With each word you speak, you cut me in half' Name: Created with urlLink quill18 's urlLink MemeGen 2.0 ! |
</post> |
<date>07,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
Did I mention I love the Decembrists? Since we have no school on Friday (huzzah for Teaching Improvement!) I will sit around and listen, listen, listen to Her Majesty the Decembrists . Something is wrong with my immune system. Just when I think I’m fine, when I begin get a little happy, my immune systems kicks me in the head and laughs. It’s strange the weird things you notice when you’re sick. I never noticed how much snot my body could produce. I have it in limitless supply. I am disgusting, tired mess. Joey has been being his typically careless, reckless, mean self this week. Robin and my dream-fantasy of running away to Omaha is becoming more and more idealistic. I’m not exactly sure what I would do there, but I do know it would be an awful lot better than anything here. Grrrr. Maybe its school that seems to be weighing me down. My classes are unbelievably easy this quarter, a stark contrast to first semester’s disastrous run. I honestly thought once I dropped that English class that I would feel significantly happier. Now I just feel very, very stupid. Or maybe it’s just that IAMSOTIREDRIGHTNOW. I wonder if there is a black market for sleeping medication. There probably is one of some sort in bigger cities, but likely not here. I watched a full ten minuets of the Grammys last night, just long enough to see the Beatle’s tribute and John Mayer presenting an award. Secretly, I wish I would have seen the ‘Hey Ya’ performance. I may not be a hip hop fan, but I most certainly am a fan of that song. It’s ice cold, after all. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>07,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
And now for more emotional instability! Ella Enchanted was my favorite books for a long, long time. It was the first book that I ever cried about. However strange it is, it was the first thing that made me understand or believe in true, true love. The book meant so much to be when I first read it. It painted all these abstractly-beautiful scenarios of the power of love and believing in yourself and all sorts of cliché things. I read it in fourth grade and several times thereafter, devouring the scenes although I knew what would happen. In sixth grade we were suppose to act out a scene from our favorite book, complete with props and costumes. I acted out the scene when she escapes from the finishing school in the middle of the night, and it was the most liberating acting performance of my life. But now the movie has become jaded… jaded, jaded, jaded. I saw the preview last night. The first minuet or so looked ok (I love the Princess Diaries, so the Anne Hathaway casting was ideal) but the elation turned to horror. In no part of the book does she fight Matrix-style (as the preview showcases) In no part of the novel does she have an elf-sidekick. The movie looks disgusting. I was so, so sad for it. Then this afternoon, stuck with nothing to do, I leafed through Ella Enchanted once again… and cried. The more I think about it, the more of a travesty this is. Why would someone turn a singularly moving part of my childhood into a cheap excuse for family fun? I am both personally hurt and offended. Is this some sort of metaphor for teenage life? Growing up and seeing things loose their luster, their immaculacy, their wonder? At Christmas there is no Santa, the things that go bump in the night are worse than ugly witches, and I’ll never be Shirley Temple. And now Ella Enchanted has been massacred, ripped out of the pages of my youth and burned into a film reel. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>06,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
The Girl with the Pearl Earning is to me what porn is to horny little thirteen-year-old boys. It was extraordinary. Lauren, Robin, and I went to a later show that usual, because Robin had to (and I quote) “ straighten my bangs ”, which is, apparently, very necessary when your hair is curly to her degree. But the movie was orgasmic, just fucking beautiful. The lighting and the gentle music score, and the beauty of the actors. Charlotte Johansen is gorgeous, but Colin Firth looked simply perfect. The make-out scenes between two members of the cast (and what may or may not have been a sex scene, since I still stand firm in the opinion that people don’t really have sex when standing up) After the movie was the real action, however. G-Dogg’s sister was downtown, and it seems wherever a member of the family goes there are small wonders. A gaggle of gawky, jet-black haired boys were standing at the bottom of the escalator. They were all so gorgeous, so perfectly unaware that they’re lethargy and dirty clothes were so wondrous. As we headed for a bench to sit down, I was approached by one such POA. Before saying anything, he handed me a flyer, advertsing a show next Friday. “Do you ever go to shows and stuff?” “Yes ” (This is wear I try to sounds witty and articulate, not very well) “ Well, we have a band… Elio… you should come. It will be cool. There are a couple shitty bands playing, but we’re less shitty… so, you should come.” “Oh, cool. Thanks .” I was expecting him to walk off, leaving me lingering and tasting his breath like in the over-dramatic romance novel my life with boys is. But he didn’t he sat down with me on the bench. “ I’m Eric.” He held out his hand. His guitar-picking, nail bitten, beautiful manish hand. “Anna.” We shook hands. “ How old are you?” “How old are YOU?” “ How old do I look?” He smiled, and I realized that this may be some form of flirtatious flirting that I wanted to dabble in. “ Hmmm, twelve?” Damn me and my relentlessly sarcastic tendencies! “ Ha-ha, I thought we were establishing a friendship here! No, really guess.” “20? 21? 22? 23?” “Yes. And you…?” “Sixteen.” Who’s counting?! And then his friend walked over, and I may have gasped for air. It was like Conor Oberst was standing before me… the skinny body and the black hair and the solemn, sullen look. He then began talking to us about something, but I wasn’t really listening because I was thinking to loudly (“ OH MY GOD I AM HANGING OUT WITH A COOL INDIE BAND AND THEY ARE SO GORGEOUS AND I LOVE THIS… OH MY GOD…”) But the Conor Oberst look-alike simply shook my hand, guessed that I was seventeen, and talked to Robin and red hair (his natural color) Eric resumed conversation with me, about my guitar-necklace I was wearing and how I really loved small venue concerts and how we “definetly needed to come” to their concert. “I’ll even dance for you !” Said by “Conor” “Ah, well, you’re have to give us a sample. ” Said by a euphoric Robin. Small gyrations ensued, which Robin liked and I giggled at and Eric rolled his eyes at. And then fate spoiled it when Lauren’s father pulled up. We had to leave. I shook Eric’s hand. “ You’ll come.” “You bet.” Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
Sometimes I notice little things about my friends that I haven’t taken the time to appreciate before. Case in point; Leigh. Leigh always finds the good in people. She can always relate to them on some level. She likes to fill silence with words, and she can go on this way for hours. I admit that I tend to get impatient with her more often than I listen to the weight of her words. She speaks in a loud, declarative way, but with a sense of vulnerability and gentleness. I think its cathartic for her to talk, even about seemingly insignificant things. Tonight we were talking about people’s insecurities, and is it pointless to pretend you don’t have them(?) She was telling me about how she steamed open a letter of reference from Coach Van Dyne (cross country) He said she was pretty insecure and self-aware to a distracting point. Which I would have cried about mercilessly, but Leigh’s thoughts were, “...wow, how honest!” For every Thursday from now on, we’ll have a student teacher from Eastern do writing exercises with us. I’ve struck gold in the teacher-department here. Let me give you a somewhat bias description of Hillary. She works in the Paper Garden first of all, which is this amazing store that sells, well, paper (among other things) She wore a stripped dress shirt with an argyle sweater vest over it and jeans. Her hair cut haphazardly, originally brown but with tiny streaks of white, red, and magenta all over. She speaks in a relaxed way, but there is a hint of a lisp. I love people who have funny accents or strange word flow or lisps… just because I identify and find their speaking more interesting than others. She gave us slips of paper with sentences on them, from which we are to start a short-story. Mine is, “He didn’t think it was weird that she lived with thirteen cats.” (The story, so far, is about a UPS man who falls in love with an elderly shut-in named Edith, for whom he delivers daily packages.) What a great writing exercise! She specializes in fiction, which is good since I have never completed a fiction story in my life… with the exception of fourth grade. I wrote a story about a girl named Tess Williams who gets lost in the South-American rain forest and has to eat mushrooms and sleep on rocks to survive. I only wish I took the time to appreciate people, whether it’s Leigh or Hillary or anyone, more often. It makes me feel warm and happy about the people I surround myself with. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
You're Cecilia Lisbon, the youngest daughter! urlLink Which Lisbon Sister from The Virgin Suicides are you? brought to you by urlLink Quizilla Damn straight. The Virgin Suicides is the best movie. Ever. Period... at least for today. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>03,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
urlLink Dean and urlLink Kerry are in Spokane today. In Spokane. Shesh. And now a reason why it's good to have a lawyer for a parent: their clients. Their clients, their clients, their clients. My father is the lawyer for some man who opened a huge new venue in Spokane: The Big Easy. And my father and his partners recieve 4 VIP passes to every show. Which means, I have accsess to these shows. Tonight in Lynard Skynard, but I am nto 21 and can't go. Although I have no intention of seeing Lil 'Jon and the Eastside Boyz or Ludacris, there are some awesome (and free) shows I want to see. Damien Rice? Jewel (acoustic)?? Buddy Guy?!? Fuck yah! I was thinking of going to Liz Phair's thing just to scream 'SELLOUT!!!' the whole time. And she would hear me too, cause these are front-row tickets. VI fucking P! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
I feel only slightly bad that today was the second schoolday in a row that I skipped. But today was legitimate, I had a filling at le dentist. It was very painful, and I was chastised by an almost cartoonishly butch dental hygienist. She was so mean! I was at a loss for words when she told me how awful my flossing technique is. But my mouth was sore and I refused to go to school with a half-numb mouth (three shots!) But I wasn’t about to sit on my ass eating corn chips (I am doing that right now) I danced in my bedroom with my stereo at its loudest. I took the city bus downtown and walked to Riverfront park. I can’t remember the last time I walked in the park. It was freezing cold, but worth it. I stood on a bridge and watching the falls of the Spokane River. It was so beautiful. Spokane held in world fair about thirty years ago, and the park was built then for the sole purpose to showcase Spokane’s “natural beauty”. Interestingly enough, Spokane’s World’s Fair had the smallest turnout in World’s Fair history. Ha. But it was a really beautiful day. I read some more of On the Road, which is very good. There were old people walking hand-in-hand by the pond, and it made me happy in a bittersweet kind of way that I don’t understand. I went to the bus depot, too. Its so strange there. Spokane has very clear social lines, South Hill kids do not ride the city bus. For the residents up North or East, it’s a big part of pre-driver’s license life. There are a lot of questionably sane people at the depot, which makes it the best place in town to people-watch. Some crazy post-high schooler sat with me and would not leave me alone. I attempted a conversation with him, who knows? Maybe the silver chain around his neck and do-rag were suppose to be a joke? And he wasn’t a terrible conservationist for the first two minuets. I think he expected me to be impressed, however, that he was from California and eighteen. I was trying to be subtle about wanting to sit by myself and read, but the fuckhead would not get the point. I talked to Robin about Under the Glass last night. She sounds excited in the way a friend tries to be when they’re doing so for your sake. She’s going to write an article on Youth and Politics. She’s adamant about the upcoming elections and the candidates promises to young America. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>01,February,2004</date> |
<post> |
My dad had to return some dress shirts some place downtown, whereto for I was hit on by some disgusting gansta-wanksta wearing a silver chain and FUBU attire. This kid had so little tact that he shamelessly asked for my number in front of my father. I couldn’t really read my Dad’s reaction to this, but I’m sure it was of extreme discomfort. I wish I had something really witty to say the next time this happens. I only managed a feeble, “ Um, no.” My dad took me to B&N, which was pleasant. I like the quietness there. And the people. One weekend I just want to go there alone and sit in a corner with a book, but secretly people-watch. I especially love the artsy 20-somethings leafing through art books and the pre-middle schoolers starring down the “Juvenile Literature” section. My goal is to read all of the books that Charlie did in The Perks… So far so well. I bought On the Road today. Unfortunately, I have not read much of it yet. I’ve been toying with a dreamlike idea for a few months. I want to start a “zine”. Adrienne could do some of her beautiful sketches and Annica could write some of her award-winning (really!) poems. I think I’d like to be editor, maybe write some reviews of music or some article in a blog-esque fashion. I’d probably talk about Veganism/ Vegetarianism, my qualms on animal testing, etc. I want to name said zine after song or poem lyrics, and I’m partial to “ Under the Glass ”. One of the most appealing things about making a zine, for me, is texture. I am obsessed with texture… books, photos, ticket stubs, etc. (I am also one of those nasty people who flings all sorts of memorabilia on a oversized bulletin board in my bedroom) But I also like the idea of tangible evidence of my opinions floating around out there. I was feeling fat and lazy around four, and I took Rosie for a walk. I took my CD player and listened to Give Up repeatedly. I forgot about the Duncan Gardens over near Manito. They are really gorgeous during the summer, but I don’t think I’ve ever walked through them during the winter. The shrubbery (not to sound too Monty Python… har har) are very tall and the fountain is frozen over… everything was symmetrical and barren. I really loved the way it glowed there. I wanted to freeze that moment and stay there the rest of the day. Duncan Gardens in spring Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>31,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
There is a group of freshman girls who sit and eat lunch across from us at school. They are distracting, loud, annoying and generally your typical freshman girls. (Many a time have projectile food and clothing been thrown at us. Then we promptly chuck them down the rest of the hallway and yell “ Go get it !”) It was fifty-two degrees today. One of these girls decided, “ 52?! Fuck yah! This is short weather !!” She wore the kind of embarrassing hot pants that serve as the “working” woman’s uniform. When she sat against the wall, there was a lot of unpleasant things facing directly at us. And therefore, it was said, “ Put your legs down! I CAN SEE YOUR HOO HAW !” ------------------------------------------ Our English teacher spent a good five minuets talking about a particular suicide method today. It was so unnerving. The “roman bath”, as he calls it, is when someone cuts their wrists in a bathtub. You bleed out and die, but you don’t really feel anything. Suicide is a scary, senseless, pointless thing. Teachers graphically discussing suicide first thing in the morning? Also a scary, senseless, pointless thing. ------------------------------------------ As a part of Driver’s Ed, I am required to go on “drives”. These are numbered lessons, where two student drivers alternate driving on a given route. So today was Drive 2. Lauren and I took our sweet time walking from school to AAA. We had a half an hour to haul ass across downtown. But we became too busy stealing balloons from car dealerships to watch the time. Thus, we arrived fifteen minuets late. That was the first mistake in a list of mistakes too numerous to count. I got into the car, with little to no practice under my belt. It was a sad, sad thing to watch me attempt backing around a corner. It was a desperate act, like a child hanging onto the pieces of their comfort blanket or Jaleel White in any acting role aside from Urkel. I think it’s important to state that I have never driven on a highway before. Also needless of explanation, I sucked. Out of the dozens of things I failed to do correctly, I couldn’t maintain a constant speed. The instructor didn’t make it any better (“ You’re going 54… 53… 56!! SLOW DOWN !”) although he definitely meant well. I kept thinking about how near to death I was, having to clue as to what I was doing on a terrifying highway in the middle of nowhere. My life would have flashed before my eyes, but I was too busy trying not to hit other vehicles. Lauren’s drive was not nearly as bad as mine. I did laugh, however, when she tried to adjust her seat and popped the trunk instead. So, overall, the drive was a disaster. Lauren failed. I failed. I hate driving. But the best part of my day was when we were leaving AAA. Lauren turned to me and said, in as serious a tone that she could muster, “ I am not longer afraid of death .” Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>30,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
Ok, so I have been analyzing the same incident all day in my head and I have yet to make up my mind. It’s been replaying like a disgustingly catchy song lyric all day (“ My baby don’t mess around/ Because she loves me so/ And this I know fo’ so’ ”) I am going crazy. Girl: (whispers) That’s her! That’s Anna! Right there! Boy: Oh! Girl: That’s her! (points at me) I was so stunned at these two people, who I don’t actually know, that I couldn’t manage to say anything. It must be what fringe celebrities feel like (“ Look! That’s Dustin Diamond! Right there !”). I simply cannot understand why this happened. I’m a very uninteresting person. I’m not especially well-known. I don’t have any spectacular physical traits. Or a drug problem, any form of a pregnancy, I’m not a victim or hazing or rape or anything that would define me as whisperable material. I am painfully average. And that is why I simply can not understand why these two kids were so excited ( !! ) to see me. ---------------------------- Schoolwork is mounting atop me like a gigantic Everest of busywork. I feel so stupid, so incredibly fucking stupid , in every class I am in. There are so many people with these incredible talents- people with charisma, taste, artistic skill, musical know-how- and I am drowning in a theoretical pool of average. It wouldn’t even matter to what I could be good at; fucking bobsledding would be an improvement. People are so easily defined by what they do; play a game of basketball—you’re an athlete. Paint a picture—you’re an artist. It’s these categorizations that I think might make me more secure. Something to that effect, anyhow. I just want to be someone. I’m terribly particular about who . Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
I am opinionated. Really opinionated. “I-am-going-make-presumptions-about-you-and-cuss-at-you-internally”, disgustingly, grossly opinionated. In some cases, I think, being opinionated is a good thing. You have morals, beliefs, passion and you know who you are and what you feel. But then there are people like myself, who mindlessly judge others on teeny-tiny details. For instance; that gentleman is wearing a leather belt. Well, obviously he isn’t socially-conscious. There’s a boy with a faux-hawk listening to headphones. He is wearing a New Found Glory t-shirt. He is also, in my mind, a worthless hypocrite. There is a girl reading Seventeen on my bus. She must be mildly illiterate. So, some of these are slightly exaggerated. But the overall sentiment holds true; I think very highly on my own opinions (Veganism, music, literature, etc.) and give little weight to others. The revelation about this came tonight, via Robin. We were talking about our careers for the future. It went something like this; R: You were thinking you might want to write music reviews, right? A: Well, sort of. I don’t know. R: Cause well, you know, that might not be the ideal job opportunity for you. **awkward silence in which I get it** A: Oh, yes; I would bash just about everything. R: (imitating my voice) ‘This isn’t indie. It sucks.’ A: Well, yes… I don’t really have the musical background to be considered any kind of critic, either. R: Plus, you know, you hate a lot of stuff. A: A lot of crap . R: True. A: I guess that’s bad, right? R: No, it’s just… very much who you are. Who I am . Who I fucking am. Why do I care if someone eats a hamburger or buys a Chingy LP? Why do I avert my eyes when I see someone in faux-punk paraphernalia? So I don’t like these things. Wouldn’t it make more sense to avoid the things themselves, instead of the people using them? ------------------------------------------- I have developed a theory about intelligence. I am not intelligent. Period. I am very, very good at pretending to be smart. I am very capable of sounding smart. I can use biggish words and pronounce things correctly. I can enunciate properly. But in reality, I am fooling everyone. I do not understand math. In any way. At all. I do not understand why letters with numbers and tangents and radical signs co-exist within a single problem. I can’t figure out the complexities of binomials. I can’t fucking graph anything. I can’t pass this class. What really makes me mad is that I never thought I would be this student. I have never been the smartest of the smarties, but I have been up there at various times for various reasons. There was a time not so long ago, that I had grasped that illusive 4.0. And now, with nothing to show for it. I can’t recite Shakespeare, I can’t take a proper photograph, I can’t comprehend Newton’s Laws, I can’t remember the censuses of Europe, and I certainly cannot complete a trigonometry worksheet. Lost are the days when I would help others with their homework. Ah, the precious moments spend de-coding Twain’s prose! The beauty of explaining civil war politics to others! The glory of reciting memorized poetry (“ Sam McGee was from Tennessee/ Where the cotton blooms and blows …”) along with my teacher! What the fuck happened?! If there only was some sort of way to bullshit my way through Integrated 1B math. If only! Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
That’s only half true, of course. My pants were clean, but nothing else was. I’m thinking that there is some deeper significance to my new, dirty habit. Then again, I may just be lazy. Robin and I have decided to stop going to movies every weekend. Most movies we go to, I don’t even want to see. It’s just, with so little to do in this sad excuse for a city, movies are easy. It’s a way to be with your friends through the weekend. The downside is, there is no talking or emotional engagement involved. You sit in front of a screen, have some mindlessly predictable plot fed to you for two hours, and drink coffee later. The cycle of our nights is painfully monotonous. I’m not really sure if we’re against big business or just burned out on that scene. Really, twelve-year-olds with their supercharge hormones are not my kind of people. So, on Saturday, we went to Huckleberrys, the best organic store in town, for the acoustic show. And it was far better than any Ashton Kutcher blockbuster. There’s a small, informal restaurant inside with the absolute best vegan meal in town—the eggless egg sandwich. It was superb. The band was great, lots of older “granola-eating, Birkenstock-wearing, liberal-hippies” (reference from my father) playing really excellent bluegrass stuff. This morning I survived church without throwing something heavy and destructive toward the altar. I smoked some with my brother, talked about the Sasquatch festival in July (KATE: I am very stupid and for some reason thought it was next month. I was wrong .) Robin and I dropped the new resolution to avoid to cinema and saw Eternal Sunrise of the Spotless Mind. Clementine, in the film, is both the woman I want to be and the woman I fear I am. I love her for her style; deconstructed, confident, opinionated, bold. But to all these things there is fault, and a lot of those faults I see in myself; stubborn, obnoxious, overbearing, compulsive. I just hope that I find a balance so I don’t fuck things up like in the movie. Especially if I ever meet a man like Jim’s character; complex, honest, loving, thoughtful. It isn’t often that I see a film that I feel. By that I mean, I actually had a response to the film, as opposed to sympathetic weeping. I really felt for every character, related to the small nuisances and the quirks. All in all, it was an excellent movie that I plan to analyze in long coffee talks with Robin. And, of course, see again. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>27,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
My days of skipping class to enjoy the weather have caught up with me; I was sentenced to spend three hours of my Saturday in a crowded classrooms with fellow truants. LC’s version of detention is by far the cruelest form of punishment. Officer Dan is a certified security guard, not an actual officer as he tries to project. No, Officer Dan is simply a gluttonous asshole on an endless power trip. He eats his Hostess cupcakes thoughtfully, drowning them in soda pop and simultaneously staring through your soul. I swear to god, Officer Dan evokes the feelings I would have if I ever met, say, Satan or Rush Limbaugh. It’s a clever little system, Saturday School. Fundamentally, it isn’t so bad. You sit in a desk, shut up, and pretend to be busy. But the problem lies in Officer Dan. I kid you not; he threatened suspension for the following crimes; -Me asking for Kleenex (which, might I add, was a service to all of those sitting around me) -A freshman staring at him -A freshman sharpening her pencil without asking -Several girls who were coughing during his speech about the importance of attending class But just as I was playing with the idea of bolting out to door, I turned my head ever so slightly. And who, who of all people, was sitting to my right? Cale. Little did he know, I had spent the entire night previous downloading his songs, reading his poetry, his pose, and generally falling madly, madly in love with him. He was reading a book, too. His eyes, so pensive and deep, focused intently on the pages. Oh god, he’s a reader! Could I love this boy anymore? There is a depth to him that I have only seen in fictitious characters and Conor Oberst. He’s incredible. If I was confident in any way, I would have used my three minute break to saunter over to his desk, mention casually I liked the way he played guitar. And oh yes, I like The Postal Service, Sting, Radiohead, Simon and Garfunkle and every other influence you mentioned on the website you share with my brother. But no, I used my three minute break to blow my nose and stare at his near-holy loveliness. Saturday School is a weird thing. Students have skipped for various reasons; to smoke under the bridge, to get stoned, to avoid a test/presentation/assignment... But, ultimately the same resounding fact unites us; we are all kids who hate school, took action against it, and lost. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
In Creative Writing, we were assigned to compose a brief 250-word story about either our best or worst day. Mine was a very emotionally-charged, graphic account of my grandfather’s death. It was cathartic, and the words on the page seemed totally foreign to me the next day at school. We numbered each word within the poem. Everyone was giving a slip of paper with an arrangement of numbers on it. We arrangement the “poem” accordingly. This is mine: The My Was Like was in horrible navy years, With illness two graduate hated sheets most Death were man cancer first but married What life a hated he plaid I. In the years plaid sentiment with school What first I to was middle about Him to happinesses about grandmother fourteen I A graduate the known that fourteen from. In raised uniform and my connotation comfortable To riddled father the helpless my be Of man came like was fourteen he Riddled that plaid about but came he In middle grandfather raised and all his Face plaid was great this he fourteen I peppered war I and I wrong To in middle like of he ill. With this I came people time my Stomach that horrible in some middle like. Mr. Lang is an amazing teacher. He is funny but doesn’t try to make us laugh. He doesn’t try to act hip to appeal to us, but he’s cool because he doesn’t care to be. Plus, he went to Evergreen and likes my stories. ------------------------------------------ I have discovered that my journal creeps me out. I was reading through entries from last year, and I scare myself. Things like this make me question who the fuck I am: “I’m going to plan all my clothes for next week so Ben sees me at my best.” (Sept. 14th) But then there are things like this that tug at my heart: “3:30 PM and I find myself uninspired. I realize how much I hate this shadowy, unrelenting numbness and yet the masochistic comfort it provides is something I can’t part with. This numbness can’t be chronicled; like a cold you feel coming on but can’t remember when it started. I’ve allowed myself to let ‘it’ gain momentum for two fucking years. Its crazy, but such an Anna-thing to do. It sickens me how predictable I am. My days have been spent in constant anxious-impatience. When the fuck will whatever is going to happen actually going to happen? I can’t be content in the moment because I want a different, better moment to live in. As for social appearances, they have squandered down to zero. But in a painfully honest way, I don’t miss it. I LOATHED the games that are played in something as simple as standing around. The elbow-knocking and apologetic ‘Oh- sorry’ wrapped in sarcasm that borders on cruelty. Why do people have to be better than others? Why do people fuck (in metaphoric and actual sense) other people to get to the top? The politics of high school baffle me. The preppies, stoners, trans-cliche, jerk offs (general jocks) WANT to be sorted out. It gives order to a hormone and Noxzema-charged world. By the act of God, I have sustained as position as ‘?’ I am a different person to everyone, and the list goes on. The point; WHY DO I CARE? I know its completely unacceptable that I want to know how people see me, and that a part of me is willing to conform to whatever it takes to make others happy. Every time Ali or Andria or Heather say, “Hey Anna!” in between classes, I secretly hope someone hears. Just to see that I am not totally socially inept. This is all such bullshit.” (May 1) God, so much has changed since this journal. It’s an account of my descent away from materialism. The first few months are incoherent lists of clothing bought and gatherings I attended. There is a lot of me hating myself in between the thin black covers of my ninth grade year. It sickens me a lot to think that I was such a dreg, that I cared so much for things I hate so vehemently now. I was tortured about not having social group, and forever second-guessing myself. I wanted to be perfect. That’s exactly the word, it dominated so much of my thought; perfection. But my definition has changed, I think. I like myself a hell of a lot more now, uncombed hair, dirty t-shirt and all. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>24,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
I believe that I have a flare for drama. I did a lot of acting as a child, a very limited amount of horrendous child modeling (seriously, the pale thing is HOT when you’re a kid, then when you grow up and grow hips, it’s less cute) But really, I tend to over dramatize things. A lot. Like, say, oh my, god!! TAKING TO HITLER!! WOOT! He is the most beautiful creature. Then there’s the slow, thoughtful way he talks and his relaxed, easy smile. It freaks me out how much I like this boy who I know (for sure) only the following about: - He is gorgeous - He listens to the same music I do - He doesn’t do the same drugs my brother does - He is good natured - He is charming - My stomach feels light when he laughs (it’s like a soft, “tutt” laugh, which grows into a resounding-- not obnoxious-- flow) I wanted those six precious minuets between first and second to go on forever. There is something about him so familiar, so comforting, so utterly loveable. It’s scary how the effect of a boy can take hold of me. I could rant on and on about his hair ( strawberry blonde! I bet it was tomato red when he was younger; I want to see his baby pictures! I want to have his babies!!) or the way it falls on his head ( floppy and unbrushed to one side, so clumsy… so perfect …) Imagine me savoring the blissful conversation, all the dramatics I call upon to deepen the meaning of the words, “Have a good day, Anna” ( Anna! He said my name! MY name !) And then imagine this thought come charging into my consciousness; “Holy shit, what if he is gay ?” Let me explain. Two boys, each one having graced my crush collection, are now dating one another. They are. dating. one another . Add to this the fact that Melissa recently came out, and I am having a case of homo-paranoia. Not homophobia, paranoia . I am scared that I will like a boy only for him to show up at the movies with another boy. When I was in first grade, I used to think that gay people were a myth. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t think I would ever meet one. I somehow thought they all lived in San Francisco and ate Rice-A-Roni. Yes, I have moved passed these beliefs. And I’m fine with it, promise. I support that marriage issue and I think that amending the constitution to discriminate against homosexuals is wrong. Love is love, and marriage is love. Even if you’re Christian, you know that this country is founded on freedom. I think of it this way; Christianity says that taking the Lord’s name in vain is a sin. But it would never be illegal. Imagine police giving out tickets, citing “Commandment Number 3” and writing you up? Just because you’re religion prophesies that it is wrong, or a sin, doesn’t mean that everyone must follow that belief. But I digress. The matter of this entry is not a statement about homosexual marriage. It is a statement about a certain tall, lanky redhead who I desperately want to confess his undying love to me. And I shall do the same. (Then we will wildly make out in his bedroom while listening to Bright Eyes) Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>22,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
“Dear God,” she prayed, “let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry… have too much to eat... Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.” “Sometimes I think it’s better to suffer bitter unhappiness and to fight and to scream out, and even to suffer that terrible pain, than just to be… safe.” -A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith --------------------------------------- I feel like I owe it to Adrienne to read The Autobiography of Malcom X. She gave me a copy to borrow, enthusiastically singing its praises. And so far, I am having a hard time dealing with the subject matter. I feel like a dumb white girl who understands nothing of the African-American plight. Salvery is a savage, primitive act that cannibals adopted thousands of years ago. And for some reason, some disgusting reason, humankind continued on with the immoral tradition for thousands of more years. It makes me sick to read about the total disregard for human life. The worst part is, I can’t even begin to grasp the concept of it all. I feel like Ben Folds; “ Y’all don’t know what it’s like/ being male, middle-class and white ”. Two out of three, at least. (I do, however, know about female discrimination, because that’s the sort of conservative, head-up-ass, fundamentalist-Christian atmosphere Spokane gives off.) But the fact remains that I am the white bread of American culture. I live in a small town, my parents are religious. I’m not Paris Hilton, but I won’t have to pay for college either. I’m average, pitifully German-Irish. I feel like one of those Bedouin tribes, a girl without a homeland or heritage. --------------------------------------- Melissa, on religion; “ I have a great relationship with God. I totally feel like I can smoke with him, or do pot with him, and we totally love each other .” --------------------------------------- Lizzy is dating Senior. That ship has sailed, I guess, the silly, disillusioned “ I’m totally crushing !” ship. He listens to rap, anyhow. But the thing about Liz, and Stacey, and Sarah, and dozens of other girls I know is this; they feel having a boyfriend gives them status . Moreover, they feel that having a boyfriend makes them important, worthy, or somehow better than when they’re boyfriendless. And it makes me mad that this sentiment is so present in our culture today. These girls, with their dramatic eyeliner and low self-esteem, date without standards… at all . What is truly sad is that the boys in their unwavering stream of unromantic relations, fully realize their power over the girls. It’s this sort of male-dominated tradition, girls swooning for whoever takes the time to look at her ( her !), that hinders equality between genders. Liz has literally said to me, “ I can’t understand why Senior likes me! I’m just a sophomore with braces! ” No, she isn’t. Liz is gorgeous, motivated, well-mannered and kind. I don’t understand why she needs a boy to complete her. Particularly when this is high school, and her affair with Senior likely will not end in anything long-term. I suppose I’m a bit jaded. I just see high school relationships as so doomed to fail that they hardly seem worth it. Yes, there is quite a lot to say about being held in someone’s arms or stealing kisses or just holding hands. There is a quiet romance to being so young and trying to fall in love. Poets try to capture this feeling, looking everywhere for that illusive Something that is going to make you alive and whole. It’s entirely commendable to want to have love. We should all be so lucky. I just think that you shouldn’t cheapen your body or your heart in order to find it. (That is dangerously close to sounding Jesus-y, right?) Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>21,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
I have finally weaned myself off of an addiction to television. I knew it was time to make a change when the highlight of my week was Monday’s Dr. Phil; The Ultimate Weight Loss Challenge . I tend to romanticize people in a skewed way, and somehow Weight Loss Challenger Thomas became somewhat of an obsession of mine. So I vowed to end my reliance on “the box”. Though I had a slight relapse on Thursday, I have stopped with my evil ways. I am down to less than an hour a day—including news. How do I keep up to date in the pop culture arena? The best show ever, The Best Week Ever . VH1 commentary shows are beautiful masterpieces, and this one takes the cake. Its not better then I Love the 80s , but it is certainly up to par with I Love the 80s Strikes Back . If you are not watching this show, you need to TiVo it. NOW . Leigh called me a slut in a car full of people on Friday. I told Anna about it, and she could not stop laughing to the point of hysterics. “ How can you be a slut if you’re ANNA Z?!?” Needless to say, it made me feel a lot better. Plus, I’m pretty sure Leigh’s definition of ‘slut’ is a little tainted. If talking about pregnancy with Ross makes me somehow risqué, I would love to know her thoughts about the girls talking about “ servicing ” themselves at the concert last night. Just a thought. Ah, it was indeed a good concert. But the overriding factor of the night was my heart finding an owner in a boy nicknamed Hitler. After yearbook consultation, I found his real name is actually Cale. The introduction was a mere formality. I have seen the auburn-haired lovely around school. Perhaps the only talent I posses is an ability to remember faces (bodies too, but that’s sort of a different talent). And while I thought he was lovely in the brief passing periods, I saw him in the basking glow of Death Cab. The experience reminded me of how women reacted to seeing Odysseus after Athena has “blessed” him in The Odyssey . OD made the maidens in the river want to marry the godlike sex-bot. While marriage is not what popped into my mind, similar intimacies did. I will spare the details and progress to the actual concert. My favorite parts of the show: - Death Cab making fun of ‘The Big Easy Concert House’s backdrop (“You know, I have been to New Orleans, and there are usually more than four people on Bourbon Street. And they are usually showing their tits.”) - Ben Gibbard asking the technicians to please stop zooming in on him. “There are other people in this band, you know. Plus, I think everyone thinks they actually look better than they are, and these screens are freaking me out. Can we get some oil drip psychedelics instead?” - Oil drip psychedelics - The Death Cab for Cutie version of ‘Girls Just Wanna have Fun” - Ben Gibbard himself. I had no idea he was actually that good-looking. His pants were tight to the point of loveliness without gratuitous sexiness - Pedro the Lion’s set - Pedro the Lion’s stage banter - Ben and the bassist climbing on top of the amps and playing the encore I didn’t like having my ass fondled the whole night. I mean, I have been to concerts before. And I actually like being in crowds like those. You suddenly become intimate friends with everyone around you. Your arms graze each other when you clap, you step on their feet, you get hair in their face, they hear you singing along out-of-tune with the songs. But it’s just not cool to actually grab my ass. We smoked a lot of cigarettes beforehand, which never fails to surprise. My brother still doesn’t approve, but he is fine with bumming from me. I notice a lot about how people smell around me. I know that my mom smells like perfume and anti-dandruff shampoo. My dad smells like aftershave. Joey smells perpetually of pot. And now I smell of cruelty-free lavender soap and cigarettes. Yuck. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>20,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
I am going to Pedro the Lion. I am going to Death Cab for Cutie. I am going out of my mind...!! Yikes, this is going to be fun. I'll be back with a full report tomorrow. A. ... A. |
</post> |
<date>19,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
I thought that everything was over with Robin. But our first fight sort of disrupted the structure of nearly all my friendships. Really, I know this is probably an overstatement. But I just am in a really off-putting place right now. I am spending more time with my 'Never, Ever Cheerlead' friends, and feel disconnected with the others. Every time Robin applies another layer of mascara, I want to vomit. And every time Leigh buts into a conversation I am having, I want to kick her. I feel like I am friends with my friends for the wrong reasons. I met my group last year. Robin rode my bus, and knew Meghan. Robin and Lauren were sort of a package deal, you know, the friends that come together? Leigh was in my homeroom. Mary was in almost all my classes. We were a strange grouping of freshmen, our relationships forged more so from avoiding other people than from actually wanting to be friends. That’s a shitty way to start a friendship, right? I mean, I disgusted them the least, but it wasn’t one of those kindred-spirit things. It was just consistently comfortable. It wasn’t awkward or forced. We didn’t fight, but we didn’t do much of anything really. We watched movies and talked about life. It was nice. Nice like a Dave Matthews song. It was pleasant, inoffensive… but ultimately, I wanted more. And yes, we became closer. We discovered that there was a lot more to each of us than previously thought. I mean, Robin and I have been really close. Same with Anna, I guess. But there is this underlying factor. I want the kind of friendships that aren’t just easy to handle, “ let’s go see the new Julia Roberts movie ” relations. When Conor Oberst sings about his friends, he says he would be nothing without them. He says he wants to love and to be loved. Well, I don’t really feel loved. I feel appreciated . I like it when they laugh at my jokes and empathize with my bad days. I care for them so much, but I don’t know if being around them is good for me. I think, “ Ok; things will get better. Friendships grow. They aren’t instantaneous .” But something is hindering this illusive closeness. We’re all changing. I’m not going to leave that out of the equation. As cliché and teenage as it is, it’s the truth. I hate that I have to grow up. I hate that I am not going to be this way forever. I want to dance around my bedroom to ‘Always’ until my walker gets in the way. I want The Bell Jar to be my favorite book forever and ever, amen. But maybe Rilo Kiley will break up. Maybe I’ll read something better. I can’t predict what’s to come. I’m lucky that I have been accepted into a group of smart, wonderful, caring individuals with opinions and beliefs and interests. They are good people. They are amazing people, hidden under a façade of makeup and carefully-coordinated outfits. There is so much to each one of them. They are complex, quirky, and I care for them very much. That’s why I feel so guilty for not loving them like I should. Our friendships are cheapened by my inability to connect better with them. I guess I shouldn’t think about this much more, because it makes me very, very sad. Losing a friend is one of the hardest things to get over. Because your friends know you more intimately than anyone else. Your parents may have been there through the milestones, the first steps and words, but your friends know every crush, every favorite lyric, every secret. They are there for you when no one else seems to care. And that’s why my heart pains me to even consider lessening their importance. It’s just so hard to think about all of this. I don’t want to be like Mary. I don’t want to hurt them, and I don’t want to lose them. I just want… something more. There is always that fucking, never-near Something More . And I hate it. I don’t know what it is, but I hate that I have yet to find it, and I hate that I am not even close. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>17,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
img src='http://erikapalomino.uol.com.br/imagens/img_md_noti/imagem/sean-john1a.jpg'> Even this man ain’t be thinkin’ Liz should date the boy who burns bad mixes, yo’. Poor Liz. I subjected her to a music rant today. The lecture was triggered by her crush/friend giving her a mixed CD. This particular mix had 19 of the worst songs in musical history. ‘ I like big butts’ came directly before ‘ Take my breath away’ . It was the sort of mix that someone threw together in three minuets, choosing their illegally-downloaded singles from sixth grade (‘ Ghetto Superstar’ ). I, personally, would never date anyone who didn’t appreciate music. It’s not that Mr. Right Then has to be an indie-darling and secretly like John Mayer (though it would be nice) but is a general knowledge and appreciation too much to ask for? So I conveyed this to Liz. All under the façade of a gentle, even voice. My motivations were pretty tainted, though, because I knew I was in earshot of some very choice male ears. Senior: “Everyone listens to some bad music, though.” Leigh: “Not Anna! Anna is very picky about her music. She makes me turn off the radio in my car. She won’t listen to so many things. Anna is very, very picky. Anna is…” I love Leigh, I love her, I love her, I love her. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>16,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
Let me just say: I do not enjoy being a girl on days like this. Midol ho! Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>16,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
Disclaimer: I got a little feverish about this post. Isral and Grace, I feel really bad because it sounds like it’s directed at you. I realize you were just being thoughtful and curious. This post was in the making for a long time, none of it having to do with your comments. I am not here to lecture no-veg kids. But the moment I let it slip that I am Vegan, the same predictable events come to pass. Without fail, people will rationalize their meat-eating. In most cases, one of the following is said: - “Well, I really don’t eat that much meat.” - “Psh, you’re supposed to eat meat! We have to! Humans are carnivores!” - “So you don’t eat meat so you’re thin ?” Seriously, I haven't always been Vegan; I know what’s going through your head. I didn’t ask to be the poster child for Veganism. I don’t want to get into a philosophical debate about animal rights. I just want to eat my tofu in peace. The thing about debating personal opinions is this: no one is going to cave in . Guess what, meat-eaters of the world? I know you must feel that after you say something particularly profound, I will suddenly drop my Tofutti and have a revelation. I’ll realize that I have to start eating “like a regular person”. I will change my entire life; throw away all my faux-leather shoes, my animal free soap, my soy milk-- right? Wrong, actually. I did not wake up one day and say “ Hey, I think I’ll open myself up to judgment and ridicule and give up a lot of foods I like to eat! Woot !” I fucking studied it. This is what I believe in. This is part of who I am . Liken it to religion if you want. You won’t make a Christian denounce his faith by simply telling him to. In general, people react as if I have personally insulted them. Because I live a lifestyle labeled “radical”, apparently it’s fair game for anyone to take a cheap shot (“ Ohhh, this hamburger is so good. I love eating meat! Do you want some, Anna? ”) And it pisses me off. It’s judgmental and cruel. I am passionate about Veganism. I made the decision that is right for me. It certainly isn’t the decision for everyone. But I encourage others (especially people I care for or am close with) to understand why I live an animal-free life. It boils down to respect. I respect people who eat animals, especially if they have learned about alternate ways. And I hate to sound all Aretha Franklin on you, but all I am asking for is a little respect. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
And how are you enjoying our fair city, Mr. Hotnett-- I mean, Hartnett... Josh Hartnett mania has taken over our town. Or at least, the female population of my high school. Even my teachers are not immune. Mrs. Biard went into a tangent about how her daughter served him at Lindamen’s. Appearently, she was so nervous, she messed up his order. Since they’re filming primarily downtown, and therefore within blocks of my school, there has been a spike in the class skipping rate. Within the girl community, one feels obligated to tip off others when she spots a set move. It’s like some sort of sick cult (to which I am a willing member). ---------------------------------- I think color contacts are weak. To me, it’s like stuffing your bra (ladies) or pants (gentlemen-- although I don’t think this is a very common practice outside of dance classes). All my life I have wanted to have green eyes. With our advanced cosmetic technology, I could very easily go buy contacts and fool strangers into thinking that I have naturally beautiful eyes. But I won’t. It’s just… cheating . ---------------------------------- Today is what I refer to as a 'Fiona Day'. There is something so comforting about her music. Ok, so it’s not a part of my beloved Saddle Creek family, or even the indie scene at all. But I listened to her waaaay back. Fiona and I have gone through some shitty times together. I think she’s horribly underrated. A lot of it has to do with her neurosis. But how can anyone speak ill upon me VMA acceptance speech? Yes, Fiona, MTV is bullshit! I guess most people think of her as a one-hit wonder. And yes, Criminal is a pretty good song. But I’m more of a Paper Bag type of girl. The song is my ultimate lullaby. I react to “ I went crazy again today/ looking for a strand to climb/ looking for a little hope ” the way a one-year-old reacts to “ Where is Thumpkin?/ Where is Thumpkin?/ Here I am!/ Here I am !” Oh, Fiona, I too shall indulge in the daydream of a boy. God. ---------------------------------- I was looking through my journal (the tangible, personal one written in pen rather than type) from the summer, and its kind of painful reading. Painful, I mean, in the sense that I sound so much different than I do now. I suppose there is a little bit of the Mary-factor in there. But the really hard stuff to stomach are entries where I whine about my lack of connections with people. Even over the last year I have established new pockets of depth in my friendships. I’m pretty proud, I guess, because I’ve moved on from just waiting for my turn to talk. I listen more now. And in a surprising way, this very blog has helped. It’s cathartic. It makes me analyze rationally instead of bottling up absurd ideas. I’m not yet the person I aspire to be (profound, confident, musically talented, brave) but I’m less delusional than even a few months ago. You see, I’ve found that I can type pages about the events of one single day. And then I realized that the people I am close with, my family and friends, they can type the same reams of pages, too. And if there is so much for me to say, they must have equal complexities in their thoughts as well. And as elementary it sounds, such a basic thing to understand, it took me a long time to fully realize I feel things no differently than other people do. There’s a strange comfort in knowing Christian boys from Wisconsin and witty Texans have the same feelings, and feel them to the same extent, as I do. I feel… blessed? Lucky, maybe, to finally make bridges with people instead of hiding myself from them. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
Washingtonian things the rest of the nation has benefited from 1. Sub pop 2. Costco 3. ??? 4. ??? 5. ??? Music Movies 1.Almost Famous 2. Detroit Rock City 3. High Fidelity 4. Sid and Nancy (due to its involvement with The Chelsea Hotel) 5. HELP Anna’s Angst-appeasing films 1. The Virgin Suicides 2. Now and Then 3. Say Anything 4. Amelie 5. Lolita (because secretly; I am a pervert) Jack Black lines 1. “That’s a fucking Cosby sweater. A Cosby sweat-ah!” 2. “I tripped and then I had to take them [his pants] off in the fire to run faster… excuse me, I think I inhaled some smoke.” 3. “Dude, I need to score some of your piss.” 4. “You know who else has a little bit of a weight problem? Me, right here. So I like eating food. Is that a crime?” 5. The entire ‘Middle East= Hornet’s Nest” song Small wonders of the week 1. John’s video for Clarity 2. Death Cab for Cutie and Pedro the Lion this Firday 3. Snail mail 4. The sun’s reemergence to Spokane 5. Sarah Vowell in two weeks Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>13,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
How can anyone not love The Osmonds? How can you look into the little Mormon face of Donny and not be wooed by his purple polyester suits and compelling lyrics? How? However often I use AIM or blog, or even send e-mails, I am still about as computer-savy as my middle aged parents. I ordered two of the same Desaparecidos CD today. But I guess if there is any band to spend twice the money on, it’s anything with Conor Oberst. Keeping up with my homebody attitude (sweats are the best, I always say) I stayed in most of the afternoon to watch a Disney Channel Original Movie. Stop whatever you are currently doing and find the next showing of Pixel Perfect . It is the single most beautifully craptastic film ever done. And this from a station with such films as Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century and Zenon: The Zequel . Pixel Perfect has it all in excess: aerobic dance, lip syncing, fake guitar playing, and preteen romance. I am slowing but surely convincing everyone around me to Vegetarianism. Robin was the first, then Anna, and now Leigh. I fancy myself some sort of animal-rights superhero saving animalkind one boca burger at a time. I will convert her. Today I conquer Spokane, tomorrow-- Spokane Valley! I’m off to a Jack Black marathon at Robin’s. It should be pretty exciting, since Robin knows every line to all his films. And I can soothe my undying passion for John Cussack with High Fidelity. Oh, to be Diane Court and be stalked with Peter Gabriel music (points for anyone who got the Say Anything reference there) Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>12,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
Death Cab for Cutie will be in Spokane next weekend! I am beside myself. It will be an excellent way to bond with Joey, who will serve as my partner-in-rock for the evening. Coupled with the fact that Ben Gibbard’s voice is like butter (or urlLink Earth Balance for those of us who are Vegan) and I’ll be spending some drug-free time with my brother, I couldn’t be more excited. Tonight will be the Jewel concert, and I feel a need to immediately defend her whenever I bring it up. It is an acoustic tour. She will have left her synthesizer at home. Pieces of You remains a very good album, people. And her music videos, although they enjoyed main-stream success and heavy MTV play, were highly conceptual and artsy in the later 90s. That, and there really isn’t anything else to do tonight. ---------------------------------------- I am currently in the process of nurturing the life of another. His name in Neeley, after Francie’s brother of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn . He is several weeks old, about four inches tall and has issues with unquenchable thirst. Oh yes, and he is a plant. I love him dearly. Taking after countless brigades of 4th grade science experiments, I play him music. Whether or not this stimulates growth, I have no idea. But I have noticed he seems partial to The Shins. Go figure. ---------------------------------------- Last year, I thought I was falling in love with urlLink this boy . I have a feeling that this might be another case of my lack of gaydar. Good lord . That’s three times now. And in a city where less than .5% of the population is homosexual, I seem to have extraordinary bad luck. I pretty much hate it when Robin feels the need to efface our relationships with the male population. It seems that I am either hit on by anonymous assholes or by boys who spend their free time with a stack of sticky Playboys . I am not going to pretend that I wouldn’t like a boyfriend. But the thing is, I can’t see myself with anyone who thinks that System of a Down is progressive, or whose definition of being literate is leafing through Rolling Stone . Religion and reality aside, there is the sex issue, too. I don’t want “ Oh my god, I am so horny, so lets fuck ” back-seat immemorial mistakes. I want tender, soft, over-the-moon, catch my breath, love making . Maybe I don’t serial date for a Dr. Phil reason; rejection issues, paranoia, fear of intimacy. But I think it’s more because I have raised myself on When Harry Met Sally and My So-Called Life . I can’t decide whether or not this is good for me. One day I might wake up and find that I’m ( gasp!) thirty, and have ignored men because I am waiting for Prince Charming to roll up in his Hybrid and sweep me off my feet. But the scarier thought is the later. What if I skip to the chapel with the first man who claims to love me? What if I settle for a man who doesn’t make my heart flutter, who doesn’t make me laugh, who reads Maxium ? And then, again at thirty, the picture will be me, rushed into a loveless marriage, watching All My Children all day, and wondering if my husband is cheating on me? Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>11,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
I like to think I’m a pretty passive person. And when I do get angry, I don’t really show that I am. I like to stew things in my head, and just be mad inside until I forget about whatever triviality upset me. But today I got really, really pissed off. We were talking about Poetry Slams in Creative Writing, and watched a video on them. Oh. sweet. Jesus. They are such an amazing thing to see people perform. My favorite was Saul Williams. Here is one of his poems: she had eyes like two turntables mix(h)er in between my dreams and reality blend in ancient themes the bas(e)is of isis cross-faded to ankh the beat drops like a cliff over looking my heart Annica actually has won some of these contests before, and now I feel inclined to watch one live. But after the tape was over, our guest teacher (a student at EWU) asked if we had any comments. This one boy, who is such a lowlife and so unworthy of this class that I refuse to figure out his name, raised his ignorant hand and waved it around like you would expect from a second-grader. Seriously, even the way that he enunciates words bothers me. “Like, that wasn’t even poetry. It was like bad freestlying. Like, it’s not poetry.” The awkwardness that everyone in the room felt was permeable. I was actually pretty stunned. The audacity of this boy with, no joke, frosted hair. Who is he to judge what is and is not poetry?! To top it off, his own writing is sub-par as far as this class is concerned. It’s all either cliché or about drug use, but neither articulate or thought-provoking. Bottom line; he is what I called a fucktard. Several people started talking at once. It was a congregated noise of “ What the hell ?” “ Yes it is !” and “ You’re stupid ”. I loved it. ---------------------------------- Kate is leaving to New York, and it makes me long to write about the city again. All I will say is that the second I set foot in JFK I knew, I just knew, that is where I am meant to be. I can’t imagine a life without that lullabye of people and cars and construction singing me to sleep in my imagined little apartment on 42nd. I want to sip overpriced coffee in the park and spend weekends shopping in SoHo. The music, the ease of being Vegan, the art, the people. All the things to see in that teeny tiny city. The air will never be the same in that crowded city, but I’ll sacrifice fresh air for fresh thinking. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>10,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
I didn’t write yesterday for fear I would write a post about the implosion of my social infrastructure. If I had a dollar for every blog, live journal, xanga site, etc. that dealt with the oh-so-melancholy drama of being a teen in the world today, well, I’d have a lot of figurative money. ----------------------------------- Pedro the Lion is a very good band and I thank those who share their music with me. ----------------------------------- Today I was asked to by a Freshman Class t-shirt at lunch. This is totally insignificant, but the boy selling was a member of urlLink For Years Blue , and everyone needs to go check out their web site in my links section. I find this group of freshman totally fascinating, and it’s not only because they hang out with G-Dogg. Despite living in Spokane, going to LC, and having the average age of 14, they are really great. ----------------------------------- I saw a sign at the park today tagged with tons of graffiti. There were things like, “Jen and Ryan 4eva!” and some self- proclaimed “gang” symbols (anyone else see how silly that is?) But this was written in big blue letters, “LIVING IN SPOKANE IS LIKE DANCING TO NO MUSIC” I want to find the writer of such a thing and have long conversations about music and art over coffee. So Mystery Prophet, keep me in mind. ----------------------------------- Things have gotten really bad in the last few days. It isn’t until right now, this day, that I realize how good I have had it the last two years. Oh god. Maybe if I think about the millions of homeless people worldwide Lauren leaving our lunch spot won’t hurt so much. Maybe if I consider the little starving African children orphaned by AIDS Anna’s stinging words will stop ringing in my head. Maybe if I read my science book, the supergiant-novas and 9 parallel universes will make my “problems” seem totally insignificant. Or maybe I will just go running so I can stop lowering myself to these insane concepts of high school life. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>08,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
Mr. Lang, my Creative Writing teacher, says that a writer needs to earn the use of foul language. That a writer has to use it carefully and selectively in order to convey things properly. Now, I don’t profess to be lenient with cussing, but, for the sake of argument, let’s pretend I am that sort of girl. Holy fucking shit. Imagine, if you will, seeing your once most outspoken advocate in anti-school-spirit flailing her arms in the middle of a crowded hallway whilst singing the school fight song at the top of her lungs. And for the second time in the last few months, I feel abandoned by a friend. This isn’t a Mary-scaled issue. I’ve reconciled that Robin stands a chance of coming out of this phase better equipped to fight for what she believes in. I hope I’m not deluding myself too much here. But everything feels different today. Really, how significant is this going to be? Yes, a decent number of ciggies were wasted trying to calm myself down. And yes, in my typical fashion, I sobbed. But if there is one thing Mary taught me, aside from the scariness of fundamentalism, it is this: don’t give people and circumstance more power than they are worth. Because it’s not worth it. I could use this medium to further bitch about my current situation with a couple of my closest friends. But honestly, it’s a collection of crap that seems to be the material for a good episode of The OC. It’s uncanny, really, how much my life mirrors a Lifetime Original Movie. But I don’t want to wrap myself up in that blanket of pettiness, however familiar or comfortable it is. Very much in character, Anna snapped me back out of the brewing melodrama. “Have fun wallowing in your anger, hun.” I will not wallow. (But I will listen to Bright Eyes and calculate the number of days until high school is over.) Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>07,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
I finally gave into the will of my soul and bought The Carpenters at Barnes and Noble this afternoon. I know, it’s pretty uncharacteristic. But something in me just loves them. I’m not going to tell anyone that I actually own this CD. I will hide in with my private collection of semi-shameful music. (Isral, I believe you know what hides with Karen and Richard) My creative writing class is hosting an open-mic poetry/fiction/whatever reading at Auntie Bookstore in two weeks. It’s not purely open-mic, mind you. We have to submit our selections beforehand so that they can be approved for content. I guess this is supposed to keep sexually-charged or drug-related writing from being performed. I find it deeply ironic that these subjects are banned at a teen reading. I really want to write something for it. Or read something. Liz and I have decided it is necessary for us to get over our fears of public shame. But Liz is so tame. She’s let me read her material before, and its squeaky-clean. Aside from being PG, it’s also well-written. My poetry, however, is absolutely neither of these things. It’s embarrassingly poor and usually about “unacceptable” topics. And so I set off to write about something appropriate. I talked to my Dad about going to Evergreen today, and his reaction was just as I expected. He scoffed at the silly liberal no-grades college in Olympia. But I fell in love with it last year when I was a Senate Page. The people in that community are amazing. Living animal-free would be easy there. The weather is perfect; rainy and murky, but sunny in the afternoons. The school itself has an amazing English department. Plus, I’m not going to pretend that the Nirvana aspect doesn’t entice me. Nevermind was written entirely in Olympia. Imagine the inspiration. I am not now that writer that I want to be. I have to live a little more, maybe have my heart broken, know love, before I can fully convey all the depth I want to have. Evergreen seems to nurture the lifestyle I want to have. So there will be more talks with my father about the matter. I must convince him that it’s a good pre-law school, somehow. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>06,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
Today Sean Fitzpatrick will have celebrated his seventeenth birthday. And he can’t even enunciate words, eat, and is barely able to drink mild liquids. I’ve been trying to think of a way to update my blog in respect to Sean. In all honesty, there have been many occasions were I have wanted to write about it. But the thing with writing, particularly prose, is that it forces you to organize your thoughts. It makes things final and very real. I don’t want to think about what happened this fall. I don’t want it to be real. Tonight, after the weekly movie-and-coffee Leigh and I share, we looked at an article in The Inlander about the incident on September 22. It triggered a need to suddenly write, write, write. In the last few weeks, there has been a petition around school for Sean’s charges. He was only sixteen-- my age-- when he brought that gun to school. I proudly signed in agreement that he should be tried as a minor. Because that is what he is. It appears that the prosecutor wants to charge him as an adult. That means up to thirty years in prison. Think about that. Sean was a boy who never really lived life, a boy who wandered around without a trace of hope in his heart. He was detached from school and family. He had no friends. He was desperate to end it all, no matter what the cost. The article said in the ambulance he tried to pull out the cords and wires that were keeping him alive. He tried this other times at the hospital long after. And now that he is finally getting the proper help that he needs, now they want to interlude. They want to put him away until he is middle-aged. I know that Sean needs to be punished. When I think about that day, and what could have possibly happened, I cry. The confusion . I knew Leigh was somewhere on the third floor, in a classroom making up a test. To think that she could have died. My reluctance to leave the floor . I took my sweet time standing up and voicing what an inconvenience it was to move. The shots we heard . The fact that while I was sipping my soda, Sean was planning to take his life literally feet away from me. I remember the evacuation. I remember Alyson’s pale face, her words and their weight. Looking for Leigh. That teacher with the look to terror in his eyes, hugging me and telling me things would be okay. And then I think about the SWAT team, watching men in helmets trample out and race up the stairs I had gone up that morning. And then there were the news crews all over school the next morning. Their audacity. Zero hour was cancelled that morning. People hugging, people crying. Some indifferent. In the last few months, I have tried to reconcile myself to what happened. In one light, I could have died. But I didn’t . No one did. And although I realize that the eventual fate of all our lives is death, in an odd way, Sean made my life more hopeful. Yes, I sound cliché and naïve and silly. But my point is the same point hundred of movie-of-the-weeks and “compelling” melodramas have made abundantly clear; life is meant to be cherished . It sucks sometimes, and the weight of it all can be crushing. But it is our ability to come out unscathed, or relatively so, that makes the good part of life so good. If I had never suffered through a terrible synth ditty with bad lyrics, I wouldn’t enjoy that indescribable rush of a favorite song. If I had never experienced loneliness, I wouldn’t understand the power of friendship. And if I had never been close to death, I wouldn’t appreciate life in this way. Happy birthday, Sean. I hope there are many more birthdays to come. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
I can’t remember the last time I was this bored. Oh god. I’ve sat around all morning ignoring people’s phone calls. There is way too much high-school-drama going on around me and I am staying far, far away from Robin’s latest installment of ‘Poor me!’. Anna and I bitched all last night about how shitty Robin is being. I could devote an entire post to her, but I have exhausted that topic. I have come to the decision that I have too many clothes. For fuck’s sake- - I found an Ambercrombie t-shirt this morning. A tremendous shame spiral erupted inside of me. I had a sudden urge to burn said trendy piece of shit, but opted not to (if only for the fire hazard) Instead, I gathered a huge bag of clothing I never intend to wear again. It is sitting in the hallway waiting for Anna to sift through. We wear the same size, therefore she has fist dibs on whatever she would like. The rest will go to Goodwill. I feel cleansed. I walked to my Elementary school and took pictures with my black and white film, really silly artsy shots of the playground equipment. There is a section of the playground we used to call “the woods”. In actuality, it’s a cluster of trees and rocks toward the back of the play field. It brought back such a wave of emotion that I had to catch my breath. I used to play house in those words. One rock in particular was reserved as the oven, and another a bed for the babies. It felt like a moment was frozen in first grade and I had suddenly been pushed backwards to it. At any second, I felt like Ali D. and Jessica M. would come running up to me in their brightly colored legging and matching turtlenecks. There is a show at the Detour I have the silly notion of going to, but I’m not sure if I’m up for it. I feel suddenly very, very tired. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
In the spirit of making new friends, I chose to forge relationships with new ones. There is a girl in my new English class who I think a lot of. Rachel is witty and sassy and an artist who laughs a lot. She also likes to say ‘ cock ’. Do I smell kindred spirit? If the twelve-year-old-me had found that someday in the future, Josh Hartnett would film a movie a block from my school, the-twelve-year-old-me would have messed herself. In the years since seventh grade, I have come to realize that 40 Days and 40 Nights in not exactly the peak of cinematic bliss. But there remain an underlying passion for the lanky actor who made me swoon, unibrow and all. Anyway, Rachel introduced me to a crop of people I am affectionately referring to as 'Those Who Would Never, Ever Cheerlead'. They seem to all share a love for all things unconventional. Sam is a tall, blond fellow in moccasins. Aubrey is a short brunette with eye sized to rival mine, but blue and pretty. Luciana has achieved the purple-against-black hair effect I attempted a few months ago. She smokes Marlboro Lights and talks about Death Cab for Cutie. We had a grand ole’ time sneaking around the trailers. The food station was open, and we talked to a caterer about food on the set. We were chased by security for a while, which was quite the thrill. Sam climbed on top of the roof for a bit, danced around, and we witnessed one of the actresses on her cell phone outside smoking and talking in French. We watched two non-Josh actors film a scene. One man apparently plays a mentally retarded person, and we waved to him through the window to see if we could distract him. We hung around the skate park for a while longer, talking about how shitty Spokane is. It was a little bit hard to navigate through the “ fucking fucks ” but the overall message of the conversation was appreciated. It’s not as if I had more fun with these people than with my other friends, but there was simply more substance to ongoings. There is a lot to be said for phasing out everything but a Simon and Garfunkle song in Robin’s living room, but sometimes that’s not enough. I don’t want to look back on my life and wish I had done more things. I don’t want to settle for people who simply make me feel secure, but for friends that make me feel good about myself. I want to befriend people I respect and admire. I want to have heart-to-heart conversations, instead of wondering things outloud. Even if it is rambling nonsense. I should be happy with the friends that I have. But there is something changing. I can feel it, and I know the collective feeling within my circle is starting to recognize that. There was a time for me to hibernate, there was a time for me to shut out the world. But I think, maybe, hopefully, that’s coming to a close. I want to experience life rather than suffer through it. I know that there is going to be bad, but I’ll take the bitter with the sweet. Without content, what is life, anyway? Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
Well, it is Lent Adrienne likes to quote the bible a lot. Not aloud, but whenever she write things to me (emails, notes, things like that) she give me the most obscure, weird passages. At first I honestly thought she was just opening the Bible to a random page and writing whatever she saw. And I’m still only fifty percent sure that the passages are meant to be significant. I borrowed a book from her, in which she left a note and a verse about pride. I responded with this: “A geek is a guy who has everything going for him, but he's just too young. By contrast, a nerd will be a nerd all of his life.” John Hughes is my Jesus! ------------------------------------ Yes, I have succome to the power of the faith. Maybe it’s just so routinous for me, but I had to give something up for Lent. I choose Peanut Butter. For those keeping score, it has been a week and a day of a peanut-butterless life. It is awful. Meghan gave up TV, and I laughed. A: So like, how long have you gone without TRL, Two of a Kind, and The OC? M: What time is it? A: 10:15 M: Three hours and fifteen minuets . I think if there is one thing I feel guilty about, it’s Meg. It’s so evident here in my blog; I never consider her. And I suppose friendship is a two-way street, but I am doing far less than I should. I can’t stand that she listens to hip hop and obsesses about her wardrobe. But she has absolutely been there for me during the worst of my worst times. She has witnessed nearly every milestone of my life, wiped away my tears when I’ve suffered extreme loss, and inspired me to succeed. We have strayed from mutual understanding to cattiness, and then from cattiness to indifference. The thing about Meg is that I have always envied her. She isn’t very smart, not talented. But she is gorgeous and everything I wanted to look like for most of my life. Blonde and petite instead of black-haired and lanky. She was soft-spoken and “cute” whereas I was talkative, assertive, and liked to be heard. I remember going with her family to the Videos store on Friday-sleepovers and people asking us if we were sister. I, of course, was assumed to be the older one. -------------------------------------------- My deep, dark secret (ahem): I want to wrestle someone. Anyone. I have no idea why this urge has taken over me. I don’t understand why this desire flows through my body. I want to wrestle. It’s an animalistic urge. Like in The Lion King when Nala and Simba “pin” each other. I want that. I keep thinking about when they are grown-up lions and they realize that they are in love. But, really, just a decent wrestling match will do. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>03,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
I should be writing my research paper on black holes. I am not writing said paper because I find black holes terribly stale. I mean, ok, so they could be able to bend light and time. But can they play the piano like Chris Martin? I rest my case. Cheerleading informational meeting was held at lunch today. One might have assumed it was actually called 'Oh. my. god. CHEERLEADING meeting!!' However, it was actually nothing quite so special. Anna D. and Robin both hauled ass to the first floor to listen to non-athletes talk about cheer uniforms (' they're going to be so cute next year!!') and the so-called strict credentials for joining the squad. Here is what I can surmise from the informational packet I read. To be a member of the Lewis and Clark High School Cheer squad, you must a) be a regular user of Crest Whitestripes (smile!! smile!! SMILE !!) and b) have a super-trendy wardrobe. And though not necessary, being the younger sister of one of the captains proves helpful. I know I shouldn't be bothered by all of this cheerleading crap. I was out there once myself, cheering maniacally for a losing team at a game I didn't understand. I gave into the allure of cute skirts and pom poms. But at the ripe old age of sixteen, it really bothers me that two of my closest friends think so radically different than I do. This school spirit, my lack thereof, is such a fundamental tenant of who I am. Do Robin and Anna really want to chant and cheer for a school that caused Sean Fitzpatrick to open fire? When Jake was a sophomore, a girl hung herself at LC; is that something to cheer for? Do they both want to support an institution that is so blantantly homophobic that they cancelled The Laramie Project ? A school that regards it students as ID numbers and not people? Within it's walls we've all harbored resentment and hatred. I feel bad enough for doing little to nothing to fight it, and Anna and Robin are hoping for an opportunity to embrace it. What perhaps bothers me the most is Robin's involvement. She has never taken a dance class, never been in a school sport, and attends one LC game a year. She bitches about how much she hates high school every day. And what has changed between that sentiment and this new, peppy one? What has spun her one-eighty? At the core of her new makeup-mongering movement seems to be mascara and low-cut tops. I hate, hate, hate the way she's been acting. I hate, hate, hate her new personality. And I hate it all the more because I should support her. She's my friend , and goddamit, that counts for something! But not on this one, not at all. I just can't. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
It was immeasurably hard to get out of bed today. I had slept pretty well, for me, about five hours. But I could sense that my bedroom was very, very cold and getting out of my warm covers would mean swiftly freezing to death. The weather is playing tricks on me. Its gorgeous outside, a violently blue sky and cotton-ball clouds like I use to glue on construction paper (Cumulus, Cirrus, Status…) It is positively freezing, though. Leigh and I were duped into walking downtown for lunch. The Rocket is now populated by freshmen who clamor all over, gawking at the local art on the walls. They really don’t deserve the beauty of that place. Rocket Sex God, of course, was not working. But his friend (who is blonde, and yet I forgive him) served Leigh her pizza bagel (Which, as any decent Vegan knows, supports the veal industry, and inadvertently the meat industry. Dirty cow-killer!) and my Luna Bar. I wanted those page-boy-hat-wearing wanksters-gansters to leave so badly. I am now am obsessed with this boy. He (!) dated Meg (!!) last year. I can’t really comprehend someone so cool dating someone so… Meghan . I see him at school every day now. It’s my own little quirk that I secretly think he is perhaps the best boy in the school, aside from G-Dogg. And yes, the whole cuddling-as-a-past-time is sort of incredible. But, c’mon, his heroes are everyone from Art Garfunkle to Gandhi. Now compare that to your typical freshman male; heroes there Chingy and Ron Jeremy. This boy, he has potential. I nearly forgot to mention the most embarrassing moment of my high school career, which took place today. It was actually embarrassing for an hour or so. Intolerably embarrassing. I wanted to run away and live under an assumed name. I am going to put it bluntly; I grabbed/smacked/made unintentional contact with Unnamed Victim’s ahem, um… (You see, this is where my true colors shine through. I can’t even type it. Oh god.) Male genitalia. Jesus. I was turning around to answer Leigh, and Unnamed Victim was walking by. (Leigh would later claim Unnamed Victim was actually not a victim, and actually a perpetrator, who wanted my poor hand to make contact with his... male genitalia. Oh god.) For the next few moments, a torrent of apologies spewed from my bright-red self. Unnamed Victim laughed, told me I had good aim, and overall became the Hero of Men. When moments of such embarrassment happen, I think about Julius Caesar. He says something about how brave men only taste death once, and cowards die thousands of tiny deaths all the time. I died today. I die all the time. I am a medical miracle. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>01,March,2004</date> |
<post> |
Ah, I finally saw Amelie. Excellent. Spectacular. Easily my favorite. So wonderful I had to use fractured sentences. Lauren loaned it to me, after becoming irate that I had not witnessed its beauty before (“ Anna! WHY!?”) Lauren is simply lovely. We had a conversation about the dynamics within relationships, as far as our 'circle'* is concerned. When Sarah, a girl in our English class, asked us how often we fight: L: We’re too lazy to fight. A: Wastes time and energy otherwise spent on eating. Or comparing height. Or talking about music. Or movies. Or men. Or college. Or anything, really. L: Word. We had the loveliest evening last night at the Oscar Party. Adrienne made me Vegan things, and I felt bad because I didn’t dress up (it would have been far too out of character, so anti-bohemian) I would never have guessed that Annica , of all people, was capable of getting so twitter-patted about Lord of the Rings . She lost composure and it was like looking at myself in the mirror… except, I react in such a way to things like Ikea Hair-Care infomercials and John Mayer on the radio. Laughter with friends is where it’s at. I fell like I am unable to be contained within the walls of a school building… no matter how easy the day is. I skipped school without a second thought. It was simply too gorgeous outside to be held hostage in side. I scurried all over downtown Spokane, visiting little shops with friendly shopkeepers. It was perfect sweater-over-tank-top weather, and I enjoyed it to the full extent. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
This picture came up on Google Images when I looked for 'clown face'. HOT. ------------------------------------------ After school today I found a pair of tights from seven grade. These are from the 'look at how skinny I am!' era. They are navy blue and very small. For some reason, I was compelled to put them on, just to see how far up they would reach. I was also blasting Counting Crows, solely because I needed something neutral to listen to. So imagine me, tights up to my knees and a camisole top, when I heard something at the door. Pulling up my shades, three freshman boys and some random girl got a lovely view of me half naked. More embarrassing was that I was rocking out to something so very atypical. Throwing on pants and feeling very, very stupid I ran to the door. They were from Cataldo, here to buy something (drugs) from my brother. The blonde kid with dreadlocks kept saying, 'You're that girl from Cataldo. That girl'. Meaning, 'Oh, you're the girl who ruined Cataldo. That girl. Didn't you make some parents cry? Didn't they try to get you to leave?' Though I attempted to beat him to consciousness, Joey wouldn't get up. It was just... a terribly embarrassing situation. One that could have been avoided if I WAS NOT SO FUCKING MENTALLY ILL. Why did I put in that CD? Why was I wearing tights that were so horribly small? I am such a weirdo. ------------------------------------------ Robin, Lauren, and I shall venture out of the world of school to see the very first showing of mean girls tomorrow. 12:40 baby! It's a late celebration of Lauren's birthday. She is 16 now and will be chauffeuring me around very soon. The more detachment from Leigh the better. I literally haven't spoken to her all week, which I think is for the best. There is only so much gossip I can take until my body is completely poisoned and I begin hemorrhaging. Opium is apparently the new rage for the teenage drug market. It's just a step below cocaine and slightly above mushrooms. It's only interest to me is, funnily enough, the historical aspect. Dooooode! There were not one, but two wars fought between China and England on this matter. Opium was outlawed in England, but tradespeople brought it to China and all those rice-growing, exploration-elitists got hooked. Then everyone squandered their potential and stopped going to work. Literally. They would just sit around and smoke all day. So it was outlawed in China as well. Then England was all offended ('Say what, brotha? A Englishman's gotta live!') and waged war. Actually, the opium war created indirectly influenced arcades in the United States hundreds of years later. You know those big clown faces which you try to knock the teeth out of? Well, the original version of the game was Chinese were you shot opium-carrying boats out of the water. ------------------------------------------ What I love about this blog is that I can write that and still maintain my dignity. Because however odd I am, however passionate I am about mindless historical factoids, however many downwrite weird things I do.... I still do not urlLink think I am a vampire . Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
So the question of the week is, HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU FORGET DATING SOMEONE?! I have been riding the bus home with Jack for eight months now. I see him at school. Our brothers are roommates in Seattle. I remembering playing together when we were little. I remember going to baseball games with him. I remember we listened to The Beatles together a lot and I thought he looked like George. (His hair is perpetually in need of a haircut.) He's the goofy little brother type of aquatance. And that is all I thought of him. There is a small group of freshman boys who are fascinating with teasing me. Seeing them throws me back to Junior High; I feel awkward and annoyed. These are cool kids, though. The kind that go home and listen to (what they feel are) progressive bands and talk philosophically about Resovir Dogs . One boy writes for the paper, in the 'Our Generation' section; movie reviews. They're each tall and gangly, all at that stage of adolescence were you are trying to find where you fit into the social scene. However, teenage boys that they are, they are obsessed with sex. I am repeatedly asked for sexual favors, including acting in some weird porn thing. I can't explain how, reflectively, it was funny the first few times. But now, as far as I am concerned, its just offending and overdone. Jesus. I've never been the girl who giggles as boys belittle her to a piece of ass, and I refuse to start being that way now. Ok, ok, I got off in a tangent there. The whole 'You don't talk to your mother like that, young man' thing is not the point. Yesterday, on the bus, Jack said something I can't get out of my head. 'God, Anna! I love you! Come on, we dated for two weeks! Is there any magic left?' It was one of those weird out-of-body moments. It was the same feeling I get when I've swerved to miss a car or forgotten my lines onstage. It was that same flood of coldness all over my body. And why? Because I seem to be remembering Jack differently now. Did we date? If so, I must have been eleven and he would have been ten. Meaning, Jack would have been pre-Behren. Meaning, yes, he would have been my first romance. Meaning, I am absolutely, without a doubt, retarded . This is not set in stone, mostly because I refuse to let it be that way. How on earth could I forget dating someone? Especially Jack. And fucking CHRIST , there is just no way in hell that he was my first kiss. Behren was. Right? God, this is killing me. And I realize that most people's first romances, the pre-adolescent ones, fade over the years. But, dammit, I am not that kind of person. I am the girl who's heart soars when she watches When Harry Met Sally . I am the girl who writes letters to her future husband. I am the girl who pictures marriages with Starbucks' employees. I am a hopeless romantic... right?? Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>27,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
Somehow Anna and I have convinced our parents that skipping class does a teenager good. With state-testing comes block schedule. What well-intentioned parent could stand to have her daughter huffing and puffing for two hours in PE (Anna D.) or trying hard not to ignore Leigh in Creative Writing? Not ours! Third period was bliss. Without money and very hungry, we were at a loss as to were to go for lunch. With my Spokane Club membership, I can charge anything I want, including meals. Mmm... all the fruit plates, saltine crackers, and diet sodas we could stand! (There is literally nothing else Vegan on the menu) We chatted with a crazy looking woman with a Louie Vaton gym bag and a small, pristine-looking child. The little girl kept trying to under the barrettes in her hair, and the mother looked mortified when she burped. I can't wait to see what happens with those two in about ten years. Hey, crazy mother-- meet a little something called adolescence. However nerdy it makes us, we went to the downtown public library next. It is the best branch in the city. I found a book with zine exerts and Anna photocopied Vegetarian recipes. The woman checking out my book squealed. 'My friend has a zine! I'm being reviewed in the next issue! It's called...' Her excitement struck me as girlish. I never did catch exactly what she was reviewed for. But the image of a thirtyish Asian woman squealing re-vamped my desire to zine. I really want to do this. We hopped over to Starbucks and it served to prove Anna's theory of Coffeehouse Hotness. The men serving were pretty edgy as far as corporate-Starbucks in concerned. They had the styled down look of a college students who'd rolled out bed just in time to not piss off his manager. There was something so adult about stopping by Starbucks during lunchour, something so wonderful about flirting with these men with their adult physiques and boyish good looks. My zine book was still in arm, which I didn't realize must have given away our age. 'I had a zine once.' said the twentysomething making my chai-tea-with-soy. He smiled in the same wistful way I must when I talk about SkyDancers or American Girl Dolls. His fellow coffee-fellow, clearly the less hip of the two, asked what zines were exactly. 'Oh, you just write about whatever you want. Underground stuff. Music. Movies.... Angst .' There was something so pure and honest and lovely about the way he said 'angst'. Like it was romantic and youthful. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
By the time my brother was in fourth grade, it became obvious to my parents and the school that he was dyslexic. Coupled with ADD, school was overwhelming for him. His learning disorders were minor, but he was so embarrassed that he just refused to read. My parents enlisted the help of a tutor. Being the child that I was, with my 'that's not fair!' younger-sibling persona, it went without saying that I would get to have a tutor too. So between ballet classes, I trotted off to Ann Trail's home, American Girl books in tow. We would sit and read on the porch in her garden, sometimes drinking kool-aid or store bought cookies (These were a delicacy in my mind. I had been raised in a family that made our own baked goods. To have someone else do the work, and make them taste all the same, was a concept I just couldn't get over.) Sometimes she would re-read passages to me, asking me what I thought of this character or that historical event. The earliest examples of analyzed came in these half hour sessions. She really listened to my ideas, too. She was born during World War I, and still remembered D-day. There was something magical about her. I wasn't used to the kind of attention she gave. Ann focused on my mind, what I thought and what I understod. I was eight years old discussing the French impact on World War II. To Ann, it was simply par for the course. She wanted me to learn, and I did. Ann Trail was a retired teacher, and the most influential person of my life. This is said by a girl who is easily influenced by the actions and words of others-- too easily for my own good. I'm not really gullible, but I'm intimidated by nearly everyone I know to some extent. But the attitude-problems of overprivledged South Hill girls leave no lasting impact. It is that summer of reading with Ann Trail that molded my childhood. In the years that followed, I have three lives: ballet, school, and reading. I would suffer through the school day, skip through demi-plies in uncomfortable leotards, all to get home to my bedroom and the books within. It was meant to be. I morphed into a walking cartoon of a nerd. I had glasses, hair in a permanent bun, and the earth-tone-colored clothes my mother loved to dress me in. Nothing was off limits as far as reading material was concerned. Everything from The Babysitter's Club to Moby Dick. What my parents wouldn't buy, I borrowed from the Library. I appreciated school, I liked ballet, but reading was what I loved. ----------------------------------------------------- I would like to extend my personal condolences to Kate and her friends. The missed Ben Kweller/ Death Cab for Cutie show is a tragic affair, indeed. You're in my thoughts, and if I were that kind of girl, you'd be in my prayers, too. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>24,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
I was looking for picks in the music section (to no avail) at Traget today. That is when I saw that 'Give Up' was being sold in the 'Breakthrough Artists' section. Tears welled up in my eyes. Hillary Duff's 'music' was featured in the same category, wasn't she? My heart hurt. Several gansta-looking gentlemen starred at me and snickered, but I couldn't care less. It was one of the worst moments of my life, and I can't even explain why. I felt so personally and so deeply hurt. Why, oh, why is The Postal Service now available to the lip-glossed, MTV-ified, FUBU-clad masses? ------------------------------------------------- I got my ass in gear and finished some poetry for Creative Writing. There seems to be no middle line for me; my writing is either deeply personal or totally shallow. But it makes me uneasy to turn in poem with the lines 'the heat isn't in the flame' and 'silent lips don't say there's a warmth here with you'. It feels wrong to turn in poems about sexual longing to my middle-aged male teacher. So instead, I write poems about how much fun summer is a liking my parents. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>24,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
Bob Dylan is the original gansta. There is something about the way her sings Maggie's Farm that simply makes him 'street'*. Maybe it's the drawl. Yes, that was a very long self-imposed blog break. The truly heartbreaking matter is that nothing particularly interesting catapulted it. I've become very caught up in the world of whining about school. When I come home, there simply isn't enough energy in my body to write. It's all channeled into studying for the World History AP test. Which leads me the a character profile of a person I am trying really hard not to hate. It's a new featurette in my blog. Deal with it. KATY H. Likes President Bush, velour sweatsuits, hip hop music, hunting, firearms in general, expensive cars, expensive handbags, alcohol, talking about alcohol during class, Michael Savage, genocide Dislikes ME, anything I say, Veganism, Liberalism, other countries that govern themselves, anyone in the Middle East, France, The United Nations, and did I mention ME?? Personal Quotes 'Honestly, we need to just kill all those motherfuckers in the middle east. ALL OF THEM.' (on the war in Iraq) 'He looks like a corpse! How can he govern a country?!?' (on John Kerry) 'Wait, who is Nelson Mendela again?' I may have met me nemesis. (This statement makes me sound like a superhero. I'm Libbie-Girl! Fighting narrow-minded consevatism and deer-murder in my spare time!) Quite like me, she seems to have an opinion about everything. Unlike me, she feels a need to voice these opinions, between bites of her beef jerky, no less. It's become a trial to memorize world leaders of the 20th century (Mao Zi-Dong! Stalin! Lenin! MacArthur!) She is impossible to deal with. I wholeheartedly disagree with everything she stands for; consumerism, Western-'superiority', Usher... Grr. How many more days of school? ------------------------------------------------------- *Insert laugh. Why the fuck am I using hip hop slang? What is wrong with the world?? |
</post> |
<date>19,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
In the spirit of being cruel to those you dearly love, read some of the names Lauren and I regularly call one another. AnnaPants26: cuuuuunt faaaaaace! Waterwoman429: u fucktard AnnaPants26: penisbreath Waterwoman429: asscrack Then later we discussed my latest hard, hard crush: Waterwoman429: why? AnnaPants26: cause, I donno, I love him with a fiery sexual passion Waterwoman429: hahahah Waterwoman429: why AnnaPants26: well, as far as I can tell, he has male genitalia, right? Waterwoman429: umm yeah Waterwoman429: is that all? AnnaPants26: pretty much -------------------------------------------------------------- But yes, the aforementioned crush is really strange for me. I’m not really one to like boys even my own age, and this lovely is about five months younger and a freshman. It’s a source of great, great embarrassment for me. But when someone very, vey good-looking says, ' I don't think pleasure is something you can buy in a mall. Hence my distain for most teenage girls .' I kind of swoon. But I need to get over it. And he needs to quite peering up at me over copies of paperback classics at lunch. Four-twenty is tomorrow. I’m not actually sure is researching the meaning of this number in relation to pot is the nerdy-est thing I have done, but its pretty close. Boy and girls, here are some facts and myths I have discovered. -420 is not the police code for smoking marijuana. In fact, it is not the police code for anything, anywhere. -There are, however, 420 active chemicals in pot. (This can sometimes be as low as 315, but it depends on the plant.) -4:20 is tea-time for people who live in Holland -According to High Times, the reference to this time began in 1971 at San Rafeal High School. A group of kids called the Waldos would meet and smoke pot at this time, and used the number in reference to their pastime. -------------------------------------------------------------- I continue to get jesus-mail from more and more Christians. It’s kind of sweet, and I definitely appreciate the sentiment. However, um, I’m pretty sure I have heard all the arguments for your cause. I already have heard the good news. It’s actually old news to me. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>18,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
Finally I tore myself away from mindless weekend-type things long enough to blog of my most adventures weekend. I have edited much of the typed-out squealing and removed the excessive exclamation points. Sarah Vowell has been an object of fanatical adoration for the last year or so. I saw her reading exerts from The Partly Cloudy Patriot on my beloved C-Span, and consequently became obsessed. I love her for her unabashed nerdiness (involvement in political e-mail groups, public radio, marching band) I love that in reading her work relays her points just as eloquently as reading her work does. And her subject matter! Historical battle sites, the Chelsea Hotel, Bozeman, Montana. She writes with perfect effectiveness and smartness. She is witty, real, self-effacing without self-pity or doubt, talented. Her words are nearly musical; they way she strings sentences together in a sort of perfect rhythm. As part of the GetLit festival in Cheney and Spokane, she was coming to read. Robin, Jamie, and I piled into the car and headed for the closet college-town, some twenty minuets away. We listened to a mixed CD I had given Robin, blasting They Might Be Giants with the windows down at freeway speed. It was the sort of strange serenity that can only be achieved when attending a book reading on a Friday night. I mean, my peers were out getting shit-faced, and I was going to sit in a lecture hall, grasping my hardcover book with the same intensity that they were gulping down beer bongs. We picked a row towards the front and settled into wooden, uncomfortable folding chairs. I tried to remain patient throughout the opening acts (cynical poetry and Polynesian fiction, anyone?) In turning the head in a overdone yawn I saw her. Sarah Vowell was sitting six people away from me ! In the same row!! Like, with us simpletons. Her ! Sarah! I kept glancing over in fashion I thought was casual, but was actually pretty obvious because it didn’t take long until she toke notice. She leaned forward in her seat, stared back at me. In sheer embarrassment, I grew red and turned away. And she laughed . At me . I made her laugh. Out loud. The man sitting next to her waved at me sarcastically the next time I looked over and several other people laughed. Eventually she trotted up to the podium and began her reading. All I can describe it as is sheer bliss. Here’s a brief example of the glory in which she writes. “ If I had to nail down the objective of my historical tourism, it’s probably to collect evidence in support of my motto. And my motto, in any situation is, “It Could Be Worse.” It Could Be Worse is how I meet every setback. Though nothing all that bad has ever happened to me, every time I have had my hart broken or gotten fired or watched an audience member at one of my readings have a seizure as I stand at the podium trying not to cry, I remind myself that it could be worse. In my self-help universe I whisper mantras myself, mantras like “Andersonville” or “Texas School Book Depository”. “Andersonville” is code for “You could be one of the prisoners of war dying of disease and malnutrition in the worst Confederate prison, so just calm down about the movie you wanted to see being sold out. “Texas School Book Depository” means that having the delivery guy forget the guacamole isn’t nearly as bad as being assassinated by Lee Harvey Oswald as the blood from your head stains your wife’s pink suit. ” After her reading a Q and A session erupted, in which everyone around me asked stupid questions about her ‘typical days’ and about her wheat allergy. I wanted to ask a question, but was had recently become deaf in ecstasy. Then the book signing! I don’t really know how best to explain just exactly what it’s like to meet your hero. It’s sort of better than you imagined, only you feel more light-headed and dreamlike. It was incredible. I was wearing thrift-store heels, fake patent-leather streetwalker shoes that I love. She made a noise and cooed, “I looove those shoes!” I nearly lost it. I told her, stupidly, that I was a fan. “Oh, hi, FAN .” She was superb. I told her how much her writing inspired me, and how it had opened me up to all sort of things. Politics, music, public radio, essay writing. I know I must have sounded like the idiot I am, talking too fast and gushing about minor details. But it didn’t seem to matter that I had a squeaky voice or that I was so nervously compelled by her. It was just… wonderful. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
It has been agreed that Will Forte and Ben Gibbard are, in fact, the same person. Oh, yum. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Today, like many days in my creative writing class, we didn’t have much to do. We finished working on limericks and had the rest of the class to ourselves. Trevor, Liz and I got into a discussion about our future ambitions. L: “I don’t really care what I do as long I’m rich.” A: “Well, I mean, you want fulfillment from like, other things, right?” L: “Things that money can provide.” A: “But like, your ambitions are more than simply to attain wealth, right?” L: (laughs) “No, not really. I want to have nice things.” Trevor chimed in in agreement. I felt poisoned by their talk of plasma-screen TVs and sports cars. That’s not necessarily an evil ambition, but they kept reiterating that this was all the needed or wanted. I launched into some huge one-sided conversation about the orphans and AIDS victims in Africa, the 4th world nations, poverty-ridden communities with no running water. By the end, I was out of breath and red-faced. I get so worked up about these issues. It just baffles me that our society, like most western societies, holds wealth and fame above all else. What ever happened to savoring the things you do have? Somehow the MTV Crib’s mentality seems to have taken over everyone I know. The people we consider poor in this country are hundreds of time better-off than truly poor people elsewhere in the world. We have so much already. I know it seems like an exaggerated point, but it’s true: running water is a luxury. That’s not even my point though. The point is that we should seek to fulfill our spirits as opposed to our bank accounts. Contrary to what may be popular belief, money does not make you happy. It can make you feel empty and hollow. If you’re living to achieve a superficial sense of happiness, was your life truly spent? Trevor asked me what, if not wealth, I wanted to attain. I was surprised by my reaction. Without thinking, I said simply, “Love.” It’s so true. That’s all I think anyone can hope for in your life. Not necessarily romantic love, but love in a general sense. I want to love my family and my friends. I want to love ideas and words and songs. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>13,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
What stupid celebrity are you destined to kill? by daydreamer8852 Name Birthdate You killed With a On January 20, 2017 Created with urlLink quill18 's urlLink MemeGen 3.0 ! Just you wait, Hilliary, just you wait... I spent the entire night writing an essay entitled “Shakespeare verses Hollywood” and studying driver’s ed. Pray for my sanity. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>12,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
We have a student teacher in my science class. I really have had no opinion of her until today. She’s youngish, tallish, quietish… nothing particularly interesting. In an attempt to get to know us, we played one of those arbitrary get-to-know-you games. In the end, we each had to stand up and recite a list of things about ourselves. Standing up. As in, on your feet, in front of people you don’t particularly like . People you may not actually know , even. After mumbling out my list and turning florescent red, I felt deflated. My day has been ruined by a full thirty seconds. But instead of reflecting on what had made me feel so awkward in the first place, I am choosing to channel that energy into my new hatred for my student teacher. ----------------------------------------------- I saw Mike in the hallway by the drama room (and hence, next to my locker) after school today. It prompted a weird feeling in my stomach. He is. so. wonderful . In Global Issues last year, I experienced the height of my OCD. I would sit in the corner, furiously re-copying my notes and filling out the days events in my date book. It was pretty disgusting. Mike was in my class. He was tall and gorgeous, with messy hair and a strange confidence… way too cool to be a freshman. I think I was initially drawn to him purely for his warmth, his kindness. In that class, we talked philosophically about world issues and morality. So it was only a matter or time before I discovered that Mike was one of the most deep, thoughtful speakers I had ever met. He had a way with words, that boy. I was enthralled whenever he spoke. One day a heated debate erupted about McDonalds fries vs. Burger King fries. I remember thinking, “He’s making me swoon over fast food . This boy is a god.” I would torture myself with thoughts about Mike ('He’ll never notice me! Oh, the horror!') Thereafter, I would dissolve into tears. Surely I wasn’t pretty enough, smart enough, nice enough for him! Surely I had never crossed his mind! It was a miracle he even knew my name! At one point, I realized that I was way too different from him, and learned to accept my fate as another of those graced with his spirit. It’s the nastiest stage of my crushes, when I just hope that they’re happy. It’s sickening, actually. Anyway, I just wanted to leave a little piece of him in here. One day he will be a famed activist or musician or stage actor, and I will have this to remind me of how close I was to him today. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>10,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
A word to the wise; don't let your friends make paint images of you. Just, don't. -------------------------------------------------------------------- My family owns two computers. One sits in the basement, the other upstairs. Upstairs, if you are desperate, you can wait ten or tweleve mineuts for each page to load. The basement is where the goods are at. Many a heated fued have risen from the Southern and Northern versions of computing. My computer is like an IV, one which I must connect myself to several times a day in order to sustain life. And such is the life of a suburban teenager without her driver's liscene. Sigh (overdramatic, of course). ------------------------------------------------------ You know you're a nerd when seeing a local edition of the Inlander excites you. Sarah Vowell was on the cover, along with the other writers coming to town for the Get Lit tour. I am. so. excited. Sarah Vowell is the height of writing. She makes brillant, beautiful, inciteful observations about what it means to be American. I love her with the same version of nerdy adoration I have for Catherine the Great (although she is a murderer, whatever). She has yet to write a single essay that does not make me laugh. I highly recommend investing in ethier The Partly Cloudy Patriot (it's in paperback now) or Take the Canoli . Both are amazing. ----------------------------------------------------- Zine news! Since I live in the presence of lazies who refuse to make up their minds, the final title is (dun da-dun-dun dunnn) UNDER THE GLASS. (After the Bright Eyes song, of course.) I really did not expect writing for a zine to be so hard. It's easy to write cute little snipits of commentary in my blog, but full length articles? Hard . I think we are going to do something about gay marriage, but that's about as political as we may get. As far as I can tell, the first issue is simply going to be a test drive. Adrienne will do most of the artwork, I'll toss in some photography. Because I'm deeply narcisstic, I really want to put in mini-bios about our lives in Spokane. Annica will probably do some poetry, I (yikes) might sneak some in as well. I want to get a short story in, but my writing skills are temporarily on hiatus. If anyone wants to submit their work, that would be great. We're looking for poetry and short stories right now, if you're interested. Your payment is a free copy of the zine. (I'll pay for shipping, only because I am so very wealthy). Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>09,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
Sometimes in life, there are things I disagree on with my parents. Sometimes these things are small. Like whether or not I should be allowed out past 2 am. Other things are big, big issues. Like whether or not to put my dog to sleep. Today I blissfully puttered around downtown and at the park. Unbeknownst to me, my parent snuck Lucy, our brittany-spaniel of fourteen years, out of the house. They assisted in her murder. Lucy has been a part of my life for a very long time. I actually can’t remember a time without her. But for the last few years, she has been the most smelly, disgusting animal known to domestication. She has been in pain for a long time. I have come to see her heavy breathing and signature scent as endearing, consistent. I’m not sure what life will be like without her. It may be a little cleaner, a little less smelly, quiet... but there is a Lucy-shaped hole in my heart that no other elderly pet will fill. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>08,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
There is a patronizingly titled paperback on my bookshelf called “ How to Find God ” It sits on the religion shelf between The Student’s Application and The New Adventure bibles. Only in my guilt-ridden, post-catholic school mind can a book be patronizing. Nevertheless, “ How to Find God ” has taken on a life of its own. It stares out from its shelf, judging me silently. But I can hear it screaming out from its binding, “ I am watching you! I know you! I can see what you’re doing and I don’t like it !” Coincidentally, Mary gave me this book. That’s an interesting detail, but aside from the point. The point is that I need to get rid of this book . The first chapter is called, “ How You Can Know God ”. This appealed to me. We could throw back a few diet cokes and talk about the last Smith’s album. But the chapter is actually twenty-five pages of pointers on how to stay away from MTV and quit taking the Lord’s name in vain, gosh darn it! “ Purpose, meaning, a reason for living- theses are all things we desire and search for in life. Despite steps each one of us takes to find purpose and meaning in life, we still feel empty, unfulfilled .” What a page-turner, huh? And so optimistic! With such awful metaphors (Christ is a breathmint!) one might think that I ended my reading within the first pages. Oh no. You forget I was given this last year, prior to the ‘burnt-out on Jesus’ stage. I read the entire thing, cover to cover. Not only did I read it, I highlighted passages and wrote in the margins. There is one notecard with fifteen different passage denotations written on it. I’m not sure what they’re all about. But knowing me, they’re probably historic battle facts or something. Now, however, things are different. [For one thing, I’m just not down with Ephesians 5: 21-33 anymore. I mean, I’m a woman of the twenty-first century; I’m not going to submit to my husband’s “leadership”. Screw that!] With it’s blatant homophobic, anti-female, and fundamentalist overtones, I know this book is not a fair representation of Christianity as a whole. But I see it as a microcosm of what, if left unchecked, a church’s influence can do to a person. I look back on myself last year and I cringe. I was close with a girl named Erinn. Erinn was a witty, spunky Irish girl who listened to Bob Dylan and smoked cloves. She got her nose pierced before it became hip and cute. Towards the end of the year, she confided in me that she was a lesbian and I freaked out. Not only did I try to show her (insert cringe) the moral error of her “choice” to be gay, I also stopped being friends with her. Completely. I treated her as politely as is possible, but would make excuses to be with her in any context. I was told that this was the right thing to do. Because the bible states that homosexuality is an act of perversion, right? And the Bible doesn’t lie. Well, that, my friends, is what led me to the dead end of my spiritual journey. And I’m really not one to back paddle, so I may be here for a while. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>07,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
Manito Park in spring may be the only part of Spokane that I actually like. Robin and I spent the day sitting on a gigantic cliff smoking cigarettes and pot, dancing around and taking artsy pictures. I wore a two-dollar skirt I bought from Goodwill (it’s my attempt to be vintage) and went for the shoeless/hobo look. It was nice. We played on the swings and drank out of the (sick, germ infested, bacteria breeding) water fountains like when we were children. I felt young is a good way. I saw G-Dogg hopping around with some other stoner boys on the rocks by the pond. It’s amazing to listen to him talk. In Math last year, he could graphically describe the most disgusting sexual acts and embarrass me horribly. But at other times, he would talk about a single band for the entire class period, from start to finish, without taking a breath. Over the course of the year he would simultaneously offend me, make me sick, and make me fall madly in like with him. And sadly, the crush is gone. It has been such a part of me for nearly a year, and now, it’s simply not the same. There is no rush or lost breath or butterflies when I see him. It’s sad, actually. I miss the familiar adoration. ----------------------------------------- If there is one thing that Robin and I hate, it has to be when strange people approach us. Though she is gorgeous, together we just don’t look like supermodels. Because really, in a two dollar skirt, you look more homeless than you do hot. So this is why it baffles me when men-boys feel a need to call attention to us in public. Jogging man: Heeeeey theeeeree , ladies. Robin: Dude, you’re like middle aged! [The man looked horrified and scampered off, while I fell apart laughing on the sidewalk behind him.] Affectionately… Anna ----------------------------------------- I usually don't post links in here. But this is way too funny to be denied. urlLink Go here and laugh |
</post> |
<date>06,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
Let it be known throughout the universe: Anna Marie Elizabeth Z. has accepted her fate and began the summer job application process. I have come to terms with the fact that my summer is going to suck. I have accepted this. But I refuse to sit on my ass writing poetry and eating cashews for three months. I am going to get a job. I was offered an application from a nice checker woman at Safeway Food and Drug. Safeway, for those not in the know, is an overpriced grocery store in the northwest. It’s a very nice, clean-looking store. Since it is on the South Hill, all the costumers will be private-school room-parents and overpaid lawyers. Not too bad. My mom worked at a Safeway in Seattle when she was a hippie. I’m excited about the prospect of carrying on the tradition. The cons : -will have to carry heavy groceries to minivans -parents close enough to “pop in and check on me” during workday The pros: -MONEY -air conditioning -something to do that won’t make me the next Dr. Phil Weight Loss Challenge contestant -friendly people -away from parents for lots more time -can support drug habit -uniform looks comfortable -across the street from Hastings (good LP selection, OK indie film selection) -decent organic food section -MONEY* Affectionately… Anna ---------------------------------- *It sounds greedy and silly to want money so badly. I get twenty dollars a week for everything… which includes meals out, films, CDs, et certra. Exceptions are made for some clothing and some concerts. MONEY , however evil is may be, will make me less dependent on my parents. It’s not like I am trying to be a “pimp” or a 'baller'. I’m not going to buy huge rims with my minimum-wage paycheck. I just want the newest Miles Davis compellation. |
</post> |
<date>05,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
July 18th: “For, you see, when you live in Washington State remotely close to Seattle, you are intrinsically connected with Nirvana. And when you are feeling depressed you legally are required to listen to the poetry of Kurt Donald Cobain. You simply are. You must, at one time in your adolescence, go without showering for a week and wear flannel. Every year on April 5th you are required to say 'Man, today He did it.' and then at one point, cry.” I forgot to close the blinds last night, which caused a strange awakening at five thirty this morning. Never mind that I fell asleep two hours prior, I was too depressed to go back to sleep. I grabbed all my Nirvana LPs, my CD player, and sat in the dewy grass until my mom made coffee. I felt numb. Suicide scares the crap out of me. Not scary in the way that sci-fi thrillers are scary. But scary in that it could happen to anyone. I mean, I could very well kill myself. I’m compulsive and over dramatic. The saving grace, really, is that I am terrified of pain. So blasting a rifle into my head isn’t my idea of eliminating my hurt. It’s more like a way to induce it. And my friends… holy fuck, my friends… I don’t know how I would cope with someone taking their life. And if that person was close to me, the impact would be insurmountable. So when I think about Kurt Cobain’s suicide, it hurts. To me, musicians are this super species of people. Even thought I loath the celebrity-god mentality, there something about musicians that makes adoration of them alright. I love the way poetry can flow from a person like Kurt’s did for him. Aberdeen is on the other side of Seattle, this tiny little logging town. It’s almost like there is a shadow cast over it, something dark and scary and unrelenting. It reminded me of how Sylvia Plath describes her depression as a bell jar. A suffocating lid that stifles everything beneath it. To me, the real shock was not so much that he killed himself but that he didn’t do it sooner. Having read his journals and being relatively obsessed with his life, I know that suicide had been in his thoughts for a long time. I read an entry of his were he talks about lying down on the train tracks near his home, wanting to end it all. The train did come, but on the opposite track. He missed death by a few feet. I don’t know how to feel about Kurt’s death. But then, I don’t really know how to feel about his life , either. He was an amazing poet, guitarist. And I honestly feel that he was a voice of a generation. He formed his own groove in the musical landscape, changed popular music forever. I love Kurt as much as I can love a postmortem man I never met. But its love all the same. I'm so happy. Cause today I found my friends. They're in my head. I'm so ugly. But that's ok. 'Cause so are you. We've broke our mirrors. Sunday morning. Is everyday for all I care. And I'm not scared. Light my candles. In a daze cause I've found god. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>04,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
I think this is the most intentional time away from blogging I have ever taken. I’ve been in one of those whimsical, thoughtful moods for this entire week. It’s like self-reflection except it’s done through eating a lot of junk food and watching My So Called Life in syndication. To get to the point; I am feeling really identity-less. I’ve almost always been this way, only now I don’t like it as much. Now it’s more lonely than it is elite. Confusing? You bet. Listening to me talk lately has to be somewhat of a trial. I really appreciate everyone who has suffered through my long explanations of Veganism and why I selectively hate pop culture. I’m a time bomb of emotion and senselessness; at any given moment I may go off. Watch out for airborne nostalgia, angst, and disappointment. ------------------------------------------ Last night was pretty interesting. The film Y Tu Mama Tambien isn't even rated. It’s beyond NC-17, but has an actual plotline that discerns itself from actual porn. The most perplexing element of the movie was something only I could find perplexing; we’re the actors actually having sex ? The opening scene is Diego Luna humping the crap out of his girlfriend oh-so-graphically. That sort of unabashed SEX defines a lot of the film. But not only is it about drugs and sex, but about social class and friendship too. Ok, ok… so Y Tu Mama Tambien can be seen as deep. However, not being mentally over the age of twelve, I appreciate Robin’s view on the film “Holy crap! I can see his penis!” Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>01,April,2004</date> |
<post> |
I think I am living my life for the four minuets that I spend doing nothing but listening to ‘Such Great Heights’ ala The Postal Service. There is something about this song that transports me to a placid state of mind. And although it’s mellow, it’s also the most beautiful happiness in my day. The song, like hardly any other, refuses to get old. Every time I listen to it, it’s like I am hearing it for the first time, the best time, the perfect time. It has joined the ranks of ‘America’ (Simon and Garfunkel) The music carries me into this near-euphoric, near-comatose state. And the lyrics combine everything I love about verse. It’s conversational, prophetic, comforting, clever, and very, very beautiful. “ I have to speculate that God himself did make us into corresponding states, like puzzle pieces from the clay ”. I can’t speak for beautiful Ben or Jimmy, but I can give you my version of what this song is about. It’s about missing someone, or wanting someone. You’ll try anything to catch them, to feel close to them, even if it’s through the radio or a message machine. That longing, aching feeling when you want someone to just be near you. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>29,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
Awww ye-ah! I Love the 90s will air on July 12th! For all of us sad, weird, underage VH1 clip show fans, it is truly a triumph. Plus, I'll actually know the stuff this time. Boys bands! Grunge 'fashion'! Glitter as makeup! Will Smith songs without cuss words! FUCK YAH! --------------- Why is it that I still love Cheryl Crow after all these years of being a mediocre guitar player and a decent voiced singer? I guess listening to 'Soak Up the Sun' on a rainy Saturday appeals to my inner irony. So Anna Dunn is now a member of drill team. Shit. Since our cheer squad has no talent, Drill is the equivalent of the stereotypical self-obsessed, perky teenage girls. They're a really great team, though, I guess I should give them that. I'm hoping that Anna won't be affected by their Abercrombie-worshipping, bulimic-wannabe, minimal GPA asses. --------------- Well, my earlobes are pierced. I really thought it was going to be painful. But actually, it doesn't hurt anymore than getting your finger stapled-- in fact, that's exactly what it feels like. (Not that I would know...) I have to wear the Stainless Steal studs for six weeks. I think that they balance out my gigantic head. Which is nice, because no one likes to look like a lollipop. More importantly, I have found a new magazine obsession. It started as a zine, I believe. BUST ('For women who need to get something off their chests') is absolutely amazing. I suppose I could have down without the vibrator review (I swear to god, it's called a 'Trigasm'; think about it.) but otherwise I loved it's unabashed feminism. Actually, I consider myself a humanist, but definitely agree with the sort of things Bust had to say. Tina Fey was on the cover, and there was a great article about her being 'Geek Chic'. I love that woman. She's basically a less geeky version of Sarah Vowell who happens to wear less black. Sarah's humor is more subtle, and more often than not it's history related (' Gallows Hill, Andersonville... it could be, could be worse .') --------------- I can hear summer calling my name. It's hiding past the rain clouds and two more weeks of school. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>27,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
I only like that one Gary Jules song, and yet somehow I posses two tickets to his show. Talk about starving for live music. I'm missing Sasquatch (bands included: The Decembrists and The Postal Service) So I had to wean myself from sobbing by having something musical to look forward to. It's on a Monday, which is great, maybe I won't go to school on the following Tuesday? I am desperate to get away from the evil that is LC. Oh, and the melodrama! Sometimes I feel like I am actually just observing myself. I am not this girl. This is not my life. Taken this way, giggling uncontrollably about a drawing on a penis-clad bunny rabbit is not so immature. I don't have to feel bad about the careless things I've said because I'm not the one who says them! But then I snap back into reality and I'm every bit as dorky and immature and witless. Since when did white boys with dreadlocks seep into my consciousness. Oh, boys-- can't live without them, not legally of age to live with them. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>26,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
I am getting holes pierced through my earlobes this weekend! Hurray! I have already bought two pairs of ridiculously oversized earrings. Yes, I know that you can't technically wear earrings until 6 weeks after they've been initially pierced... But whatever. I'm excited for July. Actually, I am excited for all of summer. I'm still in hot pursuit of a job. I find my reliance on money really sad, however. But there are so many things that money can do! More silly ear-decorations! Music! Books! Soda pop! Drugs! I can't wait to bounce on Robin's trampoline, sip smoothies (vegan, of course), and just listen to good live music this summer. There is some silly pop song from seventh grade with this lyric 'Those were the nights we felt alive' and just the way it's song embodies summertime. Even when you're just watching late night TV or dancing around in your underwear, it feels so REAL and so unrestrained in the summer. June, July and August are freedom and oppurtunity. Now if it wasn't for the pesky three more weeks of school. Sigh... Cyrano de Bergerac, I love you, and at the same time, I feel I am you. I only wish that I was not reading your story the last weeks of school. I can't pay attention to your adopted cousin love or your gigantic nose. I can't pay attention to you, even though I saw that urlLink Steve Martin movie adapted from the play many times. I do however, identify with your misunderstood wit and unfailing romanticism. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
Why oh why has my Humanity on Trial role been changed to Stalin? Do I look like an evil post-Lenin mass murderer? I don't speech Russian, I'm not a man, and most importantly; I haven't got a handlebar mustache, goddammit ! ---------------------------------- Things are odd in my neck of the woods. I would like to postscript my last post with this; I am one melodramatic nerd. I've just been out of the loop too long. Hookups, even ones which involve hushed conversations about Bright Eyes, are still pretty tame. But if you read that post, you'll see just how much I ooze of self-satisfied passion. Someday, maybe in the far off land of college, I will be able to handle such emotion with grace. And in such future relations, I will not publish immediate thoughts the day after. I'm a deranged woman. One would think such a woman would be able to occupy her thoughts for one lousy dance recital. Oh no, not me. Poor Anna D., there was absolutely no way for even a sane person to watch two and a half hours of amateur ballet, tap, and jazz. Of course, Anna's part was lovely. It was the ninety other dancers (ages 3-18) that gave me claustrophobia. I had to escape that auditorium, if only to sit on the running track with Robin for an hour. In doing so, I remembered one of the most anger memories I have. I was five or six and backstage at my own Olympian-length ballet recital. (I was a snowflake or a lobster that year, I can't remember which) but Daniel B. was in my class. I had very black-and-white gender lines drawn in my head and a boy was impossibly unwelcome in tights. I think I generated this concept to my fellow kindergarteners, and thus a plan was hatched. We were going to kill him No, really, we were. Or at least make it so he could never dance again. I was to hide under the refreshment table after the performance with a knife (obviously, I didn't have one, but that was not the point). When Daniel B. went to reach for a cookie, I would stab him in the leg. And yes, leg-stabbing results in death in this scenario. But Daniel's mother found out somehow and yelled at me. I cried and wailed apologies so loudly that my dance teacher then yelled at me to shut my mouth. This of course, did nothing but propel by sobbing even louder. The tears eventually dried up. We still have pictures from that day, and there is smudged stage makeup all over my little face. What a lasting testament to my ill-fated and unsuccessful career as a hitwoman. ---------------------------------- Favorite quote from the bus yesterday: Freshman Boy #1: Girls don't poop. Freshman Boy #2: Yah, they just get cramps. ---------------------------------- I found a new place to enjoy alternate states of mind! Oh, the joy of Corbin Arts Center. The old Victorian Estate where I once took crochet classes and did dramatic mirror exercises is now a wonderful place to toke myself silly. The past week became an explosion of spring weather, including a baby tornado a few miles east of Spokane. When the lightning did not cease for over an hour, we sat on a hill under a tree and watched the most mesmorizing lighting jab across the sky. It was amazing. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>23,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
I guess my blogversary went unnoticed. I've been bringing in the sterotypically suburban tales for over a year now. I'd like to thank teen angst, The Perks of Being a Wallflower , every song I quoted nonesensically, and John Mayer. ------------------------- So many things are going on right now. And I wanted to be able to write them all down, if only to make sense of things. But now that I’m sitting in front of a keyboard and attempting to write, nothing seems to work. This state of mind started to settle on Tuesday. I was trying to explain my position of anti-violence to a girl in my science class and it hit me. I am inarticulate and yet so full of emotion that I’m rendered completely useless to any cause. I feel like I’m never going to win an argument, because I’m too concerned without falling into tears before I’ve said my piece. What good is passion if you can’t channel it? And then… armed with that view of myself, I met (insert melodramatic violin noises) him... But see, I don’t want to write about it. Or what he said to make me so crazy. I don’t want to explain who he is or why he feels so familiar. I don’t want to tell you how much pot I had smoked that night, or what terrible music had been playing. I don’t want to say what his lips tasted like or what his hair felt like or what he whispered and what I wanted to do. Because the second I try to explain, it will all be cheapened. Words don’t exist to explain what something like that feels like. I’ve always liked in old movies when the camera cuts to a big, glowing moon or fireworks. The scene isn’t so provocative, but that’s the point. If I were to just cut to fireworks, I wouldn’t have to go searching for the right way to write things out. So, um, cut. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>18,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
Walks in the park with Rosie have taken over my life. Someone needs to hold an intervention. Tonight I was out for two hours with my new Ben Kweller CD just watching ducks and channeling hate towards seagulls. It wasn't even particularly nice weather. I just wanted to be away, outside, alone. There's something kind of cleansing about sitting still and recognizing your breathing. I guess this is what meditation is, in a way. I certainly see why people swear but it. I feel so much better afterwards. And it's a hell of a lot healthier than smoking. Speaking of which... I saw Erin on my way home. We were in Keyboarding together last year. The class was really more of a free-form writing class. We would perform exercises (I would be yelled at for looking at my fingers) for half the class. The other half was devoted to what we wanted to do, so long as we used the keyboard. (I favored the random stream of consciousness approach.) The best part of the class was the music. Our teacher, Mr. Jackson, was so amazing. I bought my first Stevie Ray Vaugn CD after hearing The Sky is Crying in his classroom. We also listened to obscure things like The Velvet Underground and lots of Dave Matthews. Erin was able to comment on everything. She had a sense of music and art that was beyond what I'd known then. She could comment on lyrical, musical, and emotional aspects of everything she heard. It was incredibly captivating. It made me want to feel the same love, the same enthusiasm, for music. I wanted to feel songs rather than simply hear them. I don't want to have a role model, because I think you shouldn't mold yourself in the image of someone else. Individuality is what makes our world so beautiful, no matter how cliche that is. I'm a big supported of alternative cultures and lifestyles. But Erin is definitely a person I'd aspire to be like. She is so charismatic. I really wish I was able to speak so confidently. There is just something becoming of her. Only, tonight she'd been smoking pot and she was driving. I don't care how much experience you have, getting stoned and driving is just stupid . I was really taken aback that she would do something so wreckless. I know that when I've in such a state I can barely even walk a straight line, let alone drive one. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>17,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
This week is 'May Week' at school. May Week is basically our overprivledged whitie Suburban waste of money. Money, might I add, that could be better spent on something else... like say books . Or perhaps janitorial material? Cause really, if I had to choose between have cotton candy served endlessly in the Quad or having cleaner toilets, I would choose the later. It wasn't a complete waste of time. For Years Blue, a particularly good local band, played outside for everyone. They're a little cliched, and pretty obviously steal lyrically and musically from other bands (think Incubus), but I like them. Which, if anyone didn't already know, is hard praise to garner from a girl who is quickly being a music snob (I'm not actually proud of that fact). Sometimes I think that maybe I should try to enjoy high school more. I mean, there are kids who get genuine pleasure out of this short period of time. And while I'll never be a cheerleader again, and I'm not going to muster up fake enthusiasm anytime soon, I should at least stop hating it so much. There is definitely something significant about this time in my life. I just wish that I could appreciate that. It's so hard to stop and smell each preverbal rose when there are so many other issues that mount up to such great importance. Years, of even months, from now, I doubt my graphing calculator will matter to me. But the moments that stick are the intense, ridiculous moments. The injustices! The terror! The exhilaration! It's all so raw and fresh. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>16,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
Jimmy Fallon has left SNL. Let there be a moment of silence to remember the finer moments of his career. There were the parodies of pop songs, the giggling fits with Horatio Sanz, that adorable little smirk… and it’s no more. My heart hurts to see him go. He smiles in all his boyish glory from my bulletin board. This photo, a snapshot of my youth, will remain up as a testament to him. He made me laugh, he made me love him, and last night, upon his departure, he made me cry. ------------------ This makes my hearts soar: Kyan: Grooming Guru urlLink Which Member from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is your type? brought to you by urlLink Quizilla ------------------ For the next few weeks, posting may be kept to a minimum. School, in its evil way, has decided to sneak up on me and bite me in the ass. I have got to concentrate on Science and, of all classes to suck at, World History, in order to drag myself out of C minus hell. I’d really appreciate it if someone could please fast forward my life exactly four weeks. The stress levels are killing me. I mean, there is so much going on right now that I might explode before the school year ends. I keep muttering to myself, “June 11th, June 11th, June 11th…” like some crazed woman who needs her meds. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>13,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
Kate’s home may or may not be being ravaged by crazy Texan weather at this precise moment. Let’s all hope there is not permanent electricity-failure. I couldn’t stand too long without urlLink her secretly interesting life . That and she one of about three people I regularly talk with online. And lets face it, I need all the friends I can get. -------------------------- I have officially been attacked! And by pseudo-goth kids, no less. These are the kids who dress solely in Hot Topic couture and literally hiss at people who walk by. There is no other cliché group of people who are so desperate for attention. Not even the girls who wear bandanas in place of clothing have so little self-esteem. Theses kids are the exact opposite of radical, they look like they’re wearing uniforms. They are cookie-cutter molded alienated youth. Except they're lame instead of edgy. They'll probably all find Jesus, work in cubicile, and raise their kids in the 'burbs. I was walking Rosie at Manito like I do every night. And like every night, the lost little souls were standing around awkwardly complimenting one another’s dog collars. Once in a while a pair will start chasing each other or dancing spontaneously. I have no problem with these people, not until tonight. There must not be anything interesting happening in Poseur World, because they had to torment me for entertainment. “Hey girl, hey you!” I looked over, wordlessly. “Yeah, you heard me, you!” Still I didn’t say anything. “Yeah, you suck .” This got hysterical laughter from several trench coat-clad lackeys. I walked onward. “Yeah, are you scared of us?” This was probably not the best time for Rosie to squat. As she did her business, I stood poised with a plastic bag, averting eye contact. A girl wearing fishnet stocking and a black tube top approached me. She spit when she spoke. “I’M NOT A WHORE I JUST DRESS LIKE ONE, OKAY ?” I noticed her black fingernail polish was chipped. I made a decision not to answer them. There could have been no more offending crime to commit. “Yeah, she’s says she not a whore, ok?!?” I tossed the plastic bag in a trash bin and turned the volume up all the way on my CD player. The entire clad of bored kids followed Rosie and I. I couldn’t really hear them anymore. But some were imitating the way I walked. I racked my brain for something absolute or particularly clever to say, to no avail. They eventually lost interest and left me alone. But it felt incomplete, like a battle no one really won. -------------------------- It’s so rare to have a multiple-affair night. I’m off to support the drama department’s performance of Clue (yes, like the boardgame and the movie) and then to the Detour. I haven’t been for a long time, but there is a band playing I want to see. If Meghan’s ex-boyfriend’s band is any good, I will likely write about them Saturday. If they suck, I’ll at least have gotten in an entire night of eyeing cute boys. I just hope this time Amanda does not grab another boy's ass and tell him I did it. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>12,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
Why is it that every pop song has to follow the line “I want you” with some version of “I need you”. It’s such a universal song lyric, I really don’t understand why Janet Jackson thinks it will work. But then again, this is the sister of Michael Jackson and also a boob-popper… maybe her sanity isn’t fair to be questioned. Those Steve Madden ads terrify me. They’ve been running the print ones for years, but just recently started showing them on TV. The oversized heads are so creepy! The models look like lollipops… itsy-bitsy model physiques with gigantic heads. They’re evil little aliens trying to control us with their tacky shoes! I have to shield my eyes when they appear without warning in between allergy medicine commercials... there should be a disclaimer. What the wha…?? urlLink Ashton Kutcher murder scandal !! Who wants to place bets that he did it? Any takers? Where is a life remote-control when a girl really needs one? Twenty more school days. I may die before I see it to summer vacation. I also may fail math ( cough again…) Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>11,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
I spent a lot of time in my life worrying myself about my friends. Sometimes the worry would lie squarely in the way of trust, sometimes it would close me off, sometimes it would eat at me. It’s weird to admit to have been so lonely, when I always had people at my house or visa versa. Particularly when I was younger, I always had a gaggle of pals around me. But there has always been this terrifying sense of “Oh my god, they don’t really like me. It’s some sort of joke.” That’s really what’s so cozy about Robin and Lauren. I don’t second guess why we’re friends. It just is. They’re the kind of people that will politely suffer through a half-hour rant about a minor musical detail, without clenching a fist or changing the subject. They accept my faults, oh yes; there are lots of them. But I think we all recognize our own shortcomings. So what if Lauren takes several minuets to recite to a joke? Or if Robin likes to wear lip gloss like its sunscreen? Because for every time they’ve pissed me off, I have pissed them off just as many times. I wonder if this is what being an adult is like. It seems to me that once you begin to recognize who you are, you can form stronger relationships with the people around you. It sort of like when Death Cab for Cutie sings about Los Angles, “You can’t swim in a town this shallow”. You can't expirence the depth of human connections unless you're, well, deep . Once you begin to explore the inner depths of who you are, there is enough of you to befriend. Before, when people like Claire and Maryellen- and even Mary- were my buddies, there simply wasn’t enough person to know. How could I expect them to forge lifelong friendships with me when I didn’t even know who I was? Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>10,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
I was pretty busy enjoying spring all weekend. I would write a proper blog, but I’m a wee bit tired and want to re-read The Bell Jar again. So here are some highlights. - Robin, Anna D., and I got very, very, very stoned and wandered around the park all afternoon. We smoked three or four bowls between us, which is a lot for us. At one point we started swimming in a big fountain but it was so cold that I went numb. We fell asleep in the lilac garden under a particularly sweet-smelling tree. I felt infinite. - I saw in my backyard all of Friday night, trying to figure out people and things and the way I treat these people and these things. I felt complicated in a bad way. I had a glass of red wine and watched the sun come up. I really don't like wine all that much, but it made me feel calm and sedated. It felt bitter sweet and weird. My bare arms and legs welcomed summer’s first mosquitoes. -Anna D., an unnatural blonde, decided to dye her hair auburn to look more “European”. Her hair is really long, straight, and thick so it took us forever to spread the dye evenly. But it turned out really gorgeous and it looks very natural. I have a new itch to dye my own hair. I want it a darker auburn. It would take a lot of work, however. I would have to bleach my (black) hair first, then apply the red. It seems like it may be more work than it’s worth. -Anna D. and I spent a person record of two hours and twelve minuets talking at Starbucks. It’s been unseasonably warm, so we lounged on the tables outside. We drank black coffee and chain smoked like the angsty teenagers we are. I spent half the time trying to convince Anna to stop taking pride in her appearance, but to no avail. Some people are just naturally put-together. The other half of the time was spent talking about the mainstreaming of indie music. I got chocked up about the Modest Mouse car commercial thing, and these college boys were giving me weird looks. -I finally saw Pieces of April , and exceeded my rather high expectations. Katie Holmes plays kind of a mess-up kid who lives a shitty apartment in New York, and her mother is dying of breast cancer. One of the best scenes was when she smoked medical marijuana with her son in a rest stop bathroom. I really don’t want my blog to be just laundry lists of life’s moments. I hope to be bloging faithfully soon. Just… not tonight. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>09,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
Gah! Blogger has a new format. How wonderful. I am going to attempt to find a new skin (ooo.. I sound so computer-knowledgable there. In reality, I don't even think I am using the right word.) that makes things look less... orange. Also, a lot of other people use this very same background. I spend a lot of time rambling to near-coherentness on my blog, and dammit, I want it to show! A. ... Anna |
</post> |
<date>07,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
Call me what you will, but I really enjoy a good Pink Martini song. Is there nothing better than singing along to ‘Sympathique’? ( Ma chamber a la forme d’une cage … It’s soo French!) ------------------------------------------ School marches on oh-so redundantly. Every year since fourth grade, English swings into poetry mode for the springtime. Oh the things I learn! (What?! Poems don’t have to rhyme, you say?) I have gotten into the habit of turning in poems from Creative Writing in for English class. Some may see this as cheap or lazy, and I have to admit I would not refute you. I simply don’t care. ------------------------------------------ I have to admit that the Friends finale did not amaze me. The whole twins thing was absolutely ridiculous . I guess I don’t really except a half-hour comedy to mirror real life, but come on—that was just plain stupid. I kept thinking not about the show, but about all the things the show has effected. I mean, my mom had that damn Rachel haircut. Despite how hard I try to rid my mind of it, the Smelly Cat song is forever ingrained in my collective memory. Friends is pop culutre. And no matter how much I want to escape pop culture's grasp, I can't. Mostly though, I thought about The Perks of Being a Wallflower . Charlie recalls when his whole family sat together and watched the finale of M.A.S.H. and it’s the only time he sees his father cry. And the final episode is a big deal because so many people watch it, from so many different backgrounds and lives. For me, watching the Friends ‘television event’ was kind of like that; I felt like a part of something bigger. And even though I’ve seen very few episodes over the years, I still cried like the small child I secretly am. Really, I’ll forever be and eight-year-old, just trapped in a adultlike body. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
Taking advanced placement tests is really more like going on a CIA mission to some far off land where people speak in foreign tongues (“Remain seated for the next four hours”) and make you do wacky things (seal your test booklet with stickers). Several times during the test, our instructor would read his little script; “Do not discuss the following information with anyone, at any time, for any reason.” I felt like my pencil would self-destruct or something. The multiple-choice portion was not so hard. The questions were worded awkwardly and there was some things we did not cover (Southeast Asia post WWI, anyone?) but for the most part, I was fine. The essays, the essays however, sucked the marrow out of my life for a whole two hours. I simply could not pay attention to Buddhism’s diffusion. My mind refused to pay attention to my hands. It went something like this: Hand: After the Han dynasty ended in 220 B.C.E., there was a period of political instability… Brain: That boy has four pieces of lint on his sweatshirt! Woah! Hand: …confucian scholars saw Buddhist enlightenment as a threat to society… Brain: That clock is green! I like green! Hand: …nomads invaded northern China in the days… Brain: THOSE WERE THE DAA-AYS! Boy, the way Glen Miller played, sumthin’ bout’ the hit parade… guys like us we had it made… Needless to say, it was a vicious cycle. I intended for this to be a proper post, were I might attempt being witty or self-efacing. However, I am lying low. Modest Mouse sold out for a fucking Nissan commercial and my heart needs to mend itself. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,May,2004</date> |
<post> |
I have discovered the joy of the ‘Random’ button on my stereo. I’ve had my simple, small, stereo for over a year and never used it. Oh, it’s glory. It’s like it has a mind of its own! It knows to follow ‘Better Son/Daughter’ with something light, like ‘So Long’. The music just feels different when it’s out of order. Last night several pals and I went to Adrienne’s for one of her now famous dinner parties. She’s a really great cook, plus she makes Vegetarian and Vegan versions for everyone to enjoy. After we had all gorged ourselves on Mexican food, we drank and listened to the white alum. It felt a lot like The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and I said so. This is when I was called a nerd and people threw things at me. But it was nice. -------------------------------------- On the Washington state Assessment of Student Learning (WASL) the writing prompts were actually very good. The first asked us to write a letter to people planning on moving to our community, to advice them to come here or stay away. Oh the horrible things I wrote about Spokane. We’re downwind of Hanford! High concentration of genetic disease! Lack of culture! We’ve voted Republican for the last 30 years! Neo-nazis bombing Planned Parenthood! Child molesters! The second prompt asked us to explain what we would put into a time capsule to represent our high school lives. Because I was bored and no one I knew would ever read my essay, I said condoms and rolling papers. I entertained myself for two hours writing about teenage sex and drug use. One of my Never Ever Cheerlead friends, Rachel, thought this was the funniest thing she had ever heard and proceeded to tell everyone she knew. I felt clever for a total of one day. Now, I think people need to please give it a rest. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
Oh, I love this too much. “ I’ve been to Spokane, I don’t know, maybe 95 times. Mainly because it’s halfway between Bozeman and Seattle. I’m sure it’s like this in Spokane: Seattle was like our capitol city.” -Sarah Vowell Not only is my role model- my idol! my inspiration!- comparing my home to her former home, but she is saying something so real and honest that it tugs at my heart. Yes, Seattle is our capitol city. It stands there, in the Mt. Rainer backdrop, almost taunting us. The culture. The Seattle Center. The appropriately melancholy rain. The coffee that just tastes better because you’re sitting in the very first (the very first!) Starbucks. Spokane is not a true suburb, and I write very scathing and misleading things about the Spokane/Seattle relationship. But I’ve never been one for concepts of physicality or geography, but rather the atmosphere, the vibe, that a place gives off. Spokane’s vibe, particularly on the South Hill, is stale and putrid. Oh, we boast about our “urban”-status coupled with small-town values, but let’s look at the facts. We’ve got no culture! No racial diversity! We’ve elected Republican leaders for the last thirty years! The good is too hard to find. But it’s my home. That’s right; the place I may hate most in the world is also that place I call home. Irony never felt so strange. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>25,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
“each entry will have it's own agenda. an agenda with no agenda. if this one bummed you out then you definitely understand. i want to forget about it [the apocalypse], i really do. and believe me i try to forget, but it's easier said than done.” –Fred Durst’s Xanga Site Of course a 30-something, balding asshole with no musical taste would have a Xanga weblog. Those ugly, disorganized journals were created for people who are incompetent. When I found his site, via The Onion AV Club, I was in shock. I didn’t think Fred Durst knew how to read or write. Just when your gag reflex has recovered from his cover of that George Michael song, he’s got a new nausea- inducing outlet. Without further ado, I give you the mind of Fred Durst. -the days that seem like an eternity become so insignificant when looking at the big picture, but what is the big picture anyway? each person's picture is the size they feel it to be. predicting the future or assuming that a specific amount of time is in your future is ridiculous yet normal. making each day as important as the first seems to be the key. i lose my keys a lot. -what i want right now is to be touched. i am very sensitive when it comes to touch and smell. -could it be the same again or was that a moment in time that will live forever in a place inside my mind where my most precious treasures are kept? -it's like the demons of doubt are nocturnal and have their favorite spots to hang out, like inside of me. they mostly never exist in the day. -there is a place inside of me that i want to go whenever i possibly can, but when i go there i feel so sad in a happy way that i get lost inside the feeling and want everything i do to feel like this. -i only want it to last forever. is that too much to ask? is it?!!!!!!! fucking is it?!!!!!!!! -you are one. no one will equal to your one. no one. no one is equal. everyone is superior to everyone. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>22,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
*So I’m on a new diet. It’s called the, “Stop Eating So Fucking Many Cashews and Peanut Butter Bumpers, Dammit!”. SESFMCPBBD is a really specific weight-loss plan. Obviously I have a sorted past with food and body image and all the very dumb Female American stereotypes. SESFMCPBBD is not to be confused with my head in a toilet bowl with bloodshot eyes and a raw throat full of the familiar taste of stomach acid. I just need to stop eating a) Cashews and b) Peanut Butter Bumpers. That’s all. But then again, teenage girls aren’t supposed to weigh the same as they did when they were in Junior High. Just because I have the upper body of a twelve year old, if Mother Nature wants me to have hips, then I’ll just have to deal with it. Freaking out about gaining eight pounds in five months is dumb. DUMB. (*Posts like this affirm that I am indeed, a teenage girl. Sickening, aren’t I?) --------------------------------- Why yes, faithful reader; yes I did watch three episodes of Road Rules Extreme last night. My verdict? Extreme-ly stupid! Extreme-ly gross! Worst of all, extreme-ly addicting! MTV really loves to shack up homophobes with gay dudes, don’t they? So of course I watched. And the Homophobic Asshole made an offensive remark to the Stereotypical Flamboyant Gay Man, and craziness ensued. As one “mission” an artist painted their naked bodies and they were positioned awkwardly. The extreme part of the mission? Don’t move for a long time!!!! Yes, standing is extreme. Extreme standing is actually a new sport in the X-games. Extreme Standing parks are being built all over the country. I head Tony Hawke is creating a new Extreme Standing video game were you can choose your own Extreme Standers and have Stand-a-tons. Ok, so standing is not that extreme. I’ve been doing it all my life, and I’ve yet to receive a “handsome reward” for standing. Now, eyeball eating (as shown in next week’s preview)? That’s extreme. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>21,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
I deliberately drug my ass from This Side of Paradise, picked up my sunscreen and shades, and put on clothing to write a drug-free post. It seems to me like this blog has recently mirrored those really awful “OMG I wuz so stond!!! LOL”-blogs. Not wanting to be associated with that particular brand of crap, I decided to go back to the same old crap I’m been writing for a year now. So let’s get right down to it; random observations and silly anecdotes from the world of Anna. I think the best example of who my relatives are has to be Uncle Wally’s 80th birthday on Saturday. I actually did not know I was related to someone with the unfortunate name of Wally, but so I am. He is my late grandfather’s brother, so technically his title should be prefaced with ‘Great’. Great Uncle Wally celebrated his big 8-0 at The Longhorn Barbeque and Grill. This deserves its own paragraph. The Longhorn BBQ is like no other establishment. It’s located in Airway Heights (a long stretch of highway with dilapidated old stores on either side). They have gigantic barbeques outside, so when we drove up this Vegan got a nice whiff of burnt animal flesh. The walls were decorated with guns. All sorts of guns. Handguns, riffles, oversized things possibly used to murder elephants. Everyone at this party, with the exception of Joey and my 7-year-old cousin Rex, was over the age of fifty. Most were old enough to have fond memories of the Eisenhower presidency. I would have been deeply depressed except the partygoers were having a great time. Knowing nothing about farming, I opted to instead strike up conversation with Rex. I was regaled with the entire plot line of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. There might not be anything more adorable then the names Frodo, Pippin, and Merry said with a childlike lisp. ---------------------- I also got the latest issue of BUST this week. God, I have to say that Jena Malone really is the coolest screen teen. I haven’t even seen Saved! (it’s a Spokaneian conspiracy; it's not shown in any theatres here) but I still love her. I used to read my mom’s Oprah’s Book Club novels when I was younger, and Karen Foster was actually quite good. Miss. Malone stared in the made-for-TV movie version, and was superb. Plus, I’ve got to give my props to the small-chested sistahs out there. Get down with your 36 A-self, Jena! Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>19,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
Last night there were two significant developments in my world. 1) I had some very bad drugs and 2)Anna D. lost her virginity to a foreign exchange student from France. We were at Anna D’s house, making tea and watching Now and Then. The idea of going to a midnight movie high was my idea, I’ll admit. My brother drove us to Corbin, were he opted not to smoke the stash I bought through him. The very first inhale killed me. It was acidic and scratched my lungs and throat like pot never does. We smoked one bowl, one single solitary bowl, and were high within two minuets. Suddenly everything was repeating itself. I couldn’t say more than three words at a time, “How far. Are we. A-. Away?” We were going in circles and I kept seeing the same houses and hills. At the same time, I knew that I was high and was trying to keep myself in check. I kept feeling like I had just woken up and couldn’t remember if I was in a dream or not. We were outside the theatre and suddenly everyone sounded really, really loud. I was warm around my knees and my earrings were really heavy. I couldn’t pay for the tickets because I couldn’t catch things in my hand, so Robin bought them. Inside was the worst. Fight Club is already kind of a trippy movie (the moments were he is in the cave with a penguin and the sex “dreams”) but with surround sound and a gigantic screen, it’s downright scary. Every now and then the dialogue would just sound like running water. Robin and Anna D. were in bad shape too. Robin was trying desperately to sit cross-legged in the theatre seat, to no avail. Anna D. was cracking her knuckles and twisting her rings over and over. My attempt to look nonchalant was probably as inconspicuous as the Wayans brothers dressed as White Chicks. I rested my chin on clenched fist, but my head seemed unusually heavy so my hand kept slipping from under it. I’m still not sure what exactly was in my pot. It could have been laced with acid. Maybe shrooms? I have no clue if that’s even possible. Something was different about it, that’s for sure. Whatever it was, I woke up with the worst headache ever. ------------------------------------ Anna D. losing it isn’t a huge deal to her, but a fantastically interesting event for me. I was in for all the details, enlightening or disappointing. It seems to me like she definitely had a good circumstance. French Boy is clean, polite, French, and smart. He’s good-looking too. French Boy and Anna D. have been randomly making out for the last few months, and I guess this was the culmination of their lust affair. He’s returning home (did I mention he lives in France?) in ten days. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>18,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
I have developed an infection in my right eye. Now I have that pink eye look that’s so hot among heroin addicts and street people. Also, the constant flow of tears has irritated my eyelids, causing them to swell; making my eye appear smaller than its left located buddy. It’s a hot look, I have to say. ----------------------------------- The rally yesterday was unbelievable!! I haven’t seen so many people in one sidewalk/street before. There were cheerleaders, puppeteers and just about every kind of person you could imagine. Everyone had clever signs (“Bush against women? Women against Bush!”) and attire(infants wearing “I already know more than the president!” t-shirts). It was a very scene event, that’s for sure. Lots and lots of unbelievably good looking fellows wearing shirts that said, “Lick Bush 2004!” which I loved. I saw “Hitler” and several other of my brothers friends, all presumably tripping on one or several drugs. I also saw urlLink this boy ! I even saw a fellow I had a wonderful, albeit sweaty, time. ----------------------------------- Jake is home. I am trying to not resent him, but it’s harder than it sounds. Not only do my parents coodle him, handing him one hundred dollar bills left and right for “spending” money, but he milks their kindness. He lives in the U-district in Seattle and rarely leaves the city. My parents pay for his rent, his food, his books, his tuition…. He has never had a job. Now he demands a car. He does not need a car! He goes to school, home, and of course has no job to go to. He does not need a car! But not only is he demanding one, he’s demanding a brand new one. He is so materialistic, so selfish, so self-important and such an asshole. I don’t want to be associated with someone so gross. Ugh, Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>16,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
You know its summer when you’re so bored that you seriously contemplate burning your 7th grade yearbook in the bathtub. Robin is my favorite person in the world, but she is also the laziest biotch on the planet. She CLAIMS to have a cold, but do I care? No. I need to get high and play in public fountains goddamit! Moreover, I need to show her this website. It will blow your mind! Seriously, try it. You will not be disappointed. Wonderful musical orgasm was had last night, thank you very much VH1. Paul Simon and John Mayer performed. There was entirely too much interviewing going on for my likes me. However, they showed some really great pictures from each of their youths, and I had fun with that. Paul was talking about how he tried to look like Elvis as a teenage “just as much as a Jewish teen can look like Presley”. John then spoke of a Michael J. Fox phase, mulletish hair and all. The whole episode of In Tune was like porn* for me. (*I use the words ‘porn’ and ‘whore’ as metaphors too much. This makes for a very awkward situation when your mother’s friends hear you talk about how you are a “total music whore”. Ditto when you buy a replacement copy of The Royal Tenebaums soundtrack and the cashier hears you rave about how “the arrangement of songs in like porn for me”.) It all kind of reminded me of my Christian Ricci phase. When you grow up a pale, black-haired girl here is a hint; do not let your mother braid you hair. Yes, I had the unfortunate forced braiding for about five straight years of my childhood. And without fail, children who utter the following to me on a near daily basis, “You look like that girl from The Adams Family.” And I did. So I became obsessed with Miss. Ricci. Now and Then was probably my favorite. Somehow my mother retrieved her mailing address, and I wrote a very involved letter about how we should be in a movie together. I had almost forgotten about the letter until I got her response six months later. It was just a signed photo, but it was a lovely gesture. Affectionately… Anna P.S: This Side of Paradise is amazing! |
</post> |
<date>14,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
I do very practical things in my dreams. While I do occasionally have a what-the-fuck dream where I’m missing my face or my house is made of dust, but most of the time my dreams are strangely unstrange. I might take a walk. I might eat a bowl of oatmeal. Lately I have had a lot of gardening dreams, which baffle me at their normalcy. Last night I had a very elaborate dream about a strange MP3 player shaped like a crouton. I kept sniffing at it to see if it was, indeed, a salad topping. -------------------------- My morning routine, no matter what time of the year it is, must include at least 3-4 solid minuets of me prancing around and singing along to a song. It doesn’t matter the song, really, because that’s not the important part. The important part is that I act like a six year old for a brief span of time, and it sets the mood for my day. -------------------------- My mom tells me that when I was a small kid I had a lot of friends, but she is simply a vicious liar. Before I could read, I was a very social kid. In fact, all my school reports until seventh grade say exactly that. Usually it’s underlined two or three times, ‘Anna is a VERY SOCIAL child!!” (numerous exclamation points optional). But as soon as I got my hands on books, I took The Baby Sitters Club over a rousing game of tag any day. My life was school, ballet, reading, and church. I make it a point to explain I was not reading good literature, thought the occasional O. Henry or Twain made it under my nose. Aside from reading every single Baby Sitters Club and Baby Sitter Little Sister books, I was quite a fan of Dear Americas. The Alice books were a hoot, especially because romantic boys (not my playmates at school and certainly not my mean, messy brothers) were of a new breed to me. Sometimes I wish I had developed actual social skills, ones outside of school, at that young age. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so miserable in middle school, maybe I wouldn’t be so unapproachable now. But then I think of all those afternoons, all those midnights under my covers, all the rides to ballet- all of them with a book. The adventures I had, however anti social tendencies they bred in me, I’m pretty sure now that they were worth it. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>12,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
Since when did Silverwood Theme Park become a militant establishment? For years, my favorite “ride” has been the Victorian Cars. You sit on a track in ancient-looking car-things and drive in a straight line. FUN! Now that I actually can drive a real car, on real roads, with real opposing vehicles, Victorian Cars has, surprisingly, not lost all its luster. But the boy operating the ride today felt that rides were, apparently, not to be enjoyed but rather complied with. Rules? We don’t need no stinkin’ rules! Long story short, my “punishment” for ramming into Annica’s car; sing the alphabet to the drivers behind me. People, might I add, I did not know. One would think a very comely, messy-looking boy would be more lenient. ---------------------------- The car ride over was awful. For some reason, I was coned into the most uncomfortable position in the car. My body had about a five inch space to squeezzzzze into. My arms were crossed unpleasantly, crushing my, albeit small, chest in a horrendous manner (I’m still sore). My legs were contorted against the door so that it took all my strength not to plow into Anna Dunn, who sat comfortably the entire time. Maybe it’s not clear enough, but I hate car trips. ---------------------------- Oh man! Last year I had my summer goals in much earlier. 1. Fall in love. Find a goddamn boy already, settle down, and get me some lovin’. It’s about fucking time! I’m resorted to giving longing glances at old boyfriend photos, one hand on the trigger of the telephone. 2. Live without MTV. Especially stop obsessing about the Real World! I miss Paris so much. Where is the Mallory- Ace romance? Where are the terrible Adam rap songs? Where is the flamboyancy of Simon?! 3. Get the zine off the ground and develop a cult-following. Really, I mean it. I don’t have any excuses this time. Writing ‘War and Peace’-length blog entries or pretending to be a rock star in my bedroom (clothing optional) is not as admirable as the promised glory of Under the Glass. 4. Recreational pharmaceuticals. According to my creative writing teacher, I’m simply a “dirty, dirty hippie”, so I need to live up to that role. Plus, if I’m going seek male attention of the physical/romantic variety, I might as well make an ass out of myself while I do it. 5. Be mobile. I must remember to move this summer. It’s tempting to remain a slug, but it would be nice to not look like one. 6. Write the great American novel. Wait, scratch that—just write. The only way I’ll get any better is if I keep on truckin’. Writing needs to be less of something (conversational? repetitive? whiny?) and more of… something else (eloquent, thought-provoking, interesting…). 7. Get my scene on. My heart longs for live entertainment. Even if it is John Hiatt or an open-mic night, I need to be around music. It makes me such a happier person. 8. Contribute to society. As in, get a job. Work. Make money. Buy into capitalism. I’ve got a drug habit, a CD habit, a book habit, and a dollar-theatre habit to support. 9. Be arrested for civil disobedience. Work for a cause! PROTEST! Fuck the Bush administration! Those boys I saw last weekend really opened my heart to romanticized protest. I want to make the world a better place, and I don’t care 10. Glossy sidewalk nights. It’s a term I think I’ve only briefly used here. Basically, those nights when you feel infinite and there is the perfect soundtrack playing on a crappy stereo in a smelly old car, when you can feel love for your friends and the world and you’re drugged without drugs--- everything is perfect. If I can have some of those nights this summer, I’ll be a lucky girl. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>10,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
“…I loved our lovely talks about ‘issues’. Man we had some heated discussions. Wait until you’re married! j/k! Love, Paige” “…I love our extremist talks and political talks and how our views of music are so different. … Anna D.” “…The discussion about music, religion, vegans, and everything were great… Nicole” Hmm, is anyone sensing a pattern? Why does everything people write somehow relate to that 1) I talk a lot and 2) I’m crazy…!? ---------------------------- Right, so here I am again. The end of another school year. I think that when you’re in school, your year is from September to June, that’s they way you measure your life. I say “back in 5th grade” instead of using years as placemarkers. Taking that into account, it’s the end of my year. It’s been so much of everything; thrilling, deplorable, crazy, painful, glorious, content. The bad times seemed bader and the good times seemed better than any other year. Every emotion, every thought, was so intense. I feel so numb sometimes that I forget to actually open my eyes and acknowledge that this is my life . Even when it’s awful, it’s still happening . I’m not in a movie or a book or a song, but I’m real. I’m tangible and I’m here, no matter how else people may see me. My heartbeat isn’t lying; I’m alive. The soundtrack to my year will be hard to match in any year following. I remember the first Rilo Kiley song I heard, because Kate pestered (oh, but in a nice subtle way) me to download it. ‘Better Son/Daughter’ has this slow, almost whispered, opening. After almost two minuets the song launches into this proclamation--- “You’ll be better, you’ll be smarter, more grown up and a better daughter or son, and a real good friend…” With those 3 minuets, my entire music collection changed. Dave Matthews was replaced with Ben Kweller and movie soundtracks were replaced with Bright Eyes. I hadn’t had such a thirst for music before. Every song was directed at me, every lyric was uncanny, every album cover was beautiful. Books re-entered my life too. The Perks of Being a Wallflower opened that up for me. The Bell Jar , The Catcher in the Rye , On the Road , Take the Canoli , Naked Lunch , Junky , Second Helpings , A Tree Grows in Brooklyn … and so many others. God, it was a good year for literature. Not everything this year has been wonderful. I had my own bell jar for a few weeks, Ms. Plath. Honors whirled me into a world of insecurities and Adrienne made me feel like a liar. I lost my faith, slowly but surely. I tried to cling to what I’d been taught. I prayed and sought guidance. I wanted to believe, but ultimately I couldn’t look upon Jesus with the same wide-eyed adoration I once had. He was just a face carved from stone at the alter. I’ve never known that man. And after years of trying to memorize an ancient book and live by it’s confusing, contradicting words, I stopped giving it power. And at the same time, I was living freely. Relationships this year grew deep. I tend to feel strangely uncomfortable when I let myself get really close to people, but I learned to get over it. Sometimes it still erks me when Robin can guess what I’m thinking or when Lauren and I speak in unison. But there is a warmth and a depth to these friendships that is rare. So we’re only high school friends, and we’ll be torn apart to the corners of the country in a few years, it doesn’t matter. For the moment, we’re laughing and we’re together. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>09,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
Anyone interested in why I am going to hell? Well, urlLink here it is . In easy comic book form! As we all know, God hates Catholics. And urlLink people who like rock music . urlLink People who believe in evolution . Of, course, urlLink GAYS . Or if urlLink you 'goof'. Oh-- there's too many gloriosly insane comics to read. I really have got to stop going to crazy Jesus websites. They make me physically ill, and really sad. But they're so endlessly entertaining. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>08,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
'This house was built too steep, and a bad wind from the top blows all your strength back down the hill. So you can never get ahead. You are always rolling backward.' (p. 109, The Joy Luck Club) Surprisingly, not a bad book! Maybe I will enjoy something in AP World History for once. Too bad it took me until the end of the year. Oh well. There’s always AP American Studies next year. The prosecution won Humanity on Trial by the way (my side). It was indeed a victory. -------------------------------- I had a last minuet idea for Under the Glass; I wanted to do a sort of round-table discussion with gay teens that I know. The idea kind of spurred in a weird way. There is all sorts of graffiti in the girl’s bathroom, and one really particularly nasty comment said, “Stay away from Monique, shes a lezbo”. Later the same day, a kid on the bus said to me that riding the bus was, “totally gay”. I told him that I wouldn’t speak to him unless he learned a little tolerance, and that he was completely offensive. Then there was a comment on Isral’s blog about Macintosh computers being gay (who would have thought one of his friends was such an insensitive prick?) I shouldn’t be one to critique other people’s vernacular; I swear too much and have the most ridiculous high-pitched tone (think dog whistle). But using homosexuality as slander, as an insult, is just not ok with me. Matt, Erin, Sam, Cody, Melissa--- all homosexual. And these are some of the most amazing people I’ve been blessed to know. Matt with musical taste and eye for art, Erin with her humor, Sam with his incredible kindness and knowledge, Cody the future Tony award winner, and Melissa with her beauty and gentle spirit. And all of them--- gay. After The Laramie Project last year, I was a new person. I used to see homosexuality as perversion. Now I see it as love. And I don’t care what bible passages Christians will throw or what hate KKK members will spew; it’s wrong to discriminate by sexual preference. Hate is wrong. And even if its something as subtle as using the words ‘gay’ or ‘fag’ or ‘lezbo’ in a negative light, it’s still hate. And it’s still not acceptable. So there, that’s my latest endeavor. I’m tired of putting up with undereducated idiots saying such dirty, awful, cruel things. I’m tired of it being socially acceptable. Watch out world, I’m on a one woman mission to rid the world (or at least the world around me) of intolerance. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
If anyone is looking for a little random male stranger attention, have I got a tip for you. Wear red lipstick. I had not intentions for this practice other than, 'Gee, I'm look kinna like Amelie...'. But now I have found people will look at you. And your face! Not your ass! Especially people in Barnes and Noble. I'm not the kind of girl who seeks others to stare at her-- I've usually not even up for a shower-- but even I find that occasional smirk or wink to be nice. There were two solitary Bush protesters by Robin's house today. As we passed, I flashed a peace sign at the very attractive boy holding his 'War starts with W' sign. It made me heart soar to see those two boys seeking to make the world a better place. They weren't at a huge scenester rally or trying to impress some peace-loving sex kitten. They were just two guys devoting their afternoon to helping our world. Oh yeah, I nearly forgot; Creed has broken up. Hurray! Even Jesus hated those whining no-talent ass whipes. I'm too immersed in Lolita to write anything else. I'll return later, when I'm finished perhaps, and hint as to my other (more interesting) developments in my life. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>03,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
I hate “Fraiser”. I hate his Dashboard Confessionals t-shirt and his blonde hair. I hate his boyish smile and good-natured laugh. I hate his honors classes and I hate his ex-girlfriend. I hate his stylish jeans and layered t-shirts. I hate his James Taylor CD and I hate the way my name looks in his handwriting. I hate him, I hate him, I love him. And it may just be as simple as that. We’re repelling magnets. He is well-adjusted and fashionably sensitive; the All-American Boy. He smiles frequently and plays nice with everyone. He’s inoffensive. Teachers love him. He’s probably donates his time to orphans or puppies or the elderly . In creative writing we’ve concocted a outline of a cross-genre story; a sci-fi romance novel. An alien and a human fall in love, two creatures from different worlds. So its awkward to talk about synonyms for “love” or “kiss” near him. Because, honestly, those things are exactly what is on my mind. And I don’t want it to be. I’m go for boys with dyed black hair. Boys who smoke cigarettes and sleep during class. The Jordan Catalaunos of the real world! The kind that give wet, sloppy kisses and awkward fumbled feel-ups. And all in dark basements that smell mildly of pot and detergent. I want this out of my system. I don’t have time for escapades with boys like this. So I refuse to let him take my breath away tomorrow. I will not let myself like him. Because “the good boy” is a road I have already been down. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>02,June,2004</date> |
<post> |
I have starting winning arguments. It's unsettling and surreal. I'm so used of being the one to feebly nod my head and sigh, 'Well, I guess you're right.' But people are beginning to respond to me this way. This started a few months ago, but I kept chalking it up to luck or conscience. In my never-ending quest to analyze everything in my world, I'm seeing that people are listening to me for what feels like the first time ever. I'm caught with this realization, and I don't quite know what to do with it. Somehow I've romanticized being misunderstood, and now the title seems ill-fitting. In our historical mock trial today, I felt mean . I was shooting down every point the defense was making, and I could sense such aggravation on their side. I knew the points they were trying to make, and I was twisting their questions into support for my side. It felt uncomfortably powerful. There's more. Paige has been questioning her Christian faith. It was just a curiosity before I got a hold of her. For weeks I've been pumping her with my opinions, how I see religion and how it usually goes hand-in-hand with hypocrisy. That little hole, the tiny questioning, has been torn wide open in the span of a month. Every time I pointed out biblical inconsistencies or world injustices, it was like watching something in her eyes fade. I'm responsible for that. I don't want to cause people to feel lost, like Paige. Or irritated, like the kids in my history class. I've had this ideal image of winning debates for a long time. And now that it's happening, it's nothing like I wanted at all. But I can't seem to conjure up the image of what an argument should resolve in. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>31,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
Maybe this post should be prefaced with some oil drip psycadelics and 'Purple Haze' or something... A – Age: bitter 16 B - Band listening to right now: Nada Surf C - Career of the future: photographing/writing/actressing D - Dad's Name: John E - Ethnic Background: German/French F - Favorite song at the moment: 2014, The Unicorns G - Great escape: Lauren’s 1990 Dodge Plymouth H - Hometown: Spokaloo I - Instrument: guitar/kazoo J - Job Title: abused babysitter K - Kids: 4+ L - Last person you talked to on the phone: Adrienne’s message machine M - Mom's Name: Susan N - Number of Siblings: 2 O - Oldest Sibling: Jacob- 21 P - Phobia[s] / Fear[s]: dying in my sleep, drowning, slugs Q - Favorite Quote: “It can sew, it can cook/ It can talk, talk, talk./ My boy it’s your last resort/ Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.” –The Applicant, Plath S - Song you sang last: “2014, I’ll be thirty-two and we’ll be 13!!” T - Time you wake up: 7ish U - Unknown fact about me: I’m scared of slugs. I danced in the Alberta Ballet. I throw up when I’m scared. V - Vegetable you Hate: Weird spiky things in mixed salad. W - Worst Habit: Crying in movies/books/songs X - X-rays you've had: Dental only Y - Yummy Food: Eggless egg sandwhich Z - Zodiac Sign: Pisces (rising Leo) -My crush on Ali, aka Ray (aka Pronto), from Radio Free Roscoe has gotten out of hand. The boy is simply hahhhht. -I can’t stop listening to the Go-Gos. It's amazing to me that HilDuf was the one who brought them back into my life. -The Teen Queen winner right now has changed to the aforementioned Blondie. When the self-styled “stud” from her latest movie told her she was going to be fat in 20 years, she was all, “Psh, so? That would be cool.” -I bought a Polaroid camera and love it. I feel so very hip. -I have a thing for Sen. Edwards. -I like kissing. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>30,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
There’s nothing like a waking up in a panic attack at 2:30am to kick-start your morning. It’s even more awesome if you can manage to hyperventilate, wake up your parents, and try, failingly, to shrug it off. I rock. It’s really even more terrific a day if you can be late for your babysitting appointment. Kid calls you ugly? Basketball hoop falls on little girl’s head? Bleeding? Screaming? I choose to take Vh1’s approach and call it not just bad, but awesomely so. I think I just really need Robin home so I can have a heart-to-heart. Anna D. is wonderful and all, but if the conversation doesn’t revolve around sex, drugs, or Modest Mouse, it’s pretty much dead where is stands. She’s great at many things, but not empathizing. I am just going to throw myself into my latest pastime, colloguing, and let things be. Until things are better, I can cut up pictures and count the days until my Bright Eyes box set comes. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>28,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
I am not going to Twinlow Camp this summer for the time in eight years. That’s half of my life that I’ve packed my duffle and fled home for the Idaho wilderness. Each summer I have come back with dirt under my fingernails, some lovely memories of a new romance, and a bond with Jesus Christ that defined who I thought I was. Though a good deal of church camp revolved around annual crushes on counselors, campers, and lifeguards, a significant portion of camp’s purpose was religious renewal. I don’t reflect it in this blog, and maybe not in real life either, but I was very devout. Like, other girls in third grade played jump rope during recess, I read books about the saints. While my cool friends sleep in on Sundays, I was at church as an alter server every goddamn service until I was thirteen. And the important thing to mention is that I wasn’t a naïve kid; I understood the weight of it all. I knew the arguments (or so I thought) against Christianity. But being a child of God was more important to me than any other role in my life; daughter, sister, friend, student- everything was secondary to my position as a Christian. At a certain point, my own enthusiasm for religion surpassed my parent’s. I drug them to Christian bookstores; I coerced them into buying kid-friendly bibles. But even then, when I was waking up at five-thirty for personal devotion time, only to be followed by Religion class and morning mass at school, I knew something was wrong. It screamed at me from every direction. I wasn’t good enough for this . Being courteous and mild-mannered may have been easy, but being pious was another thing altogether. Being a good person came not from my pure heartedness, but from wanting to please. Simply put, I was just selfish. I wanted to feel good about myself so I did nice things. So it was that realization that the threads of my faith started to snap, slowly but surely, over the last few years. Where I once swore an oath of chastity, denounced drug use, and used scripture as a rulebook, there is now compromise. Even now when I announce that I am neither Christian nor atheist, but an in-between, I cringe at myself. The first week I went without praying, I felt queasy. I can’t seem to get rid of my Christian paraphernalia because I feel like throwing away a devotions book will haunt me until I die. And it’s silly, really, that I think about it so much. I watch CBN, addicted to the catty snark I spew at the crew-cut reporters. And although I’d comfortable with pre-marital relations when I’m sitting here, safe and away from the scary world of boys, the second sex is opportune or possible I freak out like an indignant nun. Yet I can’t go back to being that girl again. I feel like something dark has stained me and being a Christian is no longer in the cards. The one thing that would be nice, the thing that I wish I still had, was the security. I knew who I was, what was right, and what purpose my life held. I think the reason a lot of born-agains become Christians has to do with the identity you inherit. And identity and purpose appeal to people who have unsatisfying lives. But why can’t I at least go back to camp? I can’t face those people. I just can’t. The counselors, the campers, and the lifeguards all had such a paramount role in the development of my life. I learned how to get along in large groups, I learned how to laugh like I meant it, and how to dance at Twinlow. But the people that have meant so much now are so different than I am. How am I suppose to sit around, eating the spoon-fed salvation? I can’t. Twinlow will rest in my memory along with old best friends, Skydancers, and American Girl books. It hurts so much to let go of church camp that I almost feel like I should have a scar. But that’s part of growing up. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>26,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
I may have become a little too obsessed with the song “2014” by way of the Unicorns. I want it to be the song for the opening credits in the movie of my life. It’s eerie and kind of teases you and rattles your heart around by the chorus. As predicted, I spend a giant sum of money in le city. Seattle has amazing thrift stores, my personal favorite being The Buffalo Exchange. Aside from a pseudo-muumuu dress/shirt, I also bought pens that (when turned upside down) strip statuesque men of their clothes. I’m not entirely sure what I will do with them, but I couldn’t resist the novelty of their purchase. Pike Street was nice as well, but the fish market area was too crowded. I know it’s kind of snobby and totally incorrect to place myself on a plateau above the tourist, but I do. After all, I know how to navigate myself through most of Seattle… the U-district, the Ave, Pioneer Square, the Frats,… almost all of downtown. The tourists aren’t particularly nasty or wandering than in any other city, but they annoy me most in Seattle. I feel like it’s my home, and thus, they need to quit walking in circles so I can have a better view of the fisherman that I am winking at, gaaahhd! The best purchase of the weekend was an amazing find in a used bookstore called “Twice Sold Tales”. It’s a 1971 (first year it was printed in the US) hardback copy of The Bell Jar . It’s in perfect condition; I don’t think the poor thing was ever even read. The back has a photo of Ms. Plath when she was a guest editor for Mademoiselle . She is holding a paper rose and sitting on a small sofa, with an amused look on her face. And as soon as I saw that, the nerd danced around and giggled. Because that’s an exact chapter of the book, when Ester Greenwood is having her portrait taken for the magazine and she’s sitting on a loveseat holding a paper rose. Except deep in her heart she’s trying hard not to cry. So of course I bough the book, all $7.50 of it’s marked price. I couldn’t help but feel like I was stealing from the store, thought. I mean, less than ten dollar for a first year printing on an American classic (in hardcover?!). Wow. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>23,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
I didn't ever think that there could be a community of livejournals as evil as urlLink hiplikewoah (a related note; I am also obsessed with this journal and check it daily). Hiplikewoah rates each applicant on things such as their 'top 5 hip qualities', 'top 5 bands', 'favorite movie', and comparing their lives to reality shows. Then other members of the community vote on who is hip enough to be a new member. Hold on, I think I may vomit. Talk amongst yourselves. Alright. urlLink This is the grossest community ever . Applicants are rated on how they look, solely on how they look. Now if only I could supress this desire to apply. Must... resist... livejournal community applicantion... must not... ah, fuck it. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>22,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
There is something about showtunes, the Broadway kind, which absolutely make me swoon. “Light my Candle” is so fucking amazing. It’s from Rent, when Roger and Mimi meet during a blackout at their apartment. Mimi is a 19 year old exotic dancer and Roger is kind of a prick. After he lights her candle (get your heads out of the gutter; it was not a metaphor), she accidentally drops her stash and comes back. She bends over, looking for it, and thus the best Broadway lyricism ever… They say that I have the best ass below 14th Street/ Is it true? What? You’re starring again… Oh no, I mean you do, have a nice- Yes? I mean, you look familiar Like your dead girlfriend? Only when you smile/ but I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere else Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club/That’s where I work/I dance/ Help me look! YES! They used to tie you up… It’s a living… I didn’t recognize you without the handcuffs ----------------------------- On the same subject of music lyrics that I pick apart and perhaps love more than the song as a whole… “The New Year” has become a bit of an anthem for me. There is this whole bridge where the guitar drops low and the Ben Gibbard sings over the beat. And the lyrics are awesome. Everybody put your best dress or suit on Let’s pretend we are wealthy for just this once Lighting firecrackers off in the front lawn As thirty dialogues bleed into one I have always hated standing near fireworks (hence why we watched the Riverfront Park display from Corbin instead of Riverfront Park). But that night was different. We were dancing around with Sparklers and lighting off Roman Candles and I was having such a happy moment. I guess sometimes I need things like illegal fireworks to make me realize how beautiful my life is. I have a Polaroid of that night. Anna is lighting off something called either a Busy Hornet or a Buzzing Bee, with her head turned, a second from giggling and running off. Her smile is huge and honest, her eyes are closed and sparks are flying up from the ground. It’s probably my favorite photograph I have ever taken. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>21,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
My father and I are certainly used to disagreeing about things. He is a Christian Republican with campaign experience to prove it. I am the band t-shirt clad vegan with memorized Plath poetry as my proof. Usually we avoid all subjects of politics, and I can shrug off the snide remarks about my tofu eating. But the one, most heated disagreement just can’t be left alone; particle board furniture. I am a fan. My father is not. In fact, dear ole’ Dad hates particle board furniture with a passion that exceeds that of most subjects known to either of us. He feels it is cheap and tacky. I believe some of this furniture to be the loveliest known to man. Yes; it’s inexpensive. But it’s so streamline and clean-looking. It’s sturdy. It’s wonderful. I’ve needed a new dresser for a year now. And I’ve been exerted groans short of screaming as I was forced to the furniture stores. Pier One is lovely and I haven’t a thing against Pottery Barn. But my true love is K-Mart. Oh how I love you Martha Stewart! Say what you will about her illegal activities and her frigid personality. But she is an OCD person’s dream… oh the gloriously understated lamps! The shoe organizers! The bed sheets! And yes, the particle board dresser. And after two and a half hours of sweaty assembly, it’s finished. It sits in my corner, radiating perfect craftsmanship and complete beauty. My father calls it a “hunk of junk”, but it will forever hold a place in my heart as the most perfect piece of furniture I own. ---------------------------------- Well well; who would have thought that Rilo Kiley and Bright Eyes would be in Seattle? And who would have thought, on top of their very existence in the rainy city, that they would be there consecutive weekends? My parents have already okayed Bright Eyes on October 18th. Now if I can just convince them that I will die a happy girl if I see my RK live. I think the happiness well swell up my heart and it may explode when (and if, I suppose) Jenny Lewis sings “A Better Son/ Daughter”. I’m going to see Pretty Girls Make Graves and some other Sub Pop artists this weekend in Seattle at the Capitol Hill Block Party. Also, I’m FINALLY going to see the Van Gough exhibit. I will also drain my (albeit tiny) bank account in the U-district and at Pike Place. Ye Ole Curiosity Shop? First Starbucks? Gigantic Pike’s Piggbank? Yes please! In other, more random, news; urlLink this is kickass. Boy George is my favorite. And George Jefferson. George Lucas is alright, but George Clooney can suck it. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>19,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
I've been spending a lot of time reading poetry lately. I have no idea why; it's just something that I'm really into right now. There is a great literary magazine called Calyx , with short stories and poetry written by women. Now usually, I'm not game for poetry that over-emphasis breasts and uses the womb as a metaphor several times in the same poem. But Calyx is not that kind of work, thank god. I'm posting my favorite poem from Calyx as a form of a post. Yeah, I know I'm being cheap and not writing about my life, the life that this blog is suppose to chronicle. But things are both painfully stereotypical and painfully complicated to actually write about. IF I CALLED YOU RIVER Alison Townsend If I called you river and straddled the silky muscles of your passing. If you called me river and pulled me to you, swimming in the silky, silver pull of my legs. If I wove myself around you, sweet and sinuous as water itself, as the call of the redwing floating toward you now from the cattails. If you slid beside me, sleek and playful as the otter careening down his muddy ride in one long breath before he caresses the water. If I caressed you back, reflecting sunlight, reflecting wingspan of hovering red-tailed hawk reflecting the tenderness with which light is received always by water. If you were water entering water. If we flowed that way for a long time, distinct but inseparable, the glinting flecks of silica from your sediments mixing with the sun-sparked mica of mine. If the spring rains came, pushing us hard and fast, from our home in the mountains. If I had known high water and times of flood, the edge of me lapping, leaving a birth-scar along a line of rain-drenched trees. If you had known those times too, your calm surface churned into a wall of water pulled, root to stem, stem to leaf, leaf to air where it balances for a moment, quivers, and falling, begins again. If I was a river you had never seen but had dreamed of forever. If you were a river I could taste in my sleep. If even in winter we kept moving together, meeting in secret beneath our glassy quilt. If everything is season and snowmelt. If everything is release and return, the peppered foam of frog spawn and the salmon's muscular silver thrust. If I called you river. If you called me river. If the river knew anything more than this sweet braiding and undoing of water, that feeds everything and yearns for everything and is, in its rushing, everything the river can know. If the river knew. If river were ever possible to contain. If the heart were, and the blood, and the body, this human urge to name things by things other than what they are. I name you river. I name myself river. I name what we are together river carving a channel between the grassy banks, leading us to the open mouth, the salty swallow, the deep, green voice of the sea that cries out so far within us I cannot tell if it is you who cries out or me. Real post sometime... in the future. Maybe sooner. But probably later. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>15,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
So it’s official; I love I Love the 90s . John Mayer is back, god bless his gloriously un-kempt mane. His comment about leaving the pale-and-pasty look (ala Kate Moss) to him was so very sweet. The best panelists are, of course, Michael Ian Black and Hal Sparks. Forever will I tut out a giggle when I see anyone is a black coat buyiong Visine. The single displeasing part of the show so far has been Liz Phair’s multiple appearances. Pardon me, Miss Sellout, but when you betray your Indie roots, you don’t get to tell me who is alternative. Probably eighty percent of the television that I watch now is on VH1. I have developed strange attractions to both Paul Scheer and John Abound (of the Modern Humorist… oh god; the hotness) Why is it that I will sit through pop culture commentary shows, but can’t quite get around to washing my hair? There is something so seriously wrong with me. If my blog doesn’t continue to remind you of this on a weekly basis; drugs are bad. And so is the unfortunate look of my hairdo. Ick. Affectionately... Anna |
</post> |
<date>14,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
I’m not a huge movie fan; most films are unbelievable or too pretty or too fake or too meaningless. And even though I am not all that big of a film enthusiast, I watch a lot of them. Because for every dozen or so stinkers like White Chicks or Legally Blonde 2, there is a movie like American Beauty. Robin is close enough with me to know that I would fall madly in love with this movie. It’s like when Jenny Lewis scream-sings, “So fucking beautiful” in With Arms Outstretched; it’s so pure . It’s honest... so applicable to me. And maybe to everyone to a point. “…there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday.” Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>08,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
Last night when Anna D. and Robin were savagely hurling eggs at Cataldo’s front doors and I stood (toilet paper roll in hand) in the middle of them, I was happy. I was happier than I have been in a long, long time. Lauren was strapped into our getaway minivan, laughing at us. The radio was playing “Mrs. Robinson” and we were toilet papering the hedges to the beat of the song. It felt like I was watching my life from somewhere else. Since Lauren got her driver’s license, life has changed for us. It’s seems like such a small thing to be able to drive. But the ability to reach the outside world without the crutch of parental guidance is, for us anyway, priceless. We drive aimlessly all over the city. I’m the DJ, finding halfway decent songs on the radio because of the lackluster sound-system (I don’t even know how to make a mixed tapes) Sometimes Robin or I, very illegally, take the driver’s seat. Even in such a painfully dull town, we’ve managed to make our own fun. We discovered a rock castle (miniature sized) behind the Corbin Arts Center. We’ve been playing in fountains and wadding pools, much to the dismay of parents and city park officials. We drove through Peaceful Valley and found the house where Johnny Depp filmed Benny and Joon . We’ve driven by The People’s Park in hopes that we see the infamous nudist gatherings, but have been unsuccessful thus far. Sometimes we laugh so hard we have to pull over the car (Last night I called a car a “Nissan Eczema” and almost caused a traffic accident.) Last night was Mission Exorcism on Cataldo, which was lead by Robin in a movement to appease me. I felt sick and cruel after TPing David’s house and refused to even drive by Mary’s. But when I saw free-rang egg goop dripping down those doors, I felt peace. My heart felt good. But I wasn’t so intensely happy because I had my vengeance. I looked at my beautiful friends, these amazing people who mean everything to me. They had no connections to that school, it didn’t matter to them. But I mattered to them. Once Ross asked me what the meaning of life was. He was joking, but I spent the rest of the day thinking about it. John Lennon, a messiah figure to me, popped into my head. The meaning of life is love . And at the moment, even in my delinquency, I felt love. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>05,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
I may just be the master of delayed response. I have known Meghan was moving to Gig Harbor for three months or so. And just today, one quick look at my bulletin board, and I was sobbing. The picture I saw was the day we graduated Cataldo; both grinning wildly, so happy to be over with our awful middle school years. My dress is, surprise surprise, pink. I loved the way the dress looked on me. Meghan picked it out. Her dress is beige with red flowers and she has, surprise surprise, a modest cardigan over its spaghetti straps. We look so different, my black hair and her blond, my giantess height and her petite stature. But our braces, our jubilation, our sunburns are all the same. That’s the way it has always been. We’re unalike on the surface but look a little closer and we’re the same. Meghan and I have never been likely friends. I was an outgoing and sarcastic child, and she was mild-mannered and silly. I don’t remember why we became friends, but it’s obvious why we stuck together. We both needed someone to rely on, and we fit that role for one another. We were fiercely loyal and passionate about being best friends. Together we could be anything, anyone. We'd imagine we were orphans or princesses and dance to the Beach Boys. We played off each others strengths and shortcomings; I would let her copy my homework and she would do my hair. We weathered so many storms together. The bullshit and the depression and just… growing up… it has molded us. We’ve become these people, these mini-adults, version of the kids who met in third grade. But it was inevitable. I miss her most when I’m sitting right next to her. Because that’s when it feels most real. I can see her makeup and her straight teeth and her flat-ironed hair. And I know I can never get the eight-year-old Meghan back. Likewise, I’ll never secretly believe in Santa Claus again or want to marry Aaron Carter. And her moving away is the final strand cut loose. She’s really gone, in time and now in distance too. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>03,July,2004</date> |
<post> |
One of my very favorite Sarah Vowell articles is called, “These Little Town Blues”. Like all of Sarah’s work, it’s beautiful, snarky, eloquent, witty, interesting… but there is something about “These Little Town Blues” that makes me teary-eyed. It touches a nerve. “In my bible, Frank Sinatra is not Revelation; he’s Genesis, where pop starts.” My father is fifty-two. But he feels like and acts as if her were more like seventy-two, especially in regard to his musical collection. I would guess that most reformed hippie parents usually own tattered editions of The White Album and Carly Simon records. While my Dad can recite the lyrics to “Mockingbird” and attended a Beatles concert, his music has more jazz than folk and more bluegrass than pop. My earliest memories are of dancing with my father in the living room. Mostly, we would listen to Broadway show tunes (I had all the lyrics to ”I am the very model of a modern major general” memorized well into my pre teen years) but Sinatra had his turn. He was my personal introduction to music. There is something really beautiful and unique about how music affects you when you’re young. Being four and not knowing what cocaine or champagne was did not get in the way of “I get a kick out of you”. At that age, rhythm and melody are instinctual. I was concerned with listening to the most obscure band or whether or not Old Blue Eyes was socially aware. I was listening and liking that music purely. So what is it about Frank Sinatra that appeals to that instinct? What is it about the way he bends words to rhyme? Why do his songs feel like a huge smirking wink? Why is everything he says so wise, so right? Why do I swoon and laugh and want to dance at the same time? I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to answer those questions. I don’t know if I want to. Because I prefer to listen to Frank the same way I did in the living room when I was in pre-K. I’m not going to research and analyze and try to figure out why--- but Frank Sinatra is amazing. That’s it. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>09,August,2004</date> |
<post> |
In my all time list of hot hotties (props to VH1 for coining that term), Joaquin Phoenix is sandwiched in between Wes Bently and James Dean. I adore him with the fiery loyalty only a 16 year old girl can. Even though he had necrophilic fantasies and shortly after turned crazy in Quills , his comeliness cannot be disguised. And what say I of Buffalo Soldiers …? Yes, ma’am! [I have to admit, it feels pretty nice to actually be sober, totally, for a post. Brent told Robin that apparently drinking bleach (“Dude, only like a few drops!”) will get illegal psychotropic substances out of your system, but I haven’t yet put my life on the line to see whether or not it will work. In fact, I plan on never drinking bleach. ] School starts in four weeks, which seems tragic and wrong. If my life is measured in school years, than summer is some magical in-between where time does not exist. I wake up at random hours, I go running in the middle of the night, I take Rosie on marathon-length walks. However, there is a small part of me, the suppressed OCD part of me, which craves that structure. While I don’t miss math tests or my World History teacher, I do miss the hilarity of homeroom and the ever-exciting skipping of classes. We’ve been talking a lot lately about what school is going to be like this year. I think the summer has changed me, as Lifetime Channel as I sound. It’s clear in my writing, I think. Maybe it’s just the pot, but I feel happier. I can’t explain why, not really. I’m just lighter. Things are less important, in a good way. I like the people I spend my days with, I like the jokes we have and the movies we watch and the music we dance to. I like feeling like I belong to a group, albeit local. It’s nice to have that security. Affectionately… Anna, who feels necrophilia is not PC and/or sexy |
</post> |
<date>07,August,2004</date> |
<post> |
I really love boys. I know, as a teenage girl in Suburban America, I am suppose to like boys. In fact, I’m supposed to be “boy crazy”. I am supposed to spend hours doing my hair and makeup, hoping that The Boy (undoubtedly a tall quarterback with a really nice car) will notice me. But my love for boys is bred from something deeper than teen melodramas or magazine quizzes. Every one, strong-jawed, angular faces, wide shoulders, tall frame, dark eyes, every one makes me want to know them. I’m not physically attracted to every boy I see, but I’m certainly interested. I want to know their story. Are they feminists? Chauvinist? Do they favor contemporary values of older ones? Are they politically minded (while we’re at is, sub-question; state’s rights, yah or nay?) And this stirring of excitement and wonder is on a daily, regular basis. It’s so routine that I can’t treat any male, aged 16-25, with any less enthusiasm. Perhaps the only thing more interesting than their glorious bodies and voices (with varying degrees of depth), are their flaws. A faint stutter, awkward posture, messy hair; it’s so beautiful and sweet and sugar coated that I might as well be in a Judy Blume novel where every boy is The Boy. With all of this significance placed on those of the opposite gender, I can’t help but hate myself a little. I mean, this is the girl who subscribes not only to Bust but also to Bitch —oh how their editors and columnists would cringe to know how I value boys, boys, boys! Under the disguise of modern-minded angsty pseudo-hipster, I am fucking June Cleaver. What do I want more than anything else in the world? No, I don’t spend my time day dreaming about world peace or animal liberation or legalized gay marriage, I spend my time thinking about having a husband, a little home, and fucking kids. Oh, and that’s only the tip of the iceberg. I think about the wedding (the accent color will be either pale green or burnt yellow, I haven’t made up my mind just yet), the home, the integration of my husband’s record collection with mine. I think about having a study were we can drink tea and share our love of literature. Children’s names, including middle, have been planed (Eleanor and Gideon, thank you very much.) I haven’t even become this way; I’ve always been this way. For ever sincere dream of extreme hipness, for every imagined apartment in Manhattan, for every flat in London, every book deal, there is still the greater dream of domestication and motherhood. It’s really quite gross. Affectionately… Anna, a disgrace to feminists the world over |
</post> |
<date>05,August,2004</date> |
<post> |
I am just sure that Garden State is going to be an amazing movie. Usually movie previews are so predictable and so gung-ho (well, that’s the point, really) that even the better looking films barely get my excited. But this movie looks different. I don’t really know much about the adorable actor/writer/director Zach Braff, but it’s safe to say I will be seeing this movie. In fact, I’m excited, actually enthusiastic, about seeing it. I cannot say the same for urlLink Christmas with the Kranks . Dude, someone has to tell Tim Allen to stop doing Christmas movies. I thought it might be fun today to make a list of all the CDs I should own but haven’t gotten around to actually purchasing, legally. For some reason the idea struck me as fun. But the list grew ridiculously long, and somewhere between Between the Buttons and You Can Play These Songs with Cords , I became disgusted with myself. Colin Firth, I love you and your reindeer jum-pah. I’d run around in my skivvies for you anytime. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>03,August,2004</date> |
<post> |
Napoleon Dynamite is the funniest movie I have ever seen. And I mean that; it’s funnier than Heavy Weights , Zoolander , and-no joke- Spinal Tap . I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed so hard anywhere. I don’t know if I have ever laughed that hard. I’m using incredible amounts of restraint not to just make one entire post of quotes. But if you haven’t seen it, freakin' do it, GOSH ! Other than being sleepy, and broke, I am happy. Robin is home, Lauren is back, and there was the most beautiful thunderstorm last night. Set to Coldplay, Death Cab for Cutie, and, randomly, Coltrane it was amazing. My heart feels inflated. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
<date>03,August,2004</date> |
<post> |
Oh. My. God. I am so glad I lived to see the day that I would discover Tilly and the Wall. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sometimes when I am driving with my mother I think about how easy it would be to ram the car through a row of parked cars. On the passenger side. ROBIN HOME TOMORROW! |
</post> |
<date>03,August,2004</date> |
<post> |
I fear for my future husband. I simply can not function for a week unless I have one of the following; a heart to heart, a make out session, cuddling, or something to cry about. How sick is that? I can’t even substitute music for any of the aforementioned. It’s like, I need something to feel, even if it’s total sluttiness or sadness. Those things remind me that I’m alive. If I were stranded on a desert island, which is admittedly unlikely, my heart would implode. I need people to obsess about. I need people’s hair to pet and people to giggle with. I need people who will jump on trampolines with me in the middle of the night. And no matter what accommodations said island had, a lack of laughter or discussion or sighing would cause cardiac arrest. I am going to blame bad writing, the last two months of shitty writing, on boys. Just the gender in general. Affectionately… Anna |
</post> |
</Blog> |