Style Vow I

I, Anna, being of sound mind and body, solemnly swear never to inflict bangs upon myself again. It has been shown repeatedly in the epochs of time that I look quite dreadful with bangs, with evidence given in a vast quantity of mirrors and an impressive collection of childhood photographs. I vow to resist the urges of the times and trends, which shall adopt bangs as "cute" and "trendy", and shall promise me that I too can wear them. I vow to remember in times of temptation or tribulation, how what can be snipped into being in a minute will later take many difficult months of annoyance and Snookie-like poofs to grow out, pulling our some of the aforementioned childhood photographs if necessary to strengthen my resolve. With my forehead as my witness, I make this promise for the greater good of my hair, general appearance and sanity for as long as I shall live.

Amen.

Reasons I Hate This Time of Year

1. Holidays. Why are they all in the winter? Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentines Day, St. Patrick's Day... it's just too much. I've expressed my rather dire feelings about holidays in general before, so it should come as no surprise that I feel clusters of them are uncalled for. Lucky, the worst is already behind us.

2. Forms. FAFSA, W-4, W-2, Taxes... federal shenanaganizing. Askeroscarooscarfug. (Congrats if you came up with some way to pronounce that.)

3. Snow. *sighs* Alright. I confess. I hate snow, but not really. It's complicated. Just when I think it's bearable and maybe even kind of pretty, it proves me wrong and gets in my boot or tries to trip me up or just generally interferes with the delicate task of living my life.

4. Darkness. I like the dark. It's fine. But the long dark mornings and nights make me want to sleep in and go to bed earlier, and me wanting to go to bed at 5 P.M. is rather annoying and counter-productive.

5. Cold. I loathe being cold. More than being hot, more than being sweaty, more than losing a toe to a shark. Okay, maybe not the last one. Being cold makes me feel like I'm about 100 years old and lacking the appropriate medication for my various conditions that are causing me this aching pain. Dire? Yes. They aren't your joints, so deal with it. (For the record, if they are your joints too, I express my sincerest sympathy and the offer to get together to have a warm beverage and discuss our unnamed condition.)

I know I complain rather a lot. I guess it's because it's the one thing I can do about the things I can do nothing about. And for some reason, complaining about things in a vaguely amusing thing somehow helps me to feel better about them. Go figure, eh?

May Be Meant to Be

Socks and shoes

Me and you

I puzzle how many pairs of things that

Supposedly go together

Were forced together and simply learned to coexist?

Curiosities

Sometimes I wonder why I wonder so much. Is it because I am stupid or smart? Curiosity killed the cat, but perhaps it also taught him a valuable lesson or two before his tragic death. Maybe I don't wonder enough... well that would be inconvenient.

Never mind.

Stress

I really hate stress. It turns my normally tolerable self into an unbearable wilderbeast.

The Dying Hole

Have you ever seen Madagascar Two?

If so, you probably remember "The Dying Hole." If not, you are totally lost and you think I'm strange. That's okay. I can deal with that.

Anyway, I find the Dying Hole to be an interesting phenomenon. In the astute words of a giraffe "We go over to the Dying Hole, and we die." So simple, eh?

But why do they all go to the Dying Hole any way? Societal standards? Tradition? Sanitation? All very lame reasons unlikely to appeal to a giraffe.

But I've figured it out. I understand the concept, I have discovered the deep psychological reasons behind this. Yeah, I'm a humble soul.

Peer pressure.

That's why the giraffes go to the Dying Hole.

That's actually why Melman goes to the Dying Hole too, further proving my nonexistent point.

So kids, what have we learned?

Don't give in to peer pressure.

I Will Never Ever Ever Ever

Peter Pan, come take me away to Neverland, for I never want to grow up!

How dreary it must be to be adult. They sit still, they laugh quietly (if at all), the work all day and and only dream at night. Instead of being children, they have them and raise their own. I find it just ironic that parents scold their children for being children. Working carefully and relentlessly to drain their childish spirit away. With time they will succeed.

But not for me! For I shall never ever grow up.

I shall never be too old to fail to see the appeal of sprinkles or swing at the playground or blow bubbles or write bad poetry or use made up words or wear funny hats or stick out my tongue at people who annoy me!

I refuse to turn 18! (I conveniently canceled my birthday years ago!) I shall never be adult!

I will live at state of in between, of childish maturity. I will never, ever, ever grow up though.

Not all the way, any way.

Because what's the fun in that?

Being constantly responsible is downright reprehensible.

And never making jokes... I fear I'd go into withdrawal.

And never dreaming impossible dreams would shrink hope and make it fit into a box labeled "reality".

And how boring would that be?

How atrociously common, like an ugly little weed!

Youth is fond of dreaming, but age makes dreams so tired and so weak. So realistic.

Youth is ever resiliant, but age makes things more careful and more fragile. So jaded.

Youth. There is no fountain that contains it, not potion that procures it.

And so I will age.

That is the cruelty of time.

But I will not grow up.

You can't make me. =P

Ten Strange Things You Probably Didn't Know About Anna

I love lists. Particularly lists of ten. It's a well rounded number.

1. I Name Everything.

Really. Everything. The piano is Betsy, my hair straightener is Sydney, my purse is called "The Cow" and my coat is Bysshe (pronounced BUSH-HEY) Anything even semi-important gets a name.

2. I Have a Thing for Symmetry.

Some would call it an obsession, but they just don't understand how important it is for everything to look uniform and proper.

3. I am a Grammar Nazi.

I'm a bit hypocritical about this, since I know I make plenty of grammar errors also. However, when someone makes a glaring mistake, I feel compelled to correct it out.

4. I Collect Worthless Objects

Glass figurines, rocks, bits of drift wood, sweet looking statues. I like awesome looking stuff. If it tickles my fancy, I want it proudly displayed in my room.

5.  I Have Mouth Full of Sweet Teeth

If I crave something, its sugar. Sometimes I want it in the form of chocolate and sometimes I want it in a peanut butter cookie, but I looove just about anything with enough of the stuff.

6. I Can Sing Like a Chipmunk

A talent which makes you a real hit with kids and chipmunk lovers alike.

7. I Am a Tall Woman

According to the standards of the TCI, (Tall Clubs International) I am a tall woman. 5'10 1/2, Baby.

8. I Am Obsessed With Google

I'm sorry, Yahoo people, Google is just better. I Google everything. How to spell and/or pronounce words, how-to articles, songs, people, places, random words... I love Google.

9. I Had a Cabbage Patch Kid

Nuff said.

10. My Hero and My Crush Aren't Real

Hero: Leigh Anne Tuohy as played by Sandra Bullock in the Blind Side. She's blonde, fabulous, has a major attitude and is who I wanna be when I grow up. The Crush would be Captain Jack Sparrow. Oh so beautiful and unattainable.

There you have it. Ten things you may or may not have known about yours truly.

The If is the Why

If my blog were a garden, it would be over run with weeds.

If life were a sundae, I would ask who ate the cherry.

If I were a hippo, I would float gracefully instead of sink as I thrash wildly.

If a hand were a claw, it would pinch people a great deal more often.

If a book could speak, he would always tell the same story.

If a tree grew down instead of up, digging holes would be even more of a pain.

If holes filled themselves, I'd dig more holes.

If I dug more holes, people would think moles were mutating.

If lawyers were honest, perhaps justice would be done more often.

If you tickle me, I may scream.

Fake Proverbs

When you have no words, borrow someone elses and hope that he is smarter, kinder and wiser than you.

Dear Blog,

Dear Blog,

Sorry it's been a while. You know I still love you. It's just that my darn life is interfering again! Inconsiderate, I know. Between school, writers block and work, I confess that I have had little time to invest in you. I've sat here several times before trying to write something for you, but nothing comes. Know that it is not your fault, Blog, and I am sorry you have to suffer. Don't think this strain on our relationship doesn't pain me also.

I love you, Blog; do not doubt this. My love is weak, but true nevertheless. Perhaps we could come up with some tough love or "absence makes the heart grow fonder" analogy to make us both feel better? Then again, I have made enough excuses at this point. I ask not to excused, but forgiven. I admit my fault and abandon myself to your indulgent mercy.

I know this apology may seem rather dramatic. I felt it was the best defense against being unforgivably boring, and when one is trying to obtain forgiveness, it is best to avoid doing that which is unforgivable.

In sincere regret and repentant love,

Anna

The Way I Write Fiction

Also known as Why I Don't/Can't Write Fiction... this was part of the piece I composed for NaNoWriMo. Which, as you may recall, I failed on several counts. But here is a sample to be the object of your disgust and/or amusement.

There are only so many places you can go, until you hit the end. Be it the end of the places or the end of you depends, I suppose on a number of things-the greatest of these things being your personal perspective on it all.

Today I am sitting at a desk in front of a computer, trying to type. Anything will do, I suppose. I just need words to count and rack up my word count so I don’t feel like a total failure. The author is supposed to be writing. Me? I don’t need to write. I am a character and I need to do something exciting that will make you people feel like I’m worth reading about.

Like pressure in a pop can, or a mite under a microscope, you are waiting for me to do something exciting and for a story to emerge.

I’m sorry, we’re experiencing technical difficulty and it might be a long wait.

This also may be difficult on my end, because the author has the attention span of a fly, the plot planning ability of a stick and the endurance of a glass house. Also known as like none at all. Not that I have anything against the author personally. You do realize the author is telling me to say this, right? The views reflected in this work are not necessarily mine, nor are they necessarily her own.


Goodness, that’s confusing.

It might be nice if she could buckle down to business and grant me some sort of personality and get this thing moving. She’s trying now.

My name is Peter.

Good job, author! You decided on something.

What about Peter, eh? I wish I knew. I think the author wishes she knew. I’ll ask. Author? Do you wish you knew?


The author says yes.

What about Peter? What should Peter say and think and feel? What should Peter’s story be about? Where should Peter live and work and play and do the things one might want him to?

The author needs to decide.

Peter (that’s me) should probably wish for a better author.

For Peter, however, the author will try.

I, Peter, shall be placed in England (at least for now-until the author gets bored.)

Just keep typing words, author, that’s all that matters.

What shall Peter do in England?

Maybe I should live there for now.


Which would mean I would have a British accent.

The author is quite partial to British accents.

Oops... she got distracted... that's all I get for know I guess.

She says she's sorry.

Bond Girl 007

I put on some new purfume today. Bond Girl 007, by Avon.

It smelled good. I was feeling adventurous. Covert. Classy.

I was breezing along, minding my own business and apparently failed to realize I was leaving choking people in my wake.

"Anna! What are you wearing?!" My Mother asked.

Umm... clothes?

"What perfume is that?" she clarified.

"The name is Bond Girl. Bond Girl 007."

Everyone had something positive to say about my new scent.

"It's really... strong."

"You smell like a guy!"

"I'm gonna pass out..."

Thanks everyone! I like it too!

In spite of some fears that I might overwhelm someone with my sweet and mysterious aura, I didn't change clothes before going to work. No one complained, commented, fainted or died in my presence.

When someone did smell it, they said "Oh! I really like that!"

Thank you, sane and civilized world.

I guess the rest of my family (Hi, Mom!) isn't cut out for Bond Girl 007.

I shall have to wear it more often.

The Art of the Nap

I love naps.

Really, I do.

It may seem odd for someone who is only seventeen. Naps have been generally monopolized by toddlers and old geezers and I think it's high time my generation took back this glorious past time.

I know, we teenagers aren't supposed to sleep. We stare at screens on our phones, lap-tops and mp3 players all night long and we are a genetically superior race that doesn't need sleep. To be honest, I can't do that. I am not fueled by technological coolness, I need something more to get me through the day. That thing would be sleep... glorious sleep...that and coffee. And sugar.

(For the record, Doctors happen to agree with me on this: sleep is a good thing. Now I just need to get them to see my point of view about sugar...)

Like most teenagers, I go to bed at an hour later than 9 PM and if I have a choice, I get up in the morning at an hour later than 9 AM. But regardless of my 7 or 8 hours of sleep, I am still totally game for a nap. Anytime, almost anywhere, give me a pillow and maybe a blanket, (a teddy bear would be nice, too) and I'm good to go.

The key differences between "sleeping" and "napping" are as follows:

~ When I sleep at night, I demand total darkness. Not a sliver of light must be allowed to creep into my cavern of slumber. But when napping, I crave the sun on my eyelids.

~ A good night's sleep is 7-9 hours of unconscious, uninterrupted. But a nap must not exceed two or three, otherwise I'm all foggified. <--- I'll have to add that one to my personal dictionary, ASAP.

~ Serious sleep must take place after one's teeth are brushed, pajamas are put on and pillows have been fluffed. But a nap can take place anytime, anywhere, with little to no preparation. Stop, flop and sleep.

~ Sleep is mandatory: do or die. Naps are optional. Luxury, if you will. It's like a slice of bread versus a cupcake. One is nutritionally necessary and one is just for fun.

Napping is a sort of sleep, but not all sleep is napping. I don't know why, but I happen to find napping one of the more delicious forms of sleep.

Then again, I've never been an insomniac.

A Flippant and British Mood

I get in this certain mood. (Maybe you have it too.) When this mood strikes, certain words are way too appealing. Like, I want to use them, not because they are particularly useful in the context, but because they strike me as superior to others. They are quirky. They are strange. They aren't run of the mill. They just sound darn pretty.

Shan't. Perhaps. Since. Quaint. Forgetful. Pensive. Fashionable. Simplistic. Hop-scotch. Figurative. Majestic. Practically. Mooch.

Most of these words sound excellent with a British accent. Go on. Try it. No one's watching, and if they are, you will totally make their day.

Maybe that's all there is to the mood. Maybe it's just me feeling British.
I have a bit of a thing for accents. That's what I get for being boring and from the Midwest. I know there is supposedly a Midwestern accent. We say things like warsh or wursh rather than wash. A creek is a crick. It's actually a joke in my family because we don't. Ever. The only Midwestern quirk I can detect in my own speech is saying fur instead of for. I fail to stress the O sound. It sounds funny to say for like the number when I try to stress it.

Any way, I like to pretend to have different accents to annoy people. My British accent is fairly decent. My Southern accent is way overdone (but one of my favorites), my Irish accent makes me sound like an old man who has had a few too many shots. My Australian accent turns British after a few sentences. I took three years of French, so I have a less than horrible French accent. Spanish? Nope. I can't do it. Which is just hilarious and annoying.

Ya'll have probably figured out by now that I am an annoying person. Yeah. It's an art.

In this same mood, I love to read poetry even more than usual. This mood is dramatic. It is vibrant. It loves sharp, strong, concise emotion. I could go on and on about poetry all day. It wouldn't be very good, but I do love it, though meager my grasp upon it.

This is an atricious blog post. I rather loathe it. But I don't care. I'll post it anyway.

The mood doesn't care. It just does whatever. Thinks later.

For the cronic over-thinker, this is delicious.

Anna's Top Ten Ultimate Weaknesses

Reveling one's weaknesses is a practice to be generally discouraged for several reasons...

A) You are a superhero and reveling your weakness could result in your crushing defeat and demise, or

B) Your family reads your blog and can and will use this against you.

I, however, have decided to flaunt my humanity, risk my superhero identity and offer my family and excellent reference for all kinds of pay back and share with you my top 10 weaknesses.

1. Cake / Cookies / Chocolate

The jury is still out on which one weakens me most. All have a ridiculous amount of calories , start with the letter C, and I can't stop eating them.

2. Shiny objects.

If I were an animal, I would have to be a deer. Headlights are so shiny. I also stop and stare at jewelry displays and tilt spoons to that they catch the light.

3. Pretty things.

I'm a girl. I can't help that I like pretty. Shiny, pretty? They go together. But if it's pretty and shiny, it's just even better and cannot be denied.

4. Clothing Sales.

A perfect excuse to go shopping AND expand my wardrobe!! What more can one ask for?! (Again, I'm playing the girl card. It excuses me for all sorts of insanity.) Irresistible.

5. Puppies.

A little black nose... a pair of moist little eyes... too big paws... floppy ears... heaven help me, I melt. All baby animals do it to me, really. Colts and kittens in particular. They're so dang cute. They're defenseless against me and I against them.

6. Blue Eyes

Deadly. Just deadly. Why are they so much prettier and sexier than brown eyes? Why are they so much deeper and more beautiful? Not fair.

7. Being Tickled

Yes, I'm wildly ticklish. It's really an ultimate, ultimate weakness. The only reason it doesn't go higher up on the list is because I am not completely powerless in it's throes. I often get violent when tickled and will probably kick you in the face, gut or where ever I think will get you to quit tickling me.

8. Diet Coke

It can talk me into anything.

9. That Which Is Forbidden

Come on. That just makes it a thousand times more appealing, right?

10. Pride

Okay. It's more like number one. It's also the most serious, though and it was going to kill the mood there at that top. So I just kept pushing it back... and back... and I almost didn't put it on the list at all. (Bad Anna! You lie!) But believe me, it is a weakness and a vice. A big one.


There you have it. My weaknesses. If you are reading this for insight in how to defeat me, I would ask you pick one of the more pleasant ones. Death by chocolate sounds very pleasant indeed. Funny how many of these things would make it on my favorite things list. Funny how much I love to loathe many of them.
 
Aren't people odd?

Things I learned from Mr. Franklin

Keep all conductors of electricity off your kite string. And don't fly it during a thunderstorm either.

I will never be a healthy, wealthy and wise man.

If you must be a blockhead, be a learned one.

For optimal portability, become wrapped up in yourself.

Don't ignore the small leak unless, of course, you are in to sinking big ships.

Admiration has a less than admirable parentage.

If you want good interest, bank with Knowledge.

Idle silence is apparently just as bad as idle words... just avoid idleness in general.

Beauty and folly go way back.

A hungry hobby isn't a good idea.

If you want to count on something, try death and taxes.

Don't worry about mistakes- you can count on them too.

Good luck has better parents than admiration.

Life is made of time, so don't squander it.

If you can discard a bad habit once a year... you might actually get some where eventually.

If you can't write well, do something for other people to write about. And if you can't do something worth writing about... you'd better hope you can write well.

If you could bottle energy and persistence together, you could call it "CONQUER". What a snappy energy drink that would be, eh?

Fatigue is soft and squishy... it makes the best pillow.

You can compose a great lie with only half of the truth.



To find these and more wise words from the good man himself, go on over here.

If I Was A Pollywog

If I was a pollywog

A fine thing that be

A pollywog is a little frog

Or rather, a frog-to-be

If I was a pollywog

With a fine name such as that

I'd swim around, but I wouldn't drown

Cause pollywogs are made like that

If I was a pollywog

Well that's just what I would be

Until I grew into a frog

And then a frog is what I'd be