dear 24:

greetings. my name is anne.

don't be shy; i'm sure you've heard rumor of a run-in i had last year with your younger sibling. while i see no need to apologize on my end for the outburst, i do want to assure you that i'm glad you're here.

i won't list those things for which i am thankful, not only for the sake of time, but in the interest of keeping them personal; sometimes, things truly are better left unsaid.

i have, in fact, learned things, in such a way that screenplays are born-- you can't usually wholly appreciate those underlying tones until the movie is over. such is this past year, with all of its quips of a quizzical nature. i see now the balance in which i believe:

the strength i chase in stability, i found in the unpredictable.

the darkness i found at times in my solitude was combated by epiphany.

the love i sought in romance was presented to me in my friendships.

and, oddest of all, my postmodernist faith in the unknown has yet again show me that you never...ever...know what's going to happen.

while some argue that attitude is everything, and others use words like fate (both of which can make me cringe at times), i'm sure it's probably a little bit of both.

after all...charges tells me best, and not often enough...

be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aide.

i still find my art in words, and a lovely peace within.

i remain, forever yours...

the eternal optimist.

p.s. now that i'm old enough by some people's standards, can you at least provide a few good make out sessions this year? for posterity?

all seven, and we'll watch them fall.



they stand in the way of love and we will smoke them all...

with an intellect, and a savoire faire.

no one in the whole universe could ever compare.

iamyoursnow and youaremineand to-getherwe'lllovethroughall

space and time, so don't cry-y-y...

one day, all seven will die.

i will be...

...at red room on colfax after eleven.

luv, anne

boys = crazy.
me = boycrazy.



donnie darko: the director's cut has become. it's playing at the starz film center at auraria campus. read about it here. i haven't seen it yet, but plan on it soon. so if you're interested, drop me a line. donnie's not crazy, he's special.



speaking of freaky-shit movies, i saw the manchurian candiate last night. is there truth behind that type-casting stuff? because liev schreiber plays a lot of nutjobs.



basquiat (julian schnabel) was in that movie, too. oddly, he mumbled a lot and drew all over the walls again...i smell a message.



wanna hang out saturday night? oh, sorry, i'll be at the prince show. why? because he, too, is a crazy motherfucker. why else? oh, that's right, it's my birthday. in my own defense, i find myself to be not at all modest, practical, diligent, fussy or conservative. the rest might be true.

i'll give post-coital...i mean concert...plans tomorrow if you'd like to swing by.



percenterprises is over? that fool is crazy.



dane cook is a funny mother fucker. crazy, but funny. here's an interesting rebuttal from someone who likes dane cook, but admits that it might be the softer gender who carries the crazy chromosome.

...and i'm especially good at pointing out what other people do wrong.

i went on an interview this morning. my resume and the resulting dialogue are below.

resume content

objective: to make money. that's about it.

attributes/skills: web surfing, emailing, dodging meetings, calling in after bad night of drinking, problem creating and solving, self-deprecation.

areas of expertise: self-involvement, socializing, drinking, smoking, and all types of ill shit, recognizing new hotness vs. old and busted. just pretty much being hot in general.

hobbies: being critical, being defensive when criticized.

educational background: technically, the queen of everything doesn't have to go to school.

interview content

mr. man: blah blah blah dynamic blah blah blah interpersonal skills blah blah blah a real go-getter blah blah blah pro-active blah blah blah benefits blah blah blah leader blah blah blah get things done.

me: mmhmm. and where exactly do personal phone calls and emails fit into this job description?

mr. man: why don't i take this opportunity to tell you about...

me: why don't i take this opportunity to take an open-eyed nap.

mr. man: you came highly recommended.

me: der.

mr. man: salary requirements?

me: ...eleventy billion dollars. cash.

mr. man: thanks for your time. feel free to call me with any questions.

me: um, i need to know the price for de cereal bawkz? tell me now, before i get angry.

honestly, i'd hire myself if i could.

a single girl's guide to dating dynamics 101
beneficial to you, me, or at least someone you know

the guy who...

offers you a drink right after he asks your name.
he's been watching you and wants to get laid. use your best discretion.


asks you what you do for a living.
he's really just waiting for you to ask what he does for a living so he can dazzle you with his mid-management business-card bearing euphemisms. beware. at least he has a job.


asks you to dance.
either has parents from a small town or is from a small town. depending on whether your intentions are short or long term, usually a safe bet.


grabs you to dance without asking.
is sad. probably because his small town parents are upset with him, or because he wants to impress you with his country debonair, or because his high school girlfriend dumped him. but probably a good guy. unless he's been to jail.


lights your cigarette.
is either a guy who looks at you and thinks, only another smoker could understand. or thinks, if i light her smoke she'll think i'm hot. use discretion.


is older.
this one's tricky. the boundary lies within your own reference...if they're older than your older brother or cousin, they might be being sincere, only because they have a totally respectable cousin/niece/sister your age, and can only listen to what you say out of respect. if they're older than your dad, run. if they're younger than your little brother, they probably bite. even if someone asks you who your white trash boyfriend is. fucker.


you've known for a long time...
at the very least, just be glad you're friends again. he always knows the bands/movies/music references and trends before you do, and hopefully he doesn't think you're a total ass for emailing him everyday. he has cool hair, and you get mildly sad when he doesn't write you back. but you'll live. he's a good guy, and you're pleased to have him on your repitoire, whether he adores you likewise or not.


is your ex.
it's okay. you're both still alive. he's there; you have technological evidence. you miss him in the weirdest ways. you know he's reading this. you keep writing anyway. you can only hope that the district is good to him. and remember weekends in estes park. and you want to tell him to tell his mom hello. and kiss the kitty for me. and nikko misses you. and i'm fine; and i hope you are, too...


looks you in the eye.
just go. not worth it; unless you want to do the whole hopeless romantic thing, which, in some cases, works. but usually not. no seriously, just go.


claims to have a totally utilitarian job.
/read masseuse, bartender, mechanic, artist, carpentar, youth worker, writer, musician, poet, dj, high school boyfriend. i'm not here to tell you what to do, but i'm done. i was done a long time ago. i have my own ideas in faith of childhood predictions, but you can only have your heart and your bank account emptied so many times...good luck to you.


is your little brother's friend.
just politely decline. not so much out of the repulsion, but more so not to fuck up your poor brother.


is a blogger.
fuck if i know.


is a friend of a friend.
this one strictly pertains to the situation at hand.

i encourage you to leave your own words of advice below.

things i didn't know a while ago that i do now.


the dad in donnie darko is the same dad in bring it on, but there are no inter-photos from bring it on, even though he has about the same amount of lines in each movie.



summer wheatley is hilary duff's sister. hilary still kicks major summer ass in the google war.



it is, apparently, never a good time to take crack-cocaine...as a rule of thumb, per text.



just about all of the boys in napolean dynomite are oddly attractive fellas. what's up chip? give me a fucking call.



chuck klosterman hates coldplay. for substantial reasons, i suppose. 4 months, 4 months, 4 months...



dude, that's totally method man that plays diego. duh.



you can, in fact, throw the baby in the well, the lake, and down the waterfall. i would recommend, however, avoiding using the commands "die" or "sleep". keep in mind trogdor's invincible-ness, and don't get pissed off after two and a half hours of typing and up-down-left-right controls.



that stupid bear is © labatt's, not molson, but the merger sucks all the same.



colonoscopies are not fucking fun to hear about.



the dub pistols are old. fuck, they were old back when we used to take pills and think they were super cool.




don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't get a real job from blogging. twice, bitches.

an open letter to a gratuitously false accusation.

dear sir:

i will gladly admit that skinny puppy was a most influential trio in their glory days, and that yes, they have had a uniquely profound effect on many adolescent generations and the like, in the midst of developing an essence of their identity, and probably searching for a little relief from that that is being a teenager.

however,

i sir, am no skinny puppy hound.

...someday, us brunettes will take over the world.
or, the obligatory end-of-the-week rundown.

1. if zack braff dumps bonnie somerville for natalie portman, there's hope for me yet.

2. i can't believe the shit they let me get away with sometimes...i was half expecting an email explaining either how that kind of content isn't acceptable, or that they're no longer in need of my services.

3. my asshole friends are in vegas celebrating my birthday for me, and they keep sending me picture messages of how much fun they're having. thanks, guys.

4. sometimes, the generosity of complete strangers is overwhelming. i received a big fat priority package packed full with cd's from matt (who, by the way, does not live in DC). i just sat there for a second before tearing open the bag and devouring its contents.

us brunettes, we can be vicious.

5. being the only non-tow-headed child in a family of seven, i was told from a very early age that i was not born of my parents, but rather purchased from a blue light special. i shit you not. they decided the joke was up when my 3rd grade teacher called home to ask why i kept telling the other students i was "bought from KMart."

and my parents wonder why i had what they refer to as "episodes" while growing up. couldn't they have picked a store with a little more class?

6. the rockies got spanked last night. i would know; i got free tickets, really good ones, and watched the entire game from a barstool across the street with old friends.

us brunettes, we have our priorities in line.

7. does anyone else have this thing where when you listen to a new album, and you initially subconsciously sort out the songs you want to listen to over and over from the ones you don't, and play the whole thing on repeat until you know every line and stanza from start to finish, and kind of let it groove in you til it's got the same rhythm as your pulse or whatever...

and then you realize that the one song (usually closer to the end of the album) that you weren't that fond of is the one that seems to stick out the most when you consider your collective photographic image of the album as a whole, and you kind of have a small inner epiphany that the one you didn't like to start was really your favorite song the whole time, you just didn't know the song well enough to understand what it was trying to tell you...

and then you have to start all over with the album in general, because now that you have this information, you need to reevaluate everything you'd thought you knew about having absorbed it?

no? oh. nevermind. us brunettes are slighty backwards.

like ripping off a band-aid®



cell phone rings.

me: hello?

roommate: hey, are you at work?

me: yeah.

roommate: i need my computer for something at work for a few hours. is it in your room?

me: ...yeah.

roommate: is it cool if i grab it?

me: ...um, do you need it right now?

roommate: yeah, i'm taking off here in a few minutes.

me: ...i could come home from work real quick and get it for you...

roommate: no way dude, i'll just grab it. you don't need to do that.

me: ...

roommate: is there something wrong?

me: ...

roommate: hello?

me: ...okay, but it's on my bed right next to my vibrator.

roommate: (uncontrollable laughter)

me: ...just, you know, don't look at it a lot.

roommate: ain't nuthin' i never seen before.

me: ...alright then.

i left my visa at fiddler's green

...and that's to be read with el segundo flavor.



i'm not a huge fan of the cure, but when someone gives me four free VIP tickets, i don't snooze. after a mass text message to my phonebook and about seven phone calls, i found folk who much appreciated our stroke of luck.

plus, they bought all my beers.

i was in it for the box seats, and realized i'm glad i didn't get myself into the cure when i was youger. the entire crowd was full of goth kids - turned - hipsters, some of whom took dancing classes from the hippy school of shaking and lurching all over the goddamned church floor.

i totally saw a guy i went to college with that i had a major crush on. he was there with his girlfriend. i also saw a guy i currently have a crush on. he, too, was there with a lady friend. i realized that i do, in fact, have really good taste in the opposite gender; i just don't move fast enough...

had i had my breasticles attached, and a few more beers, i would've disclosed things, but i didn't want to be rude to his date.

disclosing things to boys i have to be friends with - a haunting gravy train.

lauren, i believe the song we were both pumped about was from the edge of the deep green sea.

here's a question, but first thing's first, bitches.

watch. this. video.

right now. leave president van buren a note while you're there; if he weren't so old and probably mostly decomposed, i'd offer to make out with him for his wit alone. plus he ends every post with hip hop knowledge. count it! if being dead entails blogging all day with continuous hip hop quotables, hanging out with peabs, and lots of swearing, i can't wait to cross over.

i've formally begun replacing my cd's, and folk are coming out of the woodwork to lend a hand. i really appreciate that you all can empathize with how much this fucking sucks.

in the middle of a full on (cd) burning sesh with my best good friend (who, since he keeps promising to update, is close to me permanently changing his name to stephanie), my friend hilary calls.

hilary just got her ass back here from montana. what people do in montana besides shoot buffalo and run over small children whilst river rafting is beyond me, but it's good to have her home.

hilary: she gonna sets it on fiyah.


note: if she looks familiar, it's because she was one of the fabulous four in what still can only be described as THE WORST CAB RIDE HOME...EVER. we all know my permalinking is busted, but if you're bored, you can see the aftermath of our cabbie running a stopsign on april 5th.



further, if you think you can fix my permalink, email me. if you do it i'll totally make my sister send you porn. she comes through.

i met up with hilary, who asked me to come down and see a band called oakhurst, but on the phone, she spelled it o-a-k-h-e-a-r-s-t, so i'm thinking death rock; not my primary choice, but hilary always hangs out with cute boys.

but they were bluegrass. also not my primary choice, but wtf, right? especially when the drummer is the spitting image of remy.



which, with all this background info from an eventful evening, brings me to the aforementioned question:

was it supposed to be implicit that cole hauser's character slept with astrid in white oleander, or just that they were "good friends?" i keep meaning to read the book solely to find that out. i kind of hope for astrid's sake that she got to sleep with him, because cole hauser is hott.

happy tuesday to ya.

it's just the thought...of you...in love...with some...one else.

waste my days.

this is one of the first things that really sparked my interest in blogging. while i don't fancy myself a sarah brown regular, i'm beginning to think that becoming a zany interchangable photobooth type person would be better on my nerves.

ya heard?

the logistics of fame



i found out who that chick on music choice is, the one who looks like sara michelle gellar but sings like a raunchy billy holiday, or that lady who sings a tisket, a tasket, i dropped my yellow basket.

that bitch is 19.

i think, should i ever teach my fingers to play piano as well as a computer keyboard, that my window of opportunity for stardom is nearing an end; you gotta get that shit in before you're 25 if you're a girl.

otherwise, you're close to unmarketable.

also, i'll have to make up some story about how i grew up in harlem, and how my mom had to sell ass to get me my first piano.

i'll have to have some quirky style, or only buy my clothes second-hand. i'll probably have to get a haircut that requires a lot of daily up-keep and product.

i'll have to teach myself to play what ever instrument i choose to carry me to immeasurable heights of fame, because taking classes or lessons just isn't romantic enough.

it is not, in a word, street.

i'll need to lose a few pounds. just a few, though. and i'll have to do it through my neo-organic vegan juice-only when i'm not eating grass diet...you know, for the animals.

i'll have to have an eclectic boyfriend who provides me with endless amounts of inspiration, and who waits for me offstage. shit.

i'll have to write things that people of different ethnicities can listen to and say, "wow, i feel that."

i'll have to practice my pensive faces, for all the magazine cover photo shoots, but not as much as i'll have to practice my damn-i've-got-it-all-figured-out-don'tcha-wanna-be-me over the shoulder sly smile. and only indie, underground publications. rolling stones and spin will just have to wait a few years to run the "it's about time" article on me.

i will have...the most fabulous fucking dress...when they call my name for the many awards for which i'll be nominated.

i'll have to work on my public speaking skills, for all of the philanthropy i'll be doing. especially for kids in california who don't have ipods, because it's just so sad.

i'll take a "hiatus."

my return-from-the-dead album will kick the asses of all the girls new to the industry who try to be just...like...me. the album reviews will use words like "classic" and "progressive" and "brilliant."

i'll have a tribute album made, with other artists covering my work. elton john will probably be one of them.

i'll die and have a headstone somewhere next to jim morrison, just so the high school girls that idolize me have to ask for a trip to paris for graduation. it's their mecca, man.

your grandkids will ask you about me.

jesus, i've got a lot of work to do...i'm going to look up instructions for beginner piano players via google now; but should the indie publications contact you for a quote in a few years, you never read any of this.

thursday potpourri

since i was supposed to have tomorrow off, and then i wasn't, and then i stayed late and stuff, i'll be gone tomorrow. i'm doing my taxes this weekend.

couple things:

grambo's crew rocks coors light. if any one in denver is voting for pete coors for sentate, shoot me an email so i can bitch slap you via internet.

what do you get when you cross your brother's alter-ego and your graphic designer friend?



good stuff.

make sure you get your daily dose of bitter politics at 1115.org; matt is sending me a compilation of music from where ever he lives. probably DC.

i walked in on my roommate watching soft porn last night. i can't wait til i get out of that house...

have a good weekend.

no, i was just trying to be creative.

today is italian lunch day at work. everyone was required to bring something italian to eat for lunch.

i made this killer caesar salad, thinking everyone else would've brought a garden salad with italian dressing; i even put grilled chicken on it.

i walked into work and put it in the fridge, right next to two caesar salads. and they said to me, "oh, i see you saw the sale on the caesar salads at safeway, too."

blast, these cursed lunches!

like how julian sands ended up in all those warlock flicks.



i didn't really feel it until they were in the tub, and until i stood up to leave, and until i let it fester with the gin/tonic concoction already in my system.

others disagree, but i'm not from jersey.

seeing movies with smart people is fun.

i'd say doctah j.d. dorian has a bright future, if he doesn't go too abstract. and you know, stays away from snowboarding/warlock genres...

my sister is funny; you can see pictures of sister christian and the troop pre-wedding blast.

no one ever talks about the girls.

ok, we all know that the entire blogosphere has been all over the respective nuts of the killers, franz ferdinand, modest mouse, badly drawn boy, dashboard confessional, the libertines, the hives, the strokes, the white stripes, the vines, the shins, and any other band starting with "the".

while some dedicated folk focus on an amazing varitey, i thought it best to throw a little estrogen into the mix.

granted, i have a preference for acoustic guitars, pianos, and killer trip hop, but who doesn't? below is a list of all of my favorite female performers.

who all, by the way, happen to be extremely fucking beautiful. i wish we could say the same for all of the above-named.

bic runga

you know this girl, even if you don't. she sang that infectious song "sway" in american pie at the part when all those kids are doing the nasty after the prom. i looked her up and ordered her cd a long time ago (though it's gone now). beautiful collision is the ideal album for those who can't stay away from an endless range and the kind of lyrics that make you want to fall in love with anything.

emiliana torrini

i can thank spinner.com for her. she's got that massive attack-bjork kind of essence, and love in the time of science is my new life soundtrack. i want to meet her.

cat power

i admit, the first time i heard i don't blame you off of you are free, i thought she sounded a little bit like eddie vedder. but (and i wish i was speaking from experience) you are free is the album that every girl should keep by her nightstand to play when she has sex by candlelight with a really nice boy. boys should keep a copy specifically to land girls like me.

beth orton

she makes me want to be a rebellious college feminist forever.

supreme beings of leisure

seriously, can we all just take a moment of silence? this cd (before the tragic cd incident) stayed with me at work, home, school, and in my car. i will forever think of using my fake i.d. to get into bars when i hear her sing-- it was the soundtrack to me being a minor. like portishead, but different.

tristan prettyman

if you read this site, you already know her. i love love love the way she plays guitar, and her ep is one of my sole survivors.

azure ray

this guy likes them too. i got to see them at larimer lounge, a great place to see an intimate show. you can read about it here. the first time i listened to their latest album, i was at work and had to put my head down, it was such beautiful melancholy. the loop in white lights will bend to make blue totally gets me every time.

katie melua

now that you've found her, call off the search. i found her through this guy.

babacar

actually, i don't know shit about her, except that she sings one of my favorite songs off of one of my favorite albums ever. when i lost all of my cd's, the first thing i thought about was this album and that song.

elizabeth fraser

if not for the cocteau twins, then for her massive attack stuff. and her solo stuff. get some.

this list could, of course, go on and on, but i have to work now. if you know me, you know that my love for female performers started way back with tori amos (who didn't listen to her?) and fiona apple, bjork, stevie nicks, other types of ill shit, but you probably already knew who they were.

if you want to listen to entire albums for free for a month, and then want to pay only $9.99 a month to stream almost any album, go to jambaserhapsody.com. i've registered and paid, and it's all i listen to now.

i have to go be all proud to be a woman now.

i don't mean to be rude...

but my contempt for hippies gets stronger every time i hang out with one. last night i hung out with four hippies, three lesbians, two beers and a big headache.

go vote, anyway. i know who i voted for.

i'm so famous.

so i was just going to write about this theorist that i studies a lot in college, and how i used her theory to smash everything the hippies were saying into the ground last night, and i just did a google image search for this theorist and found a picture OF MYSELF. that's fucking funny.

she came to speak at my school once and i ditched class to go see her. you can see the back of my head here.

been a long time since i rock and rolled.
cue guitar solo.

it's a wonder i'm still breathing. i hope those of you that receive lovin on a regular basis consider yourself lucky.

sister christian is probably learning the art of rocking and rolling this very moment. maybe i should get married.



psyche.



my sister's husband had all these hot groomsmen that i was a bridesmaid with, one of whom was very consistent in greeting me and hanging out with me; he'll be in the denver metro area soon for work.

someone had to point out that he was flirting with me, and told me he probably thinks i hate him by my reactions. i apologized immediately, and admitted that that whole arena is, at this point, a little foreign to me.

what a waste. i coulda been a contendah.

been a long time, been a long time, been a long...whatever. you have to admit that when your sex life is totally dry, your nighttime fantasies are off the mothah frikin hizzook.

i bowled a 110 yesterday, in two games. tell me that's not sexy.