Dear Michael Bublé,
I used to think you were just another Harry Connick Jr. (he's gross). But as I've listened to your songs over the years, I've found that that's not true...you're far better. Your song "Home" made me love you. See, my life sorta sucked at that point, but that song made me feel hopeful. Your voice brought comfort to my heart.
I saw you had a new album out. I bought it tonight...and after listening to it, I've gotta tell you...it's good. But you knew that. So, Mike...thanks for the great music. Keep it up. It's great. And...if you get bored, give me a call. I'll make you work, so we can work to work it out. Promise.
-Anna
p.s.
I like the scruff.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Hmmm
So... I enjoy blogging. Obviously. That's why I have a blog. Here's the problem. I dream up wonderful blog posts on my way to work: today I was going to talk about the wonder of fall.
Today is the first day of fall, and I had a toffee-nut latte while listening to Matt Kearney on my way to work. What a wonderful way to start the season...something like that.
I couldn't seem to get past the opening. What else could I write about? So, dear readers, I am coming to you. What do you want me to post about? I know there are many lurkers out there who never comment. Please take a moment and comment, let me know what you want to read-- or what sort of blogs do you like, the day to day entries, or something a little more profound?
So...comment. And. Thanks.
Today is the first day of fall, and I had a toffee-nut latte while listening to Matt Kearney on my way to work. What a wonderful way to start the season...something like that.
I couldn't seem to get past the opening. What else could I write about? So, dear readers, I am coming to you. What do you want me to post about? I know there are many lurkers out there who never comment. Please take a moment and comment, let me know what you want to read-- or what sort of blogs do you like, the day to day entries, or something a little more profound?
So...comment. And. Thanks.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Totes Embarassing
Let me set the scene for you:
Third grade, Bethesda Christian School, Mrs. Sandy's class.
I had written and acrostic poem about the boy I liked, Nathan Phillips.
Okay, so I don't know if that's exactly what it said, but it was something along those lines. Anyway, I wrote it at home in my spiral. Also, it should be mentioned that I signed my name to it, in my autograph signature handwriting.
So, at nine years old, I had my first real crush on a boy. He had a buzz cut and didn't own a television. I remember thinking he was so cute. I mean, I seriously might have died if he knew how cute I thought he was. Being the excruciatingly private, but hopeless romantic, I decided I needed to get rid of that poem, lest someone see it in my binder, namely, Caleb. Caleb was the thorn in my pale-freckled side. Upon years of reflection, I've come to realize it was Caleb who had a crush on me. Although he made that year miserable for me. He was always pulling my hair (seriously, at nine, children should be over that), and teasing me for having so many freckles.
I was so quiet then, that I never retorted back. I didn't point out his gangly frame or buck teeth. Although I'm pretty sure everyone at that age had a gangly frame and buck teeth. None of us had grown into our bodies yet, and elbows and knees began to jut out awkwardly in all directions.
Anyway, it was my brilliant idea to throw away this poem in the trash in our classroom. I crumbled it up, tossed it in, and thought nothing of it.
Lunch was brutal.
Four or five boys came up to me at lunch and asked me if I liked Nathan. "Ummmm, no. doi. seriously. Nathan is gross-" My elegant response of course.
Then, they showed me exhibit A- THE POEM
I could have died. For years after that, whenever I thought about it, I actually did die. Dramatic to the core.
"You wrote this." That's what they said. DENY DENY DENY. That's what I did. Yes, my name was on it, but really, anyone could have written it. Seriously. Anyone. So what if they signed my name, I can write something and sign your name to it. So there.
Weeeeeeell, Spanish Inquisition third grade style began. The boys demanded all the girls write my name on a sheet of paper, they would then compare this to the handwriting on the poem. Wham bam, thank you ma'am- they would have the elusive author.
Needless to say I disguised my handwriting, and was never found out. Although a few weeks later, after my friends convinced me that Nathan totally liked me. I wrote him a note, confessing my third grade puppy love feelings for him, and telling him it was okay, that I knew he liked me to. Amanda and Ashley told me that he did. No need to be embarrassed.
Guess what? Turns out, third grade boys are a little weirded out by notes like that. And the class found out I had the elementary hots for Nathan Philips. After all that web-weaving I was found out by my very own hand-delivered note.
Mortifying. What's your long lost embarrassing moment?
Third grade, Bethesda Christian School, Mrs. Sandy's class.
I had written and acrostic poem about the boy I liked, Nathan Phillips.
N-nice
A-amazing
T-terrific
H-handsome
A-awesome
N-neat
So, at nine years old, I had my first real crush on a boy. He had a buzz cut and didn't own a television. I remember thinking he was so cute. I mean, I seriously might have died if he knew how cute I thought he was. Being the excruciatingly private, but hopeless romantic, I decided I needed to get rid of that poem, lest someone see it in my binder, namely, Caleb. Caleb was the thorn in my pale-freckled side. Upon years of reflection, I've come to realize it was Caleb who had a crush on me. Although he made that year miserable for me. He was always pulling my hair (seriously, at nine, children should be over that), and teasing me for having so many freckles.
I was so quiet then, that I never retorted back. I didn't point out his gangly frame or buck teeth. Although I'm pretty sure everyone at that age had a gangly frame and buck teeth. None of us had grown into our bodies yet, and elbows and knees began to jut out awkwardly in all directions.
Anyway, it was my brilliant idea to throw away this poem in the trash in our classroom. I crumbled it up, tossed it in, and thought nothing of it.
Lunch was brutal.
Four or five boys came up to me at lunch and asked me if I liked Nathan. "Ummmm, no. doi. seriously. Nathan is gross-" My elegant response of course.
Then, they showed me exhibit A- THE POEM
I could have died. For years after that, whenever I thought about it, I actually did die. Dramatic to the core.
"You wrote this." That's what they said. DENY DENY DENY. That's what I did. Yes, my name was on it, but really, anyone could have written it. Seriously. Anyone. So what if they signed my name, I can write something and sign your name to it. So there.
Weeeeeeell, Spanish Inquisition third grade style began. The boys demanded all the girls write my name on a sheet of paper, they would then compare this to the handwriting on the poem. Wham bam, thank you ma'am- they would have the elusive author.
Needless to say I disguised my handwriting, and was never found out. Although a few weeks later, after my friends convinced me that Nathan totally liked me. I wrote him a note, confessing my third grade puppy love feelings for him, and telling him it was okay, that I knew he liked me to. Amanda and Ashley told me that he did. No need to be embarrassed.
Guess what? Turns out, third grade boys are a little weirded out by notes like that. And the class found out I had the elementary hots for Nathan Philips. After all that web-weaving I was found out by my very own hand-delivered note.
Mortifying. What's your long lost embarrassing moment?
Monday, September 14, 2009
Life, or something like it
I'm tired. No, really. I'm tired of not having a full-time job. I'm tired of feeling like everything in my life is "okay," like everything is gray.
People suck. They hurt you, and often on purpose. Even friends can be royal jerks. I've got a difficult situation with a friend that I'll have to face in a few weeks-- not looking forward to it. At what point do you tell them what you really think, and at what point are you fake-happy for someone; when do you just shut your mouth and let them make their own mistakes? I don't want to live with regret, but I want my friends to be happy.
Roommate and I are living on top of each other. I adore her, and couldn't be more thankful that she's put a roof over my head, but I still feel displaced. I miss my apartment--my home. I miss my bed, my dog and that dragonfly poster I had hanging in my living room. Home is where the heart is. My heart has lost it's way. Lately, I've felt the most "at home" in coffee shops with friends, at a good friend's house with people I trust and admire, laughing on the phone with Brother, Mother, or Grandparents.
I've got this feeling in my throat that has been there the past few months. A tightness. The Tightness.
The Tightness is almost tears; it's almost joy, and it's almost love. Almost. My life is full of almosts.
People suck. They hurt you, and often on purpose. Even friends can be royal jerks. I've got a difficult situation with a friend that I'll have to face in a few weeks-- not looking forward to it. At what point do you tell them what you really think, and at what point are you fake-happy for someone; when do you just shut your mouth and let them make their own mistakes? I don't want to live with regret, but I want my friends to be happy.
Roommate and I are living on top of each other. I adore her, and couldn't be more thankful that she's put a roof over my head, but I still feel displaced. I miss my apartment--my home. I miss my bed, my dog and that dragonfly poster I had hanging in my living room. Home is where the heart is. My heart has lost it's way. Lately, I've felt the most "at home" in coffee shops with friends, at a good friend's house with people I trust and admire, laughing on the phone with Brother, Mother, or Grandparents.
I've got this feeling in my throat that has been there the past few months. A tightness. The Tightness.
The Tightness is almost tears; it's almost joy, and it's almost love. Almost. My life is full of almosts.
Friday, September 11, 2009
video
Watch out for that last note there...kinda painful. Count how many times I say the word "so," and leave it in a comment. :-D
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Life.
It's been over two years since I was diagnosed. And the thing is...I totally missed it. September 5, 2007 I was told I had leukemia. September 5, 2009 I was so busy having fun with my friends, that I completely forgot about the anniversary. How awesome is that?
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
September
Alright, so I know it's still TECHNICALLY summer...but come on people, doesn't it feel a little more like fall now that it's September? Just incase you did not know, fall is absolutely my favorite time of year. I love fall colors, fall clothes, football (HOOK 'EM HORNS), and of course, the cooler weather. Did anyone else notice that the high today in Austin was only 92?! Miracles people. That's what fall brings...miracles.
I've started making my Fall '09 ipod playlist. So far I've got:
I've started making my Fall '09 ipod playlist. So far I've got:
- "She is Love" by Parachute
- "Prisoner" by Needtobreathe
- "Lifeline" by Matt Kearney
- "Warm Whispers" by Missy Higgins
- "Autumn" by Paolo Nutini (which seems to make an appearance in many of my past fall playlists)
Anyway, those are a few of the songs I've got. I'm looking for suggestions...I thought about adding some Pitbull, but decided against it ;-).
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