for $65 you can now purchase the worst pair of shorts i've ever seen---at the GOODWILL. all right fashion, i give up. you win.





EDIT: this is from urban outfitters, by the way.

Lovely Anne,

I've been looking forward to writing to you for months. I just returned from a whirlwind tour of India, China, and many other countries on a fact-finding mission. Now that I've officially looked at all three billion, I can say as a fact that you are the most beautiful girl in the world. I've seen every face, and I know that it's you.

( Read more... )

we sell this book at borders. it's in children's non-fiction. the references list reads like a who's who at exxon's PR department. it also talks about how the warming of the earth and the melting of the polar ice caps are natural parts of earth's evolution, so don't let those overreactive liberals scare you into buying a prius when you get older--get a hummer, it's amphibius!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

hope it's as good as mine was (by that i mean awesome).


love, anne (hatefulness suspended until tomorrow)

dear xm radio,
about 6 years ago, i made a solemn vow to myself that i'd never put myself in a situation to have to hear "i'm not an addict" by k's choice. thanks to you and your horrible unpredictable programming, you slipped it in between paul weller and jesus and mary chain. WTF?!?!?! it's a travesty, and i'm not just saying that because i'm the product of 7+ years of working in a record store. k's choice should be so stuck in 1998 where it belongs with meredith brooks and the rest of those fucking horrible one-hit bitches.

EDIT: while i'm at it, thanks a fucking lot for making me listen to dishwalla today, too. the only thing i wish for more than world peace is a skip function on xm.

dear ups,

if i could bomb every single one of your smarmy brown trucks, i would. it's not as if they actually DELIVER anything. as a matter of fact, your drivers circle the neighborhoods day after day putting stickers on peoples' doors telling them "oops, we missed you! we'll try again tomorrow!"
well, tomorrow and every fucking day this week i will be at work, you know, "NOT HOME", and i will eventually have to pick up MY OWN PACKAGES at the ups store--yes, the solitary single ONE ups store in omaha which is tucked neatly under south omaha, reeking of slaughtered cattle. i ask you this, ups: why in the hell am i PAYING for shipping on my packages when i have to drive to pick them up? and why do your drivers only deliver when normal people are NOT HOME?
in closing: i hate you. i hate everything about your shady business ethics, your poor service, and your outrageous prices. sleep with one eye open and your back to the wall, ups.

disgruntledly, anne

p.s. i have nothing against south omaha. it's just very fucking far from anywhere i usually am.

-the story of psycho sam, the three-legged critter.

-cows are called "critters".

-my nickname is now "sweet pea".

-marq's new nickname is "hook".

-steak seasoning is considered one of the fundamental condiments.

-church ladies will swindle city folk and sell them a $7 pie that is only worth the price of the canned cherry filling.

-at barb's diner, she can charge you $10 for being grumpy, despite the fact that she is a royal b herself.

-karaoke, hell yeah.

-sandhills people are generally sweet, kind people despite their rough exteriors. it's ranchers' country up there.

dear disenfranchised youth,
have you become so apathetic and useless that seeing someone fall to their knees after slipping in spilled frat-boy-beer elicits no response? i'd like to thank you for watching me fall without altering the expression on your five faces. thank you for seeing me struggle to stand up and choke down the pain that made it impossible for me to walk away. you all passed me on the well-lit concourse, faces turned towards my situation, unable to have it register that i might need help. no, you were so fucking hypnotised by the catterwauling of your lord and leader, conor oberst, on the other side of the curtain. perhaps had you known that conor and i used to share a bathroom, and that he and i would lay on the floor of my bedroom listening to records, you'd have jumped to my rescue. thanks for NOTHING you stupid fucking boys.

LOVE, anne

It was a warm June day. Since we were visiting Vatican City, I thought it would be appropriate to put no the only dress I had brought to Italy. It was sky-blue babydoll dress (this was 1994 babydoll dresses were way IN). Anyway, I stood in Saint Peter's Square looking up (St. Peter's Square MAKES you do that). Circling around the marble buildings were saints: hundreds of them, it seemed, all judging me as i stepped towards the Basillica. As I neared the church, eager to see the Pieta (Michelangelo's most overrated work), I heard yelling. It took a couple of seconds to realize that the yelling was directed at yours truly. My moment of anticipation, well-being, and sanctity was shattered by the two Swiss guards shouting and gesturing with their inappropriately large rifles. Did they know I was not baptised? Had I spit on hallowed ground? Had I defiled Vatican property? I ran through a mental list of the things I had done leading up to this moment: I had taken the bus here, smoked an Italian cigarette, downed an espresso, gone to the Vatican gift shop to have the Pope speedily bless a rosary for my grandmother...
Several rifle-gesturing and foreign obscenities later I realized their peoblem: my dress was too short.
My disdain for the Catholic church was minimal until that moment. Since then, my love for religious iconography and art has been tainted with the metallic taste of that event. The pomp and ceremony of the Catholic faith--it's exclusivity and snobbery; especially in this hornet's nest they call the Vatican--all of it can take a flying leap.