Short Lived

I'm back.

Yeah... so much for a "break." I finally fell asleep last night. Hit up water aerobics with the old ladies at 0-dark-hundred hours. And I'm back. On the internets.

I'm a talker by nature, and I need someone to listen to all my problems. Normally I turn to my loved ones for that role, as to not sound like a complaining jerk on the world wide web. And who doesn't want a real hug of comfort over a simple blog comment of condolence?

But this time, I've decided not to burden the loved ones.

So, prepare yourself for some serious verbal vomit.

- - -

I've shot myself in the foot. I've allowed myself to spiral down--very low--in the pit of comparison. I know it kills my self-esteem, not to mention wastes loads of time, but my carnal nature concedes to the enticements of its evil lure.

Let me explain.

I feel like such a jerk.

Maybe I shouldn't explain.

Let me start in the middle.

One day, while psycho analyzing myself (pretty sure I've told you all how regularly that occurs), I realized my motivation for something I'd been doing. It was more than a light bulb turning on, it was as though someone walked up and slapped me in the face. The "something" I'd been doing was hating on a particular girl. Okay, maybe "hate" is a strong word. I just let her get under my skin. I would have a noticeably worse day for having thought of this girl, than if she weren't a part of my life.

I can't really blame her. Honestly, she's not done anything but be herself (which was apparently enough!...oops, there I go again.)

Really though, she's a fairly nice person (I'm trying!).

But this truly isn't about whether or not I'm going to ever become friends with, or even like this particular girl. It comes down to my motivation. I felt insecure and of less worth because of her. Silly, really. But true. And I couldn't deny it--nor could I ignore it at this point.

She threw me into the "not enough" cycle-- not pretty enough, not stylish enough, not successful enough, not rich enough, not smart enough, not skinny enough, and on and on.

My solution? Well, to hate her of course! And, if at all possible, get many others to hate her too.

Hello, Anna..............WRONG ANSWER!

But that was my natural reaction, and I didn't even realize it.

This isn't my only issue in life right now (believe you me, I've got plenty), but this seemed to significantly aggravate the others. And it's not just this girl, she just worked as a very nice example.

As I cut myself down (and worse, think less of those around me), I give this girl power.

- - -

I think my dog is dying.

Don't know what to do. I'm not one to shell out a bunch of money to get x-rays and such for a pet. But I really wish I could help her.

Here's a funny video of her. Chryssie likes to wait for everyone to leave the bedroom before crawling into bed and tucking herself in to the blanket pile. Sadly, her snores are a dead give away!

Isn't she cute??

- - -

I'm flying out to Indiana to see boy and boy family on Wednesday. I've been so wrapped up in, again, comparison and concern of comparison, I've not given myself much room to just be excited. I'm too worried about all the many, many ways I can potentially "mess up." I've gotten to a point of not caring, which isn't a good place to be either.

Luckily, I've got two days to pep myself up again.

- - -

Wow, I really do sound pitiful and whiny (I mean really, how much more pitiful can you get then "my dog is dying"!) when I put my complaints in words. Sorry for being a Debby Downer--but everyone needs a moment to vent, right? It's just a lot better when I spit up my complains instead of allow them to stir inside and rot. Normally I just write these posts and then delete them. But hey, who am I to deprive you of my drama? So if you just read that whole thing, again, I'm sorry, but you were told at the beginning it was nothing but verbal vomit--meaning, not my fault you just wasted at least 15 minutes.

Whew. I'll try not to fling that on you again. Can't even say it helped much. Hope to have something more positive for you later. I just couldn't put on a face and pretend today. Thanks for listening and putting up with me!

ps. my Christmas was wonderful. Hope yours was too.

It's Not You, It's Me

It's definitely me.

If you haven't already noticed, I've been a little hit and miss lately. I'd like to blame the holidays, but I know there are other reasons involved.

Those "reasons" have been on my mind a lot lately. And after keeping me from being able to get any sleep tonight, I must kowtow to their demands.

I'm taking a blogging break. I'm sure this all seems fairly cryptic, which isn't my intention, but right now it needs to remain that way.

I may periodically post a "Times with Tabitha" when they occur, but that'll be about it for awhile.

Consider me on vacation in the Bahamas until further notice.

Checking out, Anna.

Times with Tabitha

While at a buffet restaurant with my 30 cousins, Tabitha and came running to the adult table with many of the kids her age.

"Look, Mom! That man over there just gave us all gum balls!"

Promptly taking the candy from Tabitha:

"Sorry, Tabitha. We don't eat candy from strangers."

"Oh, darn."

Ten minutes pass.

"Mommy, Mommy! Can I have the gum ball now? He's not a stranger any more, his name is Cory."

- Tabitha, my 8 year old sister.

God is Love

The gift of Christmas isn't wrapped up in presents or parties. The gift of Christmas is Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten of the Father, the Son of God. As you follow Him, you put people first. You may spend less time in lines and more time serving others. You may spend less money on - and more time with - the people you love. You may lose yourself and you may find everything else that matters.

Merry Christmas.

I'm on IMDb!!!!!!!

So, I found someone with my name on IMDb....... 

then I realized it WAS ME!

CHECK IT OUT!!!!!!

Times with Tabitha {and friends}

"Was that the Holy Spirit whispering in my ear?"

"What did it say?"

"Hit you!"

"No, Hyrum. That was the Devil."

"Oh, I wondered."


- Hyrum and Rachel, my 5 and 13 year old cousins.

Another 5:45am Wake Up Call

Made it to water aerobics this morning.

There's nothing like running through a downpour of rain in the wee hours of the morning to get to your car, and then spending the rest of the time before the sun comes up shaking booty in the pool with the old ladies.

Love it!

Smells Like WHAT?

So.... I ate a roll. It was delicious.

Day-old homemade rolls in the microwave for precisely 13 seconds make a delectable snack.

After the consumption of said roll, I SWEAR my hands smelled like baby skin.

You know, that distinct smell babies have--I had it, all over my hands.

I do not know if this specifically had to do with the particular roll I partook of, a distorted sense of smell, or a messed up psyche, but I tell you, rolls = baby smell (the good kind).

...maybe I really am just obsessed with homemade rolls!

Times with Tabitha {and friends}

With Christmas around the corner, the little one only become more and more cute. And the Santa naughty/nice list threats sure help. :)

Here's a bit Christmas cheer from those little ones:

"If Santa lives in the North, then the EASTer Bunny must live in the East."

-Alex, my 5 year old cousin.

MISSIONARY ...to be

Look! Look! I told you the pictures were coming!

Caleb, my little brother, has finished his papers! 

Only the interviews left and he's ready to submit them!

Doesn't he look good?!

I'll keep you posted on where he goes.

What's a missionary?

Times with Tabitha {and friends}

My young cousin had an "accident" in his pants the other day.

When Mommy asked, "Honey, why didn't you just go potty?"

He responded, with a very serious look of correction on his face, "Mommy, I did."

-Alex, my 5 year old cousin.

Off on the WRONG Foot

The alarm blared in my ear at 5:45am. It was time for water aerobics with my mother!

I rolled over for two seconds, snuggled deeper into my pile of seven blankets, and returned to my conversation with a store clerk about picking out the perfect party dress.

Ten minutes passed.

I woke up, wondering why my mother hadn't yet stuck her head into my room.

Jump out of bed. Threw my suit on. And leaped up the stairs.

She was gone. SHE LEFT WITHOUT ME.

So, I'm throwing a pity party for myself by sitting in the dark, quiet livingroom and catching up on all my blog stalking.

I've grumbled for a few minutes, putting on the sad face hoping the Christmas snow globe next to me will have sympathy. I considered going back to bed and trying to get out on the other foot, hoping that would help. But, alas, I don't think it will. I'm going to have to resign to giving up my grumpiness by choice--not something I do easily.

And I realized I've been a little MIA recently, and decided I could put on a happy face for you (at 6am--I know, I'm that good), and catch you up on the happenings.

DRUM ROLL PLEASE!!!!!

I got a new camera!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Actually, my wonderful boy got it for me. And it's AMAZING.

So, now you don't have to read all of my long boring posts anymore. I'll have pictures. MANY, MANY pictures!

We did an early Christmas exchange. I wanted to open them in person, and we knew we wouldn't see each other until after Christmas. So, instead of waiting, we opened them early. (Naturally, I didn't complain!)

He gave me this super cute photo album of all my New York pictures (remembering our days past), and then a super, super nice camera to take more pictures (remembering our days to come).

So, be ye ready for bazillions of pictures!

Ok, I feel better just thinking about taking pictures. Maybe I'll go do that now.

Update since Mother's return:

She thought I had chosen to stay

and didn't want to wake me so early.

Really, she was just being thoughtful.

What a nice Mom.

I need to work on that whole getting grumpy thing.
Or rather, the not getting grumpy thing.

Times with Tabitha

My father took young Tabitha out on a date to see a theatrical production of "A White Christmas."

He opened the door for her, and explained that's what gentlemen do for their dates.

To which Tabitha promptly replied:

"Dad, seriously, we can't date. You're at least six years older than me."

-My 8 year old sister.

So I Cried.

I couldn't help it. I got in my car, and cried.

It was only a few tears. And I fought super hard to hold every drop back.

But, alas.

To no avail.

The tears fell.

So I had Cheerios for dinner, because I wanted to. And I put lots of sugar on top, because I wanted to.

And nobody can say anything about it.

And now I'm going to bed.

My "Mystery Man"

I've realized in many recent conversations with friends that I've kept some goings on in my life a little more private than said friends have appreciated.

I guess it's story time.

Once upon a time, I met boy. Let's call him Robbie.

Robbie went to BYU. I went to BYU. Robbie majored in Broadcast Journalism. I majored in Broadcast Journalism. Thus, we met.

We've had all of our major classes together since the program prereqs in fall of 2007.

I thought he was a bit of a cut-up, sports fanatic.

He thought I was a brown-nosing nerd.

We never really talked.

Fall of 2009 I was his boss.
Anna- Newsroom Executive Producer and Tech Director.
Robbie- Sports Expert and Anchor

I crushed on him. He would never date his boss.

Winter 2010 I was no longer his boss.

He asked me out.

And again.

And again.

I wasn't interested.

And again.

OK. I was a wee bit interested. But I knew I would be interning with Nat Geo in New York, and I had no real intentions of going back to Provo....ever again.

We said our "good-byes" the night before I flew out. He was to remain "the boy who's my friend who I sometimes hold hands with. "And that was going to be that.

He hoped I would come back. I figured he'd go away.

But he didn't.

Text, handwritten letter, Skype, gchat, email, phone, etc. He made contact at least once every single day of the summer.

I refused to let things get serious, so I intentionally failed to respond to his text one day, just so he wouldn't have the rights of saying he'd "talked to me" every day of the summer. I also put back the postcard I was going to mail him because I didn't want to give him the "wrong idea."

But after a 9 hour Skype conversation one Saturday, I knew I'd done it. I'd given him the wrong idea. :)

He wanted to take me on a date, so he sent me a date in a box.

Then I invited him to visit me in New York. I know, talk about giving a wrong idea. Guess that wasn't my biggest concern at that point.

So we kissed atop the Empire State Building, discussed decorating ideas in the MET, and dreamed about the future while looking at the skyline from Staten Island.

Needless to say, I came home from New York. And I've been officially giving him the wrong idea for about 5 1/2 months now.


Here's a little about boy:

He's from Indiana, but grew up in Michigan, California and Chicago as well.

Served an LDS mission in Mongolia.

Where he ate really crazy food and did cool things like this -

He graduated in Broadcast Journalism this past April with the goal of becoming a play-by-play sports announcer. He currently works as the True Blue producer and the BYUB sideline reporter.

Where he gets to go crazy places

and interview really cool people like this -

 If you couldn't already tell, he's more than a sports fan. And if you didn't already know, I know less than nothing about sports. But in spite of my writing as a 15-year-old "cannot like sports" on my list of attributes for boys I would date, it hasn't stopped us yet.

He buys me chocolates and presents, lets me pick the movies we watch, attempts to answer my unreasonable sports questions, plays with my little sisters, listens to and is interested in my never-ending babble and life philosophies, and tries to remember the names of my 30 cousins. He's terribly ticklish, which gets me into trouble sometimes. He loves clam chowder and the color blue. He turns 25 in January. He's a runner and plays the piano and violin. And he likes me, a lot.

Now you know. This is boy--my boy.

To Vomit or Punch?

That is the question.

Yesterday was another very long day in jr. high school. For those of you who don't know, I've been freelance interpreting for the Deaf for several months. (...now that I've graduated with a degree that has nothing to do with my current job and I'm living at home with my parents at the age of 22. ((ps. I've recently understood both of these things to be a huge blessing. More on that later.)))

I've subbed as an interpreter at this particular jr. high before, and really enjoyed working with the group of Deaf and hard of hearing kids there. But this time was different.

The kids I was working with were just as nice, chatty, and attentive as they were before; it was the other students that made me sick.

While waiting outside math class, I overheard a group of students ridiculing the unaware deaf student several feet away.

"I just want to beat him over the head."

"Yeah, I'll be I could smack him into a pulp with my hard arm cast."

"I dare you to just walk by and punch him."

"I'll do it if you'll do it."

Luckily, these little bird brains were all talk, but, like most things of this kind, I took it personally.

Next, while walking out of a class, I walked right into a very loud, if not shouted conversation where a child somewhere around the age of 14 yelled:

"All Jews belong in ovens."

I'm not the strongest of people, and I don't have a hard cast to use as a weapon, but I was nearly positive I could beat that kid into a pulp within minutes if I wasn't completely positive parents and school would quickly ensue legal action against me.

I was absolutely disgusted. Again, I was hugely offended.

I concluded my day with a nice dose of jr. high P.E.

All the while, during any test, worksheet, or personal time of the students, I'd been reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy, a postapocalyptic novel where a father and son struggle to live because of their love for one another. Throughout the novel, the boy constantly asks his father, "We're the good guys, right?" "We wouldn't hurt those people because we're the good guys, right?" "We would have saved that baby because we're the good guys, right?" Their emaciated bodies painfully grope for progression--away from "the bad guys." The gruesome horrors they endure daily are merely tolerated in survival mode as they live with no hope of a future and constant fear of death.

I will save you the details of what "the bad guys" do, but suffice it to say, I was not a happy camper yesterday. Not to mention the fact that I was sick with an upset stomach.

So, all of this together made my already churning stomach slosh with anger and malice--the very things I saw in others. This black hole of hate sucked me in as I realized I hated the hater.

My mind began to reflect on haters of the past. Other books that came to mind are Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl and One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksandr Sozhenitsyn.

I remember one particular scene where a small group of men under the rule of Stalin are forced to dig an icy grave in the frozen land. After a full day of work on their weak bodies, the soldier over watch commanded one of the diggers to throw another into the grave, burying him alive. When he refused, the guard turn to the almost victim and commanded him to throw in his supporter. The man did. And he was buried.

I've often wondered where such hate comes from, how such people as Stalin, Hitler, Mao, Hassein, Mugabe and many other could have had mothers and fathers and childhoods and be children of God and still hate and kill in the way they did. And what of all their followers. How do you become evil? I don't understand it--really.

As I looked around this school and reflected on the words from The Road, "We're the good guys, right?" I placed myself in Nazi Germany where neighbors turned on neighbors, and friends gave up on friends. I thought of my own neighbors and friends; I thought of the students in the hall. If we were forced into a survival mode, if I were walking the road in postapocalyptic America, would I be a good guy? Would I give of my own vital resources to help another who all knew would "die anyway"?

I know hate is taught, but it is also accepted by the learner. What 14-year-old would come up with such things without a peer, parent or idolized person first saying such?

I interpreted a clip from an old movie last night where a man from another planet lingers in a cemetery with a young boy.

Bobby Benson: [indicating grave marker during a visit to Arlington] That's my father. He was killed at Anzio.
Klaatu: Did all those people die in wars?
Bobby Benson: Most of 'em. Didn't you ever hear of the Arlington Cemetery?
Klaatu: No, I'm afraid not.
Bobby Benson: You don't seem to know much about anything, do you, Mr. Carpenter?
Klaatu: Well, I'll tell you, Bobby, I've been away a long time. Very far away.
Bobby Benson: Is it different where you've been? Don't they have places like this?
Klaatu: Well, they have cemeteries, but not like this one. You see, they don't have any wars.
Bobby Benson: Gee, that's a good idea.

Why can't I come from a place where there are no wars? Why do people have to hate?

Times with Tabitha

Half way through her large bowl of split pea soup, Tabs gazed at the green glob on her spoon and asked:

"Are there peas in this???"

-Tabitha, my 8 year old sister.