HEY KIDS!

blog revival at: http://annafantastic.tumblr.com

hope to see you there <3

I'm staring to believe art school really WAS a bad idea.

After that last post-

I realized it's a great possibility I need to learn to keep my word vomit under control. I should also realize that those cute little "my-life-is-playing-out-like-a-scene-in-a-movie" thing doesn't mean that it is- therefore whilst in the heat of the moment, whatever my mind is telling me to do, I should do the opposite. This way, I can avoid awkward internet surprises from people who suddenly read my blog. Oh yeah... my insomnia's gone. I'm pretty sure this is the end of me... it was fun while it lasted. I'll miss this.

Until we meet again, stay classy kids.

I've just confessed everything via twitter... now what?

What I've just done-

was either:

a.) really stupid.

b.) really smart.

c.) reckless and brave.

d.) really stupid, reckless and brave.

jesus christ, internet... why do you have to be a gateway to my word vomit? and why is word vomit harder to keep down than actual vomit?

while I'm at it, here's more things I should throw out into the open:

1. I don't miss Al... at all. But I will hate whatever girl he ends up with next.
2. I DO miss Ben.
3. I can't seem to [or want to] find anybody here because of number 2.
4. I wish that every girl who's too shy, and every boy who thinks he's not good enough would just fess up and tell that certain someone how they feel about them. It's hard, it's scary- but in the end, isn't it always worth it?
5. I miss the summer so much, it's like there's a freaking hole in my chest.
6. you know what? I MISS HIGH SCHOOL. I do. I miss the simplicity of it... and I miss the kids I used to see every day.

and you know what? THESE are the real facts.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

Video games have taken over.

Last night, I played Kingdom Hearts for nine hours straight-

on somebody else's play station 2. And let me say that THIS is what college should be... ALL THE TIME. I have had quite possibly, the best birthday weekend/following week of my life. Let's backtrack a little, shall we? Friday I woke up around 5:30 p.m.[this is what happens when you don't sleep, and then crash my friends.] to about a million texts. More than half of them were from twitter but the other half were from my dad asking me if I would like to venture back home for the weekend. Sunday being my birthday and all, I typed a quick "YES!" threw some junk in a bag and patiently awaited nino. I spent friday night at my brothers wrestling tournament in rootstown and loved it. Saturday was lazy, the only time out and about was spent buying a new pair of shoes, and a few quiet hours in a coffee shop as katie tried, and for a while, successfully snuck into her new boy-man's show in the bar next door. Around 11:30 chelsea called and said her and timmy were coming to visit, and at 12:15 they showed up bursting through the door and were the first to wish me a happy birthday. Sunday morning was delicious, the three of us went to eat'n'park swapped stories and had breakfast. After they left, katie and caitlyn were over, watching various awful disney movies with me until about three. And finally, a three 'o clock on february fourteenth two-thousand and ten, I spent valentine's day and more important, my birthday with someone of the opposite sex. This boy went to high school with me,and we'd never spoken much. I was a little nervous to be meeting up with him, seeing as all we really had to go on was facebook statuses and blurred high school memories of each other. But this boy was very nice, and surprisingly funny. We got coffee, looked at records, he watched me smoke cigarettes and I watched him eat chipotle. We sat in his car for longer than planned, talked about music, people we knew and scaling buildings to get to the roof. I plan on seeing him again in march. This may have been the single best birthday ever.

The moral of this story: people are very nice... especially when they buy you cups at chipotle you could have very well bought yourself.

Song of the night: two headed boy- Neutral Milk Hotel.

Unitl next time, stay classy kids.

Why yes, I DID spend all day watching other people play left 4 dead 2.

First and foremost:

I FREAKING GO TO COLLEGE AND I HAD A SNOW DAY TODAY! take THAT, high school kids! Second, I realize after drunk blogging, I fell behind on well..blogging. here's a few things I should tell you:

• In exactly 6 days, I get older.
• I turned down my first real college relationship.... via text message. [don't judge me, he made me text it.]
• I saw something on facebook that actually made me cry tears of pure joy.
• I made a video.
• I bonded with some of the most unlikely girls, because the room mate I originally went to see was asleep.
• I watched the super bowl... and kind of liked it.
• I finally cried in front of jess.
• I had a dance party consisting of all the songs you remember from prom.
• I showed someone else's boyfriend my underwear for science.
• I found even more reasons to love my old room mates.

and there you have it. A rather short, bulleted summary.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

Trying something new: drunk blogging.

a poem-

the bottle hits the side of my computer-

it makes a comforting sound.

as I-

take another drink.

I feel dizzy.

and warm.

I want to make this feeling last.

but I'm almost done-

with my last bottle of beer.

I miss you so much-

but you are so very far away.

I cannot change that.

I have conquered a six pack-

all by myself.

and now-

I am drunk blogging.

The moral of this story: do not give me a six pack and a keyboard.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

Having friends in college is really great.

Tonight-

I blog from the safety and comfort of the room of the one and only: Jessica Kyner. Let me just state that first and foremost, she is the COOLEST lesbian EVER. Seriously... try and find a cooler lesbian. That's right, you CAN'T. [I'm so sorry Jess, this means I love you... a lot.] Second on my agenda, is to say with all my heart to those of you who have commented on my last post: I love you all. You guys rock, and you've made me as giddy as a schoolgirl. If you liked it, please please PLEASE tell your friends. I want as much constructive criticism as possible on this, because this isn't just a paper... it's the honest-to-god story of my life. These events actually took place, these people are real and they have affected my life in very,very real ways. Maybe when it's finished I'll post a picture of the legal pad on here. It's funny- the last few nights I've been looking through it- trying to figure out what to include, which excerpt will help tell the story the best. Let me tell you fellow bloggers, I was not quite ready for the tidal wave of emotion that came flooding back when I turned each wrinkled, stained page. I could tell you exactly where I was, who I was with, who each passage is about, and which month it was written in. Take Ben's ghost writing for example. I could picture the night perfectly in my mind... I remember what we were wearing, what flavor coffee I was drinking, which table we were sitting at. I can even remember names of some of the songs that blared over our heads. But ask me how many cigarettes I smoked that night, how many cups of coffee I drank, or how much time passed before we called it a night and I couldn't even begin to tell you. I guess it's because these details never really mattered to me. I was never one for counting hours that summer- time just managed to drift by, both fast and slow and I was never any the wiser.

The moral of this story: comfort comes in all the most unexpected ways... even if it's just a new place to blog.

Song of the night: Perfect blue buildings- The Counting Crows.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

This is my first real college english paper... be nice to it.

My fellow bloggers-

Behold! the first thee pages of my first real college paper!

My Relationship With Writing: A Torrid Love Affair Featuring Anna And The World Around Her.

After hours of contemplation, I have come to the decision that my torrid love affair with writing all started with a yellow legal pad. In this legal pad there is the beginning of something so wonderfully incomprehensible that not one single person in this room could comprehend it; but in this legal pad there is also death. The death of love, the death of trust. The resurrection of pain and heartbreak. The pages of this legal pad are wrinkled and falling out of the binding. There are coffee stains, tear stains, pen marks, pencil marks, and the words of ghost writers who, for the night, knew me better than I did. Ladies and gentleman; it all really started with a yellow legal pad.

Of course I’ve written papers my whole life, all throughout my schooling. I’ve written countless papers about this book and that author, comparing this literary character to that serial killer, all in under the required maximum of eleven pages. Double spaced, areal font size twelve... no exceptions. Let me tell you a little something- these papers were never me. Of course, I wrote them, but these papers were never a horcrux, so to speak. I never looked back on these essays and saw a piece of my soul in them.

These essays were well written and earned me an exceptional passing grade in my final year of high school, but I never looked back on them and thought “this is something I would blog about.” Because that’s what high school seniors do... they blog. They blog about everything, from their love life, to their social life, right on up to their feelings about graduation. Especially their feelings about graduation, which mostly consist of too early nostalgia, excitement, and the wonderful feeling of pure joy in never having to see any of your graduating class ever again.

Graduation came and went, the final chant of “oh WHAT?” “ oh NINE!” still rung in my ears, no matter how hard I tried to block it out. The graduating class of Woodridge High School had dispersed, and summer was finally in full blast. I lived with my father the majority of the time, my parents having separated years beforehand. Every night while passing through the kitchen to grab a snack, or to heard my brother and his drunken friends out the back door and safely into the pool, I would glance to what had come to be known as “Nino’s pile of useless things.” Little did I know that yellow legal pad was hiding, waiting patiently for the day to come when I would pick it up, un-cap a pen, and start a legacy of my own.

The day my torrid love affair with writing began was June 9th, 2009. Although, technically, I should say it was June 10th seeing as my sudden urge to write down my inner monologue was prompted around three ‘o clock a.m. when my then-boyfriend was using my father’s stove and the help of two of my closest friends to make synthetic devil horns. Let me explain. My then-boyfriend was falling a little behind on production of latex accessories for his group to sell at the one and only Midwest Haunter's Convention. Midwest was a convention for people all across the nation who worked at haunted houses year ‘round to gather together, and this year I was to come along. So there I sat in my father’s kitchen at three o’ clock in the morning, yawning every five minutes, the smell of latex overpowering my already sleep deprived mind.

I had gotten used to the sleep deprivation over the months, but what was new were the cycles of monologue continuously jumping through my mind. That night, I found myself in the midst of a “Chuck Palahnuk-Fight-Club-Narrator” type dialogue. In between the narcissistic thoughts, I found myself thinking “I should write this down.” And so I did. I un-caped a pen, grabbed the blank legal pad I spied sticking out from underneath piles of my father’s bills- and wrote the first thing that came to mind.

“This is a legal pad.” I dropped the pen and sighed. The moment I touched the ink to yellow paper, the monologue seemed to stop mid-stream. Just as I had given up all hope, something strange happened. My then-boyfriend leaned over my shoulder, glanced down and the yellow paper that would come to hold pages all about him, and said “whatcha writing?” In that moment, it was as if Palahnuk himself had screamed “WRITE ANNA, WRITE WITH EVERYTHING YOU HAVE!” I defensively huddled over the page, mumbled a short response, and began to write the most narcissistic thing I’ve written to date, in a kitchen, surrounded by people I loved.

But people change... and that defense and assurance I felt that night was only a foreshadowing of the trouble that followed with my then-boyfriend. As that trouble increased, so did the abundance of nights I found myself turning to the legal pad for answers. I also began frequenting a coffee shop that was open all night. A forty-five minute drive from my father’s house, most nights I found myself gathering the legal pad and a pen, and making the drive by myself without much thought until suddenly, one night, I had company. My first companions name is Benedict, and he had a large hand in making the legal pad so much more than just yellow paper.

Ben found the legal pad and I in pretty poor condition. The legal pad and I were both filled with resentment, words of regret, and animosity. We held no shred of optimism for our future, no single word to suggest that we would ever be okay again. Even though the legal pad looked brand new, and I looked the same, there must have been something unnerving about seeing someone’s ink-and-paper scars. Despite the fact that Ben and I had fallen out of contact, he had agreed to come with me on what I assumed would be a night of indefinite silence.

In certain ways, I was right. We didn’t speak much that night; due to the fact that when I had gone to get more coffee, I returned and found my legal pad laying open just as I had left it moments before. As I picked it up to continue writing, I found that someone had written in the margin of my story. I looked up at him in complete shock-nobody had ever touched the legal pad besides me. “I didn’t look at it. I put a napkin over the words.” I glanced down at the scribbles that adorned the margins of what had once been, a perfect story.

“It took me a few minutes to realize he was writing in the margins...” I deciphered his handwriting bit by bit and slowly realized he had started his own “fictional” story in the margins of mine. “ an idiot...I’m sitting with an idiot.” it concluded. For a second I sat, awestruck that someone else had laid a hand on what was some of my inner most thoughts- let alone tried to write them, and stared. But after a moment, I found myself flipping the page, and writing a response.

The moral of this story: Anna loves college english... a lot.

Song of the night: I'm gonna have to go with Sante Fe' -via the newsies soundtrack.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

My heart breaks every time I read someone else's blog.

So, here I am again-

a cigarette in one hand, the other furiously typing away at my keyboard. Sad songs play in the back ground... they're all I can stand at the moment. It scares me- a playlist full of people I'll never meet, and all of them know me better than I know myself. Lately, some of my kids have picked up blogging again and every time I read their posts, I have this unexplainable urge to just start sobbing. I feel like their problems are partially my fault- I can't be there anymore to lend a shoulder to cry on, or to shove them in the car and just drive... and it kills me. So I've made a playlist entitled "blogging/bed time music" in hopes that every time I put my fingers to the keys, or lay myself down to... well, not exactly sleep, I will have them in mind. I've always been empathetic to other people's pain therefore when my friends hurt, my ability to deal with life drops down considerably. And the kicker? I still miss someone... a lot. To make matters somewhat worse, I found a letter I'd written but will never send, and it continues to bring up valid points that make that hole in my chest get a little bit bigger. The up side to all of this? I'm writing my first english paper about my yellow legal pad. For those of you who know what that is- you may now smile to yourself and chuckle and whisper "jesus, I remember that thing." most of you were ghost writers in that legal pad, and rest assured- you will be included in my paper... as will the rest of you, who can clearly picture me sitting at a table in a certain coffee shop, scribbling monologues and feelings that turned into one giant epic story. Call me pathetic, but I truly believe that torn up,stained legal pad is one of my most prized possessions... but only because those who know about it made it so.

The moral of this story: I have an ink-and-paper best friend.

Song of the night: [yeah, this is new and happening every time I blog.]

Hideaway- Karen-O & The Kids.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

Lessons learned today: when you shoot yourself in the mouth, don't expect your imaginary friends to stick around.

After an intense night of workouts and Fight Club-

I've come to realize this is what college is like. Funny, it's taken me three months to get it through my head that I have friends, obligations, and a life in Pittsburgh. I've spent many a night sitting awake trying to blog for the three of you who pay attention to this thing, and the number of saved drafts I have are ridiculous. As for my last post- I know all three of you are thinking it's about Alex... well, it's not. Maybe it's because I'm preoccupied with class, crazy kids like Becca and Kate, and having an all around college experience... but that hole in my chest doesn't hurt as much as I thought. As much as I can occupy myself, there's still those few hours of down time right before I fall asleep- and they're not exactly easy to deal with. Although I've come to terms with the amount of cigarettes smoked, work out tapes done [oxymoron, right?] and hours wasted on seasons of t.v. shows- I can't exactly ignore the impounding loneliness that creeps up when I least expect it. So if I've been weird I'm sorry. In all honesty, I'm just lonely... and that's that I guess.

The moral of this story: you can't hurt me, cause I'm made of stone.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

The nostalgia I have for summer right now is astounding.

I'm about 89% certian-

that I want you.
I'm also about 90% certian that I have no problem holding out for you.
Now, I've thought this over and I'm about 99.9% certian you won't see this.
Ever.
and I'm 100% okay with that.
But if you happen to stumble across this- then I did something right.

The moral of this story: I should loose a man card for not being able and or man enough to just say it.

Can someone please turn down the chaos?

So lately-

every thing's kind of gone to hell. It's finally hit me that I have less than twenty days left in Ohio and how do I spend them? that's right kids, you guessed it. By sleeping with people I have NO business sleeping with. (although right now that's the least of my problems.) I have papers to fill out for housing, shit to buy, things to pack, people to say goodbye to and the longest standing case of insomnia in the history of my life to cure. Plus my future room mate and best friend is having a really hard time with her boyfriend- and if he doesn't stop being a douche by the time I move in, I'm going to rip his balls off. Truth be told fellow bloggers, I'm terrified of leaving. I thought at first moving away was going to be awesome, but then comes the late hours of the night when I'm awake and thinking about everything I'm leaving behind. I know I'm taking my time here for granted, waking up everyday at one and watching t.v. until my mom/dad comes home and lends me their car for the night. I loathe feeling bored and despondent when I know I have very limited time left to do what's needed to be done. It sort of feels like every thing's falling apart around me, and somehow I'm allowed to just leave and get away Scot-free. Maybe it's the nerves talking. Maybe it's my common sense trying to tell me something. Maybe I'm fucked, either way.

The moral of this story: college=anxiety attacks.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

The perks of being a teenage girl.

Breathe in, breathe out.
Sip your coffee.
Put a dollar in the jukebox, and pick your favorite song.
Pick up a pencil, and write it out.
Fall for the fictional boy.
Stay up late.
Pick out your outfit ahead of time.
Listen to a sad song.
Laugh.
Find your summer "fling."
Crash on your best friend's couch.
Cry.
Find comfort food, way too late at night.
Update your status way too much.
Take solace in your horcruxes.
Go out past midnight.
Find your haven.
Write a breakup song.
Sing obnoxiously to crappy emo love ballads.
Have a sleep over.
Let it go.
...And just like that, I did.

I'm just such a happy mess.

Today, it finally happened-

I finally had that cute little breakdown I was waiting for. I had just dropped off one of my first and only friends in high school, leaving her alone in the Kent Student Center to suffer through waiting in line and awkward conversation, while I foolishly waited around for someone who was long gone. It's funny, I've never had a panic attack before. I've calmed plenty of people down, but never once have I experienced the intense feelings of shortness of breath through a sudden, striking realization. I just want to make a clean escape- I'm leaving, but I don't know where to. I believe this calls for another early morning coffee outing with myself.

The moral of this story: I'm too worn out to think of a moral.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

I have to get this out of my system.

For days on end-

I haven't been able to blog. It's been driving me insane- quite literally. There's so many things I need to get out of my system and there's barely any time left to do it. This isn't about just one person, one situation, one occurrence. This is about three month's worth of experiences, relationships and lessons learned...or not learned. This is about just how hard it is to let something you care about go, and not feel like half of your organs went with it. This is about growing up- becoming an adult and how much it scares me. This is about second chances, the end of an era and the true meaning of "life outside your apartment." This is about my insomnia, and how when it finally does run it's course, I will miss it most of all. So yes, I will think of one of you as a time of day, the time of day when I felt the most alive. And yes, I will think of others as endless hours of coffee and sleep overs and late night food runs. And I will think fondly of someone else as the end of a wonderful era and the beginning of something better...but what does that leave you all to think of me?

The moral of this story: if you walk away, I'll walk away.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

When I do wrong I am with God-she thought

There seems to be some things that need to be said-

and once again, as always- I can't bring myself to say them. I can never explain my "writers" block when it comes to these sorts of things, but I guess it's all in how much experience you have with confronting your fears, and telling the truth. There's a lot to be said about my efforts, but sometimes the effort itself just isn't enough. I'm lacking the nerve to say what needs to be said. In order to take action, and do the right thing- one must be sure that the right thing is what needs to be done. Maybe the right thing is walking away, saying goodbye...or maybe the right thing to do at this very moment, is to crawl back into bed with the J.J.K. and forget for just a little bit longer.

The moral of this story: sleep is for the weak...and maybe, I am the weak.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

I need coffee like addicts need heroin.

I truly believe I may be dying-

from a lack of caffeine intake. At the moment, I swear I'm going through with drawl. I feel shaky,irritable and I'm practically begging anyone on facebook to come out with me. I'm also listening to Bright Eyes at the moment, so that may have something to do with my hostile feelings as well. I believe I may just resign to my old "let's-get-up-at-six-in-the-morning-and-harass-the-kids-opening- Starbucks" idea... but you know, actually go DO it this time...plus, I have a game boy advance with Pokemon Sapphire for the moment, and I might as well take advantage of it...at six in the morning. Alright! my plans for the day have been made! [Let's pretend this never happened, and we can all ignore just how sad it is that I'm excited for this.]

The moral of this story: my life=epic fail at the moment, considering all it takes for me to get excited is Pokemon and early morning lurking.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

What I would give to have an imaginary friend...

What's happening to me-

It's 11:37 and I'm about to crash. What is this nonsense? I haven't slept before 5 A.M. in three months and now suddenly, I'm tired at 11:37!? I'm vaguely insulted...but then again, maybe it's time for my insomnia to right itself. The whole reason it came about in the first place has been fixed-and through my insomnia I have had the privilege of doing some fantastic things...like revisiting friendships I thought had long since died. And above all, it lead me to discover the joy of blogging...but maybe it's time to retire while I'm ahead. Yeah, my past three months have been hard-but at the same time they were absolutely amazing. Without them, I wouldn't have the J.J.K and the closest thing I have to a real life imaginary friend-Tyler. But like the Kling house, my insomnia seems to have done all it could do for me...righted all the wrongs that caused it to spring to life in the first place.I am forever grateful for three months worth of sleepless nights spent in coffee shops across Ohio with anyone I could convince to come out with me. So I would like to say thank you- to anyone who was kind enough to get out of their bed/off their chair to come out and spend the hours in between today and tomorrow with me.Thank you for listening to my stories and reading my blog-thank you for understanding just how much I needed another person at the most awkward of hours.

The moral of this story:

Until next time, stay classy kids.

This is for Fawley, because he reads my blog.

Today, I got free pizza-

for washing my hands in a pizza shop in Highland Square. Technically, I got TWO free pizzas, but who's counting? [I am!] of course the members of the J.J.K. had everything to do with the free pizza and cigarettes I obtained, and that is why love them. After re-reading my last post multiple times, I've come to realize just how big of a part Misdirected had in my life. Band practice became a weekly thing for me-whenever I needed a car all I had to do was say "mom/dad, I have practice tonight." and they'd hand over the keys, tell me to be home at a decent hour if it was during the school week, and let me go. But that period of my life has come and gone, and much like The Orange Street, will be missed terribly. On a much lighter topic, the J.J.K. will once again be terrorizing Lakewood/Cleveland Heights on Monday-so any of you kids who live in and or around either of those areas should make a point to find us and converse for a little while...we'll most likely be at Taco Bell-eating our body weight in cheap Mexican food, The Flower Child-going insane over retro home furnishings, American Apparel-crying over overpriced hoodies, or Common Grounds- smoking our lives away and drinking copious amounts of bad ass coffee.

The moral of this story: The J.J.K. is everything you wish you could be.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

And then suddenly- my life exploded.

First and foremost-

I apologize to the two people who read my blog enough to realize it's been four days since I've updated...but what an epic four days it has been. I've spent a lot of time with the J.J.K. frolicking about Lakewood and causing general mayhem all over northeastern Ohio. I've also spent a lot of time with people I never thought I could waste my sleepless hours with. Call it irony or foreshadowing or whatever you want, but that includes Al. Tonight was Misdirected Aggression's last show as a band and of course as soon as I saw the event on Facebook, I hit "attending" and memorized the date. I figured at most, it would just be a great house show and an awesome way to end an era...but it was something more. Now I've always known that the house on Kling had some sort of magical ability- weather it was to bring people together at the right time or to act as a catalyst I'll never really know. But something about seeing that house for the last time brought back a wave of nostalgia that nearly knocked me over. I had been absent from the Kling house since May...maybe early June. I struggled to remember the last band practice I had attended and my mind came up blank...how could I have stayed away from Kling for so long? I ran up the steps, saw Mandi, and quite nearly knocked her off her feet. I hugged her and waved at Jeff until my eyes found Al. We observed each other for a moment, waved, and then I proceeded to walk outside and smoke a cigarette with the "K" of the J.J.K.- Allison. Misdirected continued to play their last set, and as something inside of me died, something else was reborn from the ashes. I felt...proud. Proud of the boys I'd known for so little time. The house had worked it's magic on me, and it was time to let it do the same for someone else. Misdirected Aggression is no more and the closure that came with their end is an utter relief. I will always miss the Kling house- all the memories associated with my time spent there are some of the best ever. There will always be pictionary, ciabatta bread, house shows, first kisses, and "come back" notes to revisit in my mind...and I will always have some Misdirected Agression for the rest of my life.

The moral of this story: the world is not waiting for three boys and a broken down van.

Until next time, stay classy kids.