annarosewriting - Tumblr blog

[annarosewriting]

alive

There are moments in life when you realize how good it is to be alive. 

Sometimes they’re small moments. 

Sometimes they’re big.

Sometimes they’re mundane.

Sometimes they’re special.

For me, these moments always happen at concerts.

I’ve been to 50+ concerts at this point. Probably more. And there are only a handful of artists that are able to get me to be completely in the moment and realize that life is going to be okay.  

AJR and Misterwives are two of those bands.

Mandy’s stage presence is something I could write novels about. Her infectious smile, her gravelly voice, her red hair blooming from the top of tulle and sparkles and diamond clips. 

It all comes together to create this package that’s almost like a butterfly landing on your shoulder. The way she smiles, the genuine joy and overwhelm she feels when she looks out at the audience. 

The audience was cheering so hard for Misterwives at one point during their Columbus show that they had to stop and wait for us to calm down. 

The whole time, Mandy was smiling so wide and tears were in her eyes. And I felt at that moment how deep her passion and joy ran for doing what she does. 

AJR is another band that has this affect on me. The sibling dynamic, the lights, the way they all dance like absolute madmen.

The way each of their songs is a banger. 

The way they interact with their fans and the way their shows are half concert, half Broadway show. 

Bleachers! God damn I know I always say it but there’s something about screaming “I WANT TO GET BETTER” in the middle of a field with hundreds of other people and Jack Antonoff running up and down the stage like his life depends on it is cathartic in a way no therapy session ever is. 

Harry Styles, of course. In that hour and a half time period I was not in my own life, I was living in Harry’s world and everything was SAFE. 

But, there’s something magical about Misterwives and AJR. I try not to be too much of an asshole about my music recommendations but, I’m going to be this time. 

If you haven’t had the joy of seeing either of those bands in a small venue...fuck...it’s indescribable. 

During both of those shows I had several moments where I was not in my own head for once. I wasn’t focus on anything other than dancing and screaming my heart out.

It didn’t matter I had been ghosted. 

Again.  

It didn’t matter that my love wasn’t enough. 

It didn’t matter that my job chews me up and spits me out and makes me feel less than in every way possible.  

It didn’t matter that sometimes there seemed to be only one way out from the darkness. 

All of a sudden, seeing these band members do what they love the most, being in a room full of people loving them right back and feeding off their energy? It all went away and all that was left was the moment. 

The bass in my chest, the floor rumbling beneath my feet as the stomps and jumping from people made the building shake. The sweat dripping down as I moved my body in a way that I thought was dancing but probably looked like I was having a small stroke. 

It was just the music and me and this band that I love and that was all that mattered. 

That was how big the world needed to be and fuck. I finally felt okay. I finally felt like things were going to work out and that maybe there are some things to keep living for. 

And live music will always be one of them. 

[annarosewriting]

the chaotic energy of Spotify wrapped.

Y’all smell that? 

It’s the smell of another Spotify Wrapped Season upon us. 

And I, for one, am ECSTATIC. 

I thought I had a pretty good idea of what my Spotify Wrapped would include. Harry, obviously. A lot of songs from my lifting playlist. Some Taylor Swift, the usual. But then I remembered Bo “Could I Interest You in Everything All of the Time” Burnham came out with Inside this year. 

And all of a sudden I was having flashbacks to how many times Bezos I was played at top volume in my car driving to work and I knew that my playlist was FUCKED. 

But that’s not what’s important here. 

I fucking L O V E Spotify Wrapped season. 

It’s truly the most wonderful time of the year and I don’t CARE how many goddamn Instagram stories or tweets I see of people sharing their Spotify Wrapped. I love it!!!! Text it to me directly for all I care!! I’ll talk to you about your favorite music all day long!!!!

There are all these memes about how people are scared to expose themself with their Spotify Wrapped and like...you fools. You absolute buffoons. Honking your big clown noses. 

Spotify Wrapped playlists are the best way to get to the heart of who someone is. 

I’m obsessed with all of my Spotify Wrapped playlists. Each one is like it’s own time capsule into what was going on in my life during that year. What I was thinking, feeling, doing. What mattered to me most and what music sparked joy. What music made me feel, what music helped heal me, what music did I play over and over in my car as I drove all over Ohio. 

My 2016 Spotify Wrapped? Just the Hamilton soundtrack. Not really but it might as well have been.  

2017 Spotify Wrapped is a confusing blend. It’s show tunes and Lizzo’s Good as Hell which was the first song of Lizzo’s I ever heard. Kiwi by Harry Styles makes an appearance. His debut album had come out that year and it was all I listened to to show my support. The Gilmore Girls theme song mingles with hits from the movie Baby Driver that are nestled next to Tkay Maidza. 

The 2018 Spotify Wrapped playlist is a little more cohesive. Still more show tunes than I liked to admit but Dua Lipa’s New Rules helped to remind me to let go of the past. Magic in the Hamptons by Social House and Lil Yachty was the only thing playing in my car that summer as I drove all over the country. Pynk by Janelle Monet was on there as well because...well...why wouldn’t it be? 

2019 was the entirety of thank, u next because jesus that’s a good album.  Choice hits from Lizzo’s debut album comingle with the entirety of Neotheatre by AJR as I learned how to be a working adult. The Into the Spiderverse soundtrack is on there as the main motivator I have to work out. 

My 2020 Spotify Wrapped is just Fine Line by Harry Styles, because of course. The Birds of Prey soundtrack as I started to get more into lifting. Selena Gomez’s Rare album helped me to get out of, and thrive, from a relationship where I felt unappreciated and stuck. And WAP. Because, again, of course. 

People can talk shit about Spotify Wrapped playlists all they want. They can deride the people who share the information on social media but I adore it. It tells me so much about people. 

Music is something that is so personal. It soothes, it heals, it motivates, it focuses. It makes you fall in and out of love. It’s there for you no matter what. And in the past year when we’ve all been through some shit, it’s nice to have a tangible reminder of what we went through and what music and artists helped us through. 

It’s about taking stock of what happened over the past year and thinking, okay, it was tough but I made it through and here’s why and how. It’s taking those experiences and having something tangible you can look at and marvel at how strong you were. 

There’s a sense of community as well. It’s showing a piece of yourself to others and saying this is how I love, this is how I process, this is how I view the world. Can you see any of that within yourself as well? 

For me, i’s so much more than just a playlist or a screenshot once a year. It’s the unveiling of who you truly are as a person. 

And sometimes what the playlist tells me is that I’m a simp for Harry Styles.  

[annarosewriting]

Holy Ground is the best Taylor Swift song.

I refuse to back down from this point.

“But All Too Well!!” you cry, which, yeah, I hear you. In the past few months I have screamed-sang that bad boy way too much while the line “You call me up again just to break me like a promise” hits a little too close to home.  

Holy Ground is still the best Taylor Swift song. 

The rolling guitars! The fast paced lyrics! The jaunty melody! The way it makes me want to slap my knee and do a jig! It’s a perfect sunny fall day song!

It’s speeding along the highway, windows down, the trees changing colors, the promise of a new season starting and the feeling that, just for a moment, life truly is so, so good. 

And the LYRICS. Don’t even get me STARTED.

And I guess we fell apart in the usual way/and the story’s got dust on every page/but sometimes I wonder how you think about it now/and I see your face in every crowd. 

I mean, what a poetic way to say “what we had was great. However. It’s over now but I still think about you. Do you still think about me?”

This song is the closest that Swift ever gets to rapping. Tripping over her words to keep up with the melody, to keep up with how the relationship went by too fast. 

It’s interesting because the first few times I listened to this song, I just assumed it was a love song. 

And it is, but not in the traditional way.  

It’s a reflection on a relationship that started out more amazing than you could have ever imagined. That seemed like it would be the one to stick. But then, it ended. Blame it on timing. Blame it on incompatible personalities. Blame it on a global pandemic. Whatever it was. It just...didn’t work. 

But it still doesn’t change the fact that the relationship was special in that period of your life. It doesn’t erase the memories you made with a person at different places. That when you step into those places after ending things, your heart seizes up for a moment.  

When you step into the coffee shop you went to together on weekends. The restaurants, the bars, the places you visited on vacation, hell, even the goddamn grocery store. All of these places that have this person’s heart in them because that person had your heart at that time and you thought “There’s no way this will end.” 

But then you go back to those places. Alone. 

It’s a new experience but it still feels holy. Because something magical was happening in those spaces. 

I know people talk a lot about how magical and miraculous babies are and yeah! They absolutely are! I totally understand that. But, people have babies every day. We’re biologically designed to have babies. 

To me, personally, what’s really miraculous is looking at someone in a room and knowing they see you. And despite knowing and seeing all of your worst parts, all of the hard edges you try to soften every day. They get you. 

They love you.

And they choose you and you choose them and you both wake up every morning and keep choosing each other and fighting for this little bit of paradise. 

That’s a miracle.

And it’s hard to forget that miracle as you stand in that spot. Clenching your hand trying to forget the feeling of how easily yours slid into theirs. And you realize this place will always be special. Will always feel holy because something incredible happened in this space. 

Someone got you. Someone loved you. Someone looked at you with so much love in their eyes that it made you want to drop to your knees and either propose to them or start a religion in their honor. 

And that’s hard to wipe away. 

It’s sad at first, visiting this place that was so special to you both. But then, in time, it’s just another memory. Another way to tie that person to your history. 

And maybe in time, there will be someone else that makes a new spot feel like holy ground. 

Or maybe it’ll be you who makes a spot feel like holy ground. All on your own.

And Swift is able to take that feeling and condense it down to three minutes and 22 seconds.  

To look at a past relationship, hold it up to the light and examine it with love and appreciation. To mourn what it could have been but to celebrate it for what it was. 

And that’s why Holy Ground is the best Taylor Swift song. 

[annarosewriting]

Harry Styles said rump and I passed on from this mortal coil.

“For the next 90 minutes our job is to entertain you and we will do our absolute best to do so. But you also have a job; to have as much fun as possible. To sing. To dance. To feel free to do whatever it is you want to do and to be who you have always wanted to be. LET’S GO.” 

This is the monologue Harry Styles has opened every single one of his live shows with since Live on Tour in 2017. And to hear it again for Love on Tour, after the pandemic, after isolating, after no live music, after a year and a half of heartbreak and sadness; hearing those words again was the release the crowd needed to open the floodgates and release every emotion we’ve been holding in. 

Part of it is the excitement of live music being back. Being back in an arena. Feeling the ebb and flow of energy of thousands of people coming together for our shared love of this one individual. 

The other part of it is the energy Harry Styles himself brings. 

I am not kidding that the charm and charisma Styles possesses is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. And it makes you UNHINGED.

When Styles rose up from that stage, my body was possessed by a whole other individual. 

I got that first glimpse of those infamous brown curls as all six feet of Styles appears from beneath the stage and I let loose a scream at a decibel I had not been able to hit since I was 16 and I’m pretty sure it caused hearing damage to everyone around me.

Styles at one point talked about his ass and I swear to G O D it was like I had never talked to a man before in my life. Like I had been living in a nunnery for 26 years, saw a man’s ankle and the sexual energy of it all made me lose total control of my body. 

Oh my god and don’t get me started about when he smirked at the crowd after having us sing to him “just let me adore you” and he shrugged, looking for all the world like a cherub in a Botticelli painting and intoned, “If you insist!” and he’s off. Flying to the other side of the stage on the wave of screams as every single individual in the arena has a meltdown at the possibility. 

There’s a point in every Styles concert where he takes a break from dancing and singing like a madman to read the signs in the audience. At the Cleveland show, he had been talking to one fan about how it was her half birthday and explaining to her, “No, we will not be singing for you my friend. It is six months away!” when he trailed off. Lips quirked, eyes sparkling, surveying the crowd. When he finally came back to the fan in front of him he apologized.

“Sorry. I lost my train of thought. Some of these signs are dirty!” Cue the total collapse of everyone’s brain in there. 

“It’s a Monday! My goodness!” he exclaimed as he pretended to fan himself but the entire time he was smiling. Basking in the love, the energy, the way that he could interact with us, finally, after being away for a year.

That’s the magic of Styles. His charisma, his charm, his humor and the way he loves and plays with his audience because he knows we’ll play right back.

While the energy that Styles himself exudes is one that has been discussed ad naseum, I’d like to posit that what really makes Styles stand out is the relationship he has with his fans. 

More importantly, the respect he has for us. His fanbase is largely young women, and when he discusses them, and his boyband past, he has nothing but awe and admiration for us. He gets it. He knows teenage girls are the real tastemakers in this backwater country.

Teen girls were the ones who thrust Elvis to fame, The Beatles, BTS; the power of young women to make or break pop acts is unparalleled and something to both fear and respect.

And Styles knows he’s lucky. Knows that the love his fans have for him can switch. So he’s taking his time soaking it all up. At every live show, the louder the screams get, the more Styles gives back. And the more Styles gives back to us, the louder the screams. It’s a call and response that makes you wonder, just for a moment, if Styles is a higher power.

And because Styles’ image has been cultivated to where we feel he’s being authentic and vulnerable with us, every single fan at a Styles show is given that same grace and dignity to be their authentic self.

It’s boa feathers littering linoleum floors till it looks like a hit and run happened with Big Bird. It’s makeup being worn by everyone in the crowd. It’s Pride flags and Black Lives Matters flags being waved around. It’s a fan in a banana costume running around the perimeter of the pit with a rainbow flag causing a wave of screams to crest and fall as we wait for Styles to take the stage. It’s fans turning to one another giving a warning that they might cry or hit you as they rock out and it’s you laughing and saying you’d be shocked if they didn’t do any of those things. It’s everyone screaming when Olivia by One Direction plays and knowing every word, linking arms with the person closest to them and holding on for dear life as the summertime and butterflies all belong to our creation.

It’s the energy that’s been cultivated by his fan base that makes these concerts so special. The “woman’s bar bathroom on a Saturday night” frenzied energy of compliments being thrown around with reckless abandon, sharing makeup tips and best friendships built and forgotten in the span of several hours. 

It’s the feeling of knowing you’ll be accepted just as you are. Because we’re all here for the same reason. We’re all here for just one night to forget about our lives and to live out our 70′s groupie fantasies as Harry Styles asks us to just adore him.  

I understand that Style’s music isn’t for everyone. I know there are some people out there who are buried so deep in internalized misogyny that they’ll never give Styles a chance because he was in a boyband or because he paints his fingernails or some other bullshit.

But, fuck. I’ve been to a lot of concerts. All genres, all venues, and nothing compares to a Harry Styles concert. Nothing.

And being in that energy. In that positivity. In that audience where everyone is truly free to be themselves, it makes you really believe that we’ll be alright.

[annarosewriting]

hello again

It’s been a while. 

I missed this. 

I missed writing. 

I missed the feeling of having so many thoughts and ideas that my fingers crave a keyboard. Hoping that if I make them physical, it’ll bring me peace of mind. Or others will realize they aren’t alone in this world. 

That’s what I missed most, I think. 

I missed the connection. 

Because that’s all art is. 

Art connects us. It makes us feel less alone. 

I like to think of it as handprints in cement. 

This whole world is just one big square of wet cement. And while we’re all waiting around to die, we’re standing at the edge of this square and thinking “how can I leave my mark on this?” 

It’s overwhelming at times because you know that whatever you put into this cement will last forever. But there’s the added pressure of knowing you only have so much time to leave an impact before the cement dries and it’s too late.  

And how inexplicably human is it to see something that will become permanent and to think “I need to let everyone know I was here.”

When I sit down and write, it’s my imprint into that cold dampness. To leave my own little permanence on this world. It’s gratifying to write and share something and have people say things like “I feel that way too!” 

Maybe my writing will stand the test of time. Maybe one day more than my friends and family will read it. Maybe it’ll touch more people’s lives than I can ever imagine. 

Or maybe someone will read these words years from now and see themselves reflected back and laugh because, god, being human is the same no matter where you are. 

It’s funny to read what I’ve written in the past. Writing is so permanent and not all at once. The most vulnerable you’ll ever be and the most guarded.  

Writing is something where you get to edit, and edit again, and edit some more to make sure every word is perfect. But then you’ll inevitably go back, days, weeks or months later and think “Ah, fuck. That was an idiotic thing to write. What I should have said was...” 

There’s also the control about how much you reveal. I could talk about an incredibly vulnerable topic that affects me directly but could edit it so I wasn’t actually sharing anything of worth. 

But I think that’s unfair. 

Creating, in any way, is a vulnerable practice. Writing especially. I believe you do a disservice to your audience if you’re not writing about what’s important to you, what’s real to you. 

Audience’s are very good at sniffing out what’s disingenuous and what’s not. And I know that I connect more with an author when I can tell what they’ve written was difficult for them to do but ultimately helped them to heal in ways big and small.  

I also think there’s power in being vulnerable. In sharing emotions and experiences that when prodded are still tender. But that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? 

It’s about shouting into this void, the void of the Internet, the void of social media, the void of human existence, to say “I have loved and felt and hurt in this way. Can anyone else commiserate?” 

And someone’s hand pops out of that void like a life raft to say “Yes, I’ve also loved and lost and hurt in this way. You’re not alone in this.”

We forget so easily that humans are sociable creatures by nature. We’re inclined to help each other. To look out for one another and to form connections. 

It’s what makes this existence worth while on this floating rock in space. 

It’s what makes me want to write again. 

It’s what brings me back to blank pages and slogging through first and second and tenth drafts. To writers block and questioning if my writing is even good or worthwhile or will make a difference. 

It’s the hope that someone will see these words in some way and breath a sigh of relief that they aren’t as alone as they thought they were. 

That I can be that helping hand in the vastness of existence to ground someone to reality again.  

I hope that you’ll join me. That you’ll read these words. 

That you’ll hear what I have to say. 

That we can all be vulnerable together. 

I wish I could say I had a theme for what I’ll be writing about. That I have a schedule in mind. That everything I write will be profound and shake the ground with it’s righteousness. 

But I’m just one person. 

And I really like talking about pop culture. And Harry Styles. And Bucky Barnes. 

So, maybe I’ll write about whatever I want to write about.

And maybe that will be enough. 

So.

Hello, again.

I hope you’ll stick around. 

[annarosewriting]

treat people with kindness. except republicans.

It’s the strangest thing. 

I keep seeing these weird calls to people on the left to be empathetic and to not be rude to Republicans. 

And I’d like to bring to the stand my counter argument. 

*presses lips directly against the microphone*

Fuck your calls for us to be “nice”. 

Fuck your calls for “we can be happy but we shouldn’t be mean.”

Fuck your ideology of “be nice to a republican today because we know how they’re feeling today back in 2016.”

Fuck your “you’re no better than them by being obnoxious” because...I’ve never locked a child in a cage or actively worked to take rights away from minorities so I can safely say I am better than all Republicans!!!!

Are you fucking kidding me with this?

I’m not waiting a goddamn second to take the chance to dunk on every Trump supporter, every Republican and Trump himself. I’m rejoicing in their sorrow today, tomorrow and when Trump dies??

Party at my place. You’re all invited. 

These absolute monsters didn’t wait a goddamn second to start committing hate crimes and to push their ass backwards, disgusting White Nationalist agenda so I’m not waiting a fucking SECOND to let Republicans, the same heartless monsters who would rather see BIPOC, LGBTQ+ and women dead than they would see us have rights, have time to mourn. 

I’m MAD. 

I’m PISSED. 

And I’m fucking ready to make Republicans scared again

Because do you know what being mean has gotten Republicans? 

EVERYTHING.

It got them the highest seat of power in the whole country! 

It got them the House, the Senate and the ability to stack the highest court in the land with rapists and women who are so unbelievably under qualified for the position it’s making me believe that I can be the next CEO of Apple just because I can operate an iPhone faster than my 80 year old grandma.  

It got them the ability to push their own fucked agenda through.

It got them the ability to block any sort of remotely progressive legislature. 

I’m so goddamn sick of seeing Moderates and Democrats saying “don’t be mean”, “lead with empathy” and I will never forgive Michelle Obama for that fucking “when they go low, we go high” quote because for me, that was the final hall pass for Democrats to be spineless, to not fight back, for them to roll over and play dead but with a rainbow flag emoji.

Do you want to know how to lead with empathy? How to fight back against this uprising of White Nationalist Bullshit?

It’s to go low.

It’s to hit them where it hurts and to not put up with their shit anymore. 

It’s to get mad and to use that anger to make your voice heard and to disrupt society so we can make it a better place for Black people, for Indigenous people, for the Trans community, for the LGBTQ+ community, for women. 

That’s what leading with empathy is about. That’s being kind.

You want me to be nice to a Republican? Like, for as little as one dollar a day I can sponsor a Republican while they weep into their MAGA hat that they can’t be openly racist, sexist and terrible?

I think I’ll hold onto that dollar then, thanks for the suggestion though!!!!

I’m going to be mean but I’m going to be mean so we can get some good out of these next four years and however long we’ve got left on this Earth. 

I’m going to be mean so people can get a livable wage. 

I’m going to be mean so people don’t have to worry that their rights will be in jeopardy every four years. 

I’m going to be mean so Black people don’t keep getting shot by the cops.

I’m going to be mean so universal healthcare will be implemented in this country.

I’m going to be mean so we can FINALLY fucking take climate change seriously and make big changes to save this goddamn planet that I’ve become so attached to. 

I’m going to be mean so we can wipe out student dept. (Looking at u, Liz Warren. You’re my boo.) 

I’m going to be mean so we can actually advance as a society and we don’t have old chuckle fucks scratching their balls and wondering, “do women deserve rights?”

And I will be mean to Republicans all damn day and I will relish in it because they’ve been nothing but mean to us for years and I’m done rolling over and playing dead. 

I’m mad and I’m angry and I’m using that to fuel my fire and to keep fighting for systematic change. 

So. 

Shove your weird ass calls to be nice. 

I’m gonna be mean. 

Because it seems that’s how shit gets done in this country. 

[annarosewriting]

no new normal

Everyone keeps talking about things going back to normal.

“Can’t wait for this to be over so things can go back to normal!” 

“I just want things to be normal again!” 

Here’s the thing, I don’t want “normal.” 

Especially if it means we can all stop going to Standard Hall and pretending like it’s a good bar.

(It’s not.)

But for real, I don’t want what society considered to be “normal” to come back. 

I don’t want people to go back to spending half of their days commuting when it’s clear lots of them can do their jobs remotely. 

I don’t want us to go back to going into work, despite being sick, because we’re scared of getting fired. 

I don’t want everyone to get complacent about us having our healthcare tied to our jobs when it’s clear that’s a faulty system. (And that most jobs don’t even offer healthcare.)

I don’t want to go back to us worshipping celebrities (except for Harry Styles) when the only thing the majority of them did to help was sing “Imagine” which, G O D. 

I don’t want us to be complacent with how things are when apparently we can just dump money to bail out Wall Street but god forbid we put money into affordable healthcare, helping the homeless or any other program that desperately needs funding to help others. 

More than anything, I want this to help us change. 

I want there to be laws that go into effect that raise the minimum wage so we can pay essential workers WAY more money. 

I want there to be laws that make healthcare accessible to all and not tied into someone’s employment. 

I want us to fucking FINALLY realize that the people who are making millions are the enemies. 

I want us to start caring about human beings more than we care about profit. 

I want us to become more compassionate. I want us to become more caring. I want us to look around and realize that every single goddamn person in this country deserves access to healthcare, food, a home and to all of the basic needs that fall in the bottom level of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. 

When this started I couldn’t figure out why I was so sad all the time. 

But as more and more news stories came in about the death toll climbing, unemployment rising, people not wearing masks or protesting outside of capitols because they want to sit in the warm glow of an Applebee’s dining room, it made me realize that people really, truly do not give a shit about others. 

Compassion and caring is not in abundance in this country as it is and the fact that we’ve reacted to a global pandemic by protesting? By yelling and screaming because we want to walk around the aisles of a Target and disassociate? It makes me so fucking frustrated I want to bash some skulls to get people to be nicer to each other. 

I know, I know. Violence doesn’t make for more compassionate laws but FUCK. Something’s gotta give and if shit doesn’t start changing for the better after this, my patience is gonna give and, much like 1920′s jazz music, I’m gonna start swinging. 

Look, we’re in a global pandemic. We have no idea how long this is going to go on for but we might as well grit our teeth, buckle down, and do the right thing. It sucks. It does. But you want to know a secret? 

This isn’t about you or me or any one person. 

Surprise! 

We’re doing this for the GREATER GOOD. For those that have died because of this disease, for those that are high risk and for those that are working tirelessly to find a cure. We’re doing this to save lives. It’s not as flashy as a Marvel movie sure, but we can’t always expect America’s Ass™ to show up to fix everything, can we? 

But boy, wouldn’t that be nice. 

What does matter is how we move forward from this. We need to change and fight for what’s important. We can’t keep being complacent and looking the other way when others need our help. For once, we all need to consider others more than we consider ourselves (myself included). 

We all need to start thinking about what policies we need to support to make sure essential workers get the compensation they deserve. What local businesses we want to support. How we all need to stop shopping at Amazon. (Seriously. Cut it out. Bezos is *Jean Ralphio voice* the woOOooOOoOOorRRrrRst.) 

We need to start thinking about what we can do as a country to help those that need our help the most. How we can vote to help the greater good, 

Think seriously about what policies need to be put in place, what organizations we can support, or even start, to help change things for the better in this country, who we can vote for that will help bring about these changes. (It’s damn sure not going to be any Republican, I can tell you that much.) 

But the next time you think, “Hmm, perhaps I’ll go to Standard Hall and completely disregard all the hard work we’ve done over the past few months.” I’m gonna need you to imagine Dr. Acton descending in an ethereal cloud of glitter as she slaps you with a face mask and tells you to stay six feet away from others, you MENACE.

[annarosewriting]

Def Leppard is a Good Band you guys are just Mean

I’ve been on a classic rock kick.

And an 80′s music kick.

And a Queen kick.

And a Janis Joplin kick.

And a-I think you all get the point. 

I feel like I’m behind. 

Most people have had their Classic Rock phase by now. From what I remember, most people have theirs in middle school. Remember? Middle school? Where we all try to be cooler than we actually are? The PERFECT time to get into old school rock and roll and be pretentious assholes about it. 

I blame it on my need to always have a group of British Men to be obsessed with.  

I saw Bohemian Rhapsody, remembered how much Queen slaps and then looked up pictures of them in the 70′s, thought to myself, “huh, that little blond bitch is pretty cute” and we were off to the races. 

A Day At The Races, if you will. 

I worked through their whole discography while at work. From their first album, dripping with unrestrained enthusiasm and hope, their long and winding journey spread out before them, stars in their eyes and the hope that this time, this record deal, will stick. All the way to Made in Heaven, which is an excellent album oozing with melancholy. Freddie’s voice is there but his presence, his spirit, is decidedly missing leaving a gaping hole that the three members left behind are trying to patch up the only way they know how. 

Through music. 

And isn’t that the wild thing about music? 

We *gestures to all of society* use music as a healing tool. A way to process emotions. To reach out into the vastness of human experience, to grasp these few notes and sigh that finally, someone understands what I’m going through.

But the artists, the bands use it as a healing tool as well. Making it all the more incredible.

Queen used it to heal from Freddie’s passing. 

Bowie used it as a final love note to his fans before his untimely passing. 

Janis used it as a way to escape from herself. 

Elton used it to hide his real self then used it to present his real self.

Kurt used it as a way to make sense of the noise in his head.

And then they put their pain, their loss, confusion, happiness, love, lust, sadness, depression, highs, lows, drug-addled ramblings, messages of hope and faith out into the world and trust us *gestures wildly to the entire mass of humanity* to take care of it. To make it our own. To listen, really listen, and in doing so, giving them, these untouchable icons, the knowledge that they aren’t alone either. 

These Classic Rock songs are classic for a reason I think. 

Obviously all of those artists are insanely talented and were doing things that no one else had ever done before which helped. But, I also believe it’s because there’s something so intensely human and vulnerable in all of these songs. In the lyrics and in the association’s people have built with these artists and their body of work. 

Janis singing about Mercedes Benz’s and nights on the town helped me get closer to my grandma. And learned that she started drinking Southern Comfort because of Janis, which, shit, go off Grandma. 

September by Earth, Wind and Fire? My first thought is always the countless times my dad and I have danced in my childhood home to that song as a Goof and then about two minutes in, cursing that we picked such a long fucking song to Goof to. 

That fucking saxophone solo in Born to Run?? Anyone else want to escape from their mining town and run away with their high school sweetheart wearing far too much light wash denim? 

Who else can one hundred percent feel Freddie Mercury’s very soul in their being as they sing “I don’t wanna die/I just wish I’d never been born at all” in Bohemian Rhapsody? (Bonus points if you’re really Going Through It and that line hits just a little too close to home.)

Listening to Leaving Home by The Beatles the first day after moving out of your parents house. 

Feeling like you need to kick some serious ass whenever Back in Black by AC/DC plays through the speakers. 

Jimi Hendrix’s sick guitar licks making you really wish that you had some pot so you could really get his music, man. 

All You Need is Love reminding me of my mom and how that was the main maxim she taught me and my siblings to live our life by. 

I’ve bonded with co-workers, strangers, loved ones, friends and just about everyone through classic rock and that’s really what it’s all about. 

Bringing people together, helping all of us feel less alone, giving us some great songs to air guitar too.

And maybe I’m reading too much into this. 

Maybe I’m just some 24-year old dancing around in her apartment to Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen and feeling a little too optimistic about life and how much is spread before me and the saxophone solo is just hitting a little different after a White Claw or two. 

But maybe next time a Classic Rock song plays on the radio, we take a second and think about all the millions of people that that same song has affected. 

All the memories connected to that song, some our own but so many others belonging to everyone else on this planet.

And we turn it all the way up to eleven. 

[annarosewriting]

No, I don’t think I’ll post that Transformation Tuesday pic, thanks.

I've lost weight. 

When I went to my doctor appointment in August, they told me I had lost 15 pounds since the last time I was in there. 

Which, okay, that's very fun. But here's the thing, I hate hearing numbers about my weight. 

I don't even look at the number on the scale at my doctor's office. I literally look up at the ceiling because it's a huge trigger for me and if the number is higher than I think it should be it will send me spiraling for several weeks and no one wants that. 

And now that I'm in my own place, I've probably lost more weight based on the fact that I subsist on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, all my clothes are way too big on me and that I still run, lift, do HIIT, practice yoga daily and walk everywhere. 

Which, why do people in Ohio think walking everywhere is so weird? I told co-workers I walk to work some days because it's only a 40 minute walk and everyone acted like I told them I was training to be on America Ninja Warrior. IT'S JUST WALKING, IT'S NOT WEIRD, LET ME LIVE. 

And like, that's cool! I like doing all these things, I don't like cooking and so losing weight is just what's gonna happen in these here parts. 

I've also started taking way more mirror selfies and in doing so, I realized that, yes, my body has changed. So, I was scrolling through old pictures of myself on my phone and I thought, as most millennial's do, I should post a transformation tuesday picture on the 'gram! That would be fun! And then write a caption about how numbers and losing weight aren't all it's cracked up to be, inspire people, it'll go viral! I'll become an Influencer! It'll be great! and other totally normal, non-weird thoughts like that. 

And I was finding pictures and editing them and then it came time to post them and I just...could not do it, gang. I couldn't hit that post button because, I don't know, it didn't feel like me anymore. 

I was looking at pictures of what my body used to look like and I couldn't find it in me to post a picture that would try to paint that body in a negative light. I wrote a lot about how that body in that particular time was worthy. It seemed like a huge diss to myself. It didn't line up with everything I've ever talked about, wrote about or tried to forgive myself for doing in the past. 

Also, there was nothing wrong with what I used to look like! That body kept me alive and moving, it started running, started a yoga practice, started lifting and it got me jobs, dates, love, and a lot of other things. 

I think, no matter how good my intentions were for wanting to post a transformation Tuesday picture, it still boiled down to me wanting to brag about how I felt I looked better. That I was better, more worthy of attention and love, more beautiful, than the woman I looked like a year ago. It felt, dishonest and that I was letting down my patron saint of body positivity, Megan Jayne Crabb. 

I also think, we, meaning society as a whole, place a lot of emphasis on "glow ups" and "transformation" pictures especially with the end of the decade upon us. We are so harsh on our younger selves for no good goddamn reason. 

We were all trying our best when we were younger! We're going to look back on pictures we take now in about five years and think what the hell and also fuck were we thinking? and then yell at our parents for letting us leave the house looking like that. 

Sunrise, sunset. The world keeps turning and society keeps making questionable fashion decisions that we all blindly follow. Like tiny sunglasses. What the f u c k gang. 

But for me, posting a transformation Tuesday picture at this point in my life feels like me aggressively pointing at my younger self and loudly saying "HEY! HEY, EVERYONE. LOOK HOW UGLY I WAS BACK THEN BUT LOOK HOW GOOD I LOOK NOW!" and then grabbing the nearest passerby by the shoulders and shaking them, telling them to tell me I'm pretty. 

And honestly, my younger self didn't need that! She doesn't need that! I look at pictures of myself when I was young and my heart breaks for her! I want to hug her and tell her everything will work out and to be nicer to her family and friends. 

I think being mean and harsh to who we used to be, whether that be us from 10 years ago, five years ago, a week ago or even a day or hour ago, isn't worth it. 

We need to be kinder to ourselves. To recognize that no matter what stage we're at in our lives, how we feel about "the old us", they're still deserving of love, sympathy and respect. 

So yeah, I think my social feeds are gonna be free of transformation pictures for the foreseeable future, just to be kinder to my younger self.

Except for the younger me who had a bowl cut. That little nerd needed her ass kicked. 

[annarosewriting]

80′s Jams

Do you ever listen to a song? 

And you feel everything so intensely?

It feels like your heart is breaking but mending itself immediately after breaking and you’re remembering things and places and people and events that have already happened or will happen and you think about all the lives that you could be living and the lives that you are no longer living and all of the people living a life that you will never understand and all at once the world is so wide but not big enough to possibly contain all these stories and you feel nostalgic for something but you’re not sure what but all you know is there’s a tugging in your heart and you might cry but you also want to relish in this feeling because for the first time in a long time you actually F E E L?

That’s how I feel every time I listen to certain 80′s songs or songs that have a vaguely 80′s feel to them. 

I don’t know if it’s the synths, the lyrics or me thinking about my own mom listening to those songs when she was my age but god DAMN I feel so vulnerable when I listen to those songs. 

It’s such a strange phenomenon. It’s only for certain songs and if someone were to score my life these songs would be playing when I make a big life changing decision or it would be a montage of me going out in The City with neon lights and slow motion dancing in underground clubs.  

But that’s what’s so great about music. Finally having a soundtrack to those weird, big feelings that crop up in your 20′s. Realizing that others feel the same way you do, having an outlet to let those feelings out. 

It helps. It’s cathartic. It’s what music is all about. 

So anyway, here are some of the songs that invoke That Feeling in me, I hope you like them. 

Everybody Wants to Rule the World: Tears for Fears

Dance With U: Staring in Spaces

Don’t Go Changing: Aly & AJ (All of Sanctuary invokes this feeling tbh)

Saturdays: Twin Shadow feat. HAIM

May I Have This Dance: Francis and the Lights

Dancing Around: Flor

Space Age Love Song: A Flock of Seagulls

I Melt With You: Modern English

Heroes: David Bowie

The Promise: When in Rome

[annarosewriting]

Eat Your Vegetables and the Rich

I recently read an article that quoted a woman who’s a CEO of some company based in LA. I don’t remember the name of this individual nor the company but I do remember what she said when asked how she got to where she was:

“If you’re strategic about when you sleep, when you shower and how often you go to the bathroom, anyone can do it.”

Motherfucker, what.

I’m sorry, is this person REALLY telling us, the working class of America who are just trying to get by and pay our bills, that to become rich and successful in this incredibly broken system, that we have to LIMIT HOW OFTEN WE GO TO THE BATHROOM? AND PERFORM OTHER ESSENTIAL TASKS THAT KEEP US ALIVE AND WELL?

WE HAVE TO SUFFER, BE SLEEP DEPRIVED AND SMELLY TO MAYBE MOVE UP A LITTLE BIT IN A COMPANY WE DON’T EVEN LIKE THAT MUCH?

I fucking hate this culture.

This overly ambitious, hustle every day, rise and grind (fucking kill me for just typing that phrase) culture that we have created.

Society’s the one to blame for all this lunacy though. This glorification of overworking arose from the ashes of late-stage capitalism.

We’re not getting paid enough but the cost of living keeps rising because companies love money more than they love people. Pinterest, Influencers, the ultra-rich, they’ve all sold us this idea (tied up in pithy statements you can buy on coffee mugs) that we too can be as wealthy as they are if we just work. 

All the time. 

And never stop. 

We have to hustle harder, we have to be on top of our game 24/7, we can’t ever have a down moment. We always have to think of ways we can monetize the things we do for enjoyment or relaxation. Because what is the POINT of doing ANYTHING if we can’t make money off of it to survive in this inherently broken system that will destroy us all in about 20 years if we don’t get our heads out of our asses???

I fall prey to this ideology all the time. Whenever I lay down to just watch TV I have massive guilt. 

I’m actively doing things that are meant to help me relax and yet, I still get an urge to maximize this time so I can prove to whatever imaginary audience is watching me at all times that I’m always productive. Even if it’s just reblogging another photoset of Ben Hardy flexing. 

Which, in my defense, is hustling to get him to hang out with me on Thursday when I am free. Ben, if you’re reading this, I’m free on Thursday to hang out.

Working in the retail/food service/customer service world made me realize early on that companies do not give a shit about their employees. Even the Cool Hip Companies that have gyms and bring food to the office, they do not give a shit about their employees. Sorry tech bro that works 40 plus hour weeks but thinks that because the office lets you dress however you want that’s enough to make up for the fact they don’t pay you a livable wage!! Even THAT company doesn’t care about you as a person!! 

Companies only care about how little they can pay us to work ourselves to death so the three people who are making all of the money at the top can make even more.

This idea that we should always be working is so damaging and toxic. 

As Ari says, “imma need space, imma-imma need space.”

How am I expected to do my best work when I don’t ever get a break?

I had a whole day at work where I did nothing (nobody snitch on me I swear to god) but it was in that time when I was able to relax and be still that I realized where I want my career to go next.

It’s those idle moments that push me to try that barre/boxing/yoga class/personal training sessions. It’s during that time that I add to the long list of books that I want to read. It’s during those moments of relaxation that I’m able to truly appreciate how good all of Queen’s albums are.

It’s moments when I’m not doing work that I do my best work.

And work is only one part of my life. What makes me interesting is me, my personality, the activities I do outside of my job. 

Because really, who wants to hear about social media marketing. Our lives are one big social media marketing campaign so who gives a shit. 

My job isn’t the most interesting thing about me.

Nor should it be! We’ve been indoctrinated with this idea that our work is what defines us. That our productivity is what gives us purpose in this life and I’m over it. 

Quite frankly, what gives my life purpose is having dinner with my family every night, seeing my friends, planning trips, reading, dancing, running, yoga, going to museums, watching Mamma Mia (1 AND 2 obviously), volunteering, writing, trying to keep a succulent alive, pouring love into my small corner of the world and guess what? None of these things have to do with my job.

The things that make life worth living, that shine a light into the drudgery of every day work life are the things that happen outside of work. 

I’m not lazy, don’t get it twisted. I work hard but holy fuck we all just need to C H I L L. 

Go pet a dog, take a day to not set your alarm, go eat some ice cream, watch all of Chris Fleming’s videos, talk to your parents about what they were interested in growing up, I know this all sounds like hippy dippy bullshit but GOD, I refuse to let work and “hustling” be the defining features of my time here on this earth. 

I think about death a lot, my own mainly, though I do think about Donald and all the men and women who signed the heartbeat bill’s deaths and boy does that make me happy. But when I think about my funeral, I really don’t want people to just talk about my job or my work. I want people to remember how I made them feel. I want people to talk about my spirit, how kind I was, my sense of humor, I want to make sure that I’ve left the people I love with good memories. Because in the end, it doesn’t matter how much you work. What matters is how much love and kindness you poured into the world. That’s what’s important and that’s what will always be important.

So what’s the main takeaway from all this? Well, one, I think about dying a lot which probably isn’t GREAT and two, work isn’t everything. It’s only a small part of who we are. 

Just remember: value your time, the work you’re doing is never that important that it can’t be put off till tomorrow, don’t let your job take precedence over your life, seize the means of production, let love be the main motivating factor in your life, call your mom and remember to eat your vegetables and also the rich.

[annarosewriting]

Facebook Sucks.

To be fair though, all social media kind of sucks.

But Facebook is where the focus of my hatred lies. 

It’s sole purpose upon conception was to rank girls on how hot they were (how have we, as a society, all forgotten that fact?), it fucked with the 2016 election AND it’s stealing our data and giving us ads for products we thought about once five years ago. 

(I also recently learned they took down my girl, Liz Warren’s ads because she, correctly, called them out on their bullshit. We truly live in a dystopian society.) 

Facebook is filled with Local’s whose narrow view of the world helped get Donald and Co. in office and brought fucking measles back. (VACCINATE YOUR KIDS. FUCK.) 

It’s dripping with racist, “all lives matter!” bullshit and sexist, “well what about men’s rights” garbage. Relatives who believe click bait articles over NPR. And of course, everyone only posting The Good Shit that’s happening to them.

I was bored at work the other day and got on Facebook which was my first, and only, mistake. I scrolled down my feed and counted two proposals, one person buying a whole ass house and seven people getting accepted into their dream jobs/higher ed programs.

And for the hottest of seconds, I hated all of those people. I blamed all of my problems on them.

It was their fault I felt like I wasn’t good at my job. Their fault that I was feeling stuck. It was their doing with their emoji-laden announcements that I was feeling overworked, overlooked and under-appreciated. 

Luckily I was able to reign it in and cut those feelings off at the pass. Because that’s ridiculous. And also I know myself well enough that if I did let myself go down that path a depresh sesh would hit so hard and fast that the rest of my week would be ruined.

I think the problem with Facebook and it’s hotter, more successful, cousin Instagram, is that it props up the idea that everyone’s performance art piece they call Life is a perfect, Academy-Award winning darling, that everyone can’t stop talking about.

Except for Twitter. That’s the only place where true Messy Bitch Culture is accepted, allowed and, to a certain extent, celebrated so it can stay. 

In general, I’m very tired of social media. Which can’t bode well for the fact that I chose that as a vital part of my career BUT it doesn’t change the fact it’s an exhausting source of time, energy and a horrifying mix of performance and revenue that society can’t seem to quit. 

I’m weary of feeling like I have to perform constantly. For feeling like I always have to be ON. That I need to measure up to what other people think success is. That my life needs to be one thrilling life event after another. 

In the past, I spent a lot of time, energy and heartache constructing a poorly designed house of cards via Facebook and Instagram posts to prove that I was Someone who was Cool and Fun and Flirty and Someone Who Deserved to Be Adored By Everyone. 

Every day I added to the shoddily constructed set that was my hideously low budget, community theater performance of My Fantastic Life (trademark pending).

Showing off before and after shots of my weight loss. Trying to prove I was in a Cool Liberal Arts College Scene. Snapchatting the evidence of me drinking shitty alcohol and going out. Trying to insinuate that guys wanted to date me. Throwing up full ass albums on Facebook just to prove I had a big ole group of BFF’s. 

I wanted to prove I wasn’t alone!! I wasn’t miserable!!! I wasn’t hanging out with the same two people over and over again!!! I didn’t feel directionless!!! I was someone who had a big group of friends!! Guys wanted to date me!! I had an endless supply of shitty booze and frat parties right at my fingertips!!! I was the QUEEN of having the Classic College Experience and being Someone Who Was Popular!!!!

And I was profoundly, truly miserable. 

The shitty booze caused me to say and do things that I deeply regret. Not to mention the violent hangovers they caused. 

All the boys turned out to be garbage and made me feel even WORSE about myself. Not that that’s a surprise.

The big group of friends disappeared. I was more focused on me and what I could get out of others than being a supportive friend. 

I was wasting so much time, energy and effort into trying to impress a phantom audience instead of trying to figure out what would actually make me happy.

I was doing things and participating in activities that went against what I believed in. 

I was hurting and depressed. 

So, shit blew up in my face. 

It took an overhaul of my life and a long time to realize that that was a learning experience I desperately needed. And because of it, I like who I am a lot more now. 

It made me realize that I don’t care about the numbers on social media. The only reason I’m still attached to it is Chris Evans daily tweets dragging the GOP, getting daily body positive inspiration and to keep tabs on all the members of 1D. 

Except for Zayn. Fuck Zayn. 

It taught me that I can post whatever the fuck I want because truly, who gives a shit. We’re alive on a rock hurtling in space and we’re concerned by how many people will look at a shitty picture of food?? Let me post shitty Captain America meme’s in PEACE.

Most importantly it taught me how I want to use social media and the effect I want it to have on me and the effect I want to have on it. 

I like TYPING IN ALL CAPS ABOUT THINGS I LOVE. 

I love tweeting 40 times in an hour then not tweeting for a month straight. 

I love posting selfies of myself over and over again.

I love not posting on Facebook so no one from high school can know what I’m doing. 

It can be hard to capture the messier, more vulnerable parts of life though. 

Pictures of me modeling can’t capture how violently I beat myself up for skipping a workout or for how ugly I’ve felt for the past few weeks. 

Pictures of me with friends, smiling and having fun don’t reveal the self-doubt that I’m a bad friend and the fear that they’ll all decide to leave me.  

A snapshot of me and my family isn’t a great way to reveal the fear I have of what I’ll do when my parents are gone. 

The Insta story of the Fun Office Thing I’m doing doesn’t convey the many days and hours I sit at my desk, trying to look busy, feeling like I’ll never measure up and how unsure I am of the career choice I made. 

Snapchats of me going out don’t reveal the many nights I’m plagued by the persistent fear that what I’m doing with my life isn’t enough and that I need to do more, more, more, more. 

So it’s challenging to convey the harder, messier sides of life on social media. But I think it’s important though. It can make people feel less alone and who doesn’t want to feel less lonely on this bitch of an earth? 

Recently, I’m caught between the rock and a hard place of, “Why bother posting that? Who even cares?” And “Might as well post that. Who cares?” 

At the end of the day, we all have different thoughts and have read thousands of think pieces on social media. How our society uses and abuses it. How it brings us closer together or further apart. How it’s the best thing to happen to us or the worst. 

So why do I even bother posting this? Who even cares? In the grand scheme of things, does it even matter?

Probably not. 

But I might as well. 

Who cares? 

[annarosewriting]

I Have Seen That Look Before.

I’m assuming we’ve all seen That Video™ now. 

The one of the white supremacist, Nazi trash, rat-faced, piece of shit kid looking at Nathan Phillips, the Omaha Elder and veteran. 

I have seen every conceivable angle of that video. I can’t get on Twitter without seeing that fucking waste of skin wearing that ugly ass hat with That Look™ on his face as Nathan Phillips stands strong. 

Every time I see that video I feel white hot anger boiling in the pit of stomach as I watch Nazi’s surround Nathan Phillips and the other individuals from the Indigenous People’s March. The very same people that we have stolen land from, then built a pipe on said land and have treated inhumanly for far too long. 

There are plenty of elements to this video that stoke the fire of my anger. 

There’s the complete lack of human decency and respect. The fact that this is the America that we live in, and will continue to live in!, until something drastic happens. The fact that individuals who claimed to be Christians were the ones doing this. There’s also the frustrating knowledge that these assholes will live their whole pathetic lives and will, most likely, face no repercussions and will never understand why their actions are so vile. The one detail that really sucker punched me in the gut was That Look on that fuckers face. 

I have seen that Look so many times in my life. 

I have had so many men, men that I love and respect and others that I don’t know from Adam, give me that Look. It is that, more often than not, accompanies gaslighting. It is a look that partners with the mindset of someone who knows they have more power than I and they will use it to harm me. Whether physically, mentally, professionally or emotionally. 

It’s the look of a man that does not care about the human being standing in front of them. 

It’s a look that ensures the person they are trying to intimidate knows that this is a game to them. This is sport and they know they will win because they wholeheartedly believe in their wicked ways. 

It’s the same look I would get whenever I would stand up for myself or others. The look that says, “I know I’m protected because this system was built for me, by me. I cannot lose and you are nothing.”  

Here’s the thing, this is my experience. I’m a white woman who grew up in an upper-middle class family who is college educated. I am incredibly privileged and my experience with events like what happened to Nathan Phillips is NOTHING compared to the hatred that is directed at POC, LGBTQ+ and other minorities on a daily basis. 

But I do know one thing. I’m angry. 

And I’ve been angry for a long ass time.  

Every time shit like this happens, every time another piece of shit Republican passes a law that will further endanger minorities, every time another disgusting, old ass white man sexually abuses a woman, every time Louis C.K. rears his unfunny, irrelevant dough face into the public eye, every time Buzzfeed breaks a news story about how poisoned Donald’s campaign was and still is, it is another piece of ammunition I use to keep me angry. 

And I’m tired of hiding my anger. 

When I was younger I never hid my anger. Then I realized that’s not a great way to make friends or get jobs so I scaled it way back. I swallowed that shit down, I sat on it and let it fester inside of me until it rotted me from the inside out. 

But now, I am angry all the time and I’m going to make sure everyone knows. 

I don’t care that my anger “scares people.” 

I’m done giving a fuck that my anger “is unattractive to men” because holy SHIT could I care less about whether or not men are attracted to me. 

I’m upset that I let people shame me and made me believe that my anger was “too intense.” Sorry that my anger is “too intense” but the racism, sexism, bigotry and other repugnant actions that run rampant in this country is a little “too intense” for me so I would really appreciate it if it would stop. 

I’m sick of listening to people say that “we shouldn’t fight their hatred with more hatred and anger!!! We should fight it with love!!!!” 

Sure! I would love to do that! I would love to live in that fantasy world but that strategy didn’t work for us so I’m ready to punch some goddamn Nazi’s, be angry and fight dirty. 

And yes, it’s draining. I have so much anger in me some days that it turns into an overwhelming exhaustion that makes me want to lie down, close my eyes and wake up in 40 years. 

It makes me weary to my bones every time I open up social media to see how people are being awful and to see how many others are championing their disgusting actions. 

It’s enough that more often than not I think, “why even bother? The whole system, the whole fucking country is poisoned and it is so difficult to find the good when the overwhelming majority of people are either indifferent or are too steeped in their own bigotry to change. Why keep fighting. Why keep being angry.” 

The best I’ve come up with is, angry people change things. Anger is a motivator. It helps me get back up again and again; even when it would be easier to stay down. 

For me, a lot of it starts with small actions. It starts with me, calling people out for their shitty behavior. With sharing my experiences as a fat woman. It starts with listening to others, learning from them and their experiences. It starts with me checking my own internalized misogony, racism and prejudice so I can unlearn these things to help create a more open, caring and respectful world for everyone.   

It’s waking up and moving through the world with intentions of helping. To speak up for the causes that matter to me and shutting the fuck up when other causes are more important than mine. It’s knowing that I need to show up for others but not making it about me. It’s about learning how to be a good ally for others. 

It is immeasurably difficult to get up in the morning when the world is going to hell in a hand basket and especially so when That Look™ is being directed at Nathan Phillips and I cannot escape it. 

But we are doing a huge disservice to everyone by just laying down and giving up. 

I cannot give up. Changing this shit starts with me and I’m not going to let Donald supporters win.

They already won once. I refuse to let them win anymore.  

If the only reason I get up in the morning is fueled by spite? So be it. 

All I know is, Nathan Phillips refused to be cowed by That Look. And neither will I.   

[annarosewriting]

My Imposter Syndrome is SO BAD.

Like, REALLY bad. 

Anything happens and I’m psyched for about 2 minutes then I’m spiraling into a pile of anxious thoughts and what if’s.

Get asked out? Great! So excited! *2 minutes later* Holy fuck what if we get married and 20 years later I look over at them while we’re laying in bed and I can’t even recognize the person I fell in love with? 

Get a new job offer? Fantastic! Can’t wait to get started! *2 minutes later* I am a garbage person with no marketable skills and I’ll be fired within my first five minutes of walking in there. 

Which was a real thought process I had when I was offered my first Real Adult Job™️ this week. 

I was recently reminded by the all seeing eye of Snapchat Memories that a year ago, I graduated from college. 

I went to college but I was never ALL IN on the College Experience. I like the school I graduated from but I never really bought into the “I love my school so much!!!!!” energy. 

For me, college was always a stepping stone to get to the end goal, which was A Job. 

When I was younger, I wanted a job that would be different every day, I didn’t want to work in a cubicle, it would be hip and cool and we could wear ripped skinny jeans to the office. (My requirements were very low.) 

But as I got older I realized that those things would be neat but what I really wanted was a job that would allow me to help people. A job that would offer health care, and would pay well. 

It was a pretty basic checklist. So I worked my ass off. I took unpaid internships (which should be illegal), difficult classes, worked crappy below minimum wage jobs, applied to, I want to say, one million jobs, and finally got hired as an assistant for a job that was in my field.

And then, finally, a light at the end of the tunnel.

A year to the day I graduated, I got a call from a Legit Business. They offered me a job as their Communication Coordinator with benefits, a salary and a 401K (I don’t even know what that is but it sounds extremely official). 

As Emeril would say BAM. There it was. The Dream. Finally coming to fruition. After working so hard I finally had it. A real ass job. 

I accepted and as soon as I hung up the phone I was consumed with so much nervous energy I thought I was going to vomit. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about all the work days I had spent not doing any important work and just reading Buzzfeed articles. How many times I had left something until the last minute and had to scramble to finish. How my mom knew the woman who’s going to be my future boss and had connected us in the first place. I felt like a Con Artist and was convinced that they would find out as soon as I started on my first day. 

Here’s the thing, I’ve always been afraid of seeming like an idiot. Or doing something wrong. And I definitely have a fear of disappointing a superior. My top three fears were compounding themselves into the anxiety of this new job and were doing a bang up job of making sure I instantly regretted every life choice I had ever made.

I believed I didn’t deserve any of this. 

That all my hard work wasn’t that hard. That I had been skating by. That I had just simply been lucky. 

I kept coming up with reason after reason for why I didn’t deserve this amazing opportunity I had worked for. 

Finally, I got sick of my own bullshit so I did something that I swore I would never do. 

I made a gratitude list. 

I threw up in my mouth a little bit when I typed that. 

Here’s the wild thing though, it actually worked?? 

I definitely felt like an idiot at first but as I got more into it, the more I realized that I DO deserve this. 

I’m a hard worker. I work well under deadlines. I’m passionate. I get along well with most people and I’ve been working for this exact opportunity since I graduated. I deserve to feel good about this, take a sigh of relief and bask in my accomplishment! 

It’s odd because for so long I felt like I had to make excuses for the accomplishments I was receiving. I had to make sure others knew how hard I had worked or how lucky I was or the privilege’s that had been afforded to me to explain why I was picked. Trying desperately to downplay my own strengths and accomplishments so I wouldn’t disappoint anyone when I inevitably failed. 

And I realized that was it. I was anxious about failing at something I hadn’t even started yet.

I get so wrapped up in being anxious about things that COULD happen that I take all of the fun and excitement out of accomplishing something that I worked my ass off for. 

I’m so tired of feeling like I need to minimize how hard I’ve worked and the amazing success I’ve reaped from that hard work. I’m tired of feeling like I need to justify everything I do. I’m tired that society told me I need to minimize significant milestones in my life that don’t involve bearing a child or marrying a man. 

So, from now on, I need to tell my anxiety to shut the fuck up and let myself bask in the glow of accomplishing something major; something that I have worked for for the past five years. It’s important to luxuriate in milestones, to acknowledge the hard work, the sacrifice and to appreciate them. 

So yeah, I’m the Communication and Content Coordinator at a Big Business. I have a salary. I have benefits. I even have a 401K. 

And I’m ready to kick some ass. 

[annarosewriting]

The Holiday’s are Weird and No One Talks About It.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year according to Andy Williams. 

Which it is, for lots of people but it’s also the weirdest time of the year. 

The holidays weren’t always weird for me. I loved the holidays when I was younger. Long stretches of time free from school and responsibilities, stomping around in the wilderness to find the perfect tree, decorating cookies, eating a piece of oddly flavorless chocolate from my advent calendar everyday and that undeniable sense of excitement that permeated everything. 

As I got older, the holidays became more stressful. First, it was because I was in college. This time of year always meant finals, which meant indescribable amounts of stress. That stress brought nails bitten down to nothing and the sense of defeat that enveloped me in a warm embrace at 2 a.m. when the realization that it did not matter how much I studied I’d still fail, inevitably occurred.  

Then it was because I had jobs in retail. Which, as anyone who has ever worked a service job can tell you, the holidays are worse than hell. Every holiday season was greeted with guilt trips from supervisors trying to con me into coming in on the precious few days I had off I fought embittered battles to get off. 

I’ve moved on from retail but working a corporate job has brought its own set of challenges to deal with. On top of dealing with end of year madness, there’s added pressure to keep up with life. And it’s not like life takes a break to let individuals enjoy the holidays. It’s life PLUS the holidays. 

For me, this means trying to keep up a workout routine, spend time with family, friends and loved ones. As well as ensuring I make time to write, read, listen to podcasts AND watch New Girl for the millionth time. BUT WAIT, there’s more!! Because in addition to trying to Have It All™ there’s Fun Christmas Activities I need to complete to assure I’m getting the most out of the holidays. I need to listen to Christmas Music 24/7, buy presents, stress about how much money I’m spending on said presents, try to do all of the nostalgic Christmas Activities I used to do while trying to find time to complete all activities mentioned above. 

Oh, and I feel pressure to do ALL OF THIS while being merry and bright as fuck.

There’s just no way.

Here’s the thing, besides just feeling overwhelmed and burned out, there’s vast existential dread to accompany these feelings. 

I mainly think about my future during these times. I consider what I want out of my life which usually ends up with me ruminating on how I’ll celebrate the holidays when I’m on my own or when my parents are gone. Which leads me to consider what the holidays could be like if I was married and had kids or if I didn’t have kids or if I wasn’t married. Which leads to me debating with myself if I even want to get married and/or have kids. Then if I think about whether or not I want children it makes me consider my legacy and what will happen to ME when I’m gone. Then I worry that the reason I do want certain things out of life is because I’m forced to work 40 hours a week just to make sure I can SURVIVE but then it leads me down a path that has me considering about how I’m sold an ideology that tells me that to live my best life, I need to make each day count or else what’s the point of existing!!! But how can I follow that ideology when I’m stuck in an office eight hours a day and I’m so exhausted, physically and emotionally, when I get home that I can barely cook dinner, much less do things I WANT to do?

You know, fun #justgirlythings thoughts like that. 

And The Christmas Traditions aren’t the same anymore. But that’s to be expected! It’s hard to recapture that same holiday energy I used to have when I was younger. Which, as I’ve gotten older, I realized isn’t a BAD thing. Sure, the holiday spirit 23-year-old Anna has is vastly different than 13-year-old Anna but that doesn’t mean it’s bad or wrong. I need to remind myself that I need to cut myself some slack and be nicer to myself during this time of the year.

It’s vital for me to not get sucked into this idea that I have to do ALL HOLIDAY EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. I’m allowed to take a break from Christmas movies and go see Spiderman: Into the Spider-verse because it’s the best movie I’ve ever seen. It’s okay for me to listen to Queen on the way home from work instead of Michael Bublé. It’s fine for me to let my family know that I need to do my own thing then sequester myself in my room to do whatever the hell I want for an hour. 

The holidays are a weird time and they’ll only get weirder as I get older, but there’s no shame in excusing myself from the holiday madness to make sure I’m taking care of myself.

And once I’ve calmed my self down, I’ll rejoin the holiday mania, eat all of the gingerbread and ruin everyone’s good time by asking family members who they voted for. 

Which is what this wild, weird and wonderful time of the year is all about.  

[annarosewriting]

An Open Letter To Victoria’s Secret.

Dear Victoria, 

Or...Miss. Secret? 

Mrs. Secret? 

Whatever, that’s not important. 

What IS important is this single pressing question,

How are you still in business? 

I mean, you are a company that was B O R N out of satisfying the male gaze. Out of tying women up in lace and bows and presenting them as objects.

You made a bra that was more foam padding than bra and convinced millions of women that they NEEDED a bra that added TWO (2) cup sizes. 

Which is so wild to me because no woman WANTS to strap two flotation devices to their chest. 

I can only speak for myself and the conversations I’ve had with my friends but I can assure you Vicky, most of us don’t even want to put on a bra most days. Much less one that adds extra weight to our chest.  

Putting aside the fact that you create bras that even the most seasoned dominatrix would have difficulty strapping themselves into (seriously, are we putting on underwear or going rock climbing?)

You then try to force America to watch boring white women (and maybe three women of color?) try to figure out how to walk down a runway and try to convince us it’s “girl power!!!!” and “empowering!!!!!!”. 

Fuck you. 

It’s not empowering.  

What would be truly empowering is if you let all different types of individuals who identify as women walk down the runway on national TV while pop stars serenaded them awkwardly. 

Where are the plus size women Vic? 

The REAL plus size women, don’t give me that Ashley Graham plus size and ignore all the other women of size. 

Where are the women of color? 

Where are the women who are not able-bodied? 

Where are the trans women?

Oh that’s right, you won’t give them a chance because you think you’re building a fantasy.

A fantasy geared toward the 12 dudes that still watch the fashion show so they can violently masterbate to it.

But seriously Vicky? You didn’t think we’d notice? That we’d be okay with this? You didn’t notice that things have been changing? That a revolution has been brewing? Women don’t WANT the ~fantasy~ you’re selling anymore. 

Why would we? You can’t even offer us the bare minimum of selling bras in sizes and colors for every body type and skin tone! 

Why keep trying to drum up excitement for a fashion show that only celebrates women who fit the narrow, both in parameters and body shape, European beauty ideal when there are so many initiatives that are proving that women, just as they are, are more beautiful than the dime-a-dozen Instagram Influencers you hire for this show? 

Why do you keep trying to sell this unattainable fantasy that young women are literally dying to achieve? 

I’m just so BORED every time I see one of your ads Vic! Isn’t anyone else bored with this ideal? Aerie, Torrid, Fenty, Modcloth, other retailers and Influencers all over social media are proving that beauty is not a single, defined ideal. 

Every time I go out into the world I am always shocked by how many ways there are to be beautiful!! And you, Victoria, have only focused on one.

I can’t say I’m too sorry that you’re losing money, that people don’t shop at your store anymore. I’m not sorry that women are saying “thank u, next” and are spending their money at places that celebrate women just as they are.

So, Victoria. I can’t wait to see you go down in flames and we cosign your narrow ideals of what a fantasy is to the horrifying patriarchal past.

I never considered myself a “bra burning feminist” but I think after these transphobic and fat-phobic comments, I’ll become one. 

Because your bras will absolutely be a joy to burn.

[annarosewriting]

“Huh, I Should Talk to Someone About That”-Me When Writing

I’ve been writing ever since I was young. I find scraps of my writing scattered throughout my room that act as a map for what I cared about at a certain time. As a way to remember what moved me enough to immortalize it in words forever.

Sometimes these writings come from journals I started then abandoned three entries in. Sometimes it’s particularly good papers from old classes. Other times it’s abandoned word documents on my computer containing half-finished stories.

I don’t recall the first piece I wrote that made me realize I wanted to be a capital W Writer. I don’t have a heart warming memory of a teacher holding me back after class to tell me I had Real Potential. None of that After School Special shit. I just always knew I was good at it.

(Not to get too braggadocios but I was in advanced English classes throughout my first twelve years of school AND I was a pleasure to have in class so get you a woman who can do both.)

There are several pieces of writing I remember fairly well however. The first being a paragraph I wrote in second or third grade where I detailed why I liked fall that ended with these two haunting sentences:

“In the fall, some plants die. I like fall!”

My family quotes that to me on the first day of fall EVERY YEAR without fail.  

I also remember, I want to get the number right, approximately 5,957 papers written in elementary school about horses.

And no, I didn’t save any of them which is best for everyone.

I remember winning a prize for my original poems written from the perspective of various individuals involved in the Civil War (which, Y I K E S Worthington, a little heavy for a CHILD). I remember short stories, collections of personal essays and academic papers. I remember some of them being great and others being “not great, Bob.”

Looking back at the good pieces of writing though, I realized the defining thread in them was how vulnerable I allowed myself to be.  

My best work was when I pushed myself to explore topics that forced me to lay myself raw and explore my humanity in a way that would help me make sense of the world and for the world to make sense to me.

That feeling of writing down a thought, an emotion, a life event that I had never talked to anyone else about, by easing it out of the darkness and into the light, is simultaneously frightening and freeing.  

I think it’s also why I love reading books that remind me of emotions I long thought I had tucked away.

My favorite books are the ones that are intensely personal, that provoke an emotional reaction from the reader. That make me remember, in visceral detail, events, or feelings, in my life that I had wanted to forget.

But the author manages to string together the right words to create a situation or a character that makes me feel vulnerable all over again.

Like in Tiger Lily by Jodi Lynn Anderson when Tiger Lily loves Peter Pan so much but she cannot bring herself to expose her heart in such a raw way, even though all Peter does is love her.

Like in Dumplin’ when Willowdean has a boy touching her and can’t be in the moment because she’s too busy focusing on contorting her body so he won’t have to touch her fat.

The collection of essays that reveal personal moments in someones life that are hard to read but so very important. Important in that the author had the courage to put those events onto paper to help others feel less alone in this world.

With just 26 letters, an author can inject hope, sadness, healing, love, any emotion they want into another human for a brief period of time. That’s incredible.

That’s a superpower.

And that’s my ultimate goal with my writing, especially with this blog. I want to create something that tugs at heartstrings, that helps others view the world in a different light and will, hopefully, help cultivate empathy for others.

When I go back and read through my older posts I realize I reveal A LOT of personal information.

So much so that, it got to a point where I thought, “Should I...should I be seeing a therapist instead of just posting this shit on the Internet for people I know to read about?”

To which I say, Therapy??? In THIS economy??? I’ll take my oversharing tendencies and my morbid jokes about wanting to die and take them where they are APPRECIATED, Karen.

But some of my favorite pieces are when I allow myself to reveal personal information and explore that space.

I wanted to take some time before I wrote about any more personal events what my true motives were for doing so.

It took a lot of uncomfortable exploration and questioning of myself and my motives for writing about these experiences. I had to ask myself if I was writing about them because I wanted to offer a more complete picture of the human experience or if I just wanted attention.

And I came to the realization that, I don’t particularly enjoy sharing these experiences but I think they’re too important NOT to share. I think they offer a doorway to open a dialogue about other topics that are bigger than just me and my experiences.  

I had to remind myself that this blog was not started by 16-year old Anna, who would probably start something like this so some boy she was infatuated with at the time would read about how Sad and Misunderstood she was so maybe he’d write her a song and take her angst away.

This blog was started by 23-year-old Anna, who started this because one) it felt necessary and two) if she hadn’t found some sort of creative outlet she would have lost her damn mind.

I was also tired of staying silent. In this time when it seems like the nation is at a tipping point, I think it’s important that different stories and experiences are shared. I think it’s vital to try to understand how life works for individuals who don’t get their stories told.  

I don’t post about my personal experiences because I want attention. I write about these things because it’s what feels right.

I write because it’s my way of making sure my legacy isn’t forgotten or erased.

I write to help others understand the world from a different point of view.

I write to bring more understanding and allies to the body positivity movement. To help others understand that people who are fat are not inherently bad or any of the other horrible stereotypes society foists on us.

I write to help others understand that health goes beyond size.

I write to share how angry I am with men, with our government, with how much society hates women and how, in turn, it causes me to hate society.

I write to help others understand that diet culture is a scam. To help women realize that we are so much more than how we can punish our bodies.

I write to make sense of all of the noise in my head. To put it out into the void and hope that maybe one other person will read it and won’t feel alone because of the words that I was able to string together using 26 letters.

I write about the hard things because those are the things worth writing about.

To me, it’s worth trying to make these experiences sound poetic, to find the humor in them. It’s worth sharing these experiences if it can help one person feel seen, for them to feel more comfortable in their own skin and their own life.

Will there come a day when I look back on these pieces and think “what in the goddamn hell are you talking about?”

Absolutely.

Bur at the end of the day, these are the experiences I want to write about. These are the events that make me want to write.

Writing is my way of, hopefully, leaving my mark on this world and changing how the world thinks about (fat) women and their experiences. I hope to make the world a more empathetic place to exist in. And if not the entire world, at least my small corner of it.

And besides, this is MUCH cheaper than therapy.