I work out. Every day. It's been paying off quite a bit in the last week, specifically. I mean, I'm smokin' hot all of a sudden. Literally, I'm walking to the gym yesterday and I realize my pants are almost to my knees. Hell yes, I say.

However, it's not without a price. I am the grossest person ever during my workouts. I am that girl, the one who's sweaty and splotchy and red as hell, breathing all heavy and looking like she's about to explode. It's not a pretty picture.

When I work out, I get in the zone. I'm going with the beat of the music, concentrating on keeping my heart rate up, counting the seconds until I can be done, but still kind of enjoying the "no pain-no gain" mantra I mentally chant.

That's why it came as such a shock to me the other day when the woman working out next to me started tapping me on the shoulder. I'm sure I glared at her with a sort of intensity as I ripped my earbuds out and, through my heavy exhaling, asked "Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry," she said, hesitantly pausing. "Can..... could you just maybe be a little quieter?"

I was immediately perplexed, and I began to slow my pace. Quieter? I realized that I wasn't drinking water during this specific workout (another story in and of itself, but let's just say some bitch wouldn't lend me a quarter), and I was severely dehydrated.

"Oh god, I'm breathing really loudly, aren't I?" I asked. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, here's the thing, I don't have water, I'm super dehydrated, oh god, I must sound so gross, I'm so sorry -- "

"No," she interrupted, "that isn't it." She took a deep breath. A million disgusting thoughts flooded my brain. Are my thighs squeaking together? Sick. Is there some sort of noise that my arm flab is making as it hits my side? Gross! Oh god, what is she going to say? Jesus, woman, I'm not a monster, I'm just a girl trying to work out, okay? What the hell is wrong??

"Your..... your singing... thing... is just... kind of loud," she finally said.

My mouth fell open. I stopped dead in my tracks. What?

"Yeah," she said, nervously. "You're... yeah, you're kind of half-singing but only when you exhale and you're not really making any words," she finished quickly.

I kind of stood there on my machine with my mouth hanging open, my hand on my throat, letting the numbers tick away, letting the calories-per-hour meter drop sharply. The woman looked at me with a mix of pity and stifled humor.

"I... uh.... I'm sorry... um.... I...." We just kind of stared at each other for a few moments. Keeping my gaze, she began moving on her machine again. I did the same. We locked eyes for the next few minutes, until a bead of sweat dripped into her eye and she blinked. I took that opportunity to break the intense lock and continued on with the longest remaining six minutes of my life.

Phew.

Pelowski was eliminated from the competition because she mouthed off to Tyra in the judging room. She may be back next cycle, though. Sometimes they just... come back.

Fuller








Matz








Tony

I'm working on Shoots 3 and 4. Patience, babies. When I am satisfied, they will be posted.

In the meantime, dig this song that I can't stop listening to.

Muse - Take a Bow.

Special thanks to those who helped on this shoot. I had a hell of a time with the lighting on site and then I retouched the photos about fourteen times.

Fuller








Matz








Pelowski








Tony








Stay tuned. Again.

I did a photoshoot. It was really great.

Without the following people, this would never, ever have worked out:
-My beautiful, inspired, amazing, sexy, fierce models: Fuller, Tony, Matz, and Pelowski.
-My crazy imaginative creative directors: Carissa and Fuller.
-My wonderfully patient host, bartender, and supplier of extension cords: Jim.
-My god of all things technology: Tony.
-My comediennes: Samantha and Koegel.
-Tracy, Laura, and Amie for helping me out with my pre-shoot jitters.
-Koegel and Clay for getting me warmed up.

Anyone else I missed? I suck and you're fantastic.

On with The First Shoot.
Here are the best three shots from my four models.

Fuller








Matz








Pelowski








Tony







Stay tuned.

Sidenote: Low's "Violent Past" just came on my iTunes and I thought it was "Freebird." It has the same chord progression... but seriously. I want to kill myself.

Sometimes it's better not to remember what you're missing out on.

Oh yes. It's real. It's happening this Thursday night. This is an official call for models. If you've ever had an inkling to model, babies, this is your shot.

A photo shoot by world-renowned photographer Gilles Bensimon is not one of the prizes (Gilles and I had a big falling out), but the grand prize will be equally as fabulous.

Do you think you have what it takes? Do you have a passion for fashion? Most importantly, can you smile with your eyes?

I already have several models who have signed their lives away to me, so spots are filling up. The deadline to sign up for this is WEDNESDAY, MARCH 21st. Shoots take place on THURSDAY, MARCH 22nd. A full briefing will be provided upon sign up.

Who will be Anniemosity's Next Top Model? Stay tuned.

EDIT: If you are interested in judging, let me know. I have one more spot open.

You know what I miss the most about Duluth (aside from you and the unique art scene)?

Nature.

It's hard to find a good spot in the suburbs to really soak up nature. Sure, some parks are really nice, if you ignore the swing sets and the subsequent children, the groomed grass and the paved paths, the hum of Suburban Activity, and the general lack of foliage. Still, it's nice.

It's not as nice as the nature somewhere like Duluth. There were a few days that one of my co-workers would drive me home from work and we'd stop at her place and walk through Chester Park. On the drier days, we'd lay down in the leaves and just be. Friends and I would take a trip out to Gooseberry when we needed a stress reliever. When we lived on campus, we'd head over to Bagley Nature Center. The trails were not paved. The foliage was dense. The air was crisp and refreshing.

The view is nothing to sneeze at either. Enger Tower is fabulous, but there's a place up at the tip top of Bagley that we nicknamed "The Point" (which is totally not the same as "Park Point," which we found out the hard way freshman year).


photo courtesy of Mr. Sixty Three Hertz.

I get really nostalgic for the aesthetics of Duluth. Onalaska isn't measuring up. Minneapolis won't really have much to offer in this realm either.

Guess I'll just have to come visit.
(This post went nowhere. I have the flu. Cause and effect, I hope.)


Also, on a not completely unrelated note, I wanted to share these nine photographs I wish I'd taken. (1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9)

And now on a completely unrelated note, my birthday is next weekend. For your reference, I want this Betsey Johnson cardigan and/or this external hard drive (which is apparently out of stock, so a similar model will suffice).

Or just to get an hour to play my songs on the radio for you.

A lot of people tout Kate Moss as the best model of all time. That's hard to deny. Homegirl certainly knows how to work her angles.

Others hail Cindy Crawford, Elle MacPherson, Christy Turlington, or Claudia Schiffer. Some say Carolyn Murphy, Heidi Klum, Gisele Bundchen, or even the hottest-ass mess on the planet, Tyra Banks. These days it's Adriana Lima, Gemma Ward, or (Anniemosity's current pick) Jessica Stam (holla!).

But the best model of all time, in my humblest of opinions, is Milla Jovovich, as depicted in my new layout, taken from British Vogue (4/07) as photographed by Carter Smith.


im in ur blogs
changing ur layouts

Ladies and gentlemen...

...my brother.

This one is dedicated to Sarah Fuller as well.

Leave him a comment, congratulating him on his superior skillz.

We all need to be taken away from our situations sometimes.

I used to smoke cigarettes to take myself out of a situation. It gave me an excuse to physically step away and to clear my head. The act of methodically inhaling and exhaling forced me to slow myself down and just... be.

Driving would do it for me too. It was the physical space that I could put between myself and the situation that would make me feel better. Knowing that the stress was literally miles away was a temporary relief. I felt completely in control, which is a great feeling.

Now I shut myself in my room and listen to music. Big shock, right? I've been doing this a lot lately. Between hysterical crying fits and being the one in control, panic attacks and waves of crystal clear vision, being okay with the situation and frantically begging someone to take me away for just a few minutes, it's been difficult to find the exact way to be able to whisk myself outside of things.

Sometimes I sit in the dark, just me and Explosions in the Sky. Sometimes I lie there and close my eyes, and Elvis Costello is the only one who really gets it. Sometimes Lou Rawls knows exactly how to transport me away from my tiny white bedroom in Onalaska. Sometimes it's the Velvet Underground who beckons me away from the deterioration. Sometimes John Frusciante makes me feel all these emotions I didn't even know existed while I am in my solitude. And Miles Davis... well, I may as well be in a completely different country when I listen to him. And sometimes... just sometimes... I listen to a song that used to encompass all that was romantic and heartbreaking and emotional in high school and even now I feel the familiar intensity wash over me.

Each of these songs takes me a million miles away from where I am. Concentrating on the poetry and the rhythms and the orchestration and the power, whether subtle or striking, takes me away from always having to be strong. It removes me from the exhausting task of feeling like I have to be everywhere at once. It reminds me that as much as I'd like to think I am invincible... I'm just not... and it's okay. It's just me and the music.

Some of us can't go chill out on the ice, like Clay suggested. Some of us are unable to even leave the house unaccompanied, save for short walks to the Mom & Pop Grocery Store three blocks away. Despite this, there are ways to get away.

So here, dearest kids, closest confidants, beautiful friends, here are my solitude songs, in hopes that perhaps it will help you if you need an in-home getaway. (Links removed for the sake of my traffic quota. Hit me up.)

Explosions in the Sky - Catastrophe and the Cure
Elvis Costello - Alison
Lou Rawls - I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)
The Velvet Underground - Heroin
John Frusciante - Carvel
Miles Davis - Nuit Sur Les Champs-Elysees (Take 2)
The Juliana Theory - August In Bethany

Growing old is an inevitability, but it's not something that I ever thought about before I started visiting Hillview Health Care Center, my grandmother's nursing home.

This afternoon I knocked on the door as I always do -- three knocks and poke my head in -- and said, "Hello ladies," addressing my grandmother and her roommate Norma. Norma was watching "The Match Game P.M.," and my grandmother was nowhere to be found. Norma informed me that she was in the Rec Room for some kind of music. I was ecstatic that she had gotten out of the room to do something, so I rushed to the Rec Room to enjoy whatever was happening along with her.

I almost changed my mind when I heard accordion music echoing down the hallway. God. Of course. Polkas, waltzes, Irish medleys, all on the accordion. Of course.

I entered the Rec Room and saw my grandmother immediately. I sat down next to her and started doing everything I could to avoid the accordion that seemed to be overpowering every one of my senses. It was like I could smell the damn thing.

I started looking around the room at the countless others that were there. Aging men and women, all comforted by the obnoxious sound, staring around the room with glassy eyes, most mouthing lyrics. A smile crossed my face when I imagined what kind of music I'd be listening to when I was at this place in my life. Would they play Britney Spears? Would it be on an accordion?

All of a sudden I started to think about what it would really be like to be in that place... to be eighty-five and in a nursing home ("Health Care Center"), having loved ones visit me (if I was lucky), have the nurses be friendly, but not too friendly... to feel all alone in a sea of others just like me.

As my grandmother and I walked back to her room, I couldn't shake the thoughts and started thinking about everything I saw as if it were for me. Someday I will be laying in a hospital bed, mouth agape, with a dark pastel green blanket tucked around my body. Someday I will be wheeled down to the Rec Room for cribbage. Someday I will have to eat that cardboard dinner roll. Someday I will have to put in my teeth before dinner. It was surreal. I had never considered any of this before. The inevitability of getting old had always been there, but it was staring me in the face.

I visited with my grandmother for awhile and finally said goodbye. As I left, the thoughts still lingered. All of a sudden I realized that I would be walking through Hallway 100 on the way out. Hallway 100 is reserved for the people whose mental capacity had completely vanished. The inhabitants were shells of their former selves. Their bodies were there, but their minds did not exist. It's like real, live zombies, but zombies who used to be full of life, zombies who have families and loved ones, zombies who used to be... just like me.

I tried to walk through it as quickly as possible because I was feeling incredibly uncomfortable. There was a woman in a wheelchair sitting outside her room staring at the tiles on the ground. I smiled politely at her, and she grabbed my jeans. She stared at me with a panicked look and asked me frantically what temperature it was and why I hadn't changed it like I had promised to. I smiled again, apologized, and stepped out of her grasp. I continued down the hallway, quickening my steps, and I was hit with a wave of intense sadness. Was this me? Was this my future? Am I going to end up in Hallway 100?

Death and dying is an inevitability that I've been faced with a lot in the last four years... my grandfather, my mom's aunt, a friend of the family, my grandmother (UT), and now my other grandmother. It's all that time before it happens that I never thought about. The hospitals and medications and blood pressure and osteoporosis and arthritis and creaky joints and walkers and canes and wheelchairs and "quality of life" and IVs and feeding tubes and placation vs. honesty and more pills and bland food and fear of falling and hunching and hearing loss and memory loss and dementia and confusion and Hallway 100.

In a few weeks I will be 22 and I am terrified to be old.

I was reading through some of my old friends' livejournals today and I found the best thing ever written, from the first word to the last. The following was written by Mr. Paul Senungi, circa February 2005:

Anne came down last weekend and we went to see "Low" at First Ave. I was excited because this was my first concert at First Ave (or ever) and Anne was totally pump to see "Low". To make a long story short, Anne and I got to First Ave two hours before the concert so we could get a ticket for me. We waited forever in the beautifully warm Minnesota weather, and there were no more than 15 people in front of us. Unfortunately the show was totally sold out. Then it happen... Anne totally flipped. She didn't have to say anything but you could tell every emotion and thought that was going on in that head (a little anger, hate, rage, sorrow, disbelief, etc...). When all hope seemed to be lost, a women from the crowd was selling her tickets. Anne busted through the mob of people-knocking down little children, the elderly, crippled and hobos alike- and demanded that the lady give up her tickets or face death. Like any person who valued their life, she gave up her ticket and the next thing you know we were in. (I'm getting tired so I am going to cut this short) We got in, the concert was rockin. "Pedro the Lion" kicked ass, and "Low" was pretty good. Then after the concert, Anne and I hit up Perkins and that's where I consumed a tremendous twelve in under 5 mins.

Loves it.