Blog, Sweet Blog

Archive for the ‘random’ Category

Another great moment in tumblr achievement…and by “great”, I mean “sad oversharing” and by tumblr, I mean, the place on the Internet where I sleep most nights when I’m not over at dudeswithbeardseatingcupcakes, doing it with my boyfriend.



Well, it’s been a while since we did an episode of The annahell Share Times Family Feelings Friendship Hour so put on your reading pants and buckle up!

But first, is this an amazing picture or what?  I don’t know wtf it is but I found it when I was searching for screen caps from It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!.  Is that a Scorpio symbol on her beanie hat thing?  Oddly appropriate.  I know it isn’t Halloween-y, but I’M THE BOSS HERE AND WHAT I SAY GOES.  Don’t fret though, it’ll be non-menstrual themed ghouls and goblins from now on, promise.

So yeah, feelings…I’m kind of frustrated, you guys.  I’ve mentioned that it’s been a busy few weeks what with school and what’s been going down at work and all.

School is fine, I guess.  I’ve got my homework schedule down and I haven’t gotten lower than a 98/100 on anything, but I kind of hate this class.  I’m always late and nobody talks to me and lately, I don’t even look at the professor when he’s talking anymore.  I just roll my eyes A LOT and mumble curses (witch curses!) under my breath.

Like, the guys are friendly, when cornered, but standoffish/shy enough that introverted shut-ins seem more sociable.   And I’m never in a good mood for that class (what with the boob-staring or the lateness-inducing early morning-ness of the class), so doing an hour of Samantha Small Talk just to have an awkward conversation with a stinky nerd boy is nigh inconceivable. NIGH INCONCEIVABLE!

Also, if I can nrrd grrl out for a second, the way the teacher just shrugs off the math all the time is really starting to bother me…like in a uh-oh, maybe I chose the wrong program kind of way. Like, if this was an electrical engineering course, I would be holding on for dear life, but at least they would do proofs and not refer to the math as “hard” or “scary.”  It’s just insulting, you guys.

Whatever, it’ll be fine, I’ll be fine.  I think it might help me feel better if I could get to class on time or if I asked the tall-white-guy clique if they want to study after work (the Indian kids just keep to themselves).

And can we talk about this leadership program thing at work?  So I applied to this junior leadership thing at work and it’s been, shall we say, a difficult process.  There were all these specific requirements for the application process…

-make a weird resume with your past company’s mailing address and a salary history

-use this one website that’s broken in strange ways for half of the 30-day application period and then when you complain about it to the program contact you get thrown into this it’s not my fault back-and-forth between the contact and her supervisor and the contractor that runs the web site.

-have your supervisor fill out an evaluation form on how good you are at “political savvy” and “leveraging diversity”

-fill out these 16 essay questions about your leadership history but we’re only going to give you 250 characters for each one so, basically, just sum it all up in one long, godamn sentence.

-oh yeah, and the essay questions will contradict themselves from one sentence to the next and have a lot of typos and crap, NBD.

-and then fax in everything with this kooky cover sheet system so that we’re guaranteed to lose most of it.

-and don’t fuck it up because your supervisor who you really like and seems to, for some reason, always have your back and is always pulling for you asked you to apply to this program and you can’t screw this up because we’re all counting on you, OK?  OK????

-oh and even though you spent all that time making sure your application was to-the-letter-perfect and submitted well before the deadline, we’re going to lose your documents (see above) anyway, so don’t freak out when you check the website and it says “Ineligible – Application Incomplete,” just keep faxing that shit over and over and over again until you retire or get fired.  Good luck!

So yeah, good times.  Oh, and I also I had a scary-real dream about how my ex forgave me and we got back together and then killed these three people and I’ve been seriously thinking about asking the proprietress of the local BDSM dungeon place how one might, possibly maybe go about training to become a part time professional dominatrix for reasons that I do not, at all, feel comfortable discussing at the present time or in this forum.  Also, crushing loneliness/sister abandonment issues.

If that is not a gratuitous picture of myself on this Wednesday, then I don’t know what is.

Your move, internet.

A continuing series of reposts from my tumblr page,

I just found this list in my gmail drafts box.  I can’t remember what it was for or if I even wrote it (I think I did, but I’m not one to be trusted).  I think it was part of my short-lived attempt to find a better (and apparently secret) nickname than Anna Banana.  Regardless, it made me lol just now, so share time.

Janet Reno
The Other Obama
Annabree the Shiv-ner
Magic Annie Warbucks
Li’l Bow Wow
Molly Mathlete
Captain Blackbush
The Scourge of the Plains
Iron Anna
Betty Beef
Little Shirley Pimple
Queen Roast Beefa
Hillary Cunton
Queen Kong
The Queen of Donkey Kong
Princess Peach, Princess of Mario World
Smacky Spice

Do you have a secret, made-up nickname you’d like to share?

Mood: Wubba wubba Wednesday
Music: Current 93-Red Hawthorne Tree

Sort a way

Holy cats, you guys!  I’m actually writing a Blog, Sweet Blog post for its own sake and not just reposting mah tumblrs.  Don’t get me wrong, tumblr is my new spiritual home and the place I spend most of my time, but we’ve been through a lot, this blog and I, and I can’t stop loving it just because its not tumblr. Besides, this post is relevant to Blog, Sweet Blog‘s interests, which is why I’m posting it here first.

It’s my anniversaries!

I started this blog (well, posted first anyway) on April 23, 2008, or  2.0767 years ago, give or take. I can’t begin to tell you how important this blog has been to me.  It wasn’t ever about attracting readers or experimenting with practical narcissism (those came later).  I’ve always considered this blog to be a safe place for dumping the crazy, discussing whatever, and letting the air out of my head.  I’ll be getting to this in a minute, but it’s easy for me to forget how turbulent the first six months of HRT were for me.   I had just ended a three year long relationship with, until that point, the person I loved most in the world and I was in the middle of chemically altering my body and mind.  I felt unhinged most of the time and happysadangryhyperdepressedenergeticlazy the rest — but not in a bad way, if that makes sense; it felt right and weird.  Anyway, I don’t think I would have done as well if I hadn’t blogged and exercised.

My little blog, bless her, has changed with me.  I’ve struggled with moving from more of a personal/transition journal to an everything blog featuring my thoughts and creative work.  I’m still not sure of where I want to take it, but I  kind of like that it’s all over the place.

I started HRT on June 6th, 2008.  I had started some other transition processes before then (started seeing a therapist, my doctor), but I think it’s fair to call that date the start of my transition.  So, let’s see, that makes me 1.097 years old, in a way.  I won’t ever be celebrating my “new birthday” (the old one is just fine) but I do keep the date on my calendar.  Like I said above, a lot has happened since then (here are the big ones).  I think the process of transition is never ending, but I feel much closer to the end almost two years later.  There are still more physical changes to endure (bottom surgery, the neverfuckingending weekly electrolysis), but I feel like I might have finally graduated to late puberty, at least emotionally.

The last anniversary occurred 1.0548 years ago when I changed my name and started back to work as the real me, the girl named Anna.  Life has gotten kind of weird since then, but work has always felt like a safe place.  I’ve had better and worse days, but no one has ever made me feel uncomfortable or anything but loved and valued.  I know that my experience, sadly, is not the norm and I can’t fairly attribute the ease of my work transition to any more than luck…ok, maybe a little bit of preparation and moxy helped :-).

Still, I’ve struggled with my career choice.  I really don’t think I would have become an engineer if I would have transitioned earlier.  I’m not 100% sure I’ll stay an engineer until retirement, but I feel a lot better about it than I did a couple of months ago.  If I won the lottery or totally stopped caring about my current life, I’d move to New York or Paris and trade engineering to become a professional artist/bon vivant/salonnière/cultural maven/woman-about-town.  There aren’t any plans to move in the near future, but I’m working on my writing and art in the meantime, just in case.

So that’s it, you guys, happy anniversary/birthday to me and Blog, Sweet Blog!!!  I hope the following years are way easier/better than the last two.

Mood: Eh, you know, Tuesday
Music: Kaltwetterfront-revolverheld

The deadly marmot.

I’m posting this having just listened to an NPR segment on the dangers of Facebook, personal privacy, and our obsession with online exhibitionism. Here’s a quote…

“We increasingly know things about each other (or think we do) that we should not know, have no right to know, and have a right, actually, not to know,” Noonan writes.

And yet, I don’t think this applies to me because…I’ve been blogging for a while?  …I try not to shove it in people’s faces IRL and I keep it mostly anon online?  …I’m a carefree, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants rebel who thumbs her nose at convention and quaffs from the chalice of rugged individualism and my every thought is like, important and stuff?  I don’t know, you guys! I’m sorry for contributing to the downfall of Western civilization and all, but I’ll just die if I can’t share my animal poop stories.

Speaking of…I went on 12 mile hike through Rocky Mountain National Park with my parents one summer when I was still in high school.  I’d had a “stomach ache” all morning, but decided to go on the hike in the hope that a grueling, high altitude summer hike would restore me to good health.

It didn’t.

I felt progressively more sick with each mile and prayed for a nice bathroom to magically appear just off the trail.

After a couple of hours, we stopped at a glacial lake to rest and sightsee.  The lake was beautiful, a clear pool of ancient ice melt resting in a shallow bowl of boulders and rocks.  By this time, my little problem had worked its way up to a Level 3 Bathroom Emergency.  I had to go and looked around for a private spot.  The best I could manage in a glacial field filled with giant rocks, less giant rocks was squatting behind a boulder with my parents on one side and the lake on the other.

So, I’m squatting there, “doing my thing” when a little (and by “little” I mean as big as the fattest housecat you’ve ever seen) marmot…

walks up to say hello…or murder me…or give me the rabies, not sure.  I had never seen a marmot in real life (let alone 4 feet away) and I was excited…also embarrassed, kind of scared.  Most of all I felt sad that this pathetic display was my new woodland friend’s first impression of me.

I tried to shoo it away but it wasn’t going anywhere.  We watched each other for another awkward few minutes before I finished and broke the silence.

“Well, I’m going to go.  It was nice to meet you.  I’m…um…really sorry, ok?  Ok, so…bye.”

The marmot said nothing. I didn’t look back.

I found my parents, but couldn’t bring myself to mention the meeting.  It was too shameful, too fresh.  I finished the rest of the hike but the look of pitying judgment in the marmot’s eyes followed me home and for years afterward.

Mood: Blllurggghhhhffffnnnntttt
Music: Camera Obscura- I Need All the Friends I Can Get

I went to a different goth night on Friday with my new favorite gay couple and a college friend who’s visiting from San Francisco.  Goth night with mah gays is usually a lot of fun, but Friday was only so-so.

Friday nights are usually hard for me; I’m tired and so over the long week and I’d much rather go home and eat pizza and watch The McLaughlin Group.  This week, I felt nauseous and bloated and gross and I wasn’t really in the mood for people, let alone club people.  I considered calling it off, but this was my only chance to see my friend before he left town again.  Also, it was rainy and humid and it took me two fucking hours to get ready.  So, I felt harried, yargy, and tired before I even walked in the door.

It got better.  We all walked and talked and drank (a lot) before the end of the night.  I caught up with my friend and made eyes at the cute, twink-y bartender.

I’m kind of an adorable, charming, bumbling drunk but I really need to be looked after.  I tipped the bartender when he closed out my tab.  Ten minutes later, I was interrogating him, asking him why he wouldn’t let me tip him.  He assured me that I had, in fact, already tipped him, generously, but I didn’t believe him.  I thought he was flirting with me by making up some elaborate story about tips and my credit card bill.  I made him charge my credit card a dollar so I could leave him another five.  Thank God I didn’t run into a charming grifter on the way to the bathroom, you guys.

I met a man in there somewhere.  He was standing at the end of the bar near my boys, desperately trying to make eye contact with the bartender.  He was jealous of our special connection and asked for my advice.  I suggested he flash a little skin and make with the sexy winking.

We talked a bit while he waited on his drink.  He was an ok looking guy, older, an inch or so taller than me with longer blonde hair and a slightly receding hairline; a nice guy, but not especially remarkable in any way.

A couple of minutes into our conversation, I thought, He’s lying.  He’s a serial killer and he’s cruising for his next victim.  He wants to take you back to his house so he can drug you and tie you up in the basement and videotape you and torture you and murder you and have sex with your corpse and make a lady suit out of your skin.

I don’t know why I felt that way.  He hadn’t flashed any psycho googly eyes or let anything untoward slip out. I just got a sudden lotion-in-the-basket kind of vibe off him and I felt like I had to get out of there.  I made an excuse about having to say goodbye to my San Francisco friend and I walked with him out to my car.

I hope I’m wrong, it sounds like we go to a lot of the same places and that I might see him again.  I hope it was just the alcohol and my crippling fear of intimacy making me crazy.  Then again, it’s like my momma always says, it’s better to be safe than hacked up into tiny bits in some psycho’s soundproof, easy clean murder room.  So, of course I spent the entire day reading about serial killers.

Have any of you ever felt that way, like you just narrowly escaped getting murdered?

an introduction

Hi, I'm Anna and I love cheese!

This blog is a chronicle of my life and a catalog of happy ephemera. The About page has a little bit more information, but, remember, none of this is really's just a supplement, a thumbnail sketch, a mostly anonymous Intarwebs placeholder. I'm way better/less wordy in person. :-)

Oh, and if I wrote something about you and you thought it was mean or hurtful, I'm sorry. It's how I felt at the time, but probably isn't how I feel now. Chances are, I love you and I think you're awesome.


All content on Blog, Sweet Blog is copyrighted by me, Anna Hell. Unless otherwise noted, all photos, words, and content on this site are mine, created by me, and should not be used without my permission (or at least attributed and linked back). I try to embed links or quote original source material if I use another person's work.

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January 2022