(this is annie)


I worked until just before eight, then hopped on the bus to go home and do some more work. A teenage kid, probably 15, boarded the bus and was easily the most striking person I've ever seen in this town. A tall twig of a punk, with curly hair bleached yellow-blonde, dark roots peeking out underneath the tangles. Baggy, boxy red Sex Pistols sweatshirt and skinny jeans. I didn't know if I was looking at a boy or a girl at first, but when I saw the jeans tucked into the boots, I realized: girl.

Her skin was poreless, creamy, smooth. She had big round azure eyes and a tiny turned-up nose and a light smattering of freckles over angled cheeks. Perfectly symmetrical. And she had that self-consciousness of adolescence: chewed-down fingernails, darting eyes, sudden shifts of carriage. Looking at everything.

I told her that she should go to a modeling agency. She folded into herself a little, mumbled something to deflect my words, and bashfully smiled despite herself. I wound up talking with her dad a bit more; the two of them were visiting from London and traveling the coastline. The girl's eyes lit up when I mentioned Joy Division, and her dad was giddy because he'd followed New Order around back in the day. "You really should take her to Storm Models," I said to him. "She'd be bigger than Agyness Deyn." At this, the girl seemed as excited as a 15-year-old punk can be, and I saw this wonderful glimpse of the woman she might become when she sheds her self-consciousness.

It was such a wonderful, tiny conversation — and though this may be cheesy, I saw some of my former self in this girl. I was never as beautiful, but I remember swimming in clothes and dying my hair and feeling completely awkward and unattractive. And seeing how happy she was to hear a stranger insist that she was beautiful made me very happy indeed.


Northern Soul

Soul nights have always been among my favorites, because the music is so good. I'm a spastic and awkward on the dance floor — seriously, compared to me Ian Curtis is a Solid Gold dancer — but it's fun all the same. Lately I'm a bit disconcerted by how many of my friends go to the gym, and this is making me worry that I should be doing laps or pumping iron or doing whatever it is you do at those dens of sweat and vanity. Instead, I plan to stay fit by busting out dance moves. Like this guy:

It might be a while before I get up there, but it'll happen. I just need to figure out how to pull it off while wearing a skirt.


Unfair kitty karma

I'm sure some of you are wondering why I write so much about (and make stupid videos of) my cats. It's because I work a lot. A lot. And so with few exceptions, I pretty much come home after work, eat some boiled cabbage or something like that, pop in a film noir, and promptly fall asleep before the murder even happens on-screen. So that is why I can't regale you with as many interesting stories as I'd like.

So I apologize in advance for another cat post, but goddammit, you know how Miki-chan died of a big heart? I took Milo and Minou to the vet yesterday for their checkups, and it turns out that sweet Minou has an enlarged heart as well. I feel like being angry, but it's futile. I don't know why the most loving ones seem to have the most troublesome hearts.

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say hello

    it's anniet at gmail.


© 2009 avt

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