Dear Old Men Who Feel the Need to Check Out My Butt -

Hey, it’s me, Anne. You must admit, in your old age that you can get away with a lot. I only hope that one day, I too will be as old as you are, have seen as much as you’ve seen, and done as much as you have done. Despite many of my peers’ feelings towards you, I typically adore older people. You have discipline, respect, horribly wonderful driving that drives us all crazy, and stories about the “good ol’ days”.

That said: why do you feel the need to check out my butt? 

I confess that I realize that I have a rather, what is the word? Bootylicious butt. It’s pretty round and out there but, overall, not that amazing of a butt. You would think, leering old men, that you’d do the typical check out of the boobs. Yes, I concede, sometimes I do wear baggy shirts on my off-days. That does, however, not give you the excuse to check out my butt. 

It is kind of demeaning, both to me as a person and my boobs (which you so pointedly ignore), that you so openly stare at said butt. I realize, of course, that sometimes you can be subtle about it. You, leering old man, will wait until I have passed before checking it out. Had you considered, perhaps, that my BOYFRIEND behind me would notice? And point it out?

LAUGHINGLY?

Now, leering old men who check out my butt, if you got creative about it then, perhaps, it’d be a little less demeaning. Why, take for example, the old man who tricked me, at the store, into talking about my food choices? Which, later, my boyfriend laughingly informed me in my distraction I failed to notice him checking out my boobs? 

Seriously, old men leering at my butt, you can do better. If you must be disgusting leerers, at least make it more subtle. 

If I notice, that says something.

Your “Bootylicious” Friend, 
Anne

Technorati Tags: perverted old men, leering, open letters, butts, bootylicious, leering old men, subtle

Mack and I have been making an effort to go on walks everyday so help me which my cholesterol and for my photography project I’m doing. While we were walking through this neighborhood near-by this older woman was spraying her car own after obviously washing it. Mack, fearing getting sprayed, started directing me to the other side of the road.

Mack: Let’s move just in case she, you know, misses.

Old Woman: [notices] What? You afraid I’m gonna HIT YOU? [aims hose pointed at us]

Mack: Just being safe!

Me: Aim for him.

Have you ever noticed that the crazies like to converge at the local library? I write this as I, myself, sit at the library so think of that what you will. Right in front of me, this man reads a book, muttering to himself, shuffling around in his seat as he picks through words and makes notes on the free little sheets of paper.

I love the public library. I remember being in elementary and being so excited when the library opened at the bottom of the hill that I lived at. You know what that meant? Books! And they were at the bottom of the hill! That is only like, a mile away!

This was a very exciting point in my seven-years of living.

In middle school, before I got my license, my best friend (who happened to live across the street) and I would walk down the hill to the library and pour through the books, trying to find random reading materials that we would definitely love. History books on medieval diseases? SIGN ME UP! Fashion from the 20s? Sure, we have no fashion sense but it seems like an INTERESTING READ!

Our local library was in a, frankly, kind of small community. There were larger libraries a little further away that people would go to instead, due to the limited collection available at ours. Given that, the crazies tended to avoid our library and flock to the larger libraries where there was more books for them and people to concern with their mutterings. I think I made it to my senior year of high school without realizing the gems of society hang out there.

I think it also helped my close friend in high school happened to work at a large library, too.

When I moved to Florida, we were without internet for about a week so, in order to telecommute, I’d be stuck at the library for my working hours until the end of my shift. I’d always wonder what other patrons thought of me, sitting at my desk, working in Photoshop and coding websites. I came to realize there are lots of people you will always find at the library, no matter the location.

• The crazy person. These people tend to mutter to themselves and shift throughout the library with their special brand of (usually) good-natured crazy.
• The super-crazy person. You tend to give these ones wide birth since then can occasionally smell and might shank you.
• The screaming child. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids, but if you’re child is going to scream take it outside till it wears it’s lungs out.
• The lady who hasn’t realized 1980 has ended. She usually has a perm of curls and BIG hair.
• Senior citizens. I adore these people. I just want to put them in my pocket and protect them. They come to the library to check their email and check out books and are generally very unassuming and quiet patrons.
• The terminally cool teenagers. Seriously? Why are you looking at them? You’re invading their space with your un-cool genes.
• College students. Usually on the computer or at a table with books strewn about, a slightly panicked or resigned expression on their face as they plow ahead.
• Silicone and bleach beauty. She doesn’t, like, “get” all this reading stuff, but she is like totally looking so totally smart.
• The dude who thinks he’s Fabio. Typically middle-aged with some sort of mullet. Suspect he is there to hit on younger, studious women. See silicone and bleach beauty above.
• The middle-aged (often female) artist. She’s there researching for her craft and hates when you invade her creative bubble.

After seeing this list you will, of course, realize why when i have nothing to do on my lunch break at work I will come down the library to read a book or simply take in my surroundings and observe the world around me.

Technorati Tags: library, crazy people, reading, grouping, people studying, books, social, lists

We step out of our apartment hoping to catch the perfect time in the afternoon. This week has been unbearably cold, especially for those of us who haven’t lived up in the northwest in a little while. Mack thinks I’m a wimp that already I forget what actual, actual cold weather feels like. I remind him to shut up since, unlike him, I have a hard time retaining body heat.

As we walk towards the field something catches my eye. Ah, of course, it’s a cat. The cat in question is eye-balling the field and looks down at us with the classic cat look of distain. I snap a picture.

Yesterday, we went out to St. Augustine so I could play with my new camera. This purchase of mine has been equally exciting for both Mack and I for ultimately the same reason: I have my own camera and, thus, Mack gets his back. Today on our walk we both have our cameras poised as I under-take my new project. Excitement is in the air as we both snap away, happy the afternoon is warm, windy, and wonderful.

Like geeks we discuss camera settings, switching modes on our individual cameras and testing out the shots. We spot interesting things on the walk, pointing them out, eager for the other to partake in the perfect shot as well. 

There is no need for us to fill the walk with talk the whole time. At times we walk in silence, enjoying each others company, stopping along the way as we recognize the other stopping for a shot. Mack points out a photo for my project. I photograph it.

We’re gone for perhaps an hour. Time flies while you’re having fun. As we approach our apartment complex we duck between the fence, cutting across the lawn to save us that few extra feet. We get back to the apartment and Mack struggles for a minute with the lock. I tease him asking if he is certain this is, indeed, our apartment. Perhaps we had the wrong apartment? And someone was petrified at the sound of someone obviously trying to break in. Rolling his eyes laughingly, Mack gets the lock and opens the door. 

And we’re back to reality, happier for our experience.

Technorati Tags: walking, nature, photography walks, nature walk, afternoon, cameras, perfect walk

I…

Love…

my new…

Camera!

I think Mack’s thrilled as well since it translates to me not klepto-ing his camera (since my old one franky kind of sucked).

Brother: You sure you want to go riding with us? Cause I’ll bring down my extra helmet.

Me: Yeah, I’m sure. Unless it’s like, a guy bonding experience. And you’re sacrificing animals to the pagan gods.

Last week, twenty-eight years ago, our mother gave birth to the fourth boy in the household. He was over-due and I think our mother was happy to have him out. He was over ten-pounds. Some ladies looking at all the newborn babies commented on the fact he was such a big baby not realizing our Mom was standing right there. 

I don’t know about you, but if I were my Mom I would have laid down a beat down for that comment.

My brother enjoyed being the youngest child for four years before I came along. He had three older brothers to look up to and play with and the world was good in his book. Then, I came along and stole the youngest (read: favorite) position. To top off the indignity of it all, I turned out to be a girl. I think to his four-year old self this was the ultimate act of betrayal since it wasn’t like it was another boy to the mix. No, it was a girl… the first and last my parents would have.

There is a picture at the hospital of my Mom in bed with all her boys around her and me on this brothers lap. He happened to be wearing a crown from Burger King. Our brothers like to call it the ‘I’m not the baby anymore’ crown. 

With the order of things growing up, I was his punching bag since whoever was the child behind you in order was by default. To say we didn’t particularly get along would be the understatement of the century. I can admit I was kind of a spoiled brat when I was younger. Looking back I can see why he used me as a punching bag, especially when I deserved it. We used to fight like cats and dogs… so much so that recently an old family friend informed me she could hear us screaming at each other from down the street.

Plus, I think the fact I’d believe the obviously (years later) very fake stories our older brother would tell me to incriminate his little brother and amuse his little sister, did not help.

My brother and I were as different as any two people could be, something that became more and more apparent the older we got. Where I was shy, my brother was very social. Where I could be a girl of many words, given the right circumstances, my brother was more withdrawn. I was, in time, an academic with a real thirst for knowledge that a classroom could provide me. My brother sought out knowledge in the real-world, preferring to experience stuff first-hand instead of simply reading about it in a textbook.

However, in time, although we were very different in many regards, in others we were very much alike. We both like to avoid confrontation, we’re both fairly withdrawn and enjoying looking and listening.

Then, I moved to Japan as an exchange student.

Leading up to the trip we’d ruthlessly taunt each other; we were making sure the other knew just how over we were of each other and how much the other will not be missed. It took me until summer to admit to my brother on the phone that in fact, yes, I did miss him. Who else was there to terrorize me and generally treat me like the little sister I was? 

In that simple admission our relationship changed from one of open hostility to accepting that we were siblings. When I came back from Japan and I was having a hard time adjusting my brother offered me an ear to talk to and we grew from accepting we’re siblings to being siblings that could, gasp, be friends. 

We are still very different people, yet, we’re similar. No longer will we not admit that we’re similar and genetically linked, but rather, find an awesome support system in each other. 

Whenever we’re in the same town now we like to hang out and, besides my mother, is the family member I keep in regular contact with. When upset or needing an opinion I’ll text him or give him a ring. 

Despite the bickering and general sibling rivalry growing up, in my brother I found a friend for life who I’m fortunate to have as my brother. 

To my brother on his 28th year of life: Happy birthday! with wishes for many more years of life, happiness, laughter, and love!

Luf, your baby sister