A long line of little bag-of-hell women

I am a bag-of-hell woman. It is not something I have control over. My great aunts both were very strong women that would do anything they had to do to get what they wanted. Frances ran for a seat on her town council when it was unheard of for women to hold office (at least in NC), while Verona had a technician job that was predominantly held by men. I'm also some sort of cousin with the first woman to be a chief justice in the state of NC, Susie Sharp.

My grandmother does not really have this trait, because those aunts I was referring to were my grandfather's sisters. My mother, aunt, and I , however, did inherit this slightly frightening personality trait.

I'm not abrasive or anything (most of the time). I'm polite and generally a nice person, but don't even think about getting in my way, because I will mow you down. It won't be pretty. It's one of those strong women things I share with my mother (and a whole long list of other women that look kind of like me).

You may mistakenly believe I have some sort of feminist leaning because of all those women, but it's quite the opposite. I never felt as if I couldn't do anything I damn well pleased because of those crazy ladies. I know I'm standing on the shoulders of giants and they shattered the glass ceiling before I even got a chance to look at it, but I don't think they would want me to think that I would ever have to struggle with sexism.

Isn't that the point of equal rights? That no one even sees the lines anymore? Because I defiantly don't see the lines. I don't see them between gender, race, religion anything. We're all different and whatever, but we're all capable of the same basic functions. Anyone can be smart or play a sport or fix a car. That's just the way I feel, and maybe I'm the only one.

But it was that long line of Bag-of-hell women that told me that we're all just people, and we all are just people.


Here's a little anecdote about great aunt Frances:
When she bought new clothes, she would bring them home in laundry bags and take the tags off. Then when her husband, Charlie asked her if she had just bought it when he saw her wear them, she would reply :"Charlie, you old dog! I've had these clothes forever. I can't believe you have never noticed them before!"

I'm genetically inclined to stir up trouble. I do and say anything I want, because that's the way it is in my family.

I'm a smidgen overwhelmed. Just a smidgen.

Today my NC History professor told me I didn't look like the type to have tattoos and that I must have a wild side. It made me wonder what I look like. I mean I thought people would expect people like me to have tattoos, but then again I don't look the way I act.

It is almost time for me to register for classes for next semester and one of the ones I want is already full, which prompted me to rant about priority registration, because honors and teaching fellow kids are lucky bastards. If I stalk the registration page enough, I'll get the classes I want so don't worry. I'll probably just get 15 hours for now and stalk and stalk and stalk and stalk until I get that one class and I'll be up to 18 hours, and if you are familiar with college credit hours that is indeed a lot, and I am indeed crazy. But you knew that.

I have a speech proficiency test tomorrow. It is a requirement to get into the college of ed. I think it is dumb, but I exempted out of the pain in the butt requirement so I'll let this go.

I also have to do some volunteer work so I don't get kicked out of he honor society. I only have 4 of the required 15 points, so I need to get on the ball. If I hadn't already blown so much money on this, I would probably just quit, because I don't really have the time for it, and I'm going to just join the History and Social Science Honors societies, because you just pay them money and they give you chords and leave you alone. I guess I'll give it a good college try and if I get kicked out I'll leave it at that.

Yay college!

Another fun fact about Anne:

I pick the salt off of pretzels. I am that boring. I'm a monotone voice away from being the cure for insomnia. Just so you know.



UPDATE:
I have a lap full of salt due to this peculiar habit.

Most college kids are getting drunk on a beach. I'm basking in the glow of 60 degrees.

I know why pretty people are so mean. It's being hungry and then having to be mad at yourself when you do break down and cram as many twizzlers (the sweet and sour kind) down your faces as humanly possible. At least in my experience that is. I love twizzlers by the way. I've lost four lbs, but I have so many more to go and dwelling on the subject will probably just depress me further. On to happy things...

I have recently descended the mountain to enjoy the warmth of the lower lands. Sadly, 60 degrees is  shorts and tank tops weather to any ASU you'll ever meet. It's really refreshing to not have piles of snow obscuring your sense of humanity. I'm a little mad that during my spring break is when Boone decides that bearable temperatures are a good idea. 

I wish I were on a sand dune:

Time to get things started.

So begins the torture of dieting.

I've started calorie counting (887.5 in case you were wondering). No worries, I'm still eating well, and I'm not done eating just yet, but I'm trying to keep it under 2,000. I can't exercise a lot right now, because there is snow up to my ass outside (almost literally). I'm doing a few sit-up circuit training type things my bestie taught me in the mean time, but that doesn't really make weight loss easy so I have to cut a few more calories than in the future until it stops snowing and I can go jogging.

When I get desperate to lose weight and need something to motivate me, I might actually post my weight and bmi and stuff. For right now, I just want to sulk in private.

The death of me

All right, so I'm not fairing so well on this whole eating well thing. Well, I've cut down on the sheer amount I eat, which I guess could be put in the win column. The things I eat, however, don't seem to be getting any better. I ate a big ole stack of pancakes for dinner. Roomie brought home the kind you add water to the bottle and shake. I made the whole thing upon her request, and we each ate half. I'm not too proud of that, but the only other thing I had eaten today was a Special K bar, so I blame lack of nutrition for my lapse in judgement.


Here's a little visual of something I've been known to eat:

That would be some premium frozen hot chocolate (one of roomie's concoctions and that bitch is skinny).

"Yeah Mom, I know..."

You know how when you are so similar to someone you begin to dislike them, because they remind you of yourself? All the women in my family might as well be clones of one another. We don't look the same, but that is the end of the list of things that are different about us. I can't spend more than an hour with more than one of them at a time without getting a little annoyed, and I know that's all on me. I just wish i didn't have the future right in front of me and talking to me. I'm going to be exactly like my mom. I mean, I'm a little more laid back than she is, but not by much. I love my mom and my grandma and my aunt, but we have a family vacation coming up, and I don't know if I can get through it without taking up a serious drinking problem.