Anchors Aweigh


Stand Navy out to sea
Fight our battle cry:
We'll never change our course
So vicious foes steer shy-y-y-y
Roll out the T. N. T.
Anchors Aweigh
Sail on to victory
And sink their bones to Davy Jones, hooray!

Yo ho there shipmate
Take the fighting to the far off seas
Yo ho there messmate
Hear the wailing of the wild banshees
All hands, fire brands
Let's Blast them as we go. So

Anchors Aweigh my boys
Anchors Aweigh
Farewell to college joys (or "Farewell to foreign shores")
We sail at break of day day day day
Through our last night ashore
Drink to the foam
Until we meet once more
Here's wishing you a happy voyage home!

Heave a ho there sailor
Everybody drink up while you may
Heave a ho there sailor
For your gonna sail at break of day
Drink away, Drink away,
For you sail at break of day, Hey!

Blue of the Mighty Deep
Gold of God’s Sun
Let these our colors be
Till all time be done
On seven seas we learn
Navy’s stern call
Faith, Courage, Service True
With Honor Over, Honor Over All.

Country music on a Friday morning was probably a bad idea...eh. F it.
It wasn't Tim McGraw though, was it?...Trisha Yearwood? Yep.

Tim McGraw
(Taylor Swift)

You said the way my blue eyes shined,
Put those Georgia stars to shame that night
I said: "That's a lie"
Just a boy in a Chevy truck,
That had a tendency of gettin' stuck,
On backroads at night
An' I was right there beside him all summer long
An' then the time we woke up to find that summer'd gone

But when you think: Tim McGraw,
I hope you think my favorite song
The one we danced to all night long:
The moon like a spotlight on the lake
When you think happiness,
I hope you think: "That little black dress"
Think of my head on your chest,
An' my old faded blue jeans
When you think Tim McGraw,
I hope you think of me

September saw a month of tears,
An' thankin' God that you weren't here,
To see me like that
But in a box beneath my bed,
Is a letter that you never read,
From three summers back
It's hard not to find it all a little bitter sweet,
An' lookin' back on all of that, it's nice to believe:

When you think: Tim McGraw,
I hope you think my favorite song
The one we danced to all night long:
The moon like a spotlight on the lake
When you think happiness,
I hope you think: "That little black dress"
Think of my head on your chest,
An' my old faded blue jeans
When you think Tim McGraw, I hope you think of me

And I'm back for the first time since then:
I'm standin' on your street,
An' there's a letter left on your doorstep,
An' the first thing that you'll read:
Is: "When you think: Tim McGraw,
"I hope you think my favorite song"
Some day you'll turn your radio on,
I hope it takes you back to that place
When you think happiness,
I hope you think: "That little black dress"
Think of my head on your chest,
An' my old faded blue jeans

When you think Tim McGraw,
I hope you think of me
Oh, think of me,
Mmmm
You said the way my blue eyes shined,
Put those Georgia stars to shame that night
I said: "That's a lie"

My whole body hurts and I want to sleep but I won't.

The television tells me that a pretty little pill will sooth the pain but I know the only thing that will work is heat...I've recently noticed that I seek it out like a fiend during winter in NYC, in any form that I can take it.

Jesus Christ, I am annoyed.

Part of this irritation stems from the chip on my shoulder, but knowing that doesn't help the irritation that I am sure is displaying itself boldly on my face.

Dammit.

George Bailey: What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary.
Mary: I'll take it. Then what?
George Bailey: Well, then you can swallow it, and it'll all dissolve, see... and the moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair... am I talking too much?

's not too much to ask, is it?

Just the moon. I don't need the sun - someone else can use that as their token of affection.

My thoughts are flying randomly around the apartment like the 50 cent rubber ball I bought this weekend...God this book is long, God he's pretty, you're a hugely frustrating human being and I move between wanting to hug you and wanting to smack you all in the span of 6 minutes, I wonder if I can just will my laundry to get done...5 am is gonna come really quick tomorrow morning............

I've been thinking (again, yeah I know) of getting a street bike. Sometimes having no way out of the city beyond a bus or train is stifling. And since I am having the "I gotta go" stirrings again *checks watch: three years, well that's about right* I feel like I need to find more ways to coax my roots into growing deeper here. I don't feel like starting all over again, or going home to...I dunno what...not yet, anyway. But, regrettably, I barely have enough money for the hot shoes that I want, so getting a hot bike is probably right on the outskirts of my budget.

Shrugging my shoulders and crooking my lips to one side in "oh well" are becoming surprisingly familiar gestures to me.