The sublime of walking through the epicenter of constant comings and goings.

Welcome to annarepublic

. . . not to be mistaken with The Republic of Anna, because it doesn't actually exist. 

And I'm not trying to take over the world. 

At least not yet.

And not through this website. 

But twenty years ago when aol and hotmail were the jump-and-jives of email domains, people around me created email addresses that annoyingly included numbers and weird characters that made it a chore to remember and relay.

I went for the catchy and easy-to-remember: annarepublic@hotmail.com. And since then "annarepublic" stuck like a nickname given to a newly initiated gang member, a handle that grew on me over time (and never outgrew me) even though I secretly always identified with the old-school, earthy meticulous drab that defined Banana Republic. I was 18; 18 was a good number (with lots of crazy stories). 

About

I took a big ass roundabout to get back. The kind of roundabout you see in London on Paris. But this one was such a big roundabout, it took "a" several few years to get back. But here I am. Awakened. Alert. And ready. 

I'm a lover of archives that lurk in the crevices. I curate all forms of media, writing, and truth that bubble bath in satire and ignite productive discussion around all the things you shouldn't and aren't really allowed to talk about. 

And according to my beautiful, clever 7-year old, I'm "the best mommy" she's "ever had".  

Full Disclosures

And by the way, that's not me in the picture . . . 
Although, it could very well have been: long black hair, a roller duffle, on a mission . . .