On Friday morning, I went skydiving – and I smiled the entire time.  Do you need proof?  Oh, I have proof.

Here I am with my dad beforehand.  Smiling.

Here I am about to climb onto the plane with my instructor/partner/my-entire-life-is-in-your-hands guy, Matt.  Smiling.

Here I am in mid-air.  SMILING LIKE IT’S THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED.

(Come on, is that not the HAPPIEST you have ever seen me?)

And here I am, windblown but safe and sound on the ground with Matt.  Smiling.  Smiling.  Smiling.

As one with a historic fear of heights and smashing and death, skydiving might seem the wrong activity – but I can honestly say that my fears never came into play that morning.  I showed up calm, put on a jumpsuit, pulled my hair back into a ponytail – and then, jumped out of an airplane.

In a culture full of suspicion and defense, it’s a magnificent thing to trust a perfect stranger with your life.  I had no idea what I was doing – didn’t even read the release form as I signed it (which is probably for the best) – but I never questioned the instructions I got from Matt.  I took him at his word.  And as vulnerable as that may have made me, I never felt afraid.

I did, however, scream involuntarily for long stretches of time.  I couldn’t help that part.

Mary Oliver asked, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”  I hope that my answer always includes an amount of risk, the extension of trust, and falling face-forward into whatever may come… wearing a gigantic smile.

I think my nephew missed the point of the Sunday School lesson.

Before you hear this little story, there are two things you should know.

1) My sister Becca is definitely a looker: funky and darling and adorable.  She has a heart-shaped face and a great figure and awesome hair.  It’s never a surprise when a dude finds her attractive.

2) Sloan’s Lake, our new neighborhood, is… colorful.  Interesting.  Slightly ghetto.

Got those two facts?  Okay.  Here’s what happened on Saturday.

Becca was walking around the lake, and when a certain man passed her, he looked her up and down and said, “Damn, girl – you look beautiful!”

And despite Becca’s aforementioned beauty, when she relayed this story to me, we both laughed until we cried.

Because this is what she was wearing:

Damn, girl, indeed.

(I’m still laughing.)

It’s been a long time.

I’ve searched and searched.

I’ve been scammed.

I’ve been disappointed.

I’ve been tempted to give up all hope.

But yesterday, my dreams came true.

Because when it comes to a car hunt, you can’t just be ruthless.

Be Subaruthless.

Do you know about this site?

Please tell me you know about this site.

My sister Becca is a great gift-giver.  She puts a lot of time and thought and effort into the things that she gives people – and this past Christmas was no exception.

In addition to our “real” presents, she made everyone in our family an awesome dog portrait.  Weird?  NOT IF YOU’RE A PARSONS.

Becca knows that I like those dogs with floppy hair that falls into their eyes, so she made me this:

Isn’t that amazing?  I love it so much.  He’s my imaginary dog – the one that doesn’t care if I leave town for the weekend, or if I don’t come home for 12 hours straight, or if I don’t feed him.  He’s the best.

I think Becca should start a pet portrait business.  All in favor, say aye.

One of my favorite sites.

Warning: some are completely inappropriate.  But others… others are just perfection.

My sister Sarah recently introduced me to DJ Earworm, who, at the end of each December, creates an epic mashup of the top 25 songs of the year.

They are ridiculous.

I know I love country music, but Earworm makes me want to be a pop star SO BAD.

Check them out – 2007, 2008, 2009, and as of this week, 2010.

No better way to ring in the new year – that is, aside from celebrating Mel & Jesse’s wedding tonight.  I’ll be in a silver dress and sparkly heels.  It’s my last night in Nashville before pointing my wheel west tomorrow, and driving for one million miles back to Denver.

[I just read that sentence out loud to Julie, and she, in all seriousness, asked, "Is it really one million miles to Denver?"  The sweetie.]

And not to set all of you ON EDGE for my entire one million mile drive, but this week, while idling at stop lights, the Honda has started smelling like burned rubber.  Diagnoses?  My suspicion is that the clutch is going out – and if that were the case, should I… not drive away tomorrow?

Check back in 2011 to find out what has become of me.

Fanciness, merriment, and roistering.

Bacon-wrapped jalapeños stuffed with cheese.

And then, as if the night couldn’t get any more awesome, KARAOKE.

And even better, twirling at ROBERT’S.

I didn’t even look like a hobo.

Today, though?  I totally do.

Lordy.