“She may not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts, kid.”
-Han Solo

I bring you this special weekend blog scrap just to announce that my brother used to think the phrase was “throw kosh into the wind.”

Tremendous!

- your hair just needs to be cut?  Immediately?  Because all of a sudden, and without warning, you are Morticia?

- you wear the black racerback tank with the rainbow graphic eagle on the front?  Because it’s so awesome?

- you eat breakfast at an oatmeal cart?  Because this is Portland?

- you hear a song that changes your life?  Because it gives you the words and the framework to deal with what you couldn’t deal with before?  And it’s called “Closer to the Moon” by Alli Rogers?

- you write a blog in a format that gives the illusion that we’re all on the same page, when really, we’re probably not?  Because not everyone can own a black racerback tank with a rainbow graphic eagle on the front?

On Friday morning, my dad and I left at 4am and drove for over 2 hours to hike for 6 and see only one other person all day.  It’s a very, very thin slice of the world’s population who will ever stand where we were on Friday – between the remote location and the 4-wheel drive roads and the amount of physicality one has to employ to get there, you have to REALLY mean to go.

But we had an opportunity, and we grabbed it.  We really meant to go.

The hike was long and steep, but my daily walkoftriumphs have paid off, and we kept a good pace.  Nearing the top, the summit looked so close.

But when we actually got closer, I realized that we were going to have to scale this (see here for another perspective):

Now, listen.  I’m no rock climber.  I have no triceps, remember?  Plus, heights and me?  We don’t get along so well.  It’s not so much the heights that bother me – it’s more of the plunging to my death that really freaks me out.  I don’t even like to skin my knees, let alone break bones, lose limbs, chip teeth, etc.  And wouldn’t you know, the first really scary part, when my dad assured me that the rock was secure, and if I just put my hand *right there*, I could get a good grip – the rock BROKE OFF IN MY HAND.

But there was only one way to the top, and I wasn’t walking off that mountain without a summit.

Despite my fears, and freezing a couple of times, unable to move or breathe, starting the stressed-out-whistle-breath thing, after a long, slow climb, I made one last quick hand-over-foot movement and scrambled my way onto the top of Wetterhorn Peak.

Fears: faced, engaged, overcome.
Self-confidence: boosted.
First 14er of the season: conquered.

(Now go read my dad’s post about what HE did the next day.  AAAAGH.)

Let’s pretend that there’s a girl.  She’s a nice girl with a lot of friends, and at least moderately interesting.  She has hobbies.  She has a creative mind.  Some might even find her appealing – although a man might have once told her that if a mirror placed beneath a woman’s nose fogs, she is worth chasing… so I suppose that “attraction” is open to interpretation.  She is independent, a la Kelly Clarkson and Destiny’s Child – a rent check in one hand and a glass of Pinot in the other.

She has been making her life spin on her own for a good long while now.  And while she might like to meet a good man someday, in theory, she would rather be alone than wish that she was.

However, hypothetically speaking, let’s just say that out of curiosity, she decided to try online dating.

And hypothetically, she was matched with this man.*

And while she is sure that he is a very nice person, in this make believe scenario, thus ended the completely theoretical experiment.

*Also, hypothetically, of course, if said girl happened to have an imaginary friend named the Handy Graham, this would, in theory, be his favorite story.

One of my nearest and dearest, Christina, sent this to me yesterday.  She remembers well my deep and abiding love for “Newsies” (to this day, Jack Kelly might remain my biggest crush), and combined with my newfound fascination with one Lady Gaga, this is pure magic.

Who was your favorite newsie?

Tomorrow night, Josh and Meredith are flying in for the weekend.  We will recreate this moment.

I had an extra set of keys made for my apartment so they can come and go as they please; however, I didn’t have an extra keychain.

I KNOW.  How could I not have an extra keychain?  Doesn’t everyone have an abundance of useless keychains from every networking event, tourist trap, and occasion involving girls in bikini tops and chaps slinging José Cuervo and glow sticks at the bars downtown?

I didn’t even have one of THOSE keychains?

Last week, I went to Target with the following shopping list:
-Butter
-Keychain

But then, I realized that spending money on a keychain would be a waste – especially when I live so close to my parents, who have kitchen drawers full of every useless item you think is useless until you actually need a keychain.

Mom found a spare for me, and sent it with Sarah to my house earlier this week.  And folks, I cannot wait for the moment when I make Josh Gruner strap my keys to his using a keychain featuring this:

Josh and Meredith, I’ll keep the light on for you.  And you keep the candle burning.

You can take the girl out of Nashville, but you can’t take the stage-side-at-the-Taylor-Swift-show-and-THIS-IS-SO-AWESOME out of the girl.

Jenn and I had tickets for the uppermost balcony last night, literally behind the stage.  But my most excellent friend Kelli (SHOUT OUT) back in Nashville pulled some strings, and all of a sudden, a man was tapping us on the shoulder and giving us wrist bands and we were… well, we were this close:

She was bedazzled, to say the least.

This week has been full of some very fun surprises – things I haven’t tried for or asked for or even imagined might happen.  It’s kind of comical, actually.  But surprise is an important element of a good story – and these days, I’m liking mine.

I mean, I wish I knew where this story was headed… but that would ruin the surprise, now, wouldn’t it?

Seth just texted me.

“Annie!  Did you already know about the Disc Makers catalog and were just waiting to surprise me?”

I stared at the phone.  What catalog?  Disc Makers?  Wait – am I in Disc Makers?  AM I IN DISC MAKERS???!?

“On the COVER.”

I am on the cover of… well, not quite a magazine, but IT MIGHT AS WELL BE A MAGAZINE.  I am arriving in thousands of mailboxes, worldwide, as I type.

Thank you, Seth Kiehl, for creating such a gorgeous design… one that Disc Makers rightfully found worthy of their catalog.

Oh, and the front page of their website, too.

Pretty much the happiest thing that could happen to me on a Monday.  I seriously can’t stop smiling.  Thanks, Disc Makers.

Brought to you by my brother’s Twitter stream, since we haven’t talked on the phone in ages (probably because his 30th birthday was February 22 and I STILL haven’t sent him a gift, because I am a terrible sister, and if he wants to disown me, he has due cause, even though JEREMY I PROMISE I’M SENDING YOU SOMETHING):

Tyler (4-years old) wants to change his name to “Laser.”

Micah (6-years old) prayed, “Dear Jesus, please help us find Waldo.”