As a very strong introvert – one who needs my alone time like I need oxygen, like I need chocolate – I must say that I am blown away by my life here in Nashville. The fact that on a Tuesday night, I would gladly choose to go to a show with a friend, and talk the whole time, and then swing by another friend’s house on the way home from the grocery store, just to say hi and hang out for a half an hour even when I could have been at home alone, is beyond me.

The fact that I will be living with not just one, but TWO other girls, come January, is astounding. The fact that I will be living in a bedroom that, as of right now, has no door (no door!), is flabbergasting.

The fact that every Wednesday night I choose to go running with a group of athletes far more capable than I, and then choose to hang out afterwards and talk to people, and choose to not hole myself up in my apartment, is bizarre.

The fact that I am signing a lease for another year in Nashville, rather than returning to my beloved Seattle after Christmas (like I had secretly been planning for months), is a huge surprise to me.

The fact that I have met amazing girlfriends is unexpected, but delightful. The fact that I have met amazing guy friends is utterly shocking, but oh-so-welcome.

The fact that I am feeling happy leaves me feeling flummoxed. (Now THERE’S a telling statement.)

I think it’s too early to say – and I’ll probably trip over my words. But here goes nothing: this INFJ might be becoming an ENFJ.

If you had the chance to register for a free 1ml sample of a “unique unisex cologne,” which fragrance would you choose?

• Grease Monkey
• The Love of Money
• Pumpkin Spice
• Cajun Delight
• Burning Rubber
• Fourth of July
• Ash Tray
• Magazine Pages
• Fresh Bread
• Hot Cookies

Again. Just… hypothetically.

I’m going with Cajun Delight. Because nothing says “sexy” like boiled crawfish.

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It is a deliciously rainy day in Nashville, and I am wearing a green, orange, and black dress with my black leather boots. In this weather and this kind of outfit, I feel more at home than I have in almost a year. It’s a good feeling, even in the face of a worsening sickness.

The Presidential Debate was held last night at Belmont University, a block from my apartment. The city was in a tizzy all day, what with picketers and ralliers and those hoping for a glimpse of a motorcade. I had been wondering where the attractive men in Nashville were hiding; a brief walk-through at the Belmont Block Party beforehand afforded me the answer. I watched the debate, and didn’t feel like there was anything said that was surprising or game-changing or “OMG”-worthy.

But I do know this: Obama is not the Antichrist, and McCain is not the Sith Lord, both of which I’ve heard them called. I’m ready for the election to be over. I know who has my vote. Until then, may God save me from the sound bite.

I don’t really watch “The Biggest Loser,” although I have a couple of times – enough to remember Dan Evans. Dan Evans, of season 5. Dan Evans, who lost a heroic 136 lbs. Dan Evans, the aspiring country artist. Dan Evans, whose CD entitled “Goin’ All Out” is being released today.

Dan Evans, whose mega “Goin’ All Out” tour bus hit my little Honda yesterday.

It’s not unusual to see a tour bus on the streets of Nashville – this is Music City, after all. But most artists tend to keep a low profile – it’s hard to tell who might be inside the bus. Not Dan Evans. His face is plastered all over his bus, along with his name – although, due to poor typography and a serious lack of spacing, I read “DANEvans” and thought that his name was indeed “Dane Vans.”

It wasn’t until the bus hit my car and the DANEvans decal was 18 inches from my face that I realized, “Oh, I was wrong – this is DAN EVANS, not DANE VANS. Charming.”

Blame it on traffic. Blame it on narrow streets. Blame it on a bus driver who was dreaming some seriously big dreams, attempting to navigate his way around a corner. But my bumper was the casualty. Scrape. Scratch. I honked my horn, rolled down my window, and yelled up at the driver, “Did you just crunch me?” He said, “Yes. I’m sorry. If you pull straight forward, you should be fine.”

Surprisingly, he was right. I pulled straight forward, and after the intial RASP of two bumpers separating, I was free from the wreckage*. And DANEvans went chugging merrily on his way.

No autograph or anything. The nerve.

*The “wreckage” consisted of a couple scrapes, but nothing cracked. Bumper, here’s a lesson that my heart has learned time and time again: the bastards can beat you up, but they can’t keep you down. You are bruised but not broken. And you will live to see another day.

My weekend was packed with sundry events of note. For starters, on Friday afternoon at work, I took the elevator and made small talk with the other passenger – a complete stranger. He told me that he was throwing a party that night. I told him to have fun.

That night, I donned a red dress and met up with my friends Joy Beth and Julie to go to a cocktail party that Joy Beth had heard about. We arrived, and the guy from the elevator was hosting it. Imagine that.

My friend Kristen flew in from Seattle, and we drove down to Chattanooga on Saturday for a bridal shower. As we drove over the mountains, we talked about what it might be like if the brakes on my 18-year old Honda were to fail. We searched for runaway truck ramps, and pictured ourselves actually utilizing one. I am the queen of hypothetical situations – blame it on the fact that I am a planner and, generally, a pessimistic projector, always imagining the worst-case-scenario, no matter how outrageous – and so now I know where to find every runaway truck ramp on Lookout Mountain. Just in case – imagine that.

I left Kristen in the ‘Noog, and on my way back to Nashville on Sunday, I stopped to hike a portion of the Fiery Gizzard trail. It felt like Church in the Woods; I walked and climbed and prayed and sang and listened. I also imagined myself slipping off the trail and careening down an embankment to the creek below, breaking both ankles and having to crawl back to civilization, stopping only to check for non-existent cell phone service. It didn’t happen. But WHAT IF IT DID? It’s good to think through one’s options and wilderness survival plan, so imagine that. Not that I have any survival skills. I don’t even have a Swiss Army Knife.

The weekend wrapped up with some late-night laundry at Josh’s house, while watching “Young at Heart” with him and Meg. If you haven’t seen this movie, do. Just do. It will make your spirit glad – you will laugh, and cry, and grin unreservedly. In a culture that so emphasizes youth and beauty and glamour, to have old people singing and dancing their way straight into your heart… imagine that.

Lunesta:
A gigantic glowing moth flies through your open bedroom window and hovers over your face, its gently-beating wings sprinkling sparkly, magical moth-dust and lulling you into a peaceful slumber. “A great tomorrow starts tonight.”

Rozerem:
During a sleepless night, you wander out to find Abraham Lincoln and a fork-wielding beaver sitting at your kitchen table. They want to play chess and talk about your stress at work. An astronaut is fixing food at the counter. “Your dreams miss you.”

Ambien CR:
A shrill midnight phone call rouses you from your bed, but no one is on the other end. When you silently and suspiciously pull back the curtains and look out your window to the dark, deserted street below, you see the culprit: bathed in the glow of a street lamp, a rooster at a pay phone. “Silence your rooster.”

I am leaving a green house where marijuana is being grown. It is dark outside. I am by the ocean. All of a sudden, from out of nowhere, I am attacked by a bison. At first, I think it is a buffalo. But as I yell, “I am being attacked by a buffalo!” some unknown voice responds, “It is not a buffalo – it is a bison.”

I am sitting on my red couch, staring straight ahead. Suddenly, earwigs come pouring out from under the couch cushions. They engulf my body. I scream.

I am in a corn field, running from a predator. At first, I don’t know who my enemy is, but eventually, I find that my pursuer is a psychopath who has painted his face chalky white. He jumps out from behind corn stalks, jazz hands raised, and yells, “AAAAGH!” in my face. I am terrified. But then, someone yells, “Cut!” and I realize that I am in a movie called “Something Whitey This Way Comes.”

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And now, as promised, another Weekend Update. My thoughts upon watching this video: “I should never speak extemporaneously on camera. I say um and so a lot. My nose is big. No it’s not, Annie. It’s handsome. Okay. It’s handsome. Why am I putting this on the internet? I don’t know. To keep people’s expectations of my cool factor in check? Yep. That’s why.”

Weekend Update 2 from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.