When I first moved Denver, I was sleeping on an air mattress in a cold and empty apartment, waking up to the knowledge that my friends were 1,200 miles away, my mom had cancer, and it was -17 degrees outside.

On my very first Sunday night back in January, I found myself at a tiny church where no one talked to me.  This would be an apt time to mention that church-goers (myself included) have a lot to learn about the whole “welcoming” thing – but that is neither here nor there.  The point is, after the service, as everyone was milling around in their little huddles talking to each other, I slowly stood up.  I wrapped my scarf around my neck.  I pulled on my parka.  And I walked outside into the night alone.

“Is this your first time?” came a voice from behind me.

“Yeah,” I answered.

She laughed.  “Well, it’s my fifth – and no one has ever talked to me.”

Neither of us ever went back to that church.  But that’s how I met the fantastic Karmen Koehn.

Karmen is one of those rare, easy souls who makes time together feel effortless – even for this introvert.  The first time that we hung out, I invited her over to share the only two things I had: boxed wine and leftover – leftover – DiGiorno pizza.

She still wanted to be my friend.

With a background in ministry and art, Karmen’s path has taken her all over.  She was raised on a farm in a Mennonite community in Oklahoma.  She went to John Brown University in Arkansas.  She spent 6 years living in an African-American neighborhood in inner-city Chicago.  She worked at a car dealership in Kansas.  Now, she is a full-time graphic designer and marketing guru downtown Denver, finishing up a grad degree, and hanging out with me.

She has been to Australia.  She has hiked a good chunk of the John Muir Trail.  When we went hiking in western Colorado, she scraped up her shin something fierce – and didn’t even cry.  She knows how to throw a football.  Her middle name is Chantall (don’t you think that’s worth mentioning?).  And she makes awesome art like this.

… which our friend Scotty then had tattooed on her arm.

She is amazing, and has been such a life-saver for me here in Denver – a safe friend in a sea of strangers.

See?  Nothing is ever wasted – even unfriendly church-folk*.

*Not an endorsement.

When it comes to most friends, the moment that you met them is nothing but a memory, subject to revisions and amendments and those blurry edges imposed by time.  But what if the moment was an actual SNAPSHOT – captured forever, frozen in history?

This?  This was July 5, 2008 – the exact moment that I met the fabulous Kelley Kirker.

We were at a “Cinco de Julio” dinner party hosted by Debbie Barnett in her backyard.  I had lived in Nashville for 6 fairly lonely months, but that night stands out in my mind as a turning point – the first time I felt, “Maybe I could belong here.”

Still waiting for that moment in Denver.  Probably because Kelley Kirker doesn’t live here.

Kelley is one of those precious, effusive friends who it is impossible not to like.  If you don’t like Kelley Kirker, it’s because you have a shriveled raisin for a heart.  No offense.

Kelley makes people feel good about being themselves – picks up on their uniqueness, and highlights it in a “You are the coolest person ever!” kind of way.  She breezes through life, comfortable in all sorts of situations, making OTHERS comfortable in all sorts of situations – and her laugh is enough to create peace in Afghanistan, I am convinced.

My favorite memory of KK is the Halloween that she dressed up as a Sister Wife right after the raid of the polygamist compound in Texas.  Again: no offense.

Imagine my delight when I got hired on at the same company that Kelley works for – we now get to share life (albeit virtually) every single day.  How great is it to be able to work with one of your dearest friends?

And by the way, before Taylor Swift was Taylor Swift, Kelley Kirker was already wearing dresses and cowboy boots every day.  Taylor, please.

What’s that, you say?  Can a MAN bear the title of BOSOM friend?

Yes.  Mostly because I want to make the Google search “Rod Jones’ bosom” yield results.  (You’re welcome, Rod.)

Rod is truly one of my favorite people in the world.  We met back in March of 2009 when I interviewed him as the East Nasty of the Week – basically the Stanley Cup of Nashville popularity (I’m really good at sports analogies).  While our bond should have been instant, he was living out-of-state at the time, so he disappeared back to New York, and I continued on my path of awesomeness without him.

Fast-forward to November of last year.  Rod had moved back to Nashville, and I had just decided to move to Denver.  Thanks a lot, UNIVERSE.  Luckily, we had a period of about 6 weeks before I left, and so we put our friendship on the fast-track, bonding over a mutual love of reading, writing, and chicken curry.

He taught me that Bob Dylan and Stephen King are brilliant.  I taught him… well, probably nothing.  But man oh man, does Rod Jones think I’m the greatest!

When I moved to Denver, I figured that our newly-forged friendship would fade like the Ryman in my rear-view mirror as I drove away.  But mere miles cannot squelch this kind of bond, and we have kept up near daily contact for the past 6 months.

He will frequently read my blog or harebrained email, and respond with a hearty “Calm the f down, Annie P!”  He saves me from awkward encounters at parties.  He laughs at my dimwitted jokes.  When I’m back in Nashville, he drives me around like it’s his job.  And when insecurity starts barreling me toward a dead-end, he speaks good words that put me back in the driver’s seat.

He can be the life of the party, or at home alone with a book.  He is the welcome committee of East Nasty, developing an instant rapport with all who meet him.  He knows all sorts of useless riveting historical trivia.  He is trustworthy and curious and funny, and one of the best storytellers I know.  The man actually has a story called “Flaming Cow Head.”  I mean, COME ON.

If I ever move back to Nashville, I hope he and I share a duplex.  Separate quarters, but the ability to corner him to talk about our feelings every day?  Best case scenario.

For the inaugural edition of (Bosom) Friend Fridays, the featured friend would need to be sparkling.  Dazzling.  A real Halley’s Comet of a human being.  And when you think of it that way, there is really only one bombshell of a choice: Melissa Moen.

[If you're wondering if I am always going to be in the picture with the (B)F, well... it's not that *I* need to be in the picture, it's just that the *editor-in-chief of Hootenannie.com* does.  It's in her contract.  So.]

When I first met Mel, I was intimidated in that “you are the prettiest person in the world” kind of way.  In fact, a few weeks ago, she went to my place of employment in Nashville to pick something up for me, and I told the cutie at the desk, Pamela, to just wait for the woman that looks like Cate Blanchett.  Pamela knew her right away.

I had the joy and privilege of sharing a house with Mel for the entire year of 2009; along with Julie, the three of us made up the JAM House, Nashville’s favorite place for a soirée (the city voted).  I hadn’t had roommates in 5 years, and probably never will again – our time together in that house was THAT special.  Julie and Mel would be an impossible act to follow.

Mel spends at least 97% of her time being enthusiastic, emotive, and excited – her buzz is contagious.  As a relatively calm person (I type in CAPS LOCK much more than I speak it), I found that with Mel around, I squealed about something several times a day, at least.  When she starts speaking dramatically, her hands fly around and her very perfect lips go in all directions.  It’s remarkably adorable.

She can wear running shoes and a t-shirt or a cocktail dress and heels – she looks equally natural in both.  She knows all of the words to every Shania Twain song.  She belongs on Broadway.  She is generous and thoughtful and bold.

I miss her like the dickens.