I am having a hard time feeling like The Real Me right now, since The Real Me thrives on routine and nesting and eating the exact same thing for breakfast every morning.  But 2011 has offered no rest for the weary, and no predictability for your truly.

The past few months have been a rough go for The Real Me.

The Real Me likes walking 11 miles a night after work by herself.  The Real Me likes having all of her clothes hanging neatly in the closet.  The Real Me likes a balanced checkbook and a good night’s sleep.  The Real Me likes home-cooked meals.  The Real Me likes independence.  The Real Me likes quiet moments and clear skin and a big glass of water.  The Real Me likes to be home, wherever I have most recently dubbed it.

After weeks and weeks of travel, I am home today.  I am home tomorrow.

And then on Saturday, I am moving all of my stuff out of my home and into a storage unit, and becoming homeless – again.

It’s only for a season, and there are a lot of very good and valid reasons that I’m doing this.  It’s the right choice, and I have to remember that, like many of my seemingly manic decisions, I am, oddly enough, choosing it.

But The Real Me is just so damn tired, and hasn’t packed a thing, and will stay up all night tonight and tomorrow to pack my home away into boxes – boxes that I do not yet have.  The Real Me will cry and swear before it’s all over.  The Real Me will live uncomfortably, and pray that she doesn’t wither away in the midst of it all.

All of last year, I lived in the apartment above the most silent man of all time.  The only time I ever saw him was when he would stand outside his front door smoking cigarettes with his headphones in, avoiding my eye contact as I would pass him on my way to the third floor.  The bearded mute would never speak – nay, make any noise at all.  For any awkwardness, he was quite possibly the best neighbor I’ve ever had.

I came back after New Years to find that the noiseless hermit had moved out, and been replaced by a frat house.

In the past month, I have occasionally woken up at 4am, wondering why I’m awake.  Oh.  Because there is BELLOWING beneath me.

On Saturday night around 7pm, the hollers had reached a crescendo worthy of an admittedly passive-aggressive stomping on my floor.  Everything fell silent for a moment – until they responded with a broomstick to the ceiling.

Oh hell no.

I left home for a bit, but later that night when I returned, I listened to the crowd of hooligans belt out “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off.”  I resolved that if the noise continued past 11pm, I would don brass knuckles and storm apartment #201.

I spent the next 20 minutes pumping myself up for an all-out brawl – but right as I was ready to rumble, I listened to the battalion of delinquents file out of the apartment and down the stairs, heading up the block to the bars on Colfax.  Little do they know that they just narrowly escaped the wrath of a girl with two cocktails in her – just loose enough to not be held responsible for any words or actions.

But last night at 2am – a weeknight, mind you – I was stirred from a dead sleep by yells and laughs and “wooooo!“s.  It was on.  I pulled on my parka over my pajamas, stood in the living room for a minute wishing I had someone to fight my battles for me, and then marched downstairs.

My firm knock on the door was answered by a girl who hid behind it.  She hid behind it.  I never saw her face, but I heard her whimpers of embarrassment to the three men on the couch.  Oh honey, yes, you should be embarrassed.  You should be mortified.  You are sharing a one-bedroom apartment with these goons (do you have bunk-beds? Family bed? I’m genuinely curious), and obviously none of you have jobs, or you wouldn’t be so lively in the middle of the night.

“Hey, y’all,” I crooned.  I often find my alter-ego has a Southern accent.  “My name is Annie, and I’m your neighbor, and I’m so sorry this is the first time that we’re meeting.  But it’s 2am, and -6° outside, and yet I’m standing at your door in my pajamas.  This is how loud you are.  Can you please keep it down?”

Never in my life have I felt so much like an annoying parent-chaperone on a high school band trip.  It was a dark moment for my “cool” factor.

But for my sanity?  VICTORY.

I am switching apartments in a few months, and will no longer have to deal with these ruffians.  Until then, God help them, because these days, my tolerance is wearing thinner than the walls.

I made it back to Denver on Saturday night, and when I walked into my apartment, I swear, it took everything in me to not drop to my knees and kiss the hardwood floors.  For all of the trips that I take, I am a bona fide homebody.

Yesterday, it started snowing.  It was pretty and white and wintery outside, so I looked out the window for awhile.

Then, while still in my pajamas, I made my best breakfast, and drank 3 cups of coffee in quick succession.

This is too much coffee, so after that, my hands were jittery.  But I managed to plug in my new Sonicare toothbrush, which I got for Christmas.  It’s changing my life.  I’ll never go back.  NEVERRRRRR.

I looked at my new wall-hanging, a gift from my sister-in-law.  And then my heart exploded with sprinkles.

At one point, I ventured out to buy myself some yellow roses – because according to L’Oreal, I’m worth it?

I opened all of my mail (6 weeks’ worth – Merry Christmas to ME), and loved all of the holiday cards that my friends sent.  I put them on my fridge.

Then, I pulled out my food processor and made almond butter.  I added a little bit of vanilla and cinnamon to make it taste like heaven, that’s what.  I didn’t want to put it in a Tupperware, because please, ugly – so I decided that a glass butter dish would work just fine.

I acknowledge that this totally doesn’t look as appetizing as it is.

I also made chocolate chip cookies.  I didn’t get a picture.  I promise it’s not because I ate all of them – it’s just that they’re now in a plastic bag in my cabinet, and who wants to see that?

I talked on the phone for awhile.  I didn’t get a picture of that, either.  But it happened.

I examined my current physical ailments – eczema on my hands, 5 swollen toes on my left foot (do I have the Gout? I’M SERIOUS), and yellowing bruises on both of my forearms.  All are a mystery.  And again, no picture – but let’s be honest, you’re totally okay with that.

I watched a documentary called “The Art of the Steal.”

Finally, I ventured to the gym and ran 5 miles on a treadmill, which did not bode well for the 5 swollen toes on my left foot, or, incidentally, my mood.  Then, I went to Target and bought graph paper, because how much do I love graph paper?  It’s so regimented and orderly, and when I write on it I can tell myself to “read between the lines” and totally mean it.

That was yesterday, but this is today – and today, it’s 3° outside and I am feeling positively unwell.  So it’s a sick day for me – back to bed to hopefully sleep off the crud (and the Gout).

Rather complete, these days, thanks for asking.

Good gracious.

I am in Nashville, where I have been hit with humidity like a French kiss from the devil himself.

Oddly, I don’t mind all that much.  Being with these people that I love has been so good for my soul.  I’ve overbooked myself (as usual), and am running a zillion miles an hour to keep up.  I wouldn’t skip a single thing, though.

I am so thankful that I am currently able to live life in both Colorado and Tennessee – able to be closer to my family, and still maintaining so much of what I have going on here in Nashville.  I get the best of both worlds.  I couldn’t have planned an existence in which this would be possible – and yet, here I am, living it.

Life is not always easy, but it’s wicked good.

I ordered a $39 throw pillow from Home Decorators Collection.  They charged me $15 in taxes and shipping.  It arrived and was ugly, so I sent it back.  UPS charged me $12.04 for return postage.

Returning items via mail always makes me nervous – I hope they credit my card like I asked them to.  Otherwise, I have just spent $66 on something that Becca said I could have gotten “from a grandma’s house” and I don’t even have anymore.

I think I might try for these Pottery Barn babies next:

Then again, I’ll need to wait and see if I’m refunded for the ugly pillow first.  That was all the pillow money I had.

Surely you are bored by now.  I’ll stop here.

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.

And a good Monday morning to you.  Yes, YOU.  Thanks for being here!

How are you today?

After Friday’s post of sunshine and daisies and love, I spent the weekend in the same blissful state.  I took long walks, had some good talks with friends, and bought a new pair of shoes that Karmen says make me strut (heeeeey!).  I saw a karate class of little kids practicing outside, yelling “yah!” and “hah!”  I found the Denver Farmers Market, where I sampled salsa and jam and cheese.  I bought myself a bouquet of gorgeous peonies, and they’re sitting in my living room next to the stained glass kaleidoscope that my aunt made years ago.

You have no idea how happy that picture, that sight, that moment, makes me.

I also got a haircut – the first haircut I have gotten in Denver.  I still like to think of Faith in Seattle and Erika in Nashville as “my” stylists… and to be honest, I don’t really want anyone else.  But alas, the shag was starting to get to me, and you have to LIVE where you are, right?  Time to find a Denver girl.  So, find a Denver girl I did.

She told me she was going to give me “Hot Veronica” hair, and I pretended that I knew what she was talking about and was like, “BRING. IT. ON.”  Nothing says “Annie Parsons” like “Hot Veronica,” right?  Well, word to the wise, people: do not come home from the salon and curiously Google “Hot Veronica” – especially you, Little Annie Parsons – this is not a good thing to do.  Instead, just check it out:

That is all the “Hot Veronica” you need to know.  I am Hot Veronica personified.

Or something.

Anyway, the weekend was fabulous.  All except for one thing.

Remember how on Friday morning I said that the Honda started “every time”?

On Friday night in ghettoville, it broke down three times in one mile.  After the battery being jumped twice by strangers, and unscrewing the gas cap to make sure it wasn’t vapor lock (the things I’ve learned!), and having the guy on the corner who was holding the sign pointing toward the marijuana clinic tell me that his dad was a mechanic for 52 years, I just called my ever-faithful AAA.  And they sent a tow truck.  And I now have a new $400 alternator.  Yay, me!

Sigh.

And don’t you worry, little cupcakes – my thoughts on “Lost” are coming tomorrow.  If you haven’t watched yet, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Now, you know I love me some Nashville, but two weeks is a long, long time to be away from home.  After 14 days of suitcase-living, I will board a plane tonight, and head westward back to Denver.  I am grateful for the time I’ve had here with my Tennessee family, but ready to get back to my ever-loving routine.

I hope the thrice-stolen Honda is still parked where I left it.

For those of you who don’t live in the area (or… don’t pay attention to the national news), you may not know that this weekend, Nashville got 18″ of rain – over 25% of the average yearly amount in just two days.  Having lived in the Northwest, I thought that I was used to a lot of rain – but the storms in the Southeast are truly astonishing.  I have never, ever seen so much rain in my life – for 48 hours, it was unrelenting, turning the streets into rivers and basements into swimming pools.  Everything flooded.  Buildings went floating down the interstate.  People were being rescued from their homes in canoes.  So many people lost so much.

But I watched the people that I love jump into action on behalf of others.  Bailing water from basements, checking in with each other to make sure they had what they needed, braving the flooded streets to give each other (um, me) rides…  It reminds me that in my two short years in Nashville, I somehow became a part of a true community, one that tangibly demonstrates servanthood and selflessness.  I saw it offered to others, and I felt it offered to myself.

I am ready to leave today.  But I will never get used to saying goodbye.

You thought that I was your favorite Annie.

Well, my little sweeties, prepare to forsake me for another.

I have this friend Annie Downs.  You probably already read her blog – but if you don’t, you should start.  Because people, this girl has got it going on.

Annie and I decided to swap videos, giving each other tours of our new homes.  After I moved to Denver, she moved across town in Nashville – and not knowing where she is?  Has been killing me a little bit.

But it doesn’t have to kill you!  Here she is, giving you a tour of her new place.

If you’re curious to see where I’ve been hanging my hat (proverbial hat, that is – I don’t actually own a hat), head over to AnnieBlogs.com to see my happy little home.

And… what’s that?  You can’t get enough of the Annies?  Don’t worry – we’re archived.