“Can I have your pickles?”
“Dream car? Buick LeSabre.”
“Please! Tell me more about your foot fungus!”
“This would look better in Comic Sans.”
“Wanna watch golf?”
“This dress? Oh – Chadwicks of Boston.”
“Please don’t rub my feet.”
“Let’s start a Dungeons & Dragons club.”
“Penetrate.” I can barely type it, let alone say it. [shudder]
“Man, I wish Savage Garden would cover ‘She’s Like the Wind.’”
“I quit my blog.”

1) Be born with a melancholy spirit.

2) Go out and get your heart broken. Love deeply and without reservation, and do not brace yourself for the inevitable pummeling to follow. Do this as many times as it takes to completely crush your spirit.

3) Withdraw from society. Solitude is best; however, a few companions are permissible: a bottle of red wine, “Grey’s Anatomy” on DVD, and a dog (optional, and preferably a tick-ridden coon hound).

4) Feel sorry for yourself.

5) Emerge to be surprised by hope. This can be found in various places: a child’s laugh, a generous word, a street corner kiss.

6) Now you are ready to write. Hum a little bar. Now put words to it. For words ending in “-ing,” replace the g with an ‘: cheatin’, drinkin’, achin’. Or, if you are Kenny Chesney, “beach bummin’” and “high school football playin’” work well.

7) Attempt to strike a balance between “pitiful” and “triumphant.”

I am in Nashville. I arrived through a corridor of flaming red and rusty leaves, tornadoes on my heels and pure possibility stretched out ahead. And I feel like my heart is beating.

Dear Men of Seattle,

I have spent 7 years in our fair city, and I am the first to admit that throughout this time, I have had high hopes that one of you might wind up being “The One.” When I am honest with myself, what I really, ultimately dream of in life is to marry a good man and have a family and LOVE. I have “dated” a few of you, and “spent time” with many, always with an observant eye. I hoped that a couple of you might take; however, over time, every last one of you has, for one reason or another, been ripped away like a giant cosmic Band-Aid.

It’s okay. I have learned valuable lessons from you. For example:

* A man who makes good guacamole is hard to find.
* The speed limit on Lake Union is 7 knots. And the boat police are vigilant.
* The most unromantic birthday gift in the universe is an iron and a tube of wood glue.
* Whiskey can lead to regrettable text messages.
* Nachos and beer can be just as good as lobster and wine, depending on the company.
* Following a first kiss, the suitable response is never, “Well, I can check that off my to-do list.”
* After a Seahawks loss, the minimum recovery time is 36 hours.
* Insecurity results in crazy, inexcusable behavior (this one is directed solely at myself).
* It is possible to be truly, genuinely excited for a newly affianced ex-boyfriend.
* The unexpected resurfacing of a hometown boy can do a heart much good.
* Dramamine: better safe than sorry.
* Ex-boyfriends always get new girlfriends.
* Sometimes, a kiss is the best option. And sometimes… it’s not.
* Sometimes, honesty is the best policy. And sometimes… it isn’t.
* Sometimes, I can be friends with an ex. And sometimes… I can’t.
* I am not always right.
* But I usually am.

And most importantly, I have learned:

* I am capable of great big love.

I’ll admit it: I am a romantic. And even though I have not found the right one yet, I am hopeful you are out there somewhere. But for now, as of Monday, I am leaving this city that I have come to call “home” in order to do something else for awhile.

Perhaps we will meet in Seattle again. Until then, all the best to you. Thanks for the good times and for the bad, for I am grateful for anything that helps my spirit grow.

Peace out,
Annie

Perhaps it is futile to aspire toward perfection. Nevertheless…

In a perfect world:
* Coffee and red wine would not stain teeth.
* Gas would cost 10 cents/gallon.
* Jobs would last 10 hours/week, and we would always leave fulfilled.
* Bad haircuts would grow out in one day.
* The black Macbook would not show fingerprints.
* Checking accounts would always stay at a respectable balance.
* I would verbalize every compliment that struck me.
* Everyone would travel and experience the rest of the world.
* That fuzzy, happy, “in crush” feeling would be my permanent state of existence.
* There would be no line at the DOL.
* Everyone I love would live in the same place, and we would play Scrabble and go camping and laugh every night.
* I would always know the right words to say.
* Vegetables would come pre-chopped.
* There would be no such thing as embarrassment, or fear, or insecurity.
* We would get hugs like this every day.

As the clock has officially crossed over to July 4, I am able to post this entry in celebration of all things “free.”

Freedom of speech: I blog, therefore I have power. This is especially imperative to men who cross me. Watch what you say and/or do – it might wind up tomorrow’s blog news. You think I’m joking? Your time is coming.

Free samples: I sometimes plan my dinners to coincide with several laps around Trader Joe’s little snack shack. Free samples are the reason that I enjoy Costco, farmer’s markets, the Clinique counter, and Starbuck’s on lucky days.

Free range: At 4x the cost of regular eggs from imprisoned, persecuted chickens, by golly, they had better taste more delicious.

Freezers: What would I do without them? See this post for further background.

Freon: My Honda needs at least a pound and a half more. It costs $100/lb. I think I want a new pair of shoes more than I want air conditioning.

Freak flag: You know you have one. Fly it.

Free-loading: In light of my current living situation, signed, Yours Truly, Annie P.