Julie: right before she kicked some serious booty on the GRE (not the GED, as I frequently refer to it), she sent me flowers at work yesterday.  She is so thoughtful, I can’t even stand it.  Julie Curtis is, perhaps, THE nicest person I know.

Like, when I come home from the gym and I’m completely, disgustingly sweaty, and she still insists on hugging me – which probably makes me way more uncomfortable than it does her… sort of like when someone else offers to do your laundry, and you’re like, “No, it’s okay,” and they insist, “No, it would be my pleasure!” and you say, “No, honestly, please don’t,” but they do it anyway, and you cringe because the nicest person in the world has now seen your literal dirty laundry – and they probably don’t even HAVE dirty laundry, because they’re the nicest person in the world.

That’s how Julie makes me feel.  Minus the uncomfortable, awkward stuff.  So, in a word: cherished.

Duane: even though he didn’t know the songs, he stepped in last-minute and played guitar for the songs at Neighborhood Group last night, leaving me with the stress-free job of just singing.  He saved the day.  AS USUAL.  And let’s just say that his alleged “rusty” guitar playing eclipses my very best.

Handy Graham: when no one was home yesterday, he came to the JAM House, chopped up the gigantic tree limb that has been blocking our driveway for over a month, and stacked the wood out by our dumpsters.  If you are a single girl living with other single girls, you KNOW this is heroic.  As Mel said, “It makes me want to cry!”

Phil: moment 3:41.  You are getting me through the day, Phil.  You are getting me through the day.

Before I begin, let’s all just take a minute to acknowledge the huge thing that happened yesterday.  The thing that made the world feel small – like everyone, no matter what culture, tribe, or tongue, agreed was a big event.  An incident that shook us out of our day-to-day reality, and made us think about what is really important in life.  A happening resulting in headlines, workplace chatter, and blog posts.

ERIN GOT A NEW HAIRCUT!!!!

And she looks fab.  Give her a cat-call, a high-five, and – my own personal favorite display of affection – a quick palm-circle-rub on the back.

In other news, there are a few things that I’ve decided that I “need”: a pair of black heels (how do I not own a pair of black heels?), a soft case for my guitar, and a new [insert the engine part that keeps my car quiet and not shaky] in my Honda.

Instead, you want to know what I’ve been doing with my hard-earned cash?  Donating it to This American Life.  Only twice, but still.  Shouldn’t I be allocating my limited funds some place other than to what could be a FREE podcast?  I feel like I am telling you my secret shame – confessing something I shouldn’t – like how I feign a healthy diet only to shovel cupcake icing into my mouth when no one is watching.

But I can’t help it.  Ira Glass is my geek crush.  He tells me the best stories out of anyone.  And then he asks me to give money (“One dollar – five dollars – whatever you can spare.  What kind of person do you want to be – someone who contributes, or someone who sits back and assumes someone else will take care of it?  Do your part, so we can do ours.”), and I’m like, IRA I WILL DO ANYTHING.

Seriously, though.  What a guy.

Behold, the return of the deadbeat blogger!

I mean, seriously.  It’s embarrassing.  I have been like an unfit mother – one who leaves her kids in the car while she hits up the Safeway for PBR and tampons.  I have abandoned this blog in the parking lot for far too many days – and in the meantime, not written a single word of ANYTHING.

But really, can you blame me?  I was busy fulfilling MY LIFE DREAM.

If you’ve been reading this site for longer than two minutes, you’ll know that I’m a songwriter, and that the jewel of my heart (um, yes, I just called it “the jewel of my heart” – so?) is the Bluebird Café.  Back in October, when I was invited to play there (can we all just squeal one more time?), June 21 felt so far away.  But before I knew it, my parents were flying in, Greta was surprising me on my doorstep the day before (listen – can you hear me scream?), I was trying on 96 different outfits, and then, all of a sudden, staring out at the lights.

This is what it looks like when dreams come true.  (Thanks to Deb for the picture!)

And this is what it sounds like.  (Thanks to AnnieBlogs for recording!)

And here are best friends.

And here are just a few of the most wonderful cheerleaders.

And here are amazing parents.

And here is a man with a mullet in a SweetTarts shirt.

Because this is Hootenannie.com – where the blogs end strong.

One month from yesterday, I will be leaving here…

… and flying here.

One month from today, I will be on my way here…

… onboard this.

One month from tomorrow, I will be watching these…

… with wonderful family members, including them.

We will welcome her back from Haiti.

I will buy her one of these.

And upon re-porting in Seattle, I’ll be a bridesmaid for them.

Who might as well be them.

All of these things make me feel like this.

There is only one thing that would be enticing enough to make me skip “Lost” and pay $36 to go on a date with myself, by myself.

I mean, barring an NSYNC reunion tour.  Obviously.

Last night, I came home from work and changed my clothes.  I reapplied makeup.  I fluffed my hair, and wore my cute shoes, and took myself down to the Belcourt Theater.  I ordered a glass of wine, found a seat toward the middle, and proceeded to wait for the show to start.

If I’m going to take myself on a date, I am definitely going to be punctual.  Excessively punctual.  BECAUSE I’M WORTH IT!  (I might have been an hour early.)

But the show was worth the wait.  Matraca Berg (wrote a little ditty called “Strawberry Wine”), Gretchen Peters (wrote a little something called “Independence Day”), and Suzy Bogguss (looks as good today as she did in 1995) played a round.  Matraca is coming out with her first album in 10 years, and she played some of her new material; it was heart-stopping.  Suzy’s voice was effortless, strong, and true.  And Gretchen… well, in recent days, Gretchen has been my favorite writer (a position continually jockeyed for between Patty Griffin and Lori McKenna and Matraca and Gretchen).  When she sang “You Don’t Even Know Who I Am,” I couldn’t breathe – and didn’t realize it until the end when I finally exhaled.

Songs like these are my heart and soul – moments of definition in my often nebulous life.  Per Heather’s recommendation, I watched this fascinating piece, and loved hearing that “the mind of God is music resonating” (“…through 10-dimensional hyperspace,” but let’s not pretend that I know what that means).

It reminded me of this, which I had totally forgotten that I ever wrote.

I hope that you can do something that you love today.

Confession: I haven’t written a song since November.

GAH.  I don’t want anyone to know that!  I am such a fraud.

I feel like a snail – one that has been left out in the brutal sunshine, shriveled up inside its flimsy shell.  I feel no inspiration.  I have no ideas.

Oh, sure.  One might argue that I’ve had a few other things going on in recent months, taking a lot of my time and energy.  But still.  When I’m not writing – not outputting in some way – something important inside of me feels dead.

All I feel is tired.  Craving time alone, or maybe just an old dog, or a little toddler to snuggle.  I don’t want to have to explain myself to anyone.  I don’t want to have to find words to voice anything – because how can I possibly express what I’m feeling?

Huh.  This is an inconvenient stance for a so-called songwriter to take.

But I’ve been here before.  Remember?  And so I’m taking the same approach as last time, and giving myself the grace of filling up my mind with other stories, other songs, other ideas.  It worked last time – I wound up writing some new songs that I’m quite fond of, a few of which you HAVEN’T EVEN HEARD YET.

(Annie Parsons’ EP, coming soon someday to a website near you.)

So I need your help again.  What should I fill my mind with?  It can be a song, a book, an essay, a website, an article, a movie… what do you feel inspired by, or just plain enjoy?

I just finished season 1 of “Heroes,” and in spite of a ridiculous plotline and an often painful script, that was some good entertainment.  Destiny!  Purpose!  Exploding humans!  I’ve been listening to some great songs – Julie Miller’s “Give Me an Ocean,” and Kasey Chambers’ “Nothing At All,” and Vienna Teng’s “City Hall.”  And it is difficult to make me much happier than to turn on “This American Life” or “The Moth.”

On the other end of the spectrum, I’ve been reading “The Catcher in the Rye” for TWO WHOLE MONTHS, and have recently decided not to finish it – because it is depressing as hell and let’s be honest: if I haven’t finished it by now, then I really don’t care at all about Holden Caulfield (case in point – I had to Google the book just now to remember his name).

Let’s all kick-start our hearts, shall we?  What do you love?

I don’t even remember where I was, or how I got there – but there I was, cyber-stalking a stranger.

Sadly, this is how many of my stories begin.

And I came across a random crowd picture of last Saturday’s half-marathon.  Taken by a stranger, and uploaded in another stranger’s account.  A sea of hundreds of people.  What are the chances?  But guess who was in the middle, in her bright pink East Nasty shirt?

Looking back on these pictures, it’s hard to believe that the race actually happened.  But it did – and now it’s over – and I haven’t run since, making this the longest stretch I’ve gone without a run since November.

And I’m totally fine with that.

Wednesday night was Talent Night at work.  We rented out the Basement, a local venue, and 14 acts proceeded to take the stage.  We had singer/songwriters.  We had a bellydancer.  We had a girl who could “woooooo” like a siren.  We had a guy in a sandwich costume.

I played.  I was only going to do one song, but you get a couple of Long Islands in me, and I’m sorry, but I’m not going to stop.

But here’s the coolest thing about this week.

Remember Little Annie Parsons?

She came to Nashville.

And last night, I met – as my friend Matt calls her – my very own Muppet Baby.

The Other Parsons are wonderful, and we ate with chopsticks at P.F. Changs, and talked about homeschooling and honky tonks and Sarah Palin and the difference between “flirting” and “stalking.”  Oh, to be 13 when Facebook existed…

Annie and her younger sister Katie are two of the most poised, comfortable, intelligent, interesting girls I have met – a product of good parenting, and homeschooling-gone-right, and a delightful cocktail of genes.  I would choose to hang out with them over a lot of people my age.

At one point, Mr. Parsons said, “Annie?” and we both looked up and said, “Yes?”

They’re coming back in October.  We’re hanging out then, too.

I love the internet, and I love The Other Parsons.

Netflix has made it easy for me to discover and watch some lesser-known documentaries – so while I love the popular “Spellbound” and “Young At Heart” (seriously – see them both! Your heart will sing!), I’ve unearthed some other gems that you should know about.

“American Teen”
A film crew descends on a high school in small town Warsaw, IN, and follows 5 teens through their entire senior year.  With disarming candidness, these 17-18 year olds draw you into their worlds; in a mere hour and 35 minutes, I honestly became emotionally invested in these kids.  When it was over, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to wallow and cry, remembering my own awkward high school experiences, or go out and hug every teenager I saw, in an effort to say, “It’s totally going to get better.  There is so much more to life.  Hang in there.”

“How’s Your News?”
Five mentally and physically challenged adults are taken on a rare adventure – an RV trip across the country with stops in major cities where they act as field reporters.  Get ready to fall in love with these people, and to sing along with the theme song (that they wrote!).

“Born Into Brothels”
We all know what happens in the Red Light district.  But what about the children who call it home?  Two filmmakers enter into the lives of the children of prostitutes in Calcutta, India, and build relationships with them, using photography lessons as a way to connect.  The horrific living conditions of the children juxtaposed with their sweet spirits and eye for poignant, incredible photography create a sense of urgency – is there a chance for a better life?

“Standing in the Shadows of Motown”
I watched this at the recommendation of Juliette.  And it is fantastic.

“Shut Up and Sing”
Remember when Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks made that controversial statement about the President of the United States?  This is what happened after.  And it’s amazing.  And inspiring.  And makes me want to stand up for what I believe is right.  Regardless of what you thought of “the incident,” as they call it, this is worth watching.  I will always love the Dixie Chicks.

“Unknown White Male”
How terrifying would it be to wake up on a New York subway with no clue as to who you were – except a phone number in your pocket and a British accent?  The mysterious amnesia of Doug Bruce – a young, good-looking, seemingly healthy man – made me think deeply about identity.  What is innate?  What is learned?  And if I woke up tomorrow with absolutely no idea who I was, would I still be me?

Go feed your mind.

Did Sly stop with “Rocky IV”?

Did Nadia Suleman call it quits after 6 kids?

Did having brothers named Track and Trig prevent Bristol Palin from naming her son Tripp?

No.

And in the same way, bucking common sense and what might seem like an obvious result… did the demise of my temp-job in this current economy conclude in me being unemployed for all of eternity?

No.

After exactly six weeks of unemployment – I GOT A JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And not just any job. A good job. A great job. A job that makes me so giddy, I want to go throw confetti off the 440 overpass. With people so delightful, I want to bake them each their own personalized cupcake. At a company so awesome, I see it as the pot of gummy bears at the end of a rainbow – the rainbow that runs a mere mile and a half from my house to the offices.

This feels like the one I’ve been waiting for. I am so happy.

See you on Monday, Emma!

Sometimes, someone you’ve never met can give you the biggest gift.

Kristy Behrs of Wreckless Photography has been a second soul to me. She lives far, far away in California, and although we’ve never met face to face, I feel that we have a bond – an understanding – a trippy connection that bridges the distance. I am continually in awe of her eye, her sensitivity, and her genuine spirit. She recently solicited the ideas of friends and strangers and admirers to spark her creativity; she got some fabulous suggestions and challenges (definitely read through them!) and, with eyes wide open, has been on a hunt.

I’m honored to be first.