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!

Hey, remember when I used to post every morning, Monday through Friday – and not at all on the weekends?  Well, listen up, my little parakeets: those days are over.

I don’t know what days are upon us.  But the fact of the matter is that my life is different.  I don’t know where it’s heading, but I can feel change a brewin’ – and I don’t think that the posting will happen as predictably (i.e. every weekday morning by 11am).  But don’t panic, and don’t cry – I do enough of that for the lot of us – I could never quit blogging.  I’m just saying that sometimes, I might post a lot.  And sometimes, I might have a couple of quiet days.  And sometimes, I might post late at night.  And sometimes, I might post on a lunch break.

That is, if I get a job someday, and thus have something called a “lunch break.”

Speaking of, I do have a little job lined up for this week.  I’m helping a former co-worker get his new financial company up and running, which translates to “preparing paperwork,” which translates to “data entry.”  I am grateful for a little bit of income, especially while I am crossing my fingers for some other things to work out.

By the way, many of you have checked in with me lately and asked about how I’m doing financially during this time of unemployment.  Let me say this: it’s very wise to have an emergency fund.  Very, very wise.  Start saving.

But also, if that fund isn’t very big, it’s really cool to see the ways that God provides for your needs.  Some of you have been a part of that – you know who you are, even if I don’t.  And so it seems strange to say this on this blog, rather than privately, but this is the only way I know how to communicate to you: thank you.  From the bottom of my heart.  I am humbled, and so incredibly grateful.

Now, it’s off to my new temp job.  The Temptress lives again.

But also, before I sign off, guess what: yesterday, I did two things for the first time.  I ran 11.2 miles.  And then I went to Waffle House.

So there I was, cutting apart the Costco salmon fillet that I had just taken out of the oven.

When I came back from Kansas City at Christmas, my mom took 6 individually vacuum-packed frozen fish and stashed them in various corners of my suitcase – and these precious little gems have been carefully rationed for the past 3 months. This was my last one. I had already prepared a fresh, leafy, green salad, and was slicing up the salmon to crown the top.

Unfortunately, I was feeling a little loosy-goosy.

And before I knew it, the knife FLIPPED out of my hand, cart-wheeled through the air in the most rapid slow-motion known to man – and, with the speed of a feline (and the instinct of a genius), I jumped sideways, flinging my legs and arms wide.

Jesus loves me, this I know:

The knife – BOOOOOING – landed tip-first in the hardwood floor. RIGHT WHERE MY FOOT HAD BEEN ONE SECOND EARLIER.

Good thing Mel was right there, always prepared with her camera. I did not move. This was the moment, LIVE.

Oh my word, I need medical insurance.

Yesterday, I experienced true grace.

To back it up: last week, I really slacked on my training schedule for the half-marathon – meaning, I ran one time. ONE time! If I am hoping to run 13.1 consecutive miles in a few short months, then I need to keep up with the program. After such a lousy week, I started to feel like this whole running “thing” was not for me: there’s no way that I can do it – I’m not a natural runner – I’m behind on the training – I can’t catch up – I’m unmotivated – there went my $85 registration fee.

But never fear: as is becoming a regular occurrence, PZC to the rescue.

Paul called me on Sunday morning after I missed the group run, and said, “This is unacceptable. You haven’t even done your time trial yet. What are you doing tomorrow night? You’re coming running – no excuses.”

So Paul and Josh and I met at Centennial Park to do my time trial – basically, run as fast as you can sustain for 3 miles, which becomes a benchmark pace for other training runs. I hate to run fast, because what if my thighs rub together so much that my underwear catches on fire? Running fast equals being severely uncomfortable, and I don’t have a high tolerance for uncomfortableness; this is why I hate the beach (sand in all the wrong places), the wind (totally blows), Nashville summers (sweaty misery), and hangnails (self-explanatory). But Paul and Josh gave me a pep talk as we jogged to warm up for a half a mile, and told me that they would run with me at whatever pace I set.

So we started. I ran fast – a lot faster than I am used to running. The first mile and a half were fine, but when we approached the 2 mile marker, it felt harder to breathe. All of my childhood memories of asthma and panic attacks came racing back, and in a terrifying instant, I found my windpipe closing off – a purely emotional reaction, since my legs were keeping up just fine. I felt the same alarm that I felt on Mt. Sneffels – I can’t breathe.

But Paul talked me down, and I finished the run, and Josh and Paul told me that I’m doing a great job. And although they could have abandoned me as soon as I started slacking with the training, they came back to get me and said, “We’re not letting you quit.” They stooped to my lesser level of fitness, and gave up what might have been a better workout for my sake. I don’t deserve friends like them.

But I’m so glad that I found them.

Thank you, Paul and Josh, for demonstrating grace in such a tangible way.

Every morning at work, I park the old Honda in a garage, and then walk down 3 flights of stairs, across a little driveway, between some dumpsters, and then let myself in the back door by the loading dock using my key card. It’s not glamorous – especially when someone consistently leaves his or her fast-food trash in the stairwell.

This happens frequently – I will find a Wendy’s bag and a jumbo cup sitting in the middle of a stair. Just sitting. It almost looks like someone left it there for later, except… ewww. Apparently there is no janitorial service in the stairwells of the parking garage, because the same Wendy’s bag will sit there for days, and days, and days – hundreds of business people stepping over it every hour.

Last night after work, I saw the same trash I had seen in the morning. Except now, there was a Post-It note on the cup that said, “Whoever the slob is that left this, pick it up and throw it away.”

This morning, it’s still there.

I don’t know whether to be annoyed at the slob, or at the passive-aggressive note-leaver. Currently, I am equal parts both.

- – - – - – - -

This morning, I received an email from a friend. My inbox view gives me a little preview line of the message, and this is what the preview read:

“Oh yeah, I decided you should be a columnist for a music magazine. You already have a killer body”

I did a triple-take.

And then I opened up the actual message, and finished the sentence: “… of work.” Dang it.

- – - – - – - -

I ran 7 miles on Sunday. I’m having lunch with this Annie today. Jeremy and Ashley come tomorrow. Sarah gets married on Saturday. Megan’s playing the Bluebird on Sunday. I’m recording with Josh next week. Greta just bought a ticket to come in 2 ½ weeks (squeeeeeeeee!!). I have my favorite plan ever for Valentine’s Day. I love my friends. I love my roommates. My car keeps starting. My coffee pot percolates every morning. I had delicious soup last night. I bought new fuchsia sheets for $12 at Target. In the midst of a lot of uncertainty, I am choosing to be grateful for all the good things – and there are many.

I just looked back on the entry I wrote one year ago today, when I had finished my 4 month road-trip, was less than a month into my life in Nashville, didn’t really know anyone here, and had just returned from a weekend visit to Seattle. And I am happy to say that, even through the hard times and anxiety and fear, yes, it’s good.

Holy Mother of Pearl – do you have any idea how happy all of your delurking made me? It was like the clouds opened up and God showered me with Sweet Tarts ALL DAY LONG! Reading your messages made me grin out loud, if there is such a thing – and I know there is, since I did it. I learned of people that I had no idea existed, and heard from people that I knew existed but had no idea were frequent readers.

Thank you for reading this little blog. No, I’m serious. Thank you. Your sweet words throughout the years have been life to my soul, and your companionship, even just through this crazy internet contraption, has been such an encouragement. Plus – so many of you have great blogs yourself! I’m subscribing to all sorts of new ones after your delurking yesterday.

I made cookies last night, and I came up with a brilliant idea. You know how Crisco has started packaging their shortening in little blocks wrapped in paper, for easy measuring? Gone are the days of trying to level 1 cup of Crisco in a measuring cup, which only ever winds up giving you a lardy hand.

(Sidenote:
If I ever form a band, maybe we’ll call ourselves Lardy Hand?

The Lardy Hand Band?

No?)

So here’s my idea: what Crisco has done with shortening… someone needs to do that with peanut butter. Because it’s always the same dilemma. HOW is one supposed to gracefully and easily measure peanut butter without making a huge mess? I want my peanut butter in stick form!

You heard it here first.

Tonight, I am driving to Chattanooga to take part in a Special Edition Running Club. Tomorrow morning, we’ll run along the river, and then Josh’s mom Deb is making us breakfast. Free food has always been the way to my heart, and yes, I will drive 133 miles to get it.

The last time I was in Chattanooga was in September for a wedding. I drove down by myself, and stopped at the Wal-Mart to get a card to go with my gift. And walking out of the store, in front of God and rednecks and everyone, my wrap dress came unwrapped. Just fell open, right there in the parking lot. Let’s hope for better luck this time.

And finally, based on my life every single morning, something I would like to share.

Travel Mug - a little poem by Annie Parsons
Once
just once
I would like to discover
a travel mug that
does
not
leak

All over my lap
All over my life

Leaving behind
the evidence of
my addiction

and exposing me
as the sloven
I am.

Some days, it’s easy to get stuck in the doldrums of life: wake up, brush teeth, go to work, email, lunch, email, home, run, shower, sleep. Rinse and repeat. That’s why last night it came as such a welcome surprise to be offered a ticket to the live show “Dancing With the Stars” – because anything out of the ordinary is exciting, especially when it involves sequins and a severely faux-hawked Lance Bass.

So yes, that is what I did last night. Andy Merrick and I sat in his company suite, and I had a free can of Michelob Ultra from the fridge, and we swung back and forth between conversation about life and conversation about the mambo. At one point, Toni Braxton sang “Un-break My Heart,” and I was informed that it was the second biggest selling single by a female of all time – right behind, as I guessed and then confirmed this morning online, “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston. I’m only making a point of writing down this tidbit of information so that someday when I’m the real-life Slumdog Millionaire, I’ll remember back to this blog entry and know the answer.

But today, I am back to the slow and sapping work of being a temp-receptionist.

Sometimes, I think that my spiritual gift must be “discontentment” – it comes alarmingly naturally to me. There is always something more that I… want. Like purpose, or clout, or foxiness, or insurance, or a salary – because as much as I try to deny it, LORD HAVE MERCY, I am tempted by money.

But not today. I’m stomping that American-consumer-culture-devil down. And therefore, I now bring you “Things that AP is thankful for today”:

- A new president
- The return of “Lost” tonight
- Fingernail clippers
- Canned corn
- Windshield wipers
- My family (um, these are totally not in order – I do not value canned corn more than my family)
- Curbside recycle service
- Nordstrom’s generous return policy
- Debbie Barnett’s cooking
- Indoor plumbing
- Legs that I can run on
- Friends who write me long emails and real letters
- Aretha Franklin’s hat
- Edward Cullen
- The fact that vampires do not really exist (it’s the little things, these days, that I must cling to)

The deed is done. I’m completely moved.

Get a Move On from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

Let’s hear it for the Handy Graham! I have amazing friends. And a ridiculous amount of crap.

What is it about cardboard boxes and newspaper that make your hands break open and bleed? My fragile little hands look like the Sahara right now – dry and cracked and miserable. I stayed up until 3am unpacking – the woman in me needs to nest as soon as possible – but at least now my room is relatively functional and livable.

Here are the things you should know about our new house:
• It has a front porch swing and a back deck and a red door.
• It has a (now they tell us, non-functioning) fireplace.
• It has granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.
• It has the best den in Nashville. (That might be an exaggeration, since I have not yet been to Alan Jackson’s.)

Here are the things you should know about my room:
• It’s the entire top floor of the house.
• It has significantly slanted ceilings.
• It has a chimney coming up through the middle.
• It has no door (but that’s nothing Graham can’t fix).
• It has a 2-drawer file cabinet BUILT INTO THE WALL!

Here is the only thing you should know about my bathroom:

Shudder.

At last check, 85% of you voted that I should paint the walls, and yes, I agree. However, the landlords requested that a professional do the painting – and that’s about as high on my financial priority list as a colonic. So until future notice (and future money), I will live with a hybrid of the two options: baby blue walls WITH an orangey-peach shower curtain. Like sweet potato barf in a little boy’s nursery.

I am so appreciative of my amazingly faithful friends. Five people showed up at my house with their cars and trucks, and after tirelessly loading and transporting and unloading useless things like my light-up globe and three suitcases of shoes and curtain rods and massive stacks of washcloths, not to mention a 13” TV with a rabbit ear antenna and built-in VHS, we had pizza and beer and were merry. At one point, I counted 13 cars outside. Julie and Melissa and I have a big desire that this be a house where people feel welcome, where people want to be, where people are loved – and if last night was any indication, we’re off to a good start.

(A video tour of the new house will surely happen in January – just give us some time to get settled!)

I did. Or at least one. I let the dog out.

While the Handy Graham is in Pennsylvania with his family for Thanksgiving, some of us Nashville stragglers are splitting dog-duty. It seems that this boy cannot turn away a stray, and last week, he found a delightful little red mutt that we are all still trying to name. Any ideas?

This morning, after I dropped off Julie at the airport at 5:30am, I headed to take care of the Dog That I Call Jasper For Now. And after he scarfed down his food, I sat on the kitchen floor and he crawled into my lap and we snuggled for an hour. I was saying things like “Who’s a good boy? Who? Yes you are. YES YOU ARE!” It was great, and terribly animal-nerdy (which is a Parsons’ trait). Then I put him in the backyard, and headed home to get ready for work.

Tonight, my friend Josh is dropping me at the airport, and I’ll fly to Kansas City to be with my family for the holiday weekend. Apparently, Micah (5) is learning to set the table, and Tyler (3) cannot stop talking about pie. It’s going to be a good Thanksgiving.

This year, I’m thankful for my Nash-life. I’m thankful for the friends who have surrounded me here – for being my airport rides and my running buddies and my emotional contacts, making the fuzzy things clear. I’m thankful for the friends who live far away, and yet still find ways to love me and encourage me across the miles. I’m thankful for a job that pays my bills. I’m thankful for a church that feeds my soul. I’m thankful for my trusty steed of a Honda that hasn’t broken down in over a year. I’m thankful for Whole Foods Market, and the fact that they’re serving free samples of stuffing and mashed potatoes all week. I’m thankful that despite that fact, I still fit into my black pants (booyah!). I’m thankful for musicians so much better than me. I’m thankful for magical blog moments, like happened yesterday. I’m thankful for the opportunity to pursue the things that I want to pursue. I’m thankful for a coffee pot with brew-pause, so I can pour myself a cup before the pot is full. I’m thankful for the cooler weather (sweet Mother of Pearl, am I ever thankful). I’m thankful for the chance to spend the morning snuggling with a sweet dog. I’m thankful for family members who, despite our idiosyncrasies and freakish moments, totally love each other. I’m thankful that the idea of spending the holiday with my family is a welcome, warm-fuzzy thought. I’m thankful for grace, because Lord knows that I need it.

And I’m thankful that this list could go on and on. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

In general, I am not a forgetful person. I remember important dates, items on my grocery list, and words both tender and toxic. It’s a rare occurrence for me to miss an appointment due to negligence. I can hear a song one time, and be able to sing back the chorus word-for-word. I don’t need a recipe for chocolate chip cookies. No, when it comes to the important things, I do not easily forget.

Which makes it very odd that I left my keys IN MY FRONT DOORKNOB overnight. I slept soundly, thinking that I was safely locked inside my apartment, when I truly could have been murdered, had my house ransacked, and my car stolen. I suppose they would have been justified, though, because have you seen my hot ride?

Nightmarish scenarios aside, there’s another realm in which I can be forgetful. When it comes to the past, I tend to be a revisionist. I look back at certain times in my life with great nostalgia, under the illusion that everything was perfect when it wasn’t. I forget the hard times – I forget the reality. I convince myself that my life in Seattle was flawless, when in all actuality, I know that I struggled with the same things that I struggle with now: insecurity, loneliness, lack of purpose, lack of discipline. Instead, I remember the friendships. I remember feeling needed. I remember feeling seen. I remember the cozy weather. I remember medical insurance. I remember the water and the mountains and the drive-up coffee stands. And as shallow as it is, I remember my hair being long.

Ah, yes, times were good.

It’s easy to forget the bad, in the same way that it’s easy to forget that your ex-boyfriend wore sweatpants with elastic around the ankles.

I want to remember my past for what it was – being both grateful for the gifts, and mindful of the pain. But more than that, I want to accept the present – with everything that it brings, good and bad, ugly and awesome. I want to be here now. I want to live.

Which will probably require never forgetting my keys in the door again.