I am always making lists.  I cannot operate with out lists.  They make me feel productive and safe.

Why “safe”?  Don’t ask me these questions.  It’s how I FEEL.  I don’t need to have a REASON.  GAWL.

[When I was a teenager, "gawl" was my biggest expression of disgust.  I said it ALL THE TIME.  My siblings will still occasionally bring it up, throwing the word at me, faces all repulsed and contorted and dramatic.  Apparently, that is how they remember me at age 14.

I couldn't help it, though - it wasn't easy being SUPERIOR to EVERYONE.  In the UNIVERSE.  FOREVER.  INFINITY.  GAWL.]

Anyway, I just made a list of “actors I do not trust.”  I wrote it on a Post-It note.  It says:
Tom Cruise
Nicolas Cage
Charlie Sheen

And I felt like telling you.

Now, I feel it necessary to acknowledge that I might be wasting your time these days… but then again, you’re HERE, aren’t you?  Lurking in the shadows?  Creepily reading my thoughts?  Distractedly entertained for roughly 45 seconds every day this week?

Heeeyyy-ooooooh, it’s been awhile since I’ve gotten 5 in a row!  I should take myself out for a nice steak dinner.  Congrats, self.

I’m taking my ping-ponging thoughts elsewhere before someone loses an eye.  I’ll see you on Monday.

Don’t pretend like you won’t be back.  I love you.

The kindest thing that anyone could ever do for me would be to do my taxes*.

As of this weekend, that makes my dad the nicest person on the planet.

But here’s a word to the wise, my friends: do not just assume that you are going to get a tax refund, and then go out and order a brand new, gigantic couch, assuming that the purchase will be partially reimbursed once April 15 rolls around.

Oh no.  Never assume.

For the first time in my life, I owe.

- – - – - – - -

And speaking of assumptions,

the root of “assumption” is “assume,”
the root of “consumption” is “consume,”
the root of “resumption” is “resume,”
the root of “presumption” is “presume.”

The root of “gumption” is… no, it’s not.

WHY DO I LOVE STUFF LIKE THIS SO MUCH?  pleasebemyfriend.

- – - – - – - -

*Also, washing my car, rubbing my shoulders, and curing cancer.

Yesterday morning, I woke up wishing to think of a word that contained all 5 vowels.  “To me,” I thought, “that would feel like winning the lottery.”

I never claimed to be cool, people.

A few hours later, when Greta was driving me to the airport, we were behind a Toyota Sequoia.

SEQUOIA.  Boom: jackpot.

- – - – - – - -

Blogging will resume once I have had a chance to settle back in to my Denver life.

I am on vacation in Seattle, and my heart is so happy I could cry.

Last night, as Greta and I were settling in to go to sleep, she asked if she should wake me up in the morning.  In a moment of Shakespearean inspiration, what I meant to say was, “I’m sure I will rouse at the sound of you.”  But what I actually said was, “I’m sure I will arouse at the sound of you.”  We giggled.  I’m still giggling, actually – here at Zoka coffee shop, all alone, laughing at my computer screen.

I just finished running in the rain around Green Lake 4 times.  For those of you keeping score, that is 11.2 miles.  I am flabbergasted at my own resolve and dedication these days, because there was a time that I couldn’t run 4 laps around a track, let alone a 2.8 mile loop.

Sorry to not have anything more sparkling to share (although, seriously: AROUSE!).  But frankly, my dears, I have places to be, and a haircut to enjoy.  Happy Valentines Day!

When this life, this world, this Whole Thing is all over, and we have the chance to look back on the story that was our life, I honestly believe that we won’t experience it as a narrative, but that we will hear it as a song – the most beautiful, sad, triumphant song ever written, played, or sung.

I may not be able to dream up a story that could convey the simultaneous joy and sorrow that swirl together in this life – it’s too complicated, too nuanced. It’s both dulcet and raucous, soothing and raw; words could never get it just right.

But I do believe that music could.

THAT is why I love music – because our stories cannot adequately be told through words alone.

And all those songs that I have ever started and then abandoned, with no idea for which direction to take them? One day, they’ll come together like puzzle pieces. I will see the picture I can’t see now. I will hear the songs – complete, whole, perfect, and true.

I believe that.

The work that has been started is going to get finished, and the song is going to end with the most beautifully complicated, conquering chord ever (and never) imagined. We will hear notes that have yet to exist to our ears.  Everyone will sing along, instinctively knowing the harmonies and the counterparts.

And most likely, Alison Krauss will sing the descant.

My friend Zach moved from Seattle to Nashville this week; it’s great to have him here.

We hadn’t seen each other in almost 3 years until he arrived on my doorstep on Monday night.  As I made dinner and we caught up, he told me that since the last time we saw each other, I’ve gotten sassier.

And here I was, thinking that I wasn’t accomplishing anything!

- – - – - – - -

Everyone knows that I pride myself on being an excellent speller.  As much as I would deny it, I actually feel slightly superior when I witness someone’s spelling mistake.

Working in the realm of email, I witness people’s spelling mistakes all the time.  The other day, I rolled my eyes when a woman wanted to “rescind” her email campaign – because hello, doesn’t she know how to spell “resend”??  I mean, duh.

I sent her back some very detailed instructions on how to resend her email.

And then, I was informed “rescind” is actually a word.  It means to revoke, to undo what was done – in this case, to pull back the emails after they’ve been sent out (which is impossible, FYI – once you hit send, the deed is done – BE SURE, people!).

In any case, consider me humbled.

- – - – - – - -

I went to the Bluebird last night with the lovely Haley Shaw.  Luke Laird sang a song called “People in Planes” – please go listen.  I loved it – I think it’s brilliant.   The second verse kills me.

But if you are using Internet Explorer and you CAN read this, then please disregard – the problem must be fixed?  In any case, down with IE.

Let me tell you about a couple of great things that have happened.  Warning: this post has no unifying thread aside from my two hands, my ten fingers, and my blathering brain churning it all out.

First of all, I had a perfect, flawless, divine flight experience on Monday.  I thought that because it was Labor Day, travel would be a nightmare.  But here are the amazing things about the day:
-    When my parents drove me from Colorado Springs to the airport in Denver, we took E-470, a tollway – but all of the tollbooths were closed.  Free!
-    I made it through security in 10 minutes – probably because I had no frozen meat in my purse.
-    DIA has free Wi-Fi, and I got one of the stools at the table where you can plug in your laptop.
-    I met the aforementioned songwriters.
-    I was reading Stephen King’s “On Writing,” which the songwriters noticed, and thought I was really cool for.
-    The flight left on time.
-    I had a free drink ticket, so I ordered a plastic cup of Chardonnay.
-    The flight arrived early.
-    My suitcase was the first one out at baggage claim.

Come on.  All of those things NEVER happen all in the same day.

When I got home and discovered my driver’s license missing, I thought that my perfect day had been torpedoed.  But the next morning, the airline called and told me that they had found it at security, and they were mailing it to me.  Southwest Airlines, FTW!

Tangent:
my co-worker Danny recently told me
that one of his friends thought that
FTW stood for “for the wind.”
I laughed so hard, I snorted.
I’ve tried to tell my non-internetty friends,
and they don’t find it funny.
If you find it funny,
please validate me and tell me so.
If you don’t find it funny, well.
You’re probably using Internet Explorer.

Last night I went to the gym, and Tuesday nights at the gym are the best, because on Tuesday nights from 9-10pm, they play reruns of “The Office” on TBS.  I spent an episode and a half on the elliptical machine, all alone, but allowing myself to LAUGH OUT LOUD whenever I wanted – which meant that I was laughing for 45 minutes straight.

Another tangent:
for the longest time,
my friend Joey thought that
LOL stood for “lots of love.”
This made me laugh, too.

I have had my buddy Del Barber’s songs running on repeat in my head for a couple of days now – and this is the furthest* thing from a problem.  A few weeks ago, he and Dreadlock Dave stopped in Nashville to crash on the floor of the JAM House, and we had a regular hootenanny (hurray!) in the living room – Del and Neal and I taking turns playing songs.

It was so Nashville.

And finally, speaking of music, my EP is almost finished.  October.  Get ready.

*A free EP to the first person who knows the difference between “furthest” and “farthest.” 

What if I had ended yesterday’s post by saying, “I’m enlisting”?

That would have been hilarious*, huh?

But I didn’t, so…

Speaking of hindsight, here’s another installment of “Annie’s Most Embarrassing Moments.”

Yesterday, Brooks & Dunn called it quits.  (SO EMBARRASSING… oh wait… not yet… wait for it…)

On some website, I saw that the writer had referred to them as “Brooks & DONE,” and I thought, “Well, that’s clever.”  I love words.  I love plays-on-words.  I just liked it, okay?  And I resolved that I would use it as my own.

So last night, as I was leaving the Y, drenched in sweat delightfully and femininely glistening, I tossed my towel in the bin.  And the man behind the counter said, “Haha – just like Brooks & Dunn – throwing in the towel” (someone give that man a trophy, because THAT WAS SHARP).

It was my chance.

And here is what I said.

“More like Brooks & NO MORE!”

What.

I ruined it.  Completely.

I mean, what in the hell was that?  Brooks & No More?  Brooks & NO MORE?

And what’s worse – if I had gotten it right, it’s the sort of thing that would only translate in writing.  I could have said, “More like Brooks & DONE!” and started laughing hysterically, patted myself on the back for my brilliance, and winked at my latest adoring fan on the way out the door – and the poor YMCA worker would have just thought I was a dolt.

So, given the two scenarios, I suppose it’s Sophie’s Choice.

- – - – - – - -

*Hilarious not because the military is something to be laughed at, but more at the thought of me wearing a hat of any sort.

Just preempting the blog-hatred.  A girl gotsta look out for herself.

You can guess who said what.

- – - – - – - -

I will never, ever understand why God thought insects were a good idea.  I mean, they rhyme with “in sex.”  Which makes no sense.

It turns out beat boxing is kind of super cool and attractive.

Isn’t it strange that “obvious” and “oblivious” are so close in letters, but so far apart in meaning?

dat eez cuz onlee kool emo geekas unnastan the funnee.

Sometimes I just want to press a button under my arm and shoot upwards into space.

I called 911.  (I love calling 911.)

I wish I could pull up a sidewalk square and see you pop up underneath.

- – - – - – - -

Missing this friend today.

A few months ago, PZC taught me about auto antonyms – although I think that I prefer their less-popular name, contronyms.  Any non-word-lovers out there can just call them self-contradictions (but I will judge you).

What is an auto antonym?  It’s a word that can mean the opposite of itself.

IMPOSSIBLE, you say.

NOT WITH JESUS, I say.

Or, just, it’s not impossible.  Because it’s truth.  Look at this whole list of auto antonyms I found – and tell me that you aren’t captivated.  I mean, SOMEONE besides Pauly and me must find this word-nerdage fascinating?

Words!  That mean one thing!  AND!  The total opposite thing!  Auto antonyms are the “choose your own adventure” of vocabulary.

The next time someone calls me lurid, I’m giving him a kiss on the lips.*

*not a promise.