A week in Hong Kong

Written by hootenannie on March 10th, 2016

Back in January, I had to run through the Denver airport like the Home Alone family to catch a flight. I made it onto the plane in the nick of time, and as I settled into the middle seat, I realized that I was completely out of breath.

I’ve lost my Colorado lungs. I had already said goodbye to my Colorado house, Colorado friends, Colorado hikes, Colorado weather — but my Colorado lungs? That’s a low blow, Minnesota. Luckily you’re the state that brought us the Bundt pan, so we’re even.

I have not, however, lost my Colorado hiking haunches. Oh hell no. My general thigh-rump area is as sturdy (read: un-dainty) as ever, meaning that when I was in Hong Kong, I couldn’t wait to get out into the jungle coated mountains to explore the trails. I mean, these glutes have got to be good for something — and in a world built to favor girls with skinny thighs, I take a lot of solace in the fact that I can out-hike them. It’s my only power.

So imagine my surprise when, there on the trails of Hong Kong, I finally met my hiking match, and an unusual suspect at that. When it comes to hoofing it, I now know my primary competition to be… the old Chinese man.

There he was, in his seventies, slight of frame, wearing nylon khaki pants and a little daypack — hauling ass up those hills. “Surely I can keep up,” I thought, and made it my personal aim to stay in step with him for the 1,800’ elevation gain of The Peak and beyond. But just like the time I tried to race a Segway up a hill on my bike (you’ve now heard the entire story, and it was every bit as ridiculous as it sounds), I labored in vain. I couldn’t keep up. The old Chinese man is the most hale and hearty person in the world.

Some might think “old and fit” to be a contradiction — but my way-too-short week in Hong Kong exposed me to all sorts of contradictions. Hong Kong-tradictions? (I’ll stop.)

Truly, Hong Kong is a mix of east and west, rich and poor, city and jungle, poodles and porcupines, glitz and grit. It’s fake Louis Vuitton and real Louis Vuitton. It’s skyscrapers surrounded by bamboo scaffolding. It’s cosmopolitan and outdoorsy, Maseratis and taxis, people toasting champagne on rooftop decks and people living in rural fishing villages. I ate dim sum and curry and noodles, but also McDonalds and Starbucks. You can find Willamette Valley Pinot Noir. There are tensions that I don’t fully understand, political rumblings with the potential to be seismic shifts, and just like anywhere, situations that need prayer and action and attention.

I soaked every single bit of it in. I explored and adventured and rested and basked in the presence of my dear friends like it was the world’s greatest gift, because it was. And I can’t wait to go back.

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3D printer atheist

Written by hootenannie on March 1st, 2016

I don’t believe in 3D printers. They do not exist. And you’ll never convince me until I see one with my own eyes.

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Tofu can make ice cream or a hot dog. It has no limits*. A 3D printer is the same. It can make a running shoe or a cell phone case or a hamburger. A hamburger! Not even tofu can be a hamburger! (*We found tofu’s limit.)

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In 2007 I heard about Dubai for the first time. I read about it in Vanity Fair and couldn’t believe I’d never heard of this place, where the skyline shifts every single day, where they make homemade islands and sell them to richies, where millions and millions of people are continually building a thriving metropolis. It’s hard for me to believe that Dubai is actually real. If my friend Shea hadn’t lived there and sent me Christmas cards postmarked UAE, I might still be a doubter.

In 2012 I heard about 3D printers for the first time. I thought, “There is no way that’s a real thing.” Nothing can make something from nothing — except God, and even then he used Adam’s rib.

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I want to believe in 3D printers. I just don’t know how.

The best seat in the sky

Written by hootenannie on February 19th, 2016

It is exactly 24 hours from my door to Alia’s, and 16 of those were spent on a 777 from Chicago to Hong Kong. I had never been on such a long flight before, nor in such a gigantic bird. (That’s an industry term, you know — pilots call them “birds.” Wait. Do they?)

On a massive airplane with nine economy seats across, lumped in threes, an aisle between each set, I’ve decided that the best option is to sit in an aisle seat of the middle set. Here’s the logic:

  1. No matter what, the middle seat is the worst.
  2. On a regular domestic flight, I opt for the window. But if you choose the window on a flight around the world, you’re forced to watch the ground below, which on a global journey is really just ocean, inducing panic attacks and visions of Tom Hanks as the only survivor in a life raft in Castaway, which is by far the scariest movie of all time. Also, if you need to get up for the bathroom, you have to step over two people.
  3. The aisle seat on the right or left set of seats is okay, but if either of your two row mates needs to get up, you’re standing every time.
  4. But the aisle seat on the MIDDLE set… you can stand up whenever you want. You don’t have to look out the window hyperventilating. And if the person in the middle seat needs to get up, there’s only a 50% chance they’ll choose to go your direction.

Voila — the best seat in the sky. That is, unless you can afford to fly first class. By the time I boarded, those ballers already had free drinks!

Speaking of free drinks, you do eventually get those in economy, too. Time does not exist whilst in international flight zones, so when the alcohol tray comes through at 2pm, 3pm, 8pm, 12am, and 2am, just say yes, man. You paid good money for those free drinks.

Here’s another perk about such a long flight: the movies. The movies! I’m so glad I never paid to see The Martian in the theater, because after spending more money I’ve ever spent on a flight, I got to watch it for free! I also watched The Intern and Infinitely Polar Bear; in other words, it was the day you want every Monday morning when you actually have to go to work. I guess that someone’s gotta bring home the bacon and all… but what good is bacon if it isn’t paying for Netflix?

One thing I was ill advised about: there are no power outlets in economy. I was counting on an endless power supply for my laptop so I could write my memoirs. Alas, this blog is what I wound up with.

I am learning to accept my writing style for what it is. It’s difficult not to compare when reading other people’s words, blogs, and books, especially when I love someone else’s writing. Some of my friends have made a genuine living out of writing, and occasionally I think, “I wish someone would pay me to just be myself” — you know, as if all they have to do is write whatever they want that morning, and then get paid millions and millions of dollars for it. (I do know better, writer friends, you work hard. I’m just jealous.)

Anyway, everyone has a natural “voice,” and mine just so happens to be riddled with capital letters and parentheses and dumb jokes and a tiny bit of cynicism but also a genuine love for stringing words together and telling stories. I like to think that I write like I talk, but the truth is that I write better than I talk. Which is probably why I love to write.

I hope that you’re doing what you love, even if you don’t get paid for it, and even if you don’t do it as well as other people, at least in your opinion. One’s own opinion isn’t always the best judge, anyway. Judge Judy is the only judge for me.

Okay, back to this ultra mega flight. I was worried that they wouldn’t feed us and I would arrive in Asia an emaciated shell (as if). I am very afraid of being hungry, so I packed Larabars, an open-face turkey sandwich, an apple, and a baggie of almonds — and while it all went to good nutritious use, it was largely unnecessary. Here are the things we were offered on the flight: sundried tomato bruschetta crackers, sweet wafery cookies, manicotti, green tea sorbet, wasabi rice snack mix, and scrambled eggs. I didn’t partake in everything because with the exception of Ritz Crackers, mass-produced foods generally taste like sadness — but I’m serious, the crew was through over and over again with something new.

If you’ve made it this far, you know I’m just a wide-eyed country bumpkin on a major international adventure — par for the course for many of you, but out of the norm for me. I know that this week will be full of amazing experiences, and I can’t wait to tell you about them. And just to give you an idea of the length of the journey, here was our progress two and a half hours into the flight:

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The whole rest of the world to go. I can’t wait.

Springtime, come hither

Written by hootenannie on February 15th, 2016

When I’m feeling overwhelmed, I retreat from the Internet — and lately, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. An introvert can handle only so much extroversion before she caves in, like a molten lava cake, but way less hot.

Seriously, you should see how non-hot I am looking these days. I am bedraggled and dried out and pallid and puffy. Winter in Minnesota will do that to a girl. After that cold snap of sub-zero temperatures, the weather has been far more tolerable — but it’s still dark and icy and laze-inducing. I am willing along spring like a spectator at a marathon, except spring is the slowest one.

Please spring, even if it takes eleven hours, promise me you’ll cross the finish line. I hear there’s beer! And have I mentioned how hot you look?

Luckily I am leaving for Hong Kong on Thursday. Hong Kong is subtropical! Granted, it’s only supposed to be in the 60s and rainy, but bring on the balm. I plan on coming back with supple skin and the will to live.

Of course, I am terrified that my plane will crash into the ocean like Malaysian Flight 370, never to be found. My friends tell me to stop being morbid, but I’m hoping that by speaking my fears out loud they will lose their power, like shining a light into a 4-year old’s closet. (Except seriously, I just wrote my Last Will and Testament. I’m not joking. Last Thursday in the back row of a music event, I had Gabe and Maia sign as my two witnesses, all “I’m signin’, you’re signin’, we’re all signin’.”)

As for Foxy, I am flying Anna in from Colorado to stay with her while I’m gone. If I am flying my dog-sitter across the country, I am absolutely the 1%. It’s time for me to accept it and stop eating the heel of the bread because I think I’m poor.

I plan on living forever, a regular Tuck Everlasting — but if my plane goes down, know that I love you all, more than I love molten lava cake. I want to see Minneapolis in the springtime though, so count on my triumphant return.

As a parting gift, here’s me on Saturday, STANDING ON A LAKE, harnessing the power of the sun because it’s all I can do.

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An ode to female friendship

Written by hootenannie on January 29th, 2016

Last weekend, I sat with my friend Becca in a restaurant in the suburbs 30 minutes south of the city. We both had the steak & Gorgonzola salad, and we talked about friendship.

As someone who has lived in four cities in the past eight years, I have met so many people — many of whom I adore with everything in me. For being a severe introvert, I am rich in relationships. It’s probably the best thing about my life. It’s also one of the hardest.

Because for all of the incredible people, apparently we only have room for 150 stable relationships at a time (this is a real thing — it’s called Dunbar’s number); that includes our family, co-workers, friends, everyone. And in a globally-linked world with no shortage of opportunities to “connect,” it’s easy to feel overwhelmed.

Our Facebook feeds are full of people we don’t really know — and yet we have a window to learning all of their kids’ names and where they vacationed last summer, even if we might try to avoid them given a run-in at the hometown Walmart. We can fall down an Instagram rabbit hole and fill our brains with the lives of strangers, their Whole30 meals, their beautiful homes, and their succulent plants. We spy on our favorite celebrities. And pretty soon, our brains are full, like an iceberg with too many penguins. At some point, penguins are going to start falling off. To be eaten by arctic seals.

So despite all of the wonderful people there are to know, Becca and I agreed: There is value in having fewer friendships, but giving those relationships deeper roots.

A few years ago, I broke up with the majority of my guy friends. Some required a conversation, some I just stopped reaching out to and — go figure — they never contacted me again. Today there are a few exceptions (and thank God for these men) — but it turns out a lot of my friendships with guys had been surface-level at best, emotionally manipulative at worst (don’t cry for me, Argentina — I was a willing participant), and the healthiest decision for me was to let them go.

But my girlfriends? I would be sunk without them. In the wise words of Lena Dunham, “I love loving men, but I love knowing women.”

Some I have known nearly forever; I met Sheryl when I wasn’t yet two-years old, and she remains one of the dearest people in my life. I still have a postcard she sent me from Disneyland when we were six. She knew me when I wore a crewneck sweatshirt featuring Beethoven and all of his puppies beneath the Universal Studios logo, and loved me anyway. We were roommates our freshman year in college — the first time we’d lived in the same city since we were in first grade. I was a bridesmaid in her wedding. She came to my grandmother’s funeral.

Some are brand new. Maia and I both moved to Minneapolis last summer and started working together on July 5th; she has been a mainstay for me ever since. She came to Kansas City with me to hang out with my mom. She had Thanksgiving at my house and met my dad. In one game, I transformed her into a Broncos fan; the other day she said, “Twelve more sleeps until the Super Bowl!” I delight in her Australian accent to an annoying degree.

Remember when it felt so special to get a letter in the mail instead of an email? Now it feels special to get an email instead of a Facebook like. Email is the inside scoop. Email is the stuff no one wants to post as a status update. Some of my favorite relationships exist almost solely via email, because real deal friendship isn’t bound by geography. I met Val, Juliette, and Dani years ago on the internet, and while we’ve been in the same room a handful of times, our friendship has flourished via a four-way Gmail chain that I hope never ends; we are currently discussing the specifics of our deep, deep shared love of Hamilton.

Nearly all of my closest friends now have babies. I delight in watching them grow into motherhood, even though I secretly despise their happiness that is probably mostly made up in my head. SARCASM FONT. (But seriously, give me your baby.) I adore their kids and relish every chance I get to visit them. Becca, the one with whom I was eating that steak & Gorgonzola salad, recently invited me over and said, “The kids are sick and I’m not cleaning up the house. That’s because you’re a friend, not a guest.” A few weeks later when I was in Nashville, Mel said the same thing. I love that.

I can’t remember where, but sometime in the last week or so I read something like, “My old friends remind me who I was. My new friends remind me who I’m becoming.”

Two weeks ago, my three bests from Denver flew to Minneapolis. They braved a sub-zero weekend (no, seriously, the high was negative 8) just to see my life. We lounged around the house drinking coffee and talking about our feelings every morning (I only cried once), shared a bottle of champagne every afternoon, and ate our way through the city every night. It was a dream. We are all currently in a similar stage of life: not married, hustling in our jobs, budgeting, trying to be healthy (whoops, champagne), and asking the big questions. Kristen, Lacey, and Kayla are the most fun people I know, and they make me feel good about being me, like I’m worth being friends with, or maybe even worth loving.

And when we feel like we’re loved, it’s a lot easier to love.

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I wish that Dunbar’s Number could be higher, and that we could all invest heavily in every single amazing person who crosses our path. But fewer and deeper is my goal, because less really is more.

Negative degrees equals negative feelings

Written by hootenannie on January 19th, 2016

It’s Tuesday afternoon. I am in the Kansas City airport at one of those Southwest standing desks charging my computer and sighing huffily because my flight from Minneapolis to New York had engine trouble, so I was re-routed through Kansas City, and now this flight is delayed, so it means less time in New York, and that feels sad. I love New York (however, I do not heart New York, so don’t worry about getting me the T-shirt). But I have to get there as soon as possible because going to be 30 degrees there, and I am going to bask in the heat like a cat on a warm brick sidewalk.

Listen, I don’t want to be one of Those People who complains about the cold. Complaining about the cold is always in vain — nothing I say or do can change the forecast, because no one messes with meteorology except that dome world in The Truman Show. But I do need to say this out loud, because I am nothing if not an emoter: The weather in Minneapolis has been colder than Elsa’s ice castle of solitude, and it’s frozen me straight through to what was once my beating heart. It’s affected me on a deep soul level, because I love to be outside, and when it’s below zero, I start to want to do crazy things that people do before they freeze to death, like think I’m warmer than I am and that it would be a good idea to take off my pants (see here). So when there are prolonged stretches of days that barely reach the positive digits, I want to take a swan dive into despair. Most likely sans pants.

I am committed to being outside anytime it’s above five degrees, and on those days I’m also committed to expressing an outrageous amount of gratitude. Anguish is all relative, as is the temperature. This will be the last time you hear me complain about the winter.*

*Not a promise.

My winter wardrobe

Written by hootenannie on January 5th, 2016

You know your heart is shifting in a hearty direction when you say “It’s only 10 degrees” and then go walk your dog because “It’s only 10 degrees” means “not that cold.”

But honestly, my first Minnesota winter has not been bad. November and December were almost warm, most days in the 30s and 40s; it snowed once or twice, but then melted (an anomaly, so I hear). Some lifelong Minnesotans have said that it’s been the warmest winter they can remember.

But it is only January 5.

I had a hunch that when I came back after the holidays, winter would really start — and I was right. We’re staring down a high of 1 degree (one singular degree) on Sunday, and in preparation, I’ve been doing some online shopping. I got almost everything on sale, because is pays to shop post-holidays.

So without further ado, I present to thee: Annie’s Winter Wardrobe (most of which has yet to arrive and thus be tried on, so there’s a chance I might not keep something).

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I am over-the-moon excited to receive this Patagonia parka. It looks to be crazy warm, and the wind/waterproof layer is going to save my hide. Plus, how cute is the grey/green combo?

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I purchased Sorels two years ago, and last winter the rubber split open, rendering them a tiny bit useless in the snow. Given that I had just passed the 12-month warranty mark (13 months, to be exact), they wouldn’t replace them (cool, Sorel). I’ve been limping through with an extra pair of wool socks, but it’s time for new boots. I like this North Face pair because they are basic and have zero fur. No boots with the fur for me.

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I have CHAT (Cold Hands All the Time, copyright me), so I got these. They also come in neon green and I thought maybe I should get those so I would always be able to find my hands, but then I thought… they’re my hands. (SO DUMB PLEASE FORGET I EVER SAID THAT.)

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I got this pom-pom hat last week and basically haven’t taken it off since. I’m wearing it right now. I will be wearing it tomorrow. I never want to be without it. Ashley knitted me an cream-colored infinity scarf a few years ago, and I’m living in that, as well.

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And since one can never have too many pom-pom hats, this one is on the way. The little metal plate will be removed immediately because it is dumb.

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And I’ve decided to wear more fuchsia, so here you go.

Bonus items: I got a down blanket for Christmas (my heart’s desire), and also a microwaveable rice bag from Aveda from a gift exchange. If you come over, chances are I will be wrapped in one or both. I’m also traveling with a down sleeping bag in the trunk of my car. I’m also hanging tough — as is Foxy.

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2015: Everything Changed and I Cried

Written by hootenannie on December 29th, 2015

There is no better summation of my 2015 than this: Everything Changed and I Cried.

I should caveat this by saying that right now, in the last days of the year, I am steady and stable and grateful for my life and current situation. It took a little while, but here I am.

But for the last 363 days until now, 2015 has been a doozy. One year ago today, I lived in Denver and had no inkling I was about to turn my entire world upside down with one little job application. Fast forward until now, having made it through five months of an interview process, an eventual job offer, the selling of one house, the purchasing of another, a cross-country move, the beginning of a new job (in a new role with new people and new responsibilities), and all that goes along with “starting over” in a new city, and here I stand, scratching my head and wondering where the year went.

Given that the last 12 months were a blur (I don’t remember the first half of the year at all), I figured I’d take a page from my girl Dani’s book and reflect via a listicle. If you’re a blogger (or even just a journaler), feel free to lift these questions — I found it to be a helpful way to sort out the past year.

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1. What did you do in 2015 that you’d never done before?
I sold a house, moved for a job, mowed a lawn, and helped harvest honey on a friend’s farm.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
In the name of self-acceptance, I didn’t make any resolutions at the beginning of 2015. I am now feeling snarky about that concept, and would like to change everything about myself in order to be better, cooler, and prettier in 2016. My goals for the coming year will flow from this place of self-loathing.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Just about everyone, it feels like. Welcome Willa, Arthur, Adelay, Blake, Harriet, Autumn, Jenna, Griffin, Hank, Ramona, and many others! (Theo, Teddy, and Eliza just missed the cut, arriving in late December 2014.)

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No, not even my car, thank God.

5. What countries did you visit?
USA all the way.

6. What would you like to have in 2016 that you didn’t have in 2015?
The runner’s booty.

7. What dates from 2015 will be etched upon your memory, and why?
July 3. I left Colorado and didn’t stop until I got to Minnesota.

8. What was your biggest achievement of this year?
Accepting the fact that people do what makes sense to them, and it’s useless trying to control them. It’s even okay to forgive them.

9. What was your biggest failure?
I let my heart get entangled with someone who didn’t like me as much as I liked him. Such is life. I definitely wouldn’t call it a “failure,” though, since given the option, I think it’s always best to use one’s heart instead of protecting it. #noregrets

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I have been consistently dizzy for the past month, experiencing about two bloody noses per week (one of which occurred five minutes after I finished singing “Breath of Heaven” for my mom’s church on Christmas Eve — happy holidays). I am not dehydrated, so the only other option according to WebMD is that I have a fatal disease. Stay tuned!

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A new house, obviously. But I’m also quite fond of my new pom-pom hat.

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12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Kristen, who quit her comfortable life in Denver to take a really difficult but important job in Jackson, Mississippi. Kayla, who went beast mode on her dreams and started a non-profit initiative designed to empower women. Anna Talley, who drove Foxy from Denver to Minneapolis. Becca Groves who, after being 10 days overdue, made it through a 54-hour labor to deliver sweet baby Hattie. Glennon Doyle Melton & friends who took actual action to assist with the refugee crisis. The guys with the eagle.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Donald Trump.

14. Where did most of your money go?
My fence. RIP, money.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
I was really, really, really excited when I was offered the job I am now in. I also was really, really, really excited when Foxy finally arrived in Minnesota, bringing our month-long separation to a close. And I bought a ticket to Hong Kong for a trip that’s now only seven weeks away!

16. What song will always remind you of 2015?
I wish I had a cooler answer, but “Stay a Little Longer” by the Brothers Osborne.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?
Sadder (only slightly). Fatter (only slightly). Poorer (but more money always comes). But I never want to say the sentence “I am sadder, fatter, and poorer than I was last year,” so let’s forget this ever happened, shall we?

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Hiking while I lived in Colorado. I did a lot, but it’s never enough — especially now that I live in a less hike-worthy state (but nonetheless pretty and explore-able).

I also wish I had written more.

I also wish I had cooked more actual dinners.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Wasting time on social media.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
I woke up and drank coffee with my mom, then took Foxy on a walk, then read for a while, then ate grilled chicken and salad, then went to see Joy. No presents — that will happen tonight.

21. Did you fall in love?
No, but I suppose I could have if circumstances had been different. Ain’t that always the case.

22. What was your favorite TV program?
Broadchurch. I started watching The Man in the High Castle this week (halfway through the short season), and can’t stop thinking about it.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Hate’s a very strong word, and I don’t hate anyone. No.

24. What was the best book you read?
My favorite book always tends to be the one I’m currently reading — which right now is All the Light We Cannot See.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Sean McConnell.

26. What did you want and get?
A house with a guest room, a yard, a front porch swing, and a basement.

27. What did you want and not get?
I can’t be trusted to answer this question. I could share an entire Rolodex of the things I wished for, but then Garth Brooks would start singing “Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers” and I would be totally pwned.

28. What was your favorite film of 2015?
I watched so few movies in 2015. I never saw Inside Out, Star Wars, Creed, Trainwreck, Steve Jobs, Still Alice… in fact, the only movie I saw on this list of Top 100 Movies of 2015 is Selma. So I guess Selma? (To be fair, Selma was very good.)

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I went to work, had a visit from my mom and nephews at the office, and ate salmon and salad for dinner. I am now 33, the same age as Bridget Jones and Jesus.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
The runner’s booty.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept of 2015?
Lazy and generally misguided.

32. What kept you sane?
Long walks and the occasional anti-anxiety pill (honesty is the best policy).

33. What political issue stirred you the most?
Gun control. There is absolutely zero reason why a civilian should have access to an assault rifle.

34. Who did you miss?
My girlfriends from Denver.

35. Who was the best new person you met?
Maia Tarrell.

36. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2015.
Don’t leave Foxy at a friend’s house with white carpet.

37. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
When you see the one you used to love
Beneath the mistletoe
With a girl you’ve never seen before
Who’s dressed just like a ho-ho-ho

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All in all, 2015 was an exciting but stressful, transitional year that was a necessary step in order to get to a new chapter — one that I believe was the next right step. I am ready to see what 2016 holds, and I really hope it doesn’t include Donald Trump as president. Kumbaya.

Holly Jolly Melancholy Christmas

Written by hootenannie on December 18th, 2015

I know, I know. You have been observing my grace and aplomb at every twist and turn of the journey, wondering how on earth I’m such a charmingly positive and rosy person. You are amazed at my buoyant spirit and sweet disposition. I am a delight.

Alas, this is not the truth – and fine, you knew it all along. I am often cranky, frequently discouraged, and usually hungry (unrelated). And the happy, happy holidays tend to poke at me, making me want to overcompensate for what often feels like forced joy with an extra number of eye rolls.

But recently, I decided to snap out of it. I squashed down my drama, laughed at my ridiculousness, and then wrote a little song that made me giggle — a reminder that being me, crankiness and all, is actually pretty dang fun.

Holly Jolly Melancholy Christmas from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

In the palm of her hand

Written by hootenannie on December 4th, 2015

… even via a YouTube video. Jennifer Nettles has always been the real thing. All she has to do is stand there – she still sings the fire out of anything.

“I wasn’t lost until you found me.”