The onslaught of pumpkin spice stirs an irrational irritation not because I dislike Pumpkin Spice Lattes™, but because its debut reminds me that consistent Fall weather is at least 2 months away.

And if there is one thing that every Christian knows, it’s that Halloween is a demonic holiday created by Paganists and Satanists in order to put razor blades and poison into the hands of our children. You think my parents would let us go trick or treating door-to-door while the devil was out roaming the streets?

Some might say that I’m a perfectionist. Others might say that I’ll just never be happy no matter what. Personally, I prefer the term, “perpetual furniture mover.” I come from a long line of “perpetual furniture movers.” You’d come downstairs one Saturday, and the entire living room would be different – now the chair is in the corner, the couch is against the wall, the lamp is…is it in the same spot or a different spot? You can never be sure. Wasn’t everything fine the way it was?

It should go as no surprise that I had to get rid of a lot of stuff in order to make this move possible. I was moving from a house in Atlanta to an apartment in Manhattan. I would be trading in a porch for a fire escape, a driveway for a stoop.

“Does it feel real yet?” “I think so?” I scanned my much emptier home. One stack of boxes sat in the furthest corner, the other behind me. I had been in this house for seven years now, which in the time of typical early-to-mid-20’s apartment hopping felt like a lifetime.

I’m pretend to be offended. “Would I ever lie to you?” The hint of a smile, the twinkle in my eye - obviously I am joking. At my core, I am a flirt. I believe everyone deserves to be flirted with once a day.

The Greeks had a word, xenia—guest friendship—a command to take care of traveling strangers, to open your door to whoever is out there, because anyone passing by, far from home, might be God.

As a hoochie with a coochie living way down yonder on the Chattahoochee, I gotta say Alan Jackson’s description of a Georgia summer is spot on.

“You aren’t treating this like a therapy session. We’re just talking.” Our conversation had become more serious, but it wasn't a burden. We were talking about our lives...which are kinda stressful these days. Every problem is a crisis. Emergency is the rule, not the exception. The funniest part was…this was very similar to therapy (but not in the way he thought.)

I am not the only blonde or funny or curvaceous or tall escort. But I am the only Anna Carter. In this regard, the only competition would be like…if a hotter, funnier future-me came to the present. And while I do keep getting hotter and funnier with every passing moment, I regret to inform you that you’re stuck with my current, present form.