I drove to Kansas City this weekend – and you know what that means:

On the road again from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

I’m sorry that the video was only 52 seconds long, but… no, you know what, no I’m not.  That’s about all you need to be subjected to.

Besides this (glorious) video, the only other eventful things that happened on the drive were watching a bird get completely OBLITERATED by a Camry (we’re talking: cloud of feathers, body ricocheted into the median), and calling Becca in a panic to ask who the fifth member of the Backstreet Boys was (why did I forget about Howie? Oh. Probably because he’s Howie).

When I showed up for Sarah’s college graduation, my mom told me I looked like a flower.  I kind of felt like a flower.

Micah and Tyler have their summer buzz cuts, and it’s clear that they adore their aunties.

Sarah is now officially a college graduate and a real live nurse.  We have her with us back in Colorado for a few weeks, but she has a one-way ticket to Haiti next month.  Little sister, prepare to be smothered by us.

I need to tell you about yesterday’s drive.

Wait.  First, Merry Christmas.  Merry Christmas!  It’s heeeeeeere!

Now for the rest.  It should be obvious by the fact that I’m posting this blog, but lest you wring your hands throughout the holidays, I should let you know that I made it to Colorado last night.  The trip took me 11 hours rather than the typical 9, but all in all, smooth (albeit white-knuckled) sailing.  The roads really were icy.

As I drove, I was thinking that one of the worst insults someone could give me would be to call me a bad driver.  That would connote incompetence and stupidity – neither of which I’m really going for the gold in.  And after yesterday’s drive, I am even more convinced that when it comes to driving, I am extremely proficient.

There was only one moment in which I kind of lost control of the car.  I say kind of because it was when I was going over a bridge, and the ice is always worse on bridges, but you HAVE to drive over them to get to the other side – so I couldn’t do anything about it.  Anyway, when I hit the ice, I felt the wheels spin and try to grip the road, but they didn’t find anything – isn’t it weird that we can FEEL when the tires are freaking out? – so they spun more, which made the car lurch, and the Honda CATAPULTED forward.

If my heart were a horse, in that moment, it would have reared up on its hind legs.

Luckily, dry pavement was waiting on the other side, and everything was recovered (minus my pulse).

So, all in all, an inconsequential story.  Sorry.

In the entire 11-hour drive, I only stopped once – in Hays, Kansas, at 2:06pm for gas and lunch.  But I was severely disappointed to discover that every fast food joint had closed at 2:00 for Christmas Eve.  My only option was to go to a little grocery store called Dillon’s and choose a sad, underwhelming sandwich from a rack near the deli: wheat bread, Swiss cheese, and turkey – the watered down kind.  There were no condiments.

I also picked up a Gala apple, but the first bite I took of it included a significant chunk of my lower lip.  I cussed, and then felt sorry for myself because I could no longer eat the apple with gusto.

When I finally hobbled in the door at my parent’s house in Colorado Springs, I announced that all I want for Christmas is a butt massage.  No one offered.

Happy Christmas to all of you!

My deficit of sleep and surplus of emotion have left me with a raging case of stress acne.  Just in time for Christmas!

This Christmas Eve morning finds me in Kansas City, having driven out of Nashville yesterday without crying a single tear.  Scrape a face off Mt. Rushmore to make room for mine – I’m hard as stone.  Actually, I think I’m just tired of crying.  I’ve cried a lot these past few weeks in anticipation of this move – because as convinced I am that it’s the right decision, it still hurts my heart like whoa.

The plan is to continue on to Colorado today.  There’s a blizzard stretching all along I-70, growing progressively worse the further west you go.  So all that “I’ll be home for Christmas” talk?  Might be IN YOUR DREAMS, sucker.

But if the past is any indication, there are angels that fly with my Honda.  May it be so today – and for you, too, if you’re traveling.  Merry Christmas!

I arrived home last night to 2 dead flies on my bedroom carpet, and one crawling on the wall above my closet. I killed it with my bible study book. Then, I discovered 4 more humongous, buzzy black flies in my bathroom. I shut them in there in hopes that when I woke up in the morning, they would have died of natural causes.

This morning, I opened the door to find them multiplied. There were 7 flies in the bathroom.

I mean, really? Seven flies? What is the deal?

And thus began the most boring blog of all time.

I can’t help it, though. After so much driving, so little sleep, so many miles, and such a numb derrière, I don’t even know the date. My brain is oatmeal. In fact, Dani sent me some homemade oatmeal in the mail (thanks, Dani!), and when I got home last night and opened the box, I mistook it for granola and POURED IT IN MY MOUTH.

A mouth full of dry oats is shockingly difficult to swallow.

Now, I would just like to pause and give all glory, laud, and honor to my 1990 Honda Accord, which delivered me safely to Colorado and back without a hitch. There have always been naysayers, pessimists, skeptics when it comes to belief in the Honda’s reliability, but I have never doubted it; it is the Engergizer Bunny.  It passed 200,000 miles in central Kansas, right by those gigantic energy windmills that look like something out of Transformers. Jeremy told me about a YouTube video of one exploding, so I looked it up, and now I’m terrified to drive that way again.

Now that I’m back, there is a lot to catch up on. If you’ve ordered an EP in the past couple of days, they’re going out today – I’m so sorry for the delay! If you haven’t ordered an EP, you should.

No, I probably won’t stop talking about it for awhile.  Like Bobby Brown, it’s my prerogative.

Surely, you’ve been missing my face.

Here you go – to tide you over until we meet again (or ever) (or never) in the flesh.

Significant Fog from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

And now, let us soldier on through Monday.

I had high hopes of documenting my solo-trip to Louisville, Kentucky, on Saturday.

I know, I know – you’re like, why did she go to Louisville by herself? Don’t question me, people.  A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do – and sometimes that means abandoning her friends, turning off her phone, and driving to Kentucky alone.

I had every intention of making an awesome, witty, hysterically amusing video.  You all were going to watch it, and tell your friends about it.  Guys would fall in love with me, girls would want to be me, children would give their lives to Jesus because of me.

Instead, this is the only footage I got.

The Worst Thing About Sunglasses from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

The rest of the day belongs to me.

I kissed a baby cow while wearing high heels.

We went grocery shopping at BB’s, an Amish paradise in which you find bargains like 50 cent jars of chutney, or 9 full-size Butterfingers for $1.50, or a slightly smashed box of Cheez-Its for 75 cents, or apples for 39 cents/pound. It was like God raining down manna from heaven, and packing it in the trunk of my car for the return trip.

Rebecca was a GORGEOUS bride. But of course, I never got a picture of her handsome groom. Way to go, Annie. How can you even be related to the Parsons Photographers?

Other gems: I met both Paul’s parents and Graham’s parents (I love meeting my friend’s parents). We ate amazing home-cooked meals at the Zimmerman-Clayton household. I wore a sweatshirt that said “Penn State Mom” most of the time. There were chocolate chip cream cheese cupcakes at Central Market. I learned a lot about the Amish.  We watched an hilariously awful movie called “The Happening.” Paul and I ran for 7 miles through the farmland – but wait, that was terrible.

We documented our car ride to Pennsylvania. In the beginning we are full of enthusiasm, but soon spiral to misery, and then to sleepy insanity. We had absolutely no desire to film our return trip – we were too busy driving through a blizzard and discussing the world’s problems, using words unfit for camera – so unfortunately (but trust me – fortunately), this is all I have for you.

Pennsylvania Road Trip from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

I made it to Pennsylvania, and am currently in a true, authentic farmhouse in Amish country. I am so tired, I can barely type.

The drive was very long but fairly uneventful, save me holding my breath for an entire mile of highway, and Paul and me adding whistle solos to various songs on the radio, and Graham calling my choice of tunes “sad bastard music.” We kept ourselves awake listening to podcasts and eating my secret shame, Ritz Cracker Cheese Sandwiches.

I held up really well until about 4am, when all energy, logic, and self-esteem flew out the window. For example, when Paul asked me what kind of a car I would be, if I could be a car, I answered sadly, “Probably a minivan, because it’s slow on hills, and sensible, and large.” I followed this statement with the declaration that I will probably never get asked out on another date ever again. Both guys rolled their eyes and DIDN’T EVEN PITY ME.

I’m about to slip into sleep for a bit, but I will have to wake up in time to combat the mange that is my current physical state.

It occurs to me that I haven’t mentioned what’s happening tonight, have I?

Tonight, I am leaving on a road trip, traversing with PZC and the Handy Graham to their motherland – a distant, foreign place called PENNSYLVANIA.  I have never been there.  I’ve never really had any huge desire to go.  But now that the time is upon me, I have to say that I am looking forward to exploring “the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country,” otherwise known as Lancaster County.  I hope that I see all sorts of Dutch things, like windmills, tulips, wooden clogs, and drugs.

Looking at the map, there’s a town called Intercourse, and another called Paradise, and even one called Fertility.  Those Amish must be onto something.

It is a 760-mile journey, and we’re leaving tonight at 7:30pm, driving through the dark in my trusty Honda.  Is this insane?  Am I too old ladyish for such shenanigans?  Yes.  But it’s something that we’ve been planning for a long time, and there’s no way that I would miss my friend Rebecca’s wedding in Lancaster on Saturday.  So we’ll drive tonight, and come back on Sunday.

Paul tells me that I should get excited about a miraculous gas station called Wawa.  I can’t even type that without laughing.  I looked them up online, and their current slogan is “Gottahava Wawa.”  Trust me – I’ve already said it at least 15 times, and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

The next time you hear from me, I will have experienced Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, and Maryland, before arriving in the heart of Pennsylvania.  This is ridiculous.  I KNOW.

I don’t really watch “The Biggest Loser,” although I have a couple of times – enough to remember Dan Evans. Dan Evans, of season 5. Dan Evans, who lost a heroic 136 lbs. Dan Evans, the aspiring country artist. Dan Evans, whose CD entitled “Goin’ All Out” is being released today.

Dan Evans, whose mega “Goin’ All Out” tour bus hit my little Honda yesterday.

It’s not unusual to see a tour bus on the streets of Nashville – this is Music City, after all. But most artists tend to keep a low profile – it’s hard to tell who might be inside the bus. Not Dan Evans. His face is plastered all over his bus, along with his name – although, due to poor typography and a serious lack of spacing, I read “DANEvans” and thought that his name was indeed “Dane Vans.”

It wasn’t until the bus hit my car and the DANEvans decal was 18 inches from my face that I realized, “Oh, I was wrong – this is DAN EVANS, not DANE VANS. Charming.”

Blame it on traffic. Blame it on narrow streets. Blame it on a bus driver who was dreaming some seriously big dreams, attempting to navigate his way around a corner. But my bumper was the casualty. Scrape. Scratch. I honked my horn, rolled down my window, and yelled up at the driver, “Did you just crunch me?” He said, “Yes. I’m sorry. If you pull straight forward, you should be fine.”

Surprisingly, he was right. I pulled straight forward, and after the intial RASP of two bumpers separating, I was free from the wreckage*. And DANEvans went chugging merrily on his way.

No autograph or anything. The nerve.

*The “wreckage” consisted of a couple scrapes, but nothing cracked. Bumper, here’s a lesson that my heart has learned time and time again: the bastards can beat you up, but they can’t keep you down. You are bruised but not broken. And you will live to see another day.