You just say them.  All in a row.

Like this…

I got a haircut.  No more mermaid hair – although, correspondingly, no more dead head.

If you have ever prayed, “Dear God, please can there be a movie that combines “The Sandlot” and “Signs” and “Independence Day”?” then guess what.  Your prayer has been answered, and it’s called “Super 8.”  I LOVED IT.

I’m taking the first week of August off of work.  No plans – except to climb as many mountains as I can, and do fun things, and turn 29 years old.

Tom Petty is proof that a man doesn’t have to be attractive to be sexy.  That is just the strangest phenomenon.

Tomorrow night, I’m going to a professional lacrosse game.  I’m never quite sure which sport is lacrosse, and which is rugby, and which is polo.  I feel like all involve grunting?  Time to do some research.

I don’t think I know anyone in Denver with a truck.  Does anyone in Denver have a truck?  (I know – that is the question that every truck-owner doesn’t want to answer.  Except I’m SO nice, and I make very good cookies.)

Lately, I’ve been missing Seattle so much I can barely breathe.  I haven’t been there in almost a year.  This is so wrong.

But it’s pay day.  This is so right.

How are you today?

After Friday’s post of sunshine and daisies and love, I spent the weekend in the same blissful state.  I took long walks, had some good talks with friends, and bought a new pair of shoes that Karmen says make me strut (heeeeey!).  I saw a karate class of little kids practicing outside, yelling “yah!” and “hah!”  I found the Denver Farmers Market, where I sampled salsa and jam and cheese.  I bought myself a bouquet of gorgeous peonies, and they’re sitting in my living room next to the stained glass kaleidoscope that my aunt made years ago.

You have no idea how happy that picture, that sight, that moment, makes me.

I also got a haircut – the first haircut I have gotten in Denver.  I still like to think of Faith in Seattle and Erika in Nashville as “my” stylists… and to be honest, I don’t really want anyone else.  But alas, the shag was starting to get to me, and you have to LIVE where you are, right?  Time to find a Denver girl.  So, find a Denver girl I did.

She told me she was going to give me “Hot Veronica” hair, and I pretended that I knew what she was talking about and was like, “BRING. IT. ON.”  Nothing says “Annie Parsons” like “Hot Veronica,” right?  Well, word to the wise, people: do not come home from the salon and curiously Google “Hot Veronica” – especially you, Little Annie Parsons – this is not a good thing to do.  Instead, just check it out:

That is all the “Hot Veronica” you need to know.  I am Hot Veronica personified.

Or something.

Anyway, the weekend was fabulous.  All except for one thing.

Remember how on Friday morning I said that the Honda started “every time”?

On Friday night in ghettoville, it broke down three times in one mile.  After the battery being jumped twice by strangers, and unscrewing the gas cap to make sure it wasn’t vapor lock (the things I’ve learned!), and having the guy on the corner who was holding the sign pointing toward the marijuana clinic tell me that his dad was a mechanic for 52 years, I just called my ever-faithful AAA.  And they sent a tow truck.  And I now have a new $400 alternator.  Yay, me!

Sigh.

And don’t you worry, little cupcakes – my thoughts on “Lost” are coming tomorrow.  If you haven’t watched yet, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

January 2010:

My ponytail is making a spectacular comeback.  It’s almost a full-blown mane of glory.

Also, please take a moment to note the difference in my work environments.  Thank you, Emma, for saving me from Sir Allen Stanford.

(Okay, I am saying how.)

Never put Nair over top of bug bites.

I’ll let you do the math.

Nair is an evil, evil invention.  It DISSOLVES HAIR.  You do realize that that is the same job description held by Drain-O?

Let’s change the subject.

Actually, let’s just leave it at that.

ERIN GOT A NEW HAIRCUT!!!!

And she looks fab.  Give her a cat-call, a high-five, and – my own personal favorite display of affection – a quick palm-circle-rub on the back.

In other news, there are a few things that I’ve decided that I “need”: a pair of black heels (how do I not own a pair of black heels?), a soft case for my guitar, and a new [insert the engine part that keeps my car quiet and not shaky] in my Honda.

Instead, you want to know what I’ve been doing with my hard-earned cash?  Donating it to This American Life.  Only twice, but still.  Shouldn’t I be allocating my limited funds some place other than to what could be a FREE podcast?  I feel like I am telling you my secret shame – confessing something I shouldn’t – like how I feign a healthy diet only to shovel cupcake icing into my mouth when no one is watching.

But I can’t help it.  Ira Glass is my geek crush.  He tells me the best stories out of anyone.  And then he asks me to give money (“One dollar – five dollars – whatever you can spare.  What kind of person do you want to be – someone who contributes, or someone who sits back and assumes someone else will take care of it?  Do your part, so we can do ours.”), and I’m like, IRA I WILL DO ANYTHING.

Seriously, though.  What a guy.

Like the Terminator, like Backstreet…

Scrunchies are back.

Thank you for your feedback, ladies!  Emily, Kristy, and Erin, I’m sorry to report that I listened to the majority, played it safe, and can still ponytail it.  I’ll save the next chop-fest for some cataclysmic day, like when TV goes digital.

Now, I must have a productive day at work.  I forgot my breakfast this morning – for the first time in YEARS, literally.  I’m not quite sure how I will make it to lunch with nothing but coffee, but I suppose that people have survived worse.  I will leave you with this clever little font fest.

You are desperate for an update on the growth of my hair.

Ever since I cut off my hair over a year ago, I have been longing for it to grow out.  I have patiently not so patiently endured the days, the weeks, the months of the “in-between stage,” feeling dowdy and frumpy.  I have kept you up to date with the growth progress – all I can say is, lucky you.  It is now long enough to put in a ponytail without bobby pins, to French braid, to even do a fancy side knot thing when the occasion calls for it.

But I have a haircut appointment today during my lunch hour.  And – so help me – I am THIS CLOSE to chopping it again.  People, I do not have the PATIENCE for the in-between stage.  I remember back to this stage, and think, “That was cute!” even though we all know that at that point, I sure didn’t feel like it was cute.

But right now, my hair is an unruly mane of mediocrity.  It’s kudzu-gone-crazy.

I’m stuck.  I know that if I cut it off again, I’ll be starting back at the top of the downward helix of discontent.  If I just get a trim, and let it keep growing, I’ll continue being drab for a few months – but then again, maybe by the end of the summer, I’ll have flowing locks like Liv Tyler.

What should I do?

You have until noon, central time, to weigh in on the matter.  But then, it’s the moment of truth.

Next things next.
Last night as I was dying my hair, it hit me: I am a responsible and intelligent girl, not one to slack and make bad financial decisions… and maybe it was the ammonia, but… I don’t think I’m going to get a job for a while.

Since I ended my tenure as the Temptress, I have felt a burden lifted – a heavy weight that I didn’t recognize was there, since I was too busy convincing myself to be grateful for a job at all.  But once I walked out of those heavy glass doors, box of possessions in hand, I felt it: I could breathe.

For the last two weeks, I have felt so light, so buoyant, so UNLIKE 2008 ANNIE.  I am realizing that over the past year, I had been so entrenched in the daily grind that I had lost the part of me that I rather like – the part that says things like, “Tell me about your day,” and “How are you doing?” and “I’d love to get together!” and “Yes, 10am sounds perfect,” and “Sure, let’s drive to Pennsylvania.”  Instead, there were a lot of grunts and frowns and silences.

There were also a lot of Facebook video wall posts, which was always a little bit awkward the next day.

Anyhoodles.

Obviously, I cannot and will not stay jobless forever.  I’m too high-maintenance, and I know it.  One of these days, I’m going to snap, and scream, “Give me Aveda!  NO MORE SUAVE!”  But until then, I will be engaging in a season of Survivor: Nashville.  I am allowing my spirit to take a deep breath, living much more simply, and finding creative solutions to my financial problems (and yes indeed, of course, there are problems).

I’m going to take advantage of this time and drive to Kansas City next week to help my family during a period of major transition.  I’m going to spend some days working on my EP.  I’m going to stretch something called my IT band, which I didn’t even know I had – until it got terribly inflamed and rendered me semi-crippled.  I’m going to continue applying for jobs.  And I’m going to hope and pray that the right position will come along at the right time.

A foolish risk?  Perhaps.  Worth it?  I hope.

In the meantime, you should see my hair.  It is dyed.  It is fabulous.  It is foxy.  It is… exactly the color it was before.

But BETTER.

Until I sat in the chair, and the stylist said, “Your hair teases like a champ.”

And I was like, “All of my dreams are coming true.”

Have I ever told you about my since-junior-high dream? My dream of looking like Faye in “That Thing You Do!”? I want to be alive in 1964. I love Liv Tyler so much. Someday, I hope to once again have a ponytail of her glory. And a boyfriend like Guy Patterson.

After my stint in the makeover chair, I was completely ritzy glitzy. My hair was big and bouffant. I had fake eyelashes – which, can I just say, are AMAZING. I was wearing a floor-length gown. Bibbity-bobbity-boo. For a girl who rarely feels pretty, it did my heart a world of good. Never again will I turn down a chance to be glamorous.

P is also for PS, which is for “Pretty in pink…” … which is the first line of my newest song! If you’re in need of some Monday morning sass, go check it out.