Honda

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This one goes out to the Honda

Tuesday, January 4th, 2011

I still cannot believe it.

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Yesterday, my dad called the Honda “the Grey Goose.”  Then, Becca called it “Hans.”  Both of these things strike me as hilarious since the Honda never really had a name.

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Remember when the Honda was hit by the Biggest Loser tour bus?

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Remember when it was stolen three times, and recovered each time on the side of the road in some Seattle neighborhood?

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I told Joey that trading my car to the salvage yard for $300 makes me feel like Judas Iscariot.

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Overheard at my brother’s house:

“Dad, what is this called?”

“It’s called ‘clenching your butt cheeks.’”

Not related to the Honda at all, but come on.  That’s so good.

The saddest day

Monday, January 3rd, 2011

I know.  You have been nervously refreshing the page every moment since last Friday, awaiting an update as to the Honda’s fate.

Well, people, I have good news and bad news.

The good news is that I’m alive.

The bad news is that if oil were blood, my engine would be the beaches of Normandy.

The burning rubber smell of last week was due to an oil leak on par with the BP debacle of 2010 – but I had that under control, and it wasn’t the Honda’s demise.  The unrelated, unexpected, and ultimate downfall came when the timing belt snapped, and there was internal damage to the engine.

The good news is that this happened Sunday morning 8 miles outside of Kansas City, and I’ve been able to stay with my brother and sister-in-law and nephews.

The bad news is that I will never drive the Honda again.

I will never drive the Honda again.

This isn’t how I imagined it would happen.  After all I’ve been through with and in this small-but-mighty car, I envisioned the end to be the engine catching on fire, or hitting a bighorn sheep or something.  I kind of hoped for a more spectacular blaze of glory.  Instead, death came quickly and silently, rolling the Honda to a quiet stop on the shoulder of I-70.

The nail in the coffin was the price quote for a full repair.  Dude, if I had that much money, I would buy Christian Bale to CARRY ME AROUND.

So just after it’s 21st birthday, I am selling my beloved Honda for salvage.  The money I’ll get isn’t enough to cover what I’ve spent in the last 24 hours.  I know, it’s just money.  But still – lame, right?

As for me, I am stranded in Kansas City.

And I haven’t been home for 6 weeks.

I’ll let you figure out how I’m doing.

Rest in peace, old Honda friend.  Here’s to the good times.

The last blog of the year

Friday, December 31st, 2010

My sister Sarah recently introduced me to DJ Earworm, who, at the end of each December, creates an epic mashup of the top 25 songs of the year.

They are ridiculous.

I know I love country music, but Earworm makes me want to be a pop star SO BAD.

Check them out – 2007, 2008, 2009, and as of this week, 2010.

No better way to ring in the new year – that is, aside from celebrating Mel & Jesse’s wedding tonight.  I’ll be in a silver dress and sparkly heels.  It’s my last night in Nashville before pointing my wheel west tomorrow, and driving for one million miles back to Denver.

[I just read that sentence out loud to Julie, and she, in all seriousness, asked, "Is it really one million miles to Denver?"  The sweetie.]

And not to set all of you ON EDGE for my entire one million mile drive, but this week, while idling at stop lights, the Honda has started smelling like burned rubber.  Diagnoses?  My suspicion is that the clutch is going out – and if that were the case, should I… not drive away tomorrow?

Check back in 2011 to find out what has become of me.

When words won’t do, post pictures

Thursday, October 7th, 2010

Mankind, sit up and take note.

With one seamless effort, I have – once again – proven myself the best parallel parker in the universe.  Gold medal, AP.

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Here are Julie and Mel, my former roommates who were bridesmaids in a friend’s wedding last weekend.  They are stunners.  I miss them so much I can hardly breathe.

(Also, check out Mel’s ring – bow chicka WOW.  Guess who’ll be a bridesmaid in Nashville come New Years Eve?)

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Speaking of weddings and photos, my brother and sister-in-law are blowing the house up (is that a term? Can we make it a term?).  I was at back-to-back weddings with them in September, and I think you should check out the pictures from Josh & Meg‘s and Kyle & Emily‘s weddings.

Galloping ostrich brain

Tuesday, September 21st, 2010

I am alone in the office this week.  But don’t worry – being alone has never been reason for my brain to get bored.  Au contraire – being alone usually results in my brain galloping full-speed ahead, albeit awkwardly, kind of like that ostrich in “Swiss Family Robinson.”

So let me go ahead and tell you some of what has been on my mind today.

Mix up “congenial” and “jovial” and you get “convivial.”  Fantastic!

I may or may not (or may) have recently spent $800 on a variety of bridesmaid dresses from J.Crew.  Don’t worry – the losers will be returned post-haste – that is, unless I decide that I WANT a variety of taffeta gowns in Aluminum.

Waffles are just pancakes with topography.

There are few places on earth more soul-sucking than the Verizon Wireless store.

Please, Honda.  Please please please last forever.  I have no Plan B.

Clean slate

Thursday, July 15th, 2010

You have no idea how symbolic this bumper is of my life right now.

A fresh start?  A clean slate?  An empty void?  A hella fine backside?

Maybe just pure potential?

Interpret as you will.  Private Self is asserting herself these days.

But I can tell you that in one way or another, it has something to do with this.

Have I mentioned my state of physical woe?

Tuesday, June 29th, 2010

Last Thursday morning, I was in a car accident.  Don’t worry – the Honda’s fine – or, at least she will be after the other guy’s insurance pays for a new $750 bumper.  Do you know what this means?  I am losing my bumper stickers.  All of them.  No more “FRESH BEER.”  No more “VIVA NASHVEGAS: EAT MORE RHINESTONES.”

This is probably for the best.

While my car will be spiffed up in no time, I am suffering the effects of whiplash.  My lash was whipped.  I am stiff and sore, and can barely turn to the left to check my blind spot when I drive.  I don’t even want to think about what further calamity this could lead to for the Honda.

But you can’t keep a badass down, and on Sunday, I walked a grand total of 17 miles – a 9 mile hike south of the city, and then an 8 mile walk back in Denver.  When I finally got home, with the force attainable only by a girl who had just walked 17 miles, I stubbed my toe on the couch.  I stubbed it so hard, so mightily, that I thought I was going to pass out from the pain.

It didn’t take long to figure out that my toe – the same one that I broke back in January – is blasted to smithereens.  I won’t go into the dirty details, but let’s just say that it’s swollen beyond recognition (I’m sorry, are you a toe?), and black, and the bruising wraps around to the bottom of my foot, spidering its way up the ball.

Sorry.  Maybe those were the dirty details.

So that brings us up to the present moment: ice on my foot, heat on my neck, wishing for whiskey.

Good morning.

In other news, look what happened to my sister.  She’s always getting picked up by guys.

Things you are surely dying to know

Monday, May 24th, 2010

And a good Monday morning to you.  Yes, YOU.  Thanks for being here!

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.

Annie Parsons: Ex-Con

Wednesday, February 17th, 2010

Although I watched the opening ceremonies of the Olympics last week, I have yet to watch an actual Olympic.  However, I must say that I’m liking Shaun White these days.  I don’t know why – I never paid him any attention before.  But isn’t he so likable?  His big smile and happy heart?

Don’t you think Shaun White has a happy heart?  He seems like it.

You know who DOESN’T have a happy heart today?  Yours truly.  The DMV is officially the thorn in my side, the hitch in my get-up.  After basically being accused of being a criminal and driving a stolen vehicle, they refused to issue me Colorado license plates.  I now have no choice but to make an appointment with a little organization called the COLORADO STATE PATROL to clear my name.

It’s practically the Salem Witch Trials.

Except, come to think of it, not really the same at all.

Nubbins

Thursday, January 21st, 2010

Oh sorry – did I quit blogging for a couple of days?  I apologize.  It’s just that OH MY WORD, LOOK AT MY NEW DESK.

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It’s called a PARSONS desk, for crying out loud – can you say meant? to? be? This is what Gina, Leigh, and I will be supporting the Emma community off of.  And I might occasionally drape myself across mine, just out of sheer obsession.

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If “the British” = “Julie” then call me Paul Revere.

It’s true.  JULIE IS COMING!

Yes, Julie of JAM.  When I get home from work tonight, there she’ll be.  And for a few days, all will be right in my world.

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I took my car for an oil change this morning.  The man at the counter asked, “Make and model?”

“Honda Accord,” I replied.

“Year?” he asked.

“1990.”

“Nineteen-ninety…?” he paused, prompting.

“1990.  Period”

“Ninety?  Really?  Well, okaaaaaaay.”

No one – not even mechanics – can believe that the Honda is still alive and kicking.

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I want to be in this so bad.