Behold, the return of the deadbeat blogger!

I mean, seriously.  It’s embarrassing.  I have been like an unfit mother – one who leaves her kids in the car while she hits up the Safeway for PBR and tampons.  I have abandoned this blog in the parking lot for far too many days – and in the meantime, not written a single word of ANYTHING.

But really, can you blame me?  I was busy fulfilling MY LIFE DREAM.

If you’ve been reading this site for longer than two minutes, you’ll know that I’m a songwriter, and that the jewel of my heart (um, yes, I just called it “the jewel of my heart” – so?) is the Bluebird Café.  Back in October, when I was invited to play there (can we all just squeal one more time?), June 21 felt so far away.  But before I knew it, my parents were flying in, Greta was surprising me on my doorstep the day before (listen – can you hear me scream?), I was trying on 96 different outfits, and then, all of a sudden, staring out at the lights.

This is what it looks like when dreams come true.  (Thanks to Deb for the picture!)

And this is what it sounds like.  (Thanks to AnnieBlogs for recording!)

And here are best friends.

And here are just a few of the most wonderful cheerleaders.

And here are amazing parents.

And here is a man with a mullet in a SweetTarts shirt.

Because this is Hootenannie.com – where the blogs end strong.

The deed is done – I made it through my first writer’s round without a) train-wrecking, or b) crying. I had about 10 friends who made it out, which meant so much, especially since I still call myself “new to Nashville” – thanks to those of you who came. I was lucky enough to share the stage with Matt Dorrien and Chris Moynihan, who are both great writers and actually know how to play the guitar. True to my word, I was not perfect – but it was fun, I played my 3 songs, and when I smiled, I meant it.

And I NEVER HAVE TO PLAY MY FIRST SHOW IN NASHVILLE AGAIN!

A potentially-embarrassing-yet-ultimately-hysterical moment:

My parents sent me flowers. Yes, to the bar. Like, “Oh, you’re Annie Parsons? We have a special delivery for you! Let me bring it over to your table! In front of all of these people!”

At first, I felt my face burning up – but then I ripped open the card:

From the reverend and his lovely wife. Are they hilarious or what? (Note: for full context, read this.) Thanks to Erin, Casey, and my mother for unwittingly collaborating to coin the new “Go get ‘em.” The best part of this story is the thought of my mom on the phone with some Nashville florist, saying, “Yes, I’d like the card to read… ‘You’re the shit.’ Yes. Yes, ‘the shit.’ S-H-I-T.”

Today is September 4th, which is a very special day. First off, it is my 1/12ths birthday – just 11 more months to go until yet another day dedicated solely to myself and the miracle of my own birth. Secondly, it is the 1/6th anniversary of the Fourth of July (which, coincidentally, is also my 11/12ths birthday). Thirdly, it is a former boyfriend’s birthday (happy 26th, BJ Myers!).

Most importantly, today is my parent’s 31st wedding anniversary. Now, I could talk about their marriage, and the example they have set for holy matrimony. But since I always feel the strong, forceful tug to make this blog incredibly narcissistic, this entry will be no exception. Let’s talk about me.

People have asked me which of my parents I am more similar to – my mom or my dad. I have thought long and hard on this subject, and have come to the firm conclusion that I inherited all of each of their strengths, and none of either of their weaknesses.

From my mom, I get my big eyes, freckles, and propensity to say exactly what is on my mind. Sadly, I somehow missed out on the red hair. I have been told that we have the same purposeful gait. I can only hope that I have inherited a fraction of her musicality; she has perfect pitch, which I will never have. I am ashamed, and yet completely delighted, to admit that we cannot sit next to each other in church without making each other guffaw over something inappropriate. My mom is honest, sincere, creative, and very wise – all things that I aspire toward. A fierce protector of those closest to her, she’s the trusted confidant of many who simply need someone to say, “Let’s be real.” And she is a very atypical pastor’s wife – which is rad.

From my dad, I get my long limbs, big forehead, and the obsessive, specific nature that leads to knowing things like “a Saltine cracker has 16 calories” or “just 78 more miles to La Grande.” He discipled me in the way of the DayTimer, and we both carry our calendars like our life depends on it. The fact that I balance my checkbook and keep track of my gas mileage and make lists and cry during sports movies are all due to him. His propensity to clean and organize have earned him the title of “The White Tornado,” and in that way, I am his protégé. We both drive clunky cars and dream about the day when we will drive our dream vehicles – once Shania hires me as her backup singer, I will buy my dad something frivolous and impractical and fabulous like an old restored Ford Bronco.

However, for all of our similarities, I am very grateful that there are certain things that I did not inherit. Like Mom’s occasional snorty laugh, or Dad’s tendency to say, “Hot diggity dog.”

In their 31 years of marriage, my parents have given their 4 children a huge gift by continually choosing each other. Even as an outside observer, I am aware that marriage is not for the faint of heart – and yet, occasionally, couples persevere and truly make a lifetime commitment to each other.

Thanks for doing that, Mom and Dad. Thanks for the ways that you love each other, and the ways that you love us kids. I am grateful that we all somehow got clumped together and called “a family.”