Early in the summer, I bought the Buff.  Little did I know that it would become my trademark piece of mountain garb.

This is what I look like every time I hike: high ponytail, crooked smile, and the Buff.

It’s ridiculous.  And I love it.  People ask about it on every hike I find myself on – which means that I am officially a backcountry trendsetter.

I got my fill of the outdoors this weekend.  I climbed a 14er one day (thus reaching my goal of 6 14ers this summer, hey-ooooo!), and a 13er the next.  Yesterday, August 29, I watched people in shorts and tank tops ski down a glacier.

Colorado is bizarre and beautiful.  I’m lucky to live here.  And I’m so thankful for all of the time I’ve been able to spend outside this summer.

Salutations, readers.  Did you think I had abandoned you?

Oh please.

I should begin by saying that the sickness has left my system – literally, and glory hallelujah.  The only person that knows the specifics of my Monday is my mom, and I’m uncomfortable with even her knowing.  It was… I can’t even go there.  Let’s change the subject.

So here I am, back in Denver.

Time, catapult me out of August already.  August has spread me thinner than a hipster – and it isn’t even over yet.  I hate running on no reserves.

I’ve said before that I believe that our number one act of spiritual worship should be getting enough sleep.  Last weekend, Greta told me that she recently read that the most important factor in a woman’s happiness is whether or not she is well-rested.  How do parents of babies function?  This is an absolute mystery to me.  I don’t even own a house plant, and yet I am crashing – crashing like… why is the only metaphor I can think of “like Kanye at a Taylor Swift speech”?

See.  Crashing.

When I’m crashing, I lose creativity, and get all inconsolable about things like the cardboard box in the corner of my living room.  It’s just sitting there – but it’s just been sitting there since I moved in in January.  I don’t know where to put it.  I don’t know what to do with it.  It’s just THERE, taunting me with its displacement.

Twenty-eight years old is too old to get zits – but then again, Annie Parsons has never been a quitter.

I get irrationally annoyed at bad writing (in the interest of spying on people, I subscribe to some truly horrible blogs), and text messages in which every sentence ends in exclamation points!!!!  This is not the way you talk!!!!!  Calm the hell down!!!  You’re wasting your 160 characters!!!!!

Give my hackles a chance to settle down, and then I’ll tell you about my trip to Seattle last weekend.  Crashing or not, I can tell you right now that it was blissful.

Any weekend that includes both this and this -

- is a good one.

First of all, my blog friend Anastasia came to visit.  We had never met in real life before, but that didn’t stop her from driving 600 miles from Kansas City only to have me drag her out of bed at 4am on Saturday to go climb a 14er.

What. A. Sport.  I liked her SO much!  And look at her – a prairie girl on the summit of Mt. Democrat.  She kicked that mountain in the teeth.

When we got back to the car, we had the idea to put a copy of my CD on the windshield of every car in the parking lot.  Unsolicited?  Perhaps.  Presumptuous?  Y’all.  I just wanted to spread the love.  Don’t hate me.

On Saturday night, my friend Hillary was in town, and got the Parsons clan tickets to her show.

Oh yeah, that Hillary.  The one that wins Grammys and is currently on tour with Tim McGraw (she would never brag on herself, so I’ll do it for her) – and the one who also happens to be a sweet friend from my Nash-days, and absolutely wonderful.  It was so good to hug her neck.

Thanks for the amazing seats, Hill!  We loved it!

Then, last night, a few girlfriends took me out for an early celebration of my birthday.  They gave me presents and listened to me tell the story about the time I led a revolt in the high school band.  Everyone needs friends who will listen to them tell the story about the time they led a revolt in the high school band.  I feel so lucky to be meeting such nice people here.

Recently, someone I know said something disparaging about Denver, and I found myself getting defensive.  I think that’s a good sign.  I think this place may be growing on me.

Just a few things I would like to mention…

Toad’s haircut

Remember Toad?

SHE GOT HER SUMMER HAIRCUT!

She’s still the happiest little Piggy Toad on the planet.

Speaking of “Toad”

I saw this dead, flattened frog in the parking lot at work.  I took a picture of it.  I don’t know why.

The fact that I noticed this, photographed it, and am now broadcasting it to the whole wide world all of a sudden makes me feel all kinds of awkward.

“Glass & Wood”

Allie writes such good words.

There are some things I need to let go of – the broken AND the good.

I’m trying.

Jon licks the wound

I used to believe Heather B. Armstrong to be the funniest person on the internet.

But then Jon went and licked the wound.

And just like that, the queen was dethroned.

(I know – this was almost a year ago.  But I still think about it all the time, and still LOL out loud.  It goes like this: LOLOL.)

Mark and John are here!

Also, Bruce!  But he wasn’t in the picture.

These men are the greatest.  Seriously.  They’re totally a big deal, but they still treat me like I’M the big deal – even though my hair looked COMPLETELY FLAT on top.  Horizontal.  Kansan.  I could balance an egg on that noggin.  Someone get this girl a teasing comb, stat.

And last, but most certainly not least…

I am signed up for a seminar tonight called Sex, Lies, and Rattlesnakes.  This is my own special way of “getting out there” – so don’t judge me, people.  I might wind up sucking the poisonous snake venom from your leg someday.

Guess who’s here?

GRETA!

Last night, we were walking around Wash Park, and looked to our right to see… a roof-top band!

They noticed us taking their picture, and yelled for us to come up.

Yes.  They yelled for us to let ourselves in through the front door, go down the hall to the staircase, climb to the attic, and then clamber out the window and up to the roof.

And thanks to my new-found Spiderman climbing skills discovered on Mt. Evans this weekend…

… well.  Needless to say, we bonded.

Yes, I played the trumpet.  No, I don’t know whose lips have been on that thing.  But how could I resist?  It was a real live HOOTENANNY.

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.

Tomorrow night, Josh and Meredith are flying in for the weekend.  We will recreate this moment.

I had an extra set of keys made for my apartment so they can come and go as they please; however, I didn’t have an extra keychain.

I KNOW.  How could I not have an extra keychain?  Doesn’t everyone have an abundance of useless keychains from every networking event, tourist trap, and occasion involving girls in bikini tops and chaps slinging José Cuervo and glow sticks at the bars downtown?

I didn’t even have one of THOSE keychains?

Last week, I went to Target with the following shopping list:
-Butter
-Keychain

But then, I realized that spending money on a keychain would be a waste – especially when I live so close to my parents, who have kitchen drawers full of every useless item you think is useless until you actually need a keychain.

Mom found a spare for me, and sent it with Sarah to my house earlier this week.  And folks, I cannot wait for the moment when I make Josh Gruner strap my keys to his using a keychain featuring this:

Josh and Meredith, I’ll keep the light on for you.  And you keep the candle burning.

Dear Lost,

In the 36 hours since Sunday night, the internets have been abuzz with talk of you.  Did you end the right way?  Were people’s minds sufficiently blown?  How accurate were our theories?  Was the conclusion good enough?

Mainly: are we satisfied?

Lost, you were my favorite show I’ve ever watched, and gave me something to look forward to for 6 years.  From living in my studio in Seattle, to driving around the country for 3 months, to a tiny apartment on Music Row in Nashville, to a house shared with roommates and so many friends, to this new little life in Denver, you have been, as Daniel Faraday would call it, my constant.

You were an excuse to get together with friends – or, in more recent TV-less, friendless months, a reason to go to the gym on Tuesday nights.  You introduced me to interesting characters who asked interesting questions.  You tied together and orchestrated seemingly unrelated stories – and as exaggerated as it may be, in a small way it kind of makes me think of this.

[Seriously.  If that isn't a masterpiece, I don't know what is.  It doesn't matter how many times I listen to it - I lose it every time.  I think that's what heaven is going to sound like.]

I will miss the happy confusion you offered, and the absolute delirium I felt when I realized the game had changed (“We have to go back, Kate – we have to go back!”).  I love how you littered the Island with unrealistically good-looking people – women with fantastic cleavage and men with glorious scruff.  Thank you for throwing in polar bears, book clubs, Virgin Mary statues, time-traveling rats, swinging pendulums, smoke monster security systems, The Mamas & The Papas, spinal surgeries, ghosts, submarines, cliff fights (THE PUNCH!), and – loyal to the very end – a dog named Vincent.

People can say whatever they’re going to say – but you were good enough for me. I’ll miss you.

Dharma forever,
Annie

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.

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.