For me, writing songs is like kissing boys.  There might be some good luck for awhile, but then, for one reason or another, it just ends.  There is always the hope of it happening again, and that when it does, it will be fantastic – but it might take years.

Years.

Anyway.

I finally finished a new song!  It’s super sassafras, and I think I really like it.  Maybe one day you’ll get to hear it.

As for the kissing of boys, WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO KNOW.

- your hair just needs to be cut?  Immediately?  Because all of a sudden, and without warning, you are Morticia?

- you wear the black racerback tank with the rainbow graphic eagle on the front?  Because it’s so awesome?

- you eat breakfast at an oatmeal cart?  Because this is Portland?

- you hear a song that changes your life?  Because it gives you the words and the framework to deal with what you couldn’t deal with before?  And it’s called “Closer to the Moon” by Alli Rogers?

- you write a blog in a format that gives the illusion that we’re all on the same page, when really, we’re probably not?  Because not everyone can own a black racerback tank with a rainbow graphic eagle on the front?

Last night, I was working it at the gym with my iPod on shuffle, when this song came on.

Lazy Summer Love by annieparsons

Honest to goodness, I had all but forgotten that I ever wrote it.

This old demo made me remember what it felt like to write songs before anyone ever told me I was doing it wrong.  When I had an idea, I just wrote.  Unreserved.  I didn’t “know” enough to “know” what was wrong with my writing – which is what made it ME.

I miss that me.

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve written anything, music-wise.  I don’t even want to say how long, for fear of no longer being able to call myself a songwriter.

But I’ve been getting inspired again (why does it take senseless, underwhelming man-drama to stir it up?  And yes, that is all I’m saying).  I have ideas. I even think they’re good ideas.

And I want to write them.

These ideas have been bothering me for awhile now – like a stray hair that gets stuck to your shirt somewhere between the armpit and the elbow, brushing against the back of your arm, out of sight and out of reach.  Phantom pains.  Rogue apparitions.

It’s time for them to materialize.

So I’m telling you.  I’m going to write them.  I’m going to finish them.

Hold me to it.

Just don’t tell me how to do it.  This is going to happen my way.

My friend Fred Wilhelm writes great songs.  I talked to him a few months back, and told him that some of my happiest moments of the past year were the times that I heard him play this one:

I mean, seriously?  That is just the coolest.  I hope this isn’t sacrilegious, but when I hear him play this song, it feels like church.  “I’m here today ’cause that brave woman begot me” – I want to shout hallelujah.

I’m thinking about my own family today – how we have our own unique story, one that keeps progressing and morphing with time, for better and for worse, each of us changing and becoming and growing into whoever it is that we are, whoever it is that we were created to be.  We are equal parts comedy and tragedy – and a total gong show, at times.  We are far, far from perfection, but still, “when I’m with ‘em, it’s like Thanksgiving.”

Today, my littlest sister Sarah is moving to Haiti. At 22-years old (and more mature than the other three of us kids put together – no offense, Jeremy and Becca, I know you agree), she bought a one-way ticket, and is moving to one of the poorest countries in the world to do a little good.  Those of us who know her know that she will do more than “a little” good, and while we will miss her terribly, can’t put into words how proud we are of her.

If I ever wrote a song about my family, today would be an important line.

Don’t worry, I’m still here.

Not only am I HERE, but I am not depressed, despondent, or dead, either.  On the contrary, I am very much alive!  Thanks for being concerned, though, ye who have reached out.  I guess I’m just taking my time living life these days.

I have a new favorite song: “See You in the Spring” by the Court Yard Hounds and Jakob Dylan.  The subdued verses bloom into one of the most satisfying choruses I’ve ever heard.

You know how today is May 13th?  That makes yesterday May 12th.  And that makes it all the more astounding that yesterday it SNOWED.  It snowed here in Denver.  In mid-May.  It was actually one of the coldest days since I moved here – or maybe it just felt like it because I was outside at the Rockies game.  In the wintertime.

But here we were – bundled up.  Those are my lovely co-workers, Leigh and Gina.  And that is me in Gina’s boys’ x-large snowboarding jacket.  The Rockies won in the bottom of the 10th with a home run.  By that time, we couldn’t move our faces.

“Lost” is almost over – over forever.  Since I don’t own a TV, most Tuesday nights I go to the gym in hopes of one of the sets being tuned to ABC, fully prepared to elliptical my ass off (literally, hopefully) for the entire 60 minutes.  Usually, though, 24 Hour Fitness does not have ABC on – and I’m way too terrified to change the channel in front of all of the scary men glued to SportsCenter.  So I wind up watching “Lost” online later.

If you haven’t watched the episode from Tuesday night, don’t worry – no spoilers here.  Except, I will say one thing: Allison Janney is one crazy mofo.  I LOVE HER.  Such a freak.

Last night, a guy asked me if I would refer to a certain movie as a “romantic comedy.”  I informed him that we well-seasoned ladies call them “RoCos,” thank you very much.

The other night, I was lying in bed when I saw a SPIDER crawl out from under the sheets.  I quickly killed it – but I didn’t scream.  I just went on reading.  And I slept in the bed.  This, I believe, is what we call “progress.”

Some people pay off their student loans.  I buy plane tickets to people’s weddings.  I can’t help it, though – I love these friends.

You know who else I love?  My family.  And tomorrow, I will slide behind the wheel of the 20-year old Honda to drive to Kansas City once again to be with them.  Nine hours there on Friday, and nine hours back on Sunday – a straight-shot on I-70.  Remind me to renew my AAA before 5am tomorrow morning.

Remember that time in 4th grade when my class had a contest to see who could best sing Bryan Adams’ “(Everything I Do) I Do It For You”?

I suppose I haven’t mentioned it yet.

Any willing participant had a chance to stand in front of the class with the Walkman headphones on and sing along with Bryan, to the cheers or jeers of her peers.

This was obviously very awkward.  First of all, whoever was singing was the only one who could hear the track; to the 30 other people in the room, all they were hearing was an unaccompanied, nervous, pre-adolescent warble.  Secondly, we were 10-years old.  The most passionate thing I could think of was footsy.  However, as I remember vividly, this didn’t stop one girl from closing her eyes and feigning Whitney Houston.

Yeaaaah, I’d fight for you… [fist pump]

To me, Bryan Adams remained frozen in memory, frozen in time, in that Pomona Elementary classroom – that is, until last year when my friend Duane reintroduced me.

Oh, friends.  What I had been MISSING OUT ON all those years.

Duane knows me well enough to know that he would need to be sneaky, so he started by sending me a few songs that our guy Bry had written with Gretchen Peters – one of my favorite writers in the history of the universe (remember, I wrote about her here).  From the first tentative listen to those tracks, all doubt was blown away:

Bryan Adams is where it’s at.  His songs are fantastic.

I have a short list of people that I have to see in concert someday – and in addition to Patty Griffin (which will FINALLY happen at the end of this month), Shania Twain, and Phil Collins, Bryan Adams has earned his place.

And I just felt like declaring it to the world.

Before Sunday night, I didn’t know who Lady Gaga was.

I know.  I KNOW.  I am the least cool person in the universe.  You, reading my words right now?  I’M NOT WORTHY.

I had heard of her, but it was sort of like my knowledge of Google Wave.  OH!  I know that! What is it?  Um… I have no idea.

It turns out that Lady Gaga is sort of a big deal these days.  She opened the Grammys in a blaze of freaky glory.  This chick is WEIRD, y’all.  But wouldn’t you know, after one listen to her song “Poker Face,” IT IS ON REPEAT.

This song is from 2008, and somehow, I had never heard it.

Doesn’t matter though – I am GrooveSharking the fire out of this song.  It’s pretty ridiculous, actually – because since when have I liked dance music?  If only my iTunes was up and running, because if I had this song on my iPod, I am pretty sure I could run forever.

Which leads me to my question… what is your favorite guilty pleasure song?  This is a safe place – like a fire station or a hospital.  No shame here.  Maybe a tiny bit of shame.  But not enough to not say anything.

(And yes, I am purposefully not blogging about the final season premier of “Lost” tonight.  Anything that I could write or think or say would not come close to how I FEEL.  Suffice it to say that I am having trouble focusing on ANYTHING ELSE today.)

I am spoiled, and I am the first to admit it.  Why, you ask?  Well, among many other reasons, I have two identical black Macbooks – one personal, and one for work.  Let’s be real: that is just ridiculous.  More than anyone could ever ask for.

But last week, my personal Macbook went kaput.  It’s broken – broken like… searching for a simile… broken like… my toe?  Except my toe has a fighting chance at mending – and I really don’t think that the computer will be resurrected.  I turn it on, and it pulls up a white screen.  That’s all.  It’s like the moment after Juliette hits the bomb with the rock, except it never skips to the credits.  Eternal nuclear uncertainty.

Get over it, Annie – right?  I mean, I have a WHOLE OTHER COMPUTER.  But my personal laptop held all of my iTunes, all of my pictures, all of my super secret documents that no one is ever allowed to see.  Most of it is backed up on an external hard drive, but I don’t want to put it on my work computer.  So there it will remain – locked up forever.

Mostly this is bad because I want to sync my iPod to my iTunes to get my new music and podcasts.  And not only can I not put them on my iPod, I can’t even access my iTunes at all.  I am SOOOOOOO BORED with my current selection of songs (I only have ninety million or something).  And Ira Glass is saying things that I might never get to hear – which makes me panic.

IRA!!!!  I NEED YOU!!!!!!!!

I had recently downloaded Sara Groves’ latest, “Fireflies and Songs,” but have no way of hearing it again.  Lady Antebellum has a new album released today.  The Handy Graham recommended Sarah Jarosz – and since he was the first one to tell me about eastmountainsouth, I trust him – not that it matters, since I can’t get my grubby paws on these songs.

Today, I have India Arie and Phil Collins on YouTube.  It’s all I have left.

I love beets.  I really, truly love them.  If I see them on a menu, I will choose beets over almost anything else.

My least favorite color is blue.  I don’t hate it, I would just never pick it for anything.  If I were the captain of a kickball team, I would choose red first, and then green like my new curtains, and then maybe teal.  Yellow would be one of my last choices.  But not as last as blue.  Blue would be the last one standing.

My left ring toe – the one next to the pinky toe – is broken.  Or something.  I have a tendency to overreact to physical ailments, so it’s hard to tell – but something is definitely wrong with it.  All of a sudden, it’s gigantic – Elmer Fudd might as well have dropped an anvil on his foot.  The weird thing is that it doesn’t really hurt – but it’s swollen and purple.  I still ran for 40 minutes last night, though.  That probably didn’t help.

When I run, I listen to what I have been told is the “worst running music ever” – mid-90’s country.  I can’t help it.  The songs are so good.  In the 90’s, Nashville still operated by the principle of “the best song wins” – before it became so politicized and exclusive.  So last night, I was all, “Trisha Yearwood?  Patty Loveless?  Blackhawk?  YES PLEASE.”

These days, at least there’s Lori McKenna.

For as stilted and exhausting as it can be to move to a new city, I am reminded of something that I felt a lot of when I first moved to Nashville: potential.  The first days in a new place have a lonely sweetness to them – quiet possibility.  Each person that I meet might wind up being my friend.  Each road I drive down might lead to a surprise.

So.  Denver, ho.

I just wanted to tell you all of these things today.

I forgot to mention that I am now outfitted for Colorado.

This is called the Lodge Parka, which is most appropriate for me, since I’m not really a “winter sporter” (not that I’m really a “summer sporter” either).  But a lodge?  That I can do.

Has anyone read “Water for Elephants” by Sara Gruen?  I loved it so much.  It’s about the circus, which reminds me of what I think is my favorite song ever, “Circus Girl” by Gretchen Peters.  I’m not positive that it’s my most favoritest of the entire world of life, but I THINK that it is.

And in the past few weeks, some of my most-loved people have gotten engaged… to each other!

Mark and Erin!

Brook and Cara!

Josh and Meg!

Already having made travel plans for a wedding in Seattle in February and another in Austin in March, my 2010 matrimonial calendar is swiftly filling up.