Things you are surely dying to know
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.
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!
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.