On Friday, I dropped my phone and shattered the screen, rendering it useless.

Irony is contacting the police to tell them that if they in fact find my stolen vehicle, please don’t call me – call my sister instead.

And then I asked, “By the way, any news?” And they said, “No.”

On Friday night, I sat in the living room, listening to feral cats fighting outside the front door. What else was there to do? I couldn’t drive anywhere, and I couldn’t call anyone. This must be what a 50s housewife felt like, when her husband would take the car to work in the city and she would be left stranded at home with no outside contact, speaking only to her mute household companions. Hers were babies. Mine are dogs.

On Saturday morning, I went for a terrible run. My brain felt spiky and sore. Down every street, I searched for my missing car. I quit after 6 1/2 miles, when I was planning on running 10.

Later that afternoon, I got the news (via my sister, who has laryngitis, which makes all of this that much more hilariously complicated) that my car had been recovered, that it was not drivable, and that it had been towed to an impound lot.

So Becca and I drove to the barren wasteland that is the Denver Impound Facility, and claimed poor, vandalized, un-drivable Subaruthless. The inside of the car is completely trashed – the ignition punched out, wires ripped, the dash hammered to sharp little plastic bits. There are no license plates. The car now sits at a body shop, ready for surgery.

But there is a silver lining. Along with everything else in the glove box, guess what’s missing? $100 worth of unpaid parking tickets. I’m not paying anything I can’t find.*

In the meantime, I am still phoneless. All of you boys who are texting me because you want to marry me? I’m not getting those messages. Consider alternate methods of communication, such as pigeon carrier, smoke signal, or a St. Bernard with a note in a tube around its neck.

*Yes, I know.  This could totally backfire on me.



  1. BECCA on November 21, 2011 at 9:27 AM

    and today, i STILL have almost no voice. at least i can type to you in the same house.

    i for one hope your suitors send a st. bernard.

  2. [not the] Best Blog Ever on November 21, 2011 at 9:49 AM

    Oh Annie, I’m so sorry. When it rains…

    But hey, way to look on the bright side with those parking tickets. C’est la vie, right?

    And – don’t forget skywriting.

  3. Bethany on November 21, 2011 at 10:08 AM

    I’m sorry :(

  4. Colleen on November 21, 2011 at 10:34 AM

    Ugh, I was totally expecting a happy ending to this story. :(
    So sorry Annie.

    I’m pulling for the St Bernard too.

  5. christina on November 21, 2011 at 10:37 AM

    people are lame.

    also; I vote for a singing telegram.

  6. kendall on November 21, 2011 at 10:52 AM

    hey, you got your car back, or at least most of it. Now’s the time to have them install that flux-capacitor since it’s insurance paying for your time travel…

  7. shanna on November 21, 2011 at 10:57 AM

    are you kidding me? Annie. Parsons. This is almost too crazy.

    but the silver lining I see? you write about it all so well. that 50s housewife paragraph was pure gold.

  8. Greta on November 21, 2011 at 11:17 AM

    Will insurance cover the damage…?

    Annie, this sucks so much. :( I hate that I can’t call you. Praying and pulling for you.

  9. mom on November 21, 2011 at 12:55 PM

    Everything in the glove box is missing? So that means insurance cards, registration papers, etc?
    That is more inconvenience….I’m ready to hunt these perpetrators down and hurt them. Agree with Shanna – laughed out loud at the 50’s housewife paragraph.

  10. Emily from Seattle on November 21, 2011 at 4:04 PM

    How about message delivery via Pony Express? It’s about time someone brought that back…

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