Sunday, December 30, 2012

Hello From the Road!

Blog, it's going to be an unfocused post today, but I'm giving this "blogging from the road" thing the old college try. Right now I'm in a bar in Madison, Wisconsin watching football with this group of people who have somehow become my tour family. I've ended up in a comedy band that plays in basement bars and skate shops. So this is what it's like at the top...

Like I said, it's an unfocused entry, Blog. That means only one thing: pictures!

Look at my road family, Blog! This is how we eat after performing in a skate shop.

Look at our merchandise Blog! Buy some!

Look at the show we are bringing to the masses in the Midwest!

See us in our van, Blog? Fun every second!

This is what we look like when we're singing songs.

And this is what we look like when we are prepared for the winter cold in a Motel 6 in Fargo.

This is fun, Blog. You should try it sometime.

Thursday, December 27, 2012

My New Life (and a Sundog)

Well Blog, I quit my job last Friday and have put 400 miles on my car in the last two days. I still feel like I'm on a Christmas vacation of sorts, but I received a Facebook note about how today would normally be my late day at the job I just quit, and I realized that it's indeed happened. I don't have to answer to a phone queue anymore. I'm no longer at learners' beck and call. I don't have to calculate GPAs and talk people out of taking Tests and Measurements with Stats next quarter. Even better: January 7th isn't the start of a quarter anymore. It's an idle Monday; one where I'll be in rehearsal with the NTC.

At the moment, I'm in North Dakota. Home. Being here during Christmas time is something that I haven't done in years. It's a little weird. A few weeks ago my roommate Andy asked me what my favorite ornament from my childhood was. I found that I wasn't able to answer him because I haven't been home to my mom's for so long to even see what ornaments she has from when we were kids. Upon arriving in Finley tonight, I noticed that she has decked her tree with a matching assortment of red and gold balls and stars. I like it. I also have realized I'm sentimental about specific things. Apparently Christmas ornaments haven't made the cut since I haven't gathered the gumption to search the basement for what is left of this time of year circa 1990.

In other, more exciting news, 48 hours from now I'm going to be in Iowa. I know. Iowa naturally equals immense excitement. But I'll be winding down from a show at some bar that has decided to pay us in t-shirts. That's not a thing that happens to me. I can't quite wrap my mind around it, but I'm sure it will all make sense once we're on the road. I'm hoping it will make sense once we're on the road. If I think about the future too much these days, I stop believing that I've actually taken a step toward this life. The present is going to be the best place to keep my thoughts, I think. It's where I'm the happiest anyway. Might as well live it up where I most currently am. My most recent situation tells me that place is the frozen prairie. Tomorrow that place is going to be a seedy bar in Fargo. The next night? Iowa. After that? Chicago.

But as I said, the present is the best place to be. So is the past. Maybe not 1990 though. But a couple days ago, I got the most kickass picture of a sundog. Check it, Blog:

This is what happens when it's legit cold outside. .
It was weird, Blog. I was driving to see my Dad for Christmas Eve and I looked up into the sky for some reason to see where the sun was. I was surprised to see a dull point of light. It was bright outside and the light that was cast on the prairie wasn't the kind that is done so by a cloud-muted sun. But that's what this light looked like. After a moment I realized that I wasn't looking at the sun, but at a sundog. I had just explained to Kerin what a sundog was a few days before; mentioning that I hadn't seen one in years. And here one was with me on my drive to Herman on Christmas Eve. Sundogs are one of the two things I like about the cold, Blog. I'll let you guess what the second one is.

Hint: It's not worrying about my car starting.

With that, I have drunk a bottle of wine, Blog. It's time to turn in. Here's to hoping I get a chance to update you on my band tour adventures. Tomorrow we tackle the great city of Fargo. I can't wait.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Just My Final Manic Monday

Blog, today was the last Monday at my job. I just did some simple math based on there being 52 weeks in a year and also taking holidays and random days off into consideration. Including an 8 month hiatus that took place back in 2008, I came to the rough estimate that today was my 220th Monday at my job. I have woken up after 220 Sundays. I have dragged myself out of various beds to various busses and cars that have brought me downtown to start the week 220 times. I have gone to the elevator lobby and waited for the familiar ding to tell me that it was time to climb into a tiny box with other people 220 times... no wait. That would be more like 1,100 times (a conservative estimate too) since I do that every day. My God. What have I done?

It's easy to allow the mundane repetition of coming to work, hitting the elevator call button, and making my way down the same hallway of cubes 220 times over the past 5 1/2 years to take over everything I've experienced at my job. It's been an amazing job. It's one that allowed me to leave for stupid reasons only to let me come back. It's a place I met a guy who gave me one of the most formative relationships I've had. It's a place where I've met some of my best friends. It's a place that has allowed me to grow and cultivate a set of skills I never thought I'd have. I seemed to have this uncanny ability to predict vague details of what would happen to me right before I started working at Capella (as far as crisis go). However, little did I know that I'd walk away from the place with a newfound motivation to pursue what I really love and not care so much about money (though that's easy to say when you're making it). I also never thought I'd actually be the type of person to be brave enough to challenge people who are bitchy and stupid. We live, we learn I guess.

Looking back at those old Livejournal entries has allowed me to realize two things: 1) I used to be a lot funnier than I am now (probably because I was a lot dumber) and 2) My priorities were completely superficial and  monetary. It makes sense. Those priorities have every chance of coming back in the near future when I come back from tour with no job. But for now I'm going to do my best to live in the present and begin my 220th Tuesday knowing that the dull and repetitive Tuesdays that have come before it haven't always been so dull and repetitive. They've been exciting. They've been sad. They've been collecting for the past 5 1/2 years into this crazy growth that I'm only recognizing now. Retrospect is freaking my brain out right now. And it's telling me that leaving is totally the right thing to do.

Oh and for the record, this time I'm leaving for something infinitely cooler than working at a lame insurance underwriting association as a trampled-upon receptionist.

Despite all of this, I kind of never want to do the same thing 220 Mondays in a row again. I can't say that won't happen, but here's to hoping.

Friday, December 14, 2012

Writing a Writer

Blog, should I facebook renowned author Chuck Klosterman about the day I was born? I don't really have a reason other than to simply tell him I was born on the day on which he set his fictional book Downtown Owl. I know nothing else of anything he has ever writ. Yes. Writ. Here's what I came up with when I had a couple of glasses of wine in me the other night:

Dear Chuck Klosterman,

I've never read anything you've written. For that, I'm sorry. You've been a suggested author for me to look into since I first heard of you in 2006. I've never heeded anyone's advice on this, and I'm not sure why. But I don't really read anyone's shit these days, so don't feel like I'm avoiding you. Au contraire. Lookit. I'm writing you a facebook message. (I figured the best way to contact him directly would be the message him on facebook, no?)

The reason I'm messaging you is because though I've never read anything you've written, I know you've written a thing about the day I was born. Perhaps it's better to say that you took the day I was born and made it the setting of a book of yours. At least I think you did. A few months ago my sister in law texted me a picture of a striking article from the Fargo Forum dated February 5th 1984; my birthday. It described the freak snowstorm I was born in. I was amazed that she had sent me such a thing. She told me it was in the front pages of your book Downtown Owl. Perhaps it was included as a real life anecdote to give context of where your fictional story took place.

I was supposed to be born in Morris, MN, but because of that freak storm I was born at home in Herman, MN on the comfort of a waterbed. You can ask my parents about the details of how that went down if you want. A few weeks later me and this other kid named Scott (who I've never met) were featured on the front page of Herman's newspaper dubbed as "snow babies" since we were both born under unconvential circumstances. Since then, the people in my family reminisce about where they were the day I was born; how suddenly there was a white wall of snow that blinded everyone and how there were people who died in their cars. I've created this idea of what that day was like in my mind, even though I know my version of it is nothing close to what actually happened.

Maybe I should read your book and find out what your take on it is. I guess I just wrote you to tell you about this thing of which we both know and how it has impacted our lives in its particular way. You got a published novel out of it, I got a mailing address as my place of birth on my birth certificate. Potato, potato, am I right?

Anyway, I hope you have a good day, Chuck. Way to be from North Dakota. I'm from there too, but that's a different drunken letter for a different drunken day.



Maybe I'll just hold on to this for now. Wine makes me do things that don't translate well into sobriety; hence "unconvential".

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

This Is a First

Blog, a right of passage happened today. I got into my very first car accident that didn't involve severely injuring or killing a wild animal. No! I instead legitimately hit a car. No, not even hit. I think the correct term is "t-boned". I t-boned the drivers side of a car at a pretty nifty speed, if you don't mind me saying so myself. It was exhilerating and terrifying all at the same time. I feel pretty good about it for the following reasons:

1. This dude (yup, I got a good enough look at him to know he was a white male who is probably around the same age as myself) literally drove his car in front of mine as I was going down a main drag in good ole Minneapolis. There was no light and no notice that I was about to completely smash the front end of my 1997 Sable into  the side of some ambiguous silver four-door sedan.

2. As everyone (or most people) knows, when you hit a deer, you hit it because it runs out in front of your car at an interval that allows nothing but a gasp and a tap of the brakes to take place. That is exactly what happened to me this evening. Ironically, t-boning a silver four-door sedan at roughly 20 miles per hour caused less visible damage to my car than that one time I knocked out a headlight by hitting the ass of a deer back in North Dakota. I didn't even kill the deer. It ran away from my as I emerged from my car to yell at it in anger and frustration. Tonight's incident just left me surprised and shocked. Yes, a deer will run away from you. But a dude who just allowed his car to be totally fucked up by mine? I'm surprised.

3. I used my horn. This means nothing in the police report. This means nothing to the guy I hit. This means nothing to my insurance company. But the fact that one of my first reactions was to honk my horn comforts me for some reason. It makes me feel like I was the first one who responded to the whole situation. I got to take advantage of what little control I had over the situation by alerting anyone and everyone around me that some shit was about to go down. I got to let everyone hear the precursor to the actual accident. You're welcome, gawkers. I'd like to think I drew more witnesses in with my supersweet horn honking abilities.

So I called 911 for the first time. I filed a police report for the first time. I schmoozed with some very sweet and nice witnesses for the first time. And I missed my burlesque class for the first time. I was really looking forward to working my triceps this week too. No lie.

In a way I'm glad it happened. I suspect the damage to my car is minimal (I'm hoping anyway). I got a nice lesson in car accident ettiquette (note: don't drive away if you are t-boned!). And I ended up spending a nice evening with my roommates, wine, and tealights (turns out I'm all about ambiance after recovering from the initial shock of a traffic accident). Though I'm anticipating next Tuesday when I can once again spread my legs and snake my body in a classy stripper fashion.Yes, I was on my way to the burlesque class I've been taking when this all went down. And I plan on continuing to learn the art. Don't judge, Blog. You know you'd want to drop a shoulder strap to this song if ever you had the chance:

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Thoughtsy Thoughts

I'm sat here, curled up on my bed in my room with my laptop. For just a moment things seemed ok and movie-esque. Then I remembered I'm quitting my job in a month and a half.

I have to keep reminding myself that I have no children, no husband, not even a boyfriend. I don't own a house and have no car payments. I have me and only me to worry about and it's not always going to be this way. Might as well make the most of my independence. Because that's what it is; independence, not lonliness.

Ok, it's a little bit of lonliness, but that is easily numbed by doing things like burlesque classes (tonight), rehearsal (tomorrow), and being "seen" at the theater (Thursday). I might even tell a story at a story slam in December if I can gather the courage to do so.

This is me trying to cultivate a life that I love, Blog. How am I doing? I feel like I'm failing at every turn. But then again, I'm here on my comfy bed, in my comfy clothes, nervous for a future that I can't quite picture. I'm totally out of my comfort zone. This has got to pay off in the long run. It usually does when I'm taken out of my safe and predictable routine. It's just been a really long time since I've stepped outside of a regular job with regular hours occupied by regular people. Time for something new. I guess not knowing exactly which day will be my last at work is a nice problem to have. Should I call it quits early on December 21st? Or push through until the very beginning of January? Either way, it's a great reminder that I am the one running my life, not the silly online school that has dominated it for the past five years.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

No Prelude, Just a List

1. Today I went to the dentist for the first time in ten years. I've always kept it a secret as to how long it's actually been since I've been to the dentist, but now that I've broken that streak I've become more ok with my former dental irresponsibility. I have miraculously come out once again with no cavities. I don't know how I did it, Blog. They don't just tell you to brush twice a day for your health... or actually they do. This good news, however, reinforces the fear I have for the dentist since I've never experienced the pain of a drill. Though I did get my wisdom teeth pulled way back in high school. I can't imagine drilling would be that bad...

2. I have somehow ended up with two guitars in the back seat of my car, neither of which are mine. Weird. Had you told me that a year ago, I would have slapped you with a soft and supple hand that hasn't been mangled by steel strings digging into its fingertips.Then I would have silently worried about the impending root canal for which I was surely due since it had been a ridiculously long time since I had my teeth cleaned.

3. I just re-read points one and two and almost deleted them because I hate how they sound. But I won't because I've started writing point three. I'm past the moment. Must continue on and accept what is now the recent past.

4. I had a Mediterranian sandwich from Potbelly today for lunch/supper. It was my food conclusion after a long day of wondering what the hell I was so hungry for. The sandwich hit the spot. I would have never thought to eat it without taking a good seven minutes to pore over the friendly-soaked menu at the Potbelly in the IDS until I conjured up the memory that feta is delicious cheese that should never be put in a corner.

5. I wish I knew what IDS stood for. I'm sure I could look it up on the internet, but I did enough of that yesterday. I'll let it be a mystery for now.

6. Investor's Diversified Services. No wonder no one knows what the hell it stands for. How forgettable.

7. I like this song:


Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Sing My Name, Sing My Name

Have you ever thought about songs that have your name in them, Blog? I haven't either. But thanks to the magic that is the internet, both you and the ability to look up songs with our names in them exist. Look at this gem I found just for you, Blog. You're welcome:

Today, a slight facebook tiff with my ex-boyfriend (one of the two I'm still friends with) lead me to look up Cole Porter's array of songs that he wrote for musicals, movies, and the general public's ear back in the first half of the 20th century. I won't get into semantics of exactly why I was looking up Cole Porter music*, but as I perused the long list of hits, a title stuck out to me: "I Love You Samantha".

Whaaa? I've never been aware of any songs that featured my name. When Mambo No. 5 came out during my freshman year of high school, I anxiously listened for my name so I would know the flavor of sexiness I was destined to represent. Unfortunately, the only person I knew who shared a name in the line up was my mom with "a little bit of Mary all night long". Great.

I've pretty much thrown out the novelty of having my name in a song ever since. The internet wasn't a thing I did back in high school and when it finally did come into my life, I had better things to look up.

But today, the simple and fun thought of looking up songs with my name as a defining detail was presented before my very eyes. I was pleased to find that Bing Crosby himself was the man who was in love with me. He's a one gal guy, in case you didn't know:

I also need to invest in a fabulous yellow robe.

Hearing my name sung by Bing's voice is so strange and fun! I was hooked. I did an official Google search for songs about Samantha and found this other one by Sir Elton John (one I probably should know about but don't because I'm terrible with pop culture):

I'm both amused and disappointed that I can identify more clearly with Lady Samantha, but what do you do. Having a slight case of the sads with you at all times can lend itself to creativity and the forlorn listening to a 1960s superstar's remorse for what he had said 'round the campfire. At least the truth came out in the end.

*A viewing of De-Lovely in late 2005 combined with my ex-boyfriend's loose wrists equalling an inside joke that includes the phrase "Cole Porter-Gay" might have something to do with it if you're really curious.

Friday, October 19, 2012

Thank God

Blog, I am really glad that I figured this out. I am really glad that I'm acting on it (be it strategically). I am incredibly relieved that I found some validation in the risks I'm about to take in the video/speech below:

So many times I've been asked at this job to articulate what my dream job is. It's always assumed that everyone would rather be doing something else, but we are here because it's the responsible thing to do. It's what needs to happen in order to afford the simple luxuries that we've grown accustomed to. I'm amazed at myself for being able to ask "But what's the worst thing that would happen if I went after what I really want to do?". My entire job is based on giving others the advice and motivation they need to go after their dreams. What would happen if I took my own advice? What is the absolute worst that would happen?

I would fail. I would be broke. I would have to put my dream on hold and start up a lame desk job again. But what I would have then that I don't have now is the experience and satisfaction of giving it a go. Might as well take a risk. There's only so much time left on this earth.

The Notes of Strangers

I had a first today, Blog. Of of all my years of living in Uptown and parking on its narrow and cramped streets, this morning I finally got my first passive/aggressive note that indicated frustration at the lack of parking skill I had displayed last night when I positioned my lengthy Mercury Sable adjacent to a driveway.

Speaks for itself.
They are right on two counts: I don't have a compact car (see: Mercury Sable) and I am kind of a jackass for positioning the butt of it next to a driveway. But I don't want to be seen that way by a stranger. I get that there is always going to be someone who isn't happy with what you do in this world, no matter how well-meaning you are (the reason I am notorious for putting the butt of my car up against driveway openings is so there is enough room for other cars to park down the street), but I couldn't help but feel a little hurt that such a blatant generalization had been made in regard to my character; based on the shitty positioning of a shitty 1997 Mercury Sable, no less.

I mulled it over today and returned my car to the streets of Uptown this afternoon. I tucked it away on the side of the street where there was ample parking space for my non-compact car to jack-assedly take up. I turned over the torn fragment of paper and attempted to take what harsh criticism I could, and use the rest of my despair over the situation towards killing my disgruntled mystery person with slightly snarky kindness:

I'm banking on my decent penmanship to carry me through this one.
I have no idea if anyone will come across it and take the time to read it. I have no idea if the person who left the inital note is someone who lives in my building or down the street. But I figure that there is a chance that they will see me get into or out of my car, and therefore will associate me with being that "Jackass who puts their giant car wherever the hell they want" without me even realizing it. The best I can do is acknowledge that I am indeed a jackass and will be more mindful in the future of where I position my car on the testy streets of the Whittier neighborhood, because in the end the last thing I want to be doing is pissing off strangers.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

The Title is Untitled

I have calluses on my fingers, Blog. I haven't had calluses like this in years. They are an achievement for me. They tell me that I've been diligent in playing music.

I can play for longer and longer periods of time each day. I've replaced conditioning my body by running two miles at a time with conditioning my left hand to twist and wrench itself in unnatural positions for half an hour at a time. A month ago it was painful and foreign. Tonight it was comfortable and satisfying.

Practice, practice, practice. Another thing my mom was right about.

I love that I once again have the ability to tap the hardened skin at the tips of my fingers on whatever hard surface that finds itself beneath them. I do it because I've never had the nails to make that sound. I do it to bask in the physical results of my accomplishments.

Oh man, Blog. I'm a little tipsy and therefore I'm a little poetic. I'm also a little bit happy. I really love this roommate thing. I am really loving this band thing. I am really loving my life for every moment that is given to me outside of the dull and monotonous corporate job that graces my daylight hours.

I want to punch myself for being so overly descriptive, Blog. That's it. I'm making a list.

1. I've spent a lot of money at Ikea over the past few weeks. This apartment I've moved into is actually a wonderful place. There are expansive windows that let incredible amounts of light to spill all over the hardwood floors. There is ample counter space in the kitchen. I have my own room with a reasonable closet and large window. The only thing that really sucks is the bathroom. There is no place for my toothbrush. My toiletries are often times lost behind the claw foot bath tub. There is a glass bottle reminiscent to a wine bottle lying underneath the tub. I don't know what's going on there.

2. I am getting old. I have gray hair. People don't believe me because I color it. But it's there, Blog. I am going gray. Big time.

3. Me going gray is an indicator that while I've inherited my mother's tone and demeanor, I've inherited my father's looks. I haven't seen a youthful picture of him since I was a child, but I'm hoping that he was a good looking guy back in the day. Please let him have been a good looking guy back in the day. I can't afford to be looking like this any time soon:

Though, I can afford that magnificent purple shirt.
3. Random thought: I've had to say goodbye to someone I've cared about immensely knowing that I would never see them again. That's the kind of thought that crosses my mind whenever I think of the Englishman. It's been over a year since I've seen him already. Crazy.

4. I want to make you fun again , Blog. I think the best way to do this is to write in you more often. That way I'll get sick of blanket blogging and will be forced to write about the stupid specific stuff that happens to me on a daily basis. Like today I was hugged by the Goblirsch Jr. as he told me he'd hug me until I starved to death. Unfortunately for everyone, I had just eaten. It would take him awhile. He gave up and left for Chicago instead.

I've drank a handsome amount of wine this evening Blog. I think I'm done. Until tomorrow... (because here's to hoping that I write tomorrow)

Sunday, October 7, 2012

I Didn't Think I'd Be This Way

Blog, tonight I got a phone call from my friend Sam. She started out the conversation with a preface to some news she had to share.

"I wanted to tell you before you saw it on Facebook," she said.

"Ok," I replied tentatively. I was half nervous and half excited for what surely was some juicy gossip. She said she was going to text me, but thought that calling me would be a better way to tell me. For a second I thought someone might have died, but she was too upbeat for that sort of a tragedy. I was hopeful that it wasn't something that would ruin the pleasant Sunday evening I was spending with my new roommates. One thing I've learned in the last week is that coming home to people is an amazing thing. So far I love this living-with-people situation.

"Brian is engaged," she said. Or so I thought she said.

"Brian? Who's Brian?"

"Ryan," she tried again; emphasizing the "R" at the beginning of his name.

"Brian?" I could not wrap my mind around who she was talking about. Frankly, all I could think of was that guy I dated a year ago. I have my own reasons for going there... unfortunately.

"Ryan. Ryan is engaged."

"Ryan? Ryan. Ohhh! Ryan!"

Ryan, Blog. Ryan, my ex-boyfriend. Ryan, the one who I thought I was just going to end up with forever. Ryan, the one who would joke that he wanted to trade me in for a "younger model" and then really did. Ryan is engaged.

It only took a second for me to realize how he asked her. I knew even before Sam went into detail. It's the beginning of October in Minneapolis. That means the Twin Cities Marathon is on the tips of everyone's tongues. That means he ran it. And that means he proposed to her in a most public and flashy gesture right after he crossed the finish line.

Hit the nail on the head.

I anticipate a destination wedding to take place in Mexico in either the early spring or fall of next year. My best to the happy couple.

Sam was worried that I'd be hurt or upset or feel a sting of lost love. She even went out of her way to talk me up as a beautiful, one-of-a-kind girl who couldn't have a ring determined for her because of her terrific originality. It was sweet and I appreciated the sentiment (because it's totally accurate), but it was something I didn't need to hear. I already knew what she was telling me and frankly, I am so removed from the situation that I was a little sad I wasn't more jealous/upset/bitter that this has happened. However, I take great pride in this reaction since it was a mere two years ago I felt like my entire world was caving in around me because he decided that I wasn't the girl for him.

It's turned out to be the biggest favor anyone has ever paid me.

In those two years since he told me that he wanted someone who would do things like focus on their career and run marathons, I've experienced more than I could have ever imagined when I was wasting away in that suburban house.

If he knew what I was up to these days, he'd probably think that he's made it and I've taken a turn for the worst. I'm still single, just moved in with roommates and hate my job. But this change I've made has already started to make me happy. I'm interacting with people who inspire, support, and challenge me. I'm playing music on a regular basis which is incredibly satsifying and makes me happier than I have been in a long time. I'm realizing things about this world and this life that I was too scared to realize before. I'm taking risks and am going down the road less traveled. I'm incredibly single, incredibly unattached, incredibly determined to keep the things I've loved my entire life at the forefront of it. It's something I've never done before, and it certainly was something that wasn't on my mind when I was with Ryan.

So thank you, Ryan. Every time I learn something new about your life, I'm reminded that settling for you would have been the biggest mistake I could have ever made. Congratulations on the marathon and engagement. Two years ago I was the one at the finish line, screaming my support for you, but had you gotten down on one knee after you had crossed it, I know I wouldn't have said yes. I'm glad you just went to the water tent instead.

Friday, September 28, 2012

The Places We Live

Every two years or so, I tend to pack up all my belongings and leave a place I've grown to love. It's a place where the secrets to opening cabinets and locking doors have all been told to me, but their tricks still leave me stumped from time to time. It's a place that has gathered a myriad of memories but still could hold many more. Every time I move, I feel like I'm doing so prematurely. Like there is something still waiting to happen within these walls and now I've only got 48 hours left to figure out what that something is. I have to remind myself that that something will happen to me, and not to the apartment I'm once again moving from.

The longest I've lived in any one place since I was 18 was my first apartment in Minneapolis and it was for a full two years. I documented the day I got keys to the place. I'm glad I did. I imagined what was then unknown to me happening there over the next year. I don't know what I thought would happen, but I'm certain whatever it was didn't actually come to fruition. It never does.

Maybe that's why I move so much. I'm a fan of new beginnings and seem to seek them out once every few years. Moving so much has kept my earthly belongings to a minimum. I for some reason need to shed my skin every once in awhile and make a fresh start. I wish I wasn't this way. There is a part of me that is jealous of settled friends who know what to expect and are satisfied with where they are. I wish I could just relax and resist the urge to pack up and try something new. Mainly because this packing up thing breaks my heart every time. The places we live are alive with us and leaving them is like leaving a comfortable and satisfying relationship for someone you're not quite sure you'll be happy with, but who you have to go for because otherwise you'll never know.

You'll just never know.

So that's why I keep moving. Because I'll never know what it's like if I don't. I'll only know where I am. Granted, the last time I moved was completely out of necessity and nowhere near my personal desire to do so. But now that I think of it, it usually is anyway. I love this apartment more than most of the places I've lived. It's got character, it's a great location, a decent price, and my landlord is wonderful. It helped me get over one of the most difficult break ups I've ever gone through and then served as an abode where I foolishly yet necessarily pined after an Englishman. The solitude here has helped me, has hurt me, and has let me grow. And while I feel like I could stay for another few years, I know I can't. It's time to go try something new. It's time to go after what I really want for once and since I was cursed with the desire for a completely un-lucrative career, I have to downsize in the residence department. I'm going to have roommates who I'm not dating for the first time in 7 years. I'm going to have to learn how to share a bathroom and a kitchen. I'm going to have to figure out how to split bills and what food is mine. Change is scary, but change is good.

I just have to remember that one day it will be ok to settle. Because even when you settle, you still can't accurately imagine what is going to happen to you in the next year. It could be anything. And even if it is the scariest thing in the world, there is another side to come out on.

I remember when I graduated high school, I had a thought that I've managed to keep with me since: "A year from now, who knows the people I'll know". I couldn't even fathom the thought of what turned out to be the most familiar faces in my life; one who is my soon-to-be roommate. It was petrifying and wonderful all at the same time.

A year ago I was leaving a long-running overseas relationship for someone I wasn't quite sure I'd be happy with, but who I went for because otherwise I would have never known. Well now I know. He wasn't for me. But a year ago, I also wasn't in this band. I also wasn't going on tour. I also wasn't going to take a leap of faith and leave this apartment I love so very much as a sacrifice so I could pursue something I've loved my entire life.

Change is good.

Monday, September 17, 2012


Blog, I didn't forget about you. No. In fact, I would have posted in you on Thursday night if the Amtrak ever got on the technology train (pun intended) and figured out a wifi connection onboard. I did the next best thing though. I opened up a good old word document and wrote the following as car #12 rocked its way down the rails...

Every time I’m on the train, I look at the people working on the train and envy them for the cool job they have. In reality, it’s probably a really lame and stupid job, but it seems novel. Living a life on the rails and coming across all sorts of people young and old traveling across the country. All of them at different points in their lives, with different backgrounds and experiences. The train unites them together in a long line of cars bobbing down the tracks in a slow and comforting rhythm.

But tonight I’m on the squeaky car. Luckily my music is doing a good job of drowning it out.

Tonight I looked at the train employees and was content with my place and theirs. I had no desire to quit my job and take up a life of traveling across the country, catering to a variety of passengers. I think it’s because I’ve landed my own job traveling across the country, catering to the malleable minds of Appalachian youth. Out of context this sounds ridiculous. It kind of is. A couple months ago I went out on a limb and auditioned for a touring theater company that puts on educational shows for children across the country. And I got cast.

I leave in January. It’s only for two months, which I’m happy about. I know by March I’ll be missing Minneapolis something fierce and will embrace my return to this city that I find myself loving more and more with each time I leave it. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

What I’ll do when I’m back is beyond me. I’m working with Courtney on figuring out a plan to get headshots and commercial work. It’s something I feel completely incapable of doing. But she described the whole process as breaking through tissues; daunting tissues that only turn out to be tissues after you’ve discovered how easy they are to break through. Why am I pursuing this sort of thing? Because my heart and my mind won’t rest until I do. I’ve been so logical and responsible I’ve pushed what I really love aside just so I could make the rent and pay the bills and have some left over to pay for a good time.

But I realized I spend most of my time toiling away at a job I’ve grown to hate, just so I can spend money on wine. Something has clicked in me over the past few months. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but there was a day when I realized that I could do whatever I want. Well, whatever I want within reason and morals. I love performing. I love creating. It is something I’ve known since I was a kid. Am I good at it? Who cares? I love it. I should do it. If I’m not good at it now, I’ll get good at it by doing it.

So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to take the plunge. I’m going to go on tour. I’m in a band. I’m going to get headshots and hopefully commercial work. I’m going to continue working with the amazing Courtney McLean who is showing me that the tissues really are just tissues. They may be scary, but they are easily broken.

I’m not envious of the train workers because I’m finally on a path to doing something that I love. I’ve finally become ok with myself. Thank God I figured it out before I hit 30.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

'V' As In Victor

Hey Blog.

So I was just looking at Facebook and noticed a childhood classmate of mine had a baby today. This particular classmate and I share the same name, so growing up we were always Samantha V. and Samantha D. We were never close friends, but we would share the flip bar on the playground and both had a penchant for gymnastics when we were in the first grade. I don't know about what she thinks of me, but I always felt a connection to her; probably because we were the only Samanthas in the whole school. We were variants of the same kind; our last initials the deciding factor between the two of us. So when I see what she's up to on Facebook, part of me feels that the similarities between our names should also exist in our lives.

For awhile there I was feeling like I was behind the times because everyone was getting married and having babies. I still kind of feel like I'm missing out, but I've come to accept that it's not in the cards for me right now. I figured out that I can put my energy elsewhere and be just as, if not more satisfied with what I'm up to right now.

And I have to remember that there is an inane desire in me to somehow stand out from the norm. Everyone is getting married and having babies. Everyone, but me.

Back to Sam. I feel like if I had had the 'D' for my last initial, I'd be the one holding the little bundle of joy who just entered this world. But I have the 'V'. It is my differentiating factor. And while she gave up her maiden 'D' to enter into a life of marriage and motherhood, I'm still holding on to my letter. I'm still Samantha V. And I'm doing my best to make whatever that is my own.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

I Found That Corner

Look at what my dear sister in law sent to me this evening, Blog:

Trust me. There's meaning behind this.
A full explanation as to why this is so incredibly awesome can be found in a post I made six months ago.

Really this article is just a cherry on top of a very exciting stream of events that have made themselves present in my life over the last 24 hours; one being an invitation I received to be a part of this band. It was something that I totally saw coming, but that didn't stop the elation from taking over me as I listened to Courtney herself offer me a position through a very darling and amusing voicemail. I don't know why I'm acting all star-struck with her. I've improvised with her and stage managed one hell of a Fringe show for her as well. I guess there's something really great about being asked to be a part of a project that I respect and am impressed by. Finally, after so many years of awkwardly sitting on the outskirts of the creative community down here, I'm finding the beginnings of a niche. Granted, I think I've had to let my guard down a little bit in order for it to happen. But it's further proof that a little bit of uncomfort and a lot fear lead to good things if you embrace them and hope for the best in the end.

There's more to say, but my mind is too preoccupied with freaking out with fear and hoping for the best to articulate it. The best I can do is finish this glass of wine and turn in so I can rise and shine for breakfast with Kerin in the morning.

So long...

Tuesday, August 7, 2012


Basically I'm just making it a habit to embed songs I hear on Triple J that I can't add on my Grooveshark or find on iTunes so I can keep track of them somewhere. The plight of being so exclusive with the music I listen to is a difficult one, Blog. As a result, I am the ultimate hipster.

Friday, August 3, 2012

My Yearly Fringe Post

Blog, here are some thoughts I have on the Minnesota Fringe Festival.

1. The Fringe Festival takes over my Facebook newsfeed something fierce every August. It is easy to see the emergence of  the successes and pitfalls that come with everyone's shows. The pitfalls are less noticeable because people tend to not post about bad reviews and sucky shows on Facebook. This allows for the highlighted and confident shows to easily shine to the masses (me). Soon, these successful shows become the Fringe's mainstream and comfort. I don't know what to choose! I shall therefore go to a show I've heard a lot about so I feel safe, even though I know there is a chance that it may not live up to its hype.

2. The Fringe Festival serves as an arena where every theater person in Minneapolis (and beyond) can feel in control of their artistic destiny. Anyone and everyone has the opportunity to act on that brilliant idea that has been cooking in the back of their minds since that breakup/lay-off/mid-life crisis/end of college. The masses must know the brilliance that lies within your civilians, Minneapolis! The masses must keep incredibly tight schedules to experience it! The masses must be subject to the potential confusion that abounds with copious amounts of inside theater jokes brought to the stage in an attempt to entertain said masses!

3. The Fringe Festival is a popularity contest where the winners are determined by Matthew Everett, the Fringe blogger I never really hear about during the other 55 weeks of the year. Who are you Matthew? I should know as I was on your public access TV show once, and yet I don't. You emerge with your critical eye every August and sink back into the arts oblivion just as the Perseids reach their peak. A mystery you are to me, Mr. Everett. I fear I may never solve you... or your mother.

4. The Fringe Festival reminds me of how wonderful and awful theater can be. It's like a drug and I am its addict. You can ride the emotional high from a performance well done for only so long until your conscious sinks back into a rut of self scrutiny. Even the most confident performers have second thoughts about how great their shows are. Maybe I'm making that up... no I'm not. I don't care if your last name starts with "Scrim" and ends with "shaw". There's no way in hell you can feel 100% awesome about your show at all times. Not when there are critics running rampant with a rating system and review venue at their fingertips. Not when they know they have the power to dash dreams if dreams deserved to be dashed.

5. The Fringe Festival is the one time a year when the theater community comes together in a way where everyone is special. Everyone gets to put on a play. Everyone gets to be a critic. Everyone can see a show, and everyone can get drunk and bitch about it afterwards. Everyone gets caught up in the hype. Everyone wants to impress and be impressed. Everyone wants to limit the amount they allow themselves to be impressed because everyone has been given the opportunity to show off their superior theater chops, whether it be on stage or in the audience. And everyone who is anyone knows that superior theater chops are reflected by being difficult to impress.

I love/hate the Minnesota Fringe Festival. It stirs emotions within my soul and as we have covered before, Blog, I know not how to deal with feelings. They make me uncomfortable and confused. Tragically, they also make me feel alive, and this is why I'm drawn to the ridiculousness year after year.

With that, my entry pertaining to the Fringe Festival is complete for 2012. Previous entries; good, bad, and ugly can be found here, here, and here. My first taste of it can be found here. Don't judge, Blog. I didn't know what I was talking about.

Time to go hate myself for loving this so much.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Mini Vacation Plans

I leave for a long weekend in Chicago one month from yesterday, Blog. I love when I plan a trip and then forget about it only to remember it a couple weeks later. It's kind of like when you get something in the mail that you ordered online; it doesn't feel like a purchase, but more a gift that you've given yourself. I guess that's what most shopping is anyway. Gifts from you, to you. It's kind of like me and you, Blog. (Since you're really just an extension of me anyway) How about that?

For some reason it's weird to think that I haven't been to Chicago in over 4 years. I've never frequented Chicago, but at the same time I've always thought it to be easily accessible since it's about as far away from me as Finley is. Just a hop, skip, and a jump down the road by my standards. An easy 8 hour train or bus ride. Or even better, a cheap and quick hour and a half flight. I feel like I've been there many more times than I actually have.

Last time I was down there, Ryan and I took the train to experience the drinking and traipsing around that ended up being the majority of our relationship. I should have seen it then, but I think I was preoccupied by the bean and green river. Shiny things and colored water tend to be my weaknesses.

My rendition of the ultimate distraction.

This time I hope to see the sites and enjoy a beach. I also am excited because this time I'll be visiting Will, who has lived in Chicago for a couple years now and knows his way around. I've never been to this city with someone who knows its ins and outs quite so well. I hope to do more than just get drunk and chat up other random drunks. Although don't get me wrong, I am certainly glad to make a night of it. But there is so much more to do there than drink.

Like, I don't know...

See a show.

Ride the ferris wheel at Navy Pier.

Visit the Sears Tower (including the crazy balcony thing that I have dared myself to edge up to if we make it to the observatory)

See the animals in the zoo.

Ride the El.

Get into a gang fight.

Pretend my last name ends in "ski" (i.e. Veldhouski).

Eat a special hotdog that has a bunch of Chicago ingredients on it.

Oh man! I missed out last time! I'm certainly going to have a full schedule for Will to live up to. That, and it will be Labor Day Weekend and after doing a little googling, I've learned there is going to be a jazz festival and fireworks too. He'd better get cracking and start preparing for my arrival. It certainly has potential to be quite the mini vacation.

My first time in the Windy City back in aught five. My hair goes well with your moniker, Chicago.

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Yet Another Ode to Theater

First things first, Blog...


I am learning, Blog. I am learning about the Edwardian Era of the 20th century. I'm learning about the elegance and ridiculousness of aristocrats who live in a castle. I'm learning about the relationships people have with one another. I'm feeling feelings again! Major nerd feelings geared towards fantastical characters on a screen, but feelings nonetheless! Feelings I can apply to my life and be inspired by! Feelings that tell me I'm not alone! That it could be worse! That I too could prefer a chaise lounge to that of an upright chair when it comes to relaxing in a corset.

Masterpiece Theater is changing my life. I should have known this was going to be a thing for me. It's not my fault that I'm the spawn of people who religiously taped I Claudius when it aired on PBS during my childhood. God it was so boring when I was seven! But now. NOW! Bring it on Masterpiece Theater! I realize my parents have impeccible taste when it comes to late night public programming. Don't get me started on Ken Burns' Civil War...

I think there's an element of excitement for me today Blog because I spent my entire afternoon doing what I absolutely love in this life: making theater. I'm reminded this Fringe season that it's not all about being on stage for me. I am in love with the entire process of putting on a show. I need to do this more. I need to learn how to run a light board. I need to call cues more often. I need to assess a stage picture and figure out if it works. And if it doesn't? How do I make it better?

I've said it time and time again that I feel cursed with the fact that I was destined to have a heart that lives in the world of the performing arts. I think I've stifiled it for the most part since it is a ridiculous profession when you really think about it. Let's get some people up on a platform, soak them in lights, and listen to what they have to say. But it's the core of every piece of entertainment you see out there. The music you listen to is made by people who stand in a light in front of other people watching them. The movies you pay $12 to see are put on by people standing in front of cameras and technicians lighting them with all sorts of contraptions. The TV shows you watch, LIKE DOWNTON ABBEY, are created the same way. The stage is where it all started and it's where my heart lies and I totally am aware that every July I get all gushy over the performing arts and aspire to become something great and get this sort of a thing in my life right away. But let's face it. I never take action.

Except for today before the tech rehearsal I so thoroughly enjoyed, I auditioned for a company that tours children's shows around the country. If I get it? I leave my current job and take a leap of faith for the thing I've loved to do ever since I can remember. Ever since I was an annoyed seven year old who didn't want to watch I Claudius, but instead wanted her mom to play showtunes from the Reader's Digest Unforgettable Music Memories collection so she could put on an old dress and play "Broadway" in the mirror. Clap Hands, Here Comes Charlie! wasn't just a catchy tune. It was a dream. An perfectly attainable dream!

I'm appropriately dramatic about this. I told the cast I pseudo directed today that their movements and decisions, no matter what they are, must be deliberate on stage. The audience trusts deliberate action. So does fate. I have to take my own direction and deliberately go through with this, no matter how stupid or foolish I feel. Some of the best advice I got from one of my acting teachers in college was a simple word: commit. Commit to your actions and you will find your way.

So I auditioned for this big thing. If I get it, I'm doing it. If I don't? I'm still moving in with Andy Browers. I've been asked to potentially manage this band. I am looking here for opportunities both acting and tech-wise. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, but I have to trust that my interest has given me enough knowledge to start. I technically earned a minor in Theater alongside my major in English. I might as well put it to use since my main course of study is just what I speak and write every day anyway. I don't regret a lot, but I do regret not taking the actual thing I love and making it my major. It's never too late, I guess.

Monday, July 30, 2012

Two Things... No Three

Two things, Blog:

1. My little view counter thing hit 4,000 views today. I don't know if that means I'm just that obsessed with you Blog, or if it means that there are people who actually read you (or at least "view" you). I only have 10 followers, and I think that half of them are defunct accounts. I did learn last week that Jo from work reads you though. That brightened my day. Thanks for reading, Jo.

2. This song.

Oh, and 3. I discovered Downton Abbey over the weekend, Blog. Now I just want my life to consist of interrupted conversations and knowing glances. If only...

Thursday, July 26, 2012


I am wiped out Blog. Don't worry. It is in a good way.

I just wrote an entire scene breakdown for the show I'm stage managing for the Fringe this year. I honestly don't even want to get into it. So many stage directions. So many props. So. Many. Cues.

It's going to be wonderful.

And because I'm learning that I'm a conflicted soul who yearns for the spotlight, but doesn't know what to do with it once it floods my eyes, I'm going to refrain from going any further into promoting the show. No one reads you anyway Blog. Any promotion here is pointless. And there is something comforting about that.

I also realized I've been waiting around for a boy who is never going to show up.

So because that guy is never going to arrive, I'm going to go ahead and do what I want. I'm going to move. I'm going to audition for a touring show next week. And if I get it? I'm quitting my job.

I don't need to do what I'm supposed to do anymore. I'm going to do what I want to do.

It's not worth it to sit around in this room and let depression take over my being just because I have a steady income at a desk job. It sounds naive, but I don't care. I'm done with this. I'm going to make it a goal to keep what I love in my life, one way or another.

Monday, July 23, 2012

I've Been Comfortable For Way Too Long

Well, now I've really done it, Blog. For a long time now I've wallowed in this rut and I think I'm on the cusp of leaping out of it. I just got a text that reads "Let this new era begin! Yes!"

Thank you Andy Browers.

I'm going to move, Blog. I'm going to sacrifice all that I love about my quaint uptown apartment what with its French windows, decorative fireplace, and tiled bathroom, and exchange it for a bedroom in an upper level duplex on the other side of Uptown along with an extra $250 a month.

I need the money so I can save it and get myself to a point where I can maybe not spend 40 hours a week in this cubicle.

I'm not doing this alone. You never can, really. I have the opportunity to live with Andy, and I fully expect to take advantage of rooming with this old college friend who offers not only cameraderie, but who also is a source of motivation. I don't know what will happen, but I think that's a good place to be after spending such a long time being able to predict every day with the accuracy of Robin Hood, Annie Oakley, and Katniss Everdeen combined. It is time for a change of some sort.

In other news, I. Suck. At. Dating.

Saturday night I went to a concert, which is something I wish I did more. It was a great concert. A little bit of this band in my ears is never a bad thing. I saw a Sousaphone in action, Blog. A real live Sousaphone. Life was good.

Under a painted sky that intensified with every swig of my Michelob Golden Light, I wove in and out of the crowd with Kerin; the entire time wondering why the hell I don't drop $25 on this sort a thing more often. I guess it's because lately the rut I've been in hasn't allowed me to try new things, like oh say, concerts. Note to self: concerts are fun.

You know what else is fun? Getting drinks after the concert with my friends and this dude who they know who, I don't know, seemed into me enough to where I might have closed the bar down with him long after my friends bailed for the evening. You know, like you do. Just closing down the bar with some dude you just met. Who seems into you. But maybe not. I don't know. Remember, I suck at dating.

After half an hour of wish-washing down the street, not wanting to part in our drunken stupor, a cab came out of nowhere to whisk me away from the strange neighborhood where we had spent the evening. I climbed into the taxi reluctantly and only because I didn't want to come off as one of those floosies who spends the night with a guy she's just met. I wanted to maintain my class and virtue. I wanted to remain mysterious. I was also freaked out of my mind because, I don't know, I haven't really been into a guy practically since this year started and don't know how to deal with feelings anymore.

The moment I shut the door, I felt funny. Like I wasn't supposed to be in this car. The feeling was so strong, that I almost told the driver to stop so I could jump out and wave down dude who I had spent the past four hours with. But, and I realized this the next day, I've become very accustomed to allowing my head take over my heart in these situations. I subconsciously told my heart to shut the hell up, you don't know what you're talking about. Remember the times when I put all my faith in you and everything got totally fucked up and stupid? Yeah me too. I resolved to stick with what my head was telling me and dug into my purse to ensure I had my wallet, phone, and ke--.

My keys.

Where are my keys?

They're right... they're in here somewhere.


They are at Kerin's aren't they.

Since I spend all my time in South Minneapolis these days, the evening's excursion began at Kerin and Nick's place with half a hot dog and a glass of wine. Apparently, dropping my keys on the dining room table had been part of the pre-concert festivities.

At this point, dude was long-gone on his bicycle and I was rapidly heading towards a very locked apartment in Uptown. I told the driver to change his route to South Minneapolis. I figured I'd just knock on the door and their dog Toby would yap away like there's no tomorrow (though at this point it was tomorrow). Nick and/or Kerin would wake up, let me in, and I'd be on my way.

Except that when Nick and Kerin go to sleep, they go into this weird night coma where 45 minutes of a barking dog, pounding door, and crying girl have absolutely no effect.

Apparently a dog bone repeatedly thrown at a window doesn't do much either. I had changed my tactic to chucking landscape rocks when Kerin finally peeked through the blinds and subsequently emerged at the back door.

I don't know if it's fate telling me I should have gone home with that guy or what; at least I would have had known that I had a place to stay for the night that wasn't someone's lawn. If anything, this has been a huge wake up call for my head to take a breather and let my heart make an appearance every now and then. It's petrifying and at the end of it all I didn't even end up with a number exchange or a kiss. I managed to squeak out that I'd like to see him again, but that doesn't really do much when you have no way of getting a hold of each other.

So bad at dating...

I need to break up with the depressed version of myself and hook up with stressed-out-me. Sure it's a rollercoaster relationship, but God. I've been sad because I'm bored and I've been bored because I'm sad. Step one to getting out of this is emailing my landlord to tell him I need to be out of my place by the end of August.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Bad Day

I had a bad day today, Blog. Only now am I starting to feel better. I don't know what happened. Maybe it was the Benedryl I took to lull my conscious to sleep last night amidst the heat and humidity that has settled into the hot pavement of the city. Maybe it is because everyone around me is turning monumental corners in both the career and family arenas while I continue to sit in this room plugging along at the same daily responsibilities that seem to have accompanied me since I moved here six years ago. Maybe it's because I'm realizing I'm just like my father in the sense that I can't finish what I start.

I don't finish what I start.

I'm totally capable of finishing what I start, but I don't because of this huge thing called fear. It revolves a lot around money, but also around my image and my comfort level around other people; friends and strangers alike. I want to take risks in both areas but I fear the regret that may happen after dropping a couple hundred dollars on a piece of furniture or by the simple notion of what others think. I have to somehow get past this, but I don't necessarily know how. I haven't achieved a goal in a long time. I think this has to do with the depression I've been feeling lately. That and the slight resurfacing of old love interests during a very lacking and disorienting dating dryspell have me sitting in this room that I've called home for going on two years contemplating what my next move is going to be.

Now I see why running away from this city has been so enticing to me lately. When I'm left to my own devices I end up having to face the fact that I haven't challenged myself in recent years with the things that pique my interests. It's an uncomfortable feeling and doing something like dropping $130 on a plane ticket to Chicago so I can look forward to hanging out with this guy is much more appealing than putting that money towards something like a laptop that doesn't take 8 minutes to link to a previous entry about your college boyfriend.

I feel like I'm doing life wrong.

So because of that, I'm going to open myself up to the potential opportunity to move in with an old college friend and theater confidant. If things work out in my favor, I'll be saving a couple hundred dollars a month and will no longer be coming home to an empty room that is cluttered with laundry and shoes. Instead I'll have two roommates who do the cluttering for me and I'll have someone to say goodnight to.

And maybe it's a juvenile move at my age, but I've proven to myself that I can live alone just fine. Now it's time to suck it up and save some money while I figure out what to do with my life besides be an academic advisor. I know I was meant to create, I just don't know how. Wine is involved though. I've got that much figured out. I should probably figure out how to make a living doing theater too. I'm so pissed right now that I was "blessed" with the desire and need to pursue a career in the arts. So not fair.

I'm still planning on dropping $130 on a plane ticket to Chicago over the Labor Day weekend. I love Chicago. It's a place I haven't been to in years and I would love to go back and visit with someone who knows their way around. And not only is that someone knowledgeable in the directions of the Chicago streets that will surround us, he is also one of the few people in this world around whom I feel completely comfortable and open. I was reminded of that over the 4th of July holiday. It was like discovering a new friend in one that I have known for almost 10 years.

It was still a bad day. But writing and wine can make any day's heartbreaks fade away.

Friday, July 13, 2012

No Excuses. Just a List.

I've been on a hiatus, Blog. I'm not going to make excuses. I'm not going to feel guilty. Instead I'm going to take the easy way out and make a list of thoughts. I guess you could call them updates. For your reading pleasure, let's put on this new favorite of mine:

Ok. Let's begin.

1. I have a tan. This hasn't happened in years. Last summer I made my way up to my grandma's for the Fourth of July and was reminded that having family that live on a lake can make for a pretty kickass summer holiday. This year, I managed to take more time off than I meant to, but as a result I spent nearly every day in a lake of some sort; toasting my skin to a pleasant golden brown that hasn't gone unnoticed. Even my legs are a shade darker than they have been in the past. Skirts are not a means of reflecting light anymore. I feel like a new woman.

2. I not only spent days (that's right days) with my extended family, but I also somehow fanagled a way to spend a few days (yes, days!) with my dear college friends Andy and Will. You may remember Will from my post about how I ran into him in April and was reminded about how he was my first love, and probably the most satisfying and healthy relationship I've had. I guess I haven't been blessed with a wonderful man to love and cherish me for the rest of my life, but at least I have a picture perfect first boyfriend and subsequent friend who has somehow defied all the ex-boyfriend stereotypes out there over the past 7 years. Add Andy to the mix and it was suddenly hours and hours filled with laughing turned to small talk turned to deep life conversations turned to silly games and scenarios leading to a myriad of inside jokes that only live between the three of us. I feel so special that they let me tag along with their boy time. I couldn't have enjoyed myself more.

3. This computer sucks. I know I didn't want to make excuses, but I'm going to categorize this as a reason for why I haven't written. This computer is slow. I type faster than it can process words. Do you know how frustrating it is to wait for a machine to catch up with the brilliance that spills from my fingertips, Blog? Of course you don't. You don't have hands. I was going to wait for another paycheck to go through before I buy a new one, but I might just bite the bullet and go in tomorrow. In to where, you ask? Good question. I've never bought a computer before, so I have no idea what I'm doing. But remember, there was a time when I had never bought an iPhone before either, and now I'm on my second one (unwillingly, but still) so I guess miracles do happen.

4. Kerin is leaving work. She is my best friend and confidant who I spend nearly every coffee and lunch break with. Now she's taking the leap to pursue a writing career. I'm excited and happy for her. I can't wait to see what she creates and experiences with this magnificent opportunity. It will be exciting to see her in this new light; one that is meant to shine on her. She's already noticibly happier and at ease even though she still has a week left of answering phones and making irritible people slightly less irritible. I know no one reads you, Blog, but if they did, and if they needed a writer for whatever things writers are needed, I would suggest that they hit me up for her contact information. I would also suggest that they hit me up just so I would know that someone actually reads this thing.

5. Over the last few days I've realized I am in the midst of the longest dating/hanky panky/boy attention dry spell of my adult life. I don't know what to do about it because the length of time that has passed since I last was "intimate" with someone has been so much so, that I've forgotten what it's like and am therefore slightly freaked out by the thought of a guy even being interested in me. It's like I'm 18 all over again. But even hanging out with my first boyfriend over the holiday weekend didn't really give me any insight into how to approach this... situation. I want to date boys. I want to be intimate with them. But at the same time I'm overwhelmed and grossed out. When did I become such a 4th grade girl about this? What do I do to regain the dating confidence I once yielded with the ferocity of 10,000 episodes of Sex in the City? My friend Trisha told me to rate boys on OkCupid to let them know I was interested in them. So I did. I have yet to hear a response. Confidence meter = Low. Very low. And thus another sip of wine is down the gullet.

6. Regardless of my current asexual state, I've found some solace in the fact that I'm going to be stage managing a Fringe show this year. I haven't stage managed since I learned how to do so in college, but I remember liking it even though it was stressful. This is a low key show though, so I figure it's a good opportunity to explore the position and see if there are other opportunities out there for me. Andy wants me to stage manage his production of Bash in September too. And while I want to continue auditioning for shows, it's nice to know I have something lined up over the next couple months that will be getting me back into the theater mode. I think once rehearsals are underway for both shows, I'll even consider myself happy with what I'm doing with my life. That'll be nice.

7. Chet Faker. New fave find on Triple J. Check it.

8. I was going to write something here, but since it took a good 8 minutes to hyperlink to Chet Faker's fun rendition of an old 90's favorite above, I lost my train of thought in frustration and dried out contacts. New computer. Tomorrow.

Good night, Blog. I hope you didn't miss me too much. Now that I've got this list under my belt, the rest of the summer should be smooth sailing for writing to you. So long and farewell until tomorrow or over the weekend or whatever. I've got tons to write about. I'll get it all out to you sooner or later. Hopefully.

Monday, June 18, 2012

It's Time To Ramble

I think the summer weather makes it less enticing to spend an evening drinking and writing in you, Blog. No offense to you, it's just the weather. Sunday evenings are probably the most consistent evenings I have these days. They are usually the evenings I have to myself. Where I cook, do laundry, catch up on my domestic duties...

I've decided I'm a commitment-phobe in the furniture department. For some reason I've ended up being a 28 year old woman who sleeps on a mattress on the floor. I'll be the first to admit that I'm no homemaker, but this is ridiculous. Why don't I have a bed, Blog? I am able to spend thousands of dollars so I can go to Europe on a regular basis, but I can't spare a couple hundred for a simple bed frame? This needs to come to an end. Next weekend (if I don't end up going to Winona for some Great River Shakespeare Festival action) I'm going to Ikea to peruse beds. It's going to happen. It needs to happen.

Another grown-up thing I'm trying my hand at is having and using a credit card. I applied for one, Blog, and I was approved! I don't know why I was afraid of being denied. Maybe because the only other time in my life that I tried applying for a credit card I was denied because I didn't already have a credit card.

Yes, I get it. I'm a 28 year old woman who sleeps on a mattress and has never had a credit card. Really, we can make me sound like a pathetic failure at life it we really wanted to. While we're at it, I've never seen The Princess Bride. I even have a copy here in my apartment, but have no way of watching it because this computer is so old the DVD drive doesn't work. So close, yet so far. And in the end, I frankly don't give a shit.

That's the thing. Other people want me to see the Princess Bride. Society wants me to have a credit card and a bed. I'm perfectly happy without any of those things in my life, but at the same time outside pressures have brought me to a crux. If I'm not going to get married and have kids, I might as well have a fucking bed, right? I might as well commit to something besides a family, since that's just not happening for me right now. I might as well buy slabs of particle board and curse and swear for hours as I torque the shit out of the hardware that holds it all together... Just so that my mattress isn't lying directly on the ground. God it's so stupid.

I think I'm going to start a thing on Facebook, Blog. I'm going to post the following picture of my journal from my adolescence in hopes that others will follow so we can all share the ridiculousness that used to live in all of our minds. Also, it happened to come up during my high school reunion that the girls in my class thought Mr. Voigt was sexist; a memory I had completely forgotten about. But apparently I had shared my concerns about the whole debacle with Betsy, the pre-internet version of you, Blog. (I used to be fancier in my writing entity naming in those days.

Dear Betsy, I'm going to state!! In music that is. I love music. I just wrote a really emotional letter to Angela.  I feel better now. I had to do it. I said all the things I love and stuff. It made me cry. Mother is going to make me turn off my radio and go to sleep so this might not be long. All the girls in my class (including me) want to get Mr. Voigt fired. He's sexist. Me and Tiff were doing cartwheels because the weights we needed were being taken so we were bored. And he made us run laps for 10 minutes. And then the boys would just sit around and they didn't run laps. I could talk forever on this but I have to go to sleep. Gotta go!! -Loving Sam
That's right Blog. I used to sign everything with the moniker "Loving Sam".

With that, I'm out.

-Loving Sam

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Zero Two, Zero Two, Zero Zero Zero Two

I was over thinking it, Blog. My class reunion was totally weird, but not the end of the world. I don't really know what to say about it, but I'm sure I'll formulate something in the coming paragraphs. For now I'll share a stolen Facebook photo...

There we are: living in the limelight of all those terrible mistakes we've made.

I wish I could say that being part of a small class allowed us to become close to one another and form life long friendships, but as I awkwardly found my seat at our table in the bar on Friday, I was reminded that we all are kind of assholes to each other. And not the kind of haha-I'm-just-being-a-playful-and-jesting asshole, but more of a I-actually-kind-of-hate-you-but-will-put-up-with-you-because-I-have-to asshole. It's ok. I think we're at least all on the same page and somehow there is an unbreakable and forced bond between us because of it. I can't say it's a pleasant bond, but it's a bond. And bonds are what count, right?

With the alcohol, the parties, and confidence that comes with being an adult, I actually had a pretty good time. Believe it or not, I did have a friend or two in high school and seeing them was fun. I even figured out how to hang out with a couple people I didn't even consider socializing with back then. It was refreshing and makes me feel better about my place with those who I shared my high school years with.

But really, we were, and still are, a bunch of assholes. It becomes pretty apparent when the memories we bring up consist of making fun of other people for mispronouncing words when reading aloud in class (i.e. "spaceship" coming out as "spakey ship") and how Mr. Strand would throw erasers at us.

Or how Mr. Tollefson (God rest his soul) slammed this door so hard one day, the glass cracked.. That might have been because of us...

And sure I get a sense that most of them are kind of annoyed with me just because sometimes people are no matter what you do, but they're still my class. The only one I'll ever have in the high school sense. I might as well embrace them like I (reluctantly) embraced North Dakota after I was done with college. They are part of my upbringing, after all. I've learned that these are things you cannot change, but can grow to love (even if it's in a you-don't-really-want-to-but-kind-of-have-to-so-you-figure-it-out kind of way).

Kind of like how I figured out how to love being on this float.