Azores Day 22: Bye

Well, I cried multiple times today Blog. There are pictures on cameras thousands of miles away that I will post once I receive them. Until then, I've decided that I hate airports. They are places where people who mean lots to each other have to say goodbye and that's just the worst.

It's even worse than the worst.

My last days on the island were kind of scattered. I played more Dirty Curls songs at Praia Rock on Saturday night and it was a success. Characters who I'd gotten to know on the island came out just to see me play. There was the German guy who wore his shirts half unbuttoned so the chain around his neck mingled with his chest hair (I know, right?!). It was so European I couldn't even stand it but it was so European there was nothing to do but accept it. There was Baby Shaw and the Sutherlands and a certain Senior Airman who has taken a particular liking to me. There was Sergio and James the African and Roberts. There was a vet who writes poetry and a couple from base. And of course Carly and Casey. Alabama Dannon bought obscene amounts of beer for everyone. Dale sipped on a straw that wasn't even in a drink. There was a four year old Portuguese girl who danced to Joe Biden like it's been her jam years. Courtney, your songs are a hit with the kids.

Earlier on Saturday Carly and I spent the afternoon at Quatro Ribieras where we were hit on by 13 year olds who whistled repeatedly at us and said random things like "I like boobs". Then they threw themselves off the cliff into the water so we would be impressed. As per usual we were horrified.

We even bought ice cream from the mysterious blue-eyed surfer man at the snack stand where they have my favorite novelty: the oddly-named Choco Clack.

One Choco Clack please.

Sunday entailed more Quatro Ribieras with Carly and the certain SrA who has taken an interest in me. We invited him to dinner. With Megan. He said yes, and we were once again horrified.

This was not the worst thing she did to him.

The man is a fucking champ.

And then there was today where I cried. I cried because I have really, really, really great friends who I love and are like family to me and they live far away from me all the time. The worst part is, I don't know when I'll see them again. I don't even know where I'll see them again. It could be here in the States, it could be in Europe. It could be in the winter or the summer. It could be me seeing them or them seeing me. I don't know anything other than the fact that one will more than likely need to fly on a plane to get to the other. People are always saying goodbye to each other and crying about it and it's always happening at airports. They're the worst.

Then again, my sister in law was reunited with her family yesterday and it involved an airport and tears--the happy kind.

Mom? Is it really you?
(Thanks to Justine Conover for the photo!)

I'm not in the military, but sometimes I feel like it with all the saying good bye I have to do. How did I end up with so many military things in my life, Blog? On one hand it's cool to have access to places like England and Italy and little Portuguese islands in the Atlantic, but on the other hand those places are all far away and are where my friends live. Lame.

So now I'm here at Logan International in Boston awaiting my flight back to Minneapolis. I keep thinking people are either Portuguese or in the Air Force when they are clearly neither. I'm annoyed with the conversations I overhear because I can understand them. I looked out the window at the street for a full 30 seconds and was overwhelmed by the advertising I saw. Welcome to America.

Home is home though, and it'll be nice to focus on my life in Minneapolis. I don't know what I'm doing there Blog, but I should probably stop avoiding whatever it is by hanging out at beautiful swimming holes and drinking caipirinhas with my friends from college. Time to be a responsible grown up. I think I see a bar over yonder that serves wine. Here's to reality!



Hey Blog! Stay tuned for some highlights of my trip (because why would I ever want to read 20 entries of detail when I'm looking back on this part of my life?) including a shout out to Praia Rock Café and the United States Air Force and more pictures that I've already forgotten about since I've taken them.
 

Azores Day 19: The Fernando Island Tour

Blog, tonight was the "Fernando Island Tour". Basically, I rode in a Suburban with quote: "Portugal's only redneck". That would be Fernando:

This is Fernando.

It is 4:30 in the morning here. An ungodly hour that is begging me to sleep, so I will give you this short rundown of the Fernando Island Tour.

Fernando has this Suburban that he got when he was living in the States, but brought back with him to the Azores. So now he'll pile his American Air Force friends into it and drive them around the island to little dive bars that you'd never think to go to otherwise all while blasting stand up by Larry the Cable Guy. I wish I were kidding about the choice of comedian there, but it's true. Thick southern redneck humor blared out the windows as we maneuvered our way to Angra for dinner. I drank Azorian honey flavored moonshine and ate a fish that still had its eyes attached to it. All in all, it's been a good night. One of those where you stop and ask yourself how you got into this particular situation.

For instance, why are we fake-eating bad taxidermy in a fluorescent-lit bar?

Azores Day 10: My Love/Hate for the Ocean Grows

It was a perfect beach day, Blog. I perused two swimming holes; one where I "almost died" and another that has proven to be my favorite despite it being the location of where my phone was ruined the last time I was here.

Tides, man. I just can't get over them.

 I "almost died" because a wave knocked me back onto some rocks at the Vila Nova swimming hole pictured above. My fear of the ocean is so great, that when I see it coming for me with all its might, I am paralyzed with fear and do things like fall over on to sharp rocks and scrape my knee. To be fair, I would have been fine had the people hogging the railing let a tourist through, but alas, I was left with nothing to grab onto and thousands of gallons of water coming at me, bro. Blood was drawn, but in the end I survived. Obviously. Because I went to another swimming hole afterward.

Swimming hole #2 has a name I can't remember and a vendetta against my phone.

Though I lost a phone that is more expensive than my car the last time I was at this locale, I have to admit it's my favorite swimming hole on the island (so far). Sure the pictures just make it look like a bunch of concrete was poured on some rocks, but this place is the bomb. The accessible water was clear and deep today as we showed up at high tide. Kids were diving off of the high cliffs into narrow channels and Carly and I even were brave enough to jump off a ledge a few times into the really really salty (seriously is the Atlantic more salty than other salty bodies of water?) water.

When I was here in May of 2012, this was the place where Carly and I foolishly forgot about the moon's gravitational pull on our planet's oceans as we left our belongings on what we thought was dry ground and went off exploring all the rocks and shit that this awesome beach has to offer. After a short 15 minutes we returned to find our stuff all but washed away by the incoming tide. Turns out salt water is the absolute worst thing to happen to an iPhone and I lost all 300 pictures I had taken during my previous four days on the island.

The whole ordeal might be a little bit why I'm so thoroughly documenting my second time visiting this obscure place. Also, I doubt I'll ever be back here again.

Well, today Carly and I made sure we stayed far away from the water with our belongings. But that didn't stop us from drinking tiny beers and standing on a ledge with Portuguese people flying, flipping, and diving into the water all around us. Carly almost got hit by a child in a speedo. It was the best thing I witnessed all day.

That's all for today. I've turned into a total beach bum who fears the ocean. Tomorrow should entail sewing (what?!), more Air Force fun with Thirsty Thursday, and a game called Bunko. I'm somewhat excited.

Azores Day 6: More Lajes Lady Love

Blog, I can't even deal with how much fun the Lajes ladies are. Tonight we had a three hour dinner where we were that table. Luckily we were quarantined in our own that table room, so we weren't too much of a distraction for everyone else. Jokes that rank pretty explicit and ridiculous on the explicit and ridiculous scale dominated the evening (all I'll say is "glory hole room") and I laughed more than I have since I've been here, minus the rapper-video dance montage we did at the beach yesterday. Basically we act like obscene 13 year olds and it's the best thing ever because we can drink wine while we're doing it.

And though dinner was delicious and highly entertaining, it was also bittersweet. The whole loud American outing was part of a goodbye to Jimmy and Trishell who fly away in the morning. They've been stationed in Salt Lake City, Utah and are on their way stateside tomorrow. I've just gotten to know Trishell for the few days I've been here combined with the few days I was here last year, but it's easy to see that she's a huge part of this group of friends and will be sorely missed. Saying goodbye to good friends just part of the Air Force I guess. That's what my sister in law says anyway. And she knows what's what because she's Guam-ing it right now and is about to say goodbye to island life herself. Of course all of us back home are looking forward to her return; including my badass niece who is her direct spawn and a miniature version of her. But there's something to be said for the bonds that you make abroad. If you find your niche, you don't want to leave it because you all are in this weird place together and you grow from that experience. I guess all you can do is look ahead to the new friends you'll make in the new places you'll live. It's almost as if the military makes you go through being a freshmen in college every few years, just to keep you on your toes. Reason number 573 why I never joined. Gross.

But, the friends have been made and the times have been had and you can't change that. Especially tonight when we all were around the table flopping our arms on the table and laughing so hard at the inside jokes that were being born before our eyes that all we could do was take another sip of wine and laugh some more.

Yeah, Blog. It's sappy I know. Maybe it's because I'm drunk again (Megan and I might have shared two bottles of wine; you do the math (meth?). Maybe it's because I'm saying goodbye to some really great people who I don't want to say goodbye to in the morning. Maybe it's because this trip so far has been a great opportunity to hang out with friends who I've known for a good ten years now. And they're not just friends at this point; they're family.

This is just scratching the surface.

Azores Day 5: Island Lady Friends

Real quick, Blog. I'm drunk and I hung out with these ladies all day (hence me being drunk; I don't do this on my own).

Lajes goodness at its best.

Like I said, I'm drunk. And it's late (for this time zone anyway) so I'm going to bed. I just didn't want to miss a day blogging. Even if it's just a quick "hey look at this awesome group of island girlfriends I have". That's right Blog. I don't mind bragging about my friends. Because they're awesome and salty and sunburnt because we all hung out at the beach today. Yes this is a surfacey "my life is awesome" post, but I truly feel lucky that I can go to a (seemingly) random island and end up with a solid group of lady friends to hang out with. I might as well show my gratitude for it via the internet.

I'm being bold putting a bikini picture up because I'm drunk and everything is a good idea right now.

Bye!

Weird Sleep

Blog, I am unnerved as to the time at which I got out of bed today. I'm no early-riser; I never have been. 10 am is a perfectly acceptable time to start the day in my opinion. But this morning when I rolled over to see what the damage was to this cool and cloudy weekday, I was shocked to learn that it was no longer morning. It was 1:45.

"Where's the other 1?", I groggily thought to myself, thinking that it surely must at least be before noon. It wasn't.

I wasn't drunk last night. I wasn't up incredibly late to where it would make sense to sleep well into the afternoon. By my calculations, I got a solid twelve hours in. That's weird, Blog. I don't sleep for eras of time.

I think this weird sleep marathon I accidently took part in had something to do with the weird actor's nightmare I was having for what seems like a decade. I won't get into details, because I fear becoming a dream rambler, but the responsibility of sharing the role of Macbeth with two other actors paired with the frustration of my script being halfway made up of baby clothes kept me focused on  thinking I could solve the dilemma of getting the lines into my eyesight, when really the witches just kept on with their scene without paying any heed to the fact that one of the leads hadn't memorized her lines due to them being made out of fleece.

Gross. I hate dreams.

Despite the wasted day and awful dream-explaining I just did, this week started out with me feeling very depressed and alone and has somehow blossomed into a generator of opportunities. I've had some nice theatre and acting breakthroughs. I saw good friends and played lots of music. And starting tomorrow, I'll be hanging out with a giant dog named Duncan. I'm still poor and it's cold in my apartment and I could use another job and a regular sleep schedule, but it's all ok. At least I'm not living that stupid nightmare where I'm playing the role of Macbeth. Plus the plethora of time at my disposal has allowed me to master this nonsense because I do whatever Kerin tells me to do.

So I'm going to do that and probably drink some wine so I can tucker myself out after a whole 8 hours of being functional today. Slow it down Veldhouse, you over-achiever, you.

Wine Is Important, Ok?

Sometimes I think my drinking habits have gotten out of control, Blog.

Case in point: Last week I was staying in a smoky and less-than-adequate Super 8 motel in Bellmawr, New Jersey. The "less-than-adequate" description is due to the shoddy housekeeping we had over the 8 evenings we slept on mattresses with cigarette burns in them. No biggie though. As long as I have clean towels and cups.

But last Wednesday night I didn't have a cup. It was that time of the night where I was turning in to watch The L Word and all I needed to make the evening perfect was a nice cup of wine to accompany all the lesbian sex that was about to happen in front of me. As I fired up the old Netflix and got myself ready for bed, I noticed that housekeeping hadn't kept up with the house enough to provide us with a fresh supply of plastic-wrapped hotel cups. I wish I could say normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but when it comes to wine and The L Word, it's a big deal. Honestly, lesbians aside, it's a big deal. I need a receptacle in which to carry my wine. If I don't have a receptacle in which to carry my wine, it's a big deal. Basically Blog, wine in an accessible container is a big deal to me and if that container is not accessible, than shit gets real.

Did I repeat that enough for you? I didn't? I need to put my wine in something so as to consume it, Blog. I don't know if you got the memo.

I had just spent the evening applying for several jobs for when I returned to Minnesota and therefore was in problem-solving mode. Sure problem solving looks good on paper and is easily talked up in a cover letter, but there is a fine line between corporate genius and homeless remedy, Blog. Last Wednesday I was both proud and humbled with what I can only attest to as my mad problem-solving skills in association with my alcohol consumption.

Because I am poor and was living out of a hotel room, I was eating a lot of what is known as Easy Mac. Easy Mac comes in a small plastic bowl that serves both as a cooking device and a dish out of which to eat. I had consumed Easy Mac earlier that evening and had discarded the bowl in the bathroom garbage (which had been miraculously changed by housekeeping that day). I remembered this as I frantically searched our room for a container that would hold my wine. The thought of digging through the trash for a plastic bowl lined with heavily processed and dried cheese made me feel like I should just get it over with and write "Anything helps, God bless" on a piece of cardboard and man the nearest street corner. But I pushed through my reservations and rifled through the bathroom garbage for my prized plastic bowl.

Granted, there was absolutely nothing else in that trash can. I admit I'm being a little dramatic about the whole thing. But really, it's an ironically sobering moment when you find yourself taking microwavable trash out of a garbage so you can recycle it as a wine glass.

And that is what I did and it worked. I had my glass of wine and my Netflix too. Was it worth it? Yes. I washed that shit with some hand soap and a wash cloth and hoped for the best. And the best happened as the lesbians figured out their respective relationships, hookups, and mistakes. I got a little buzzed and Andy slept soundly in the bed next to me. I'm not a lesser person of this. No. I'm a brilliant person because of this. I feel like I should put this on my resume as an example of making a hopeless and dire situation into something that is full of promise and wonder. If a potential employer can't see the success in that, then I don't know who can.

"Why didn't you just drink the wine out of the bottle, Samantha?"

Because, Blog. That wine was in a box. And I'd rather drink it out of a washed plastic microwave bowl that's been in the trash for most of the evening than succumb to the awkward neck positions that would have to happen if I were to finagle the spout above my mouth only to end up dousing my entire face in sweet red alcohol. No, Blog. I'll play it safe and drink wine out of glorified garbage, thank you.

With that, here's a song I like and find appropriate purely for its title:

Valentine Karaoke

It is the day of love, Blog! So obviously I'm going to be writing to you: my one true love... so far.

Last night we were conveniently within half an hour of our touring friends Erin and Leslie, so naturally we went out to a karaoke bar for some good times. I was especially up for it since we didn't have a show until 11 this morning. Usually we're getting up early for this job, but every once in awhile you get lucky. Like when you get a surprise three-day weekend because it's President's Day on Monday. What?! I know!

Anyway, we were out last night doing our thing in a South Carolinian karaoke bar when a very sweet townie (who didn't know what townies are because apparently they're not a thing in The South) promptly fell in love with me as I croaked out my rendition of Hit Me Baby One More Time to the 11 people who milled around the bar. Maybe it was my terrible Britney impression that caught his eye. Maybe it was my Northern demeanor (whatever that is). But this guy was all about me and when he wasn't chatting me up, he was chatting with Andy to see what I was all about; which I'm just now realizing, is an aloof ball of nerves and jokes.

Dating isn't something that is really possible on tour, so when you meet a nice guy who takes a genuine interest in you, it's a little bittersweet. And the knife is twisted when you're about to ring in the Valentine holiday and suddenly roses are being sold to your suitor. So he buys one. For you.

Sometimes you don't realize how long you've gone without something until you've got it again. When he sheepishly handed me the single red rose, it became clear to me that it has been years (years) since I have received anything floral from anything male. Whoa. I accepted it because I didn't know what else to do. It was like the average-looking-people version of The Bachelor. I made it to the next week of tour, Blog! I'm going to Winston-Salem!

I wasn't drinking because I was driving. Responsibility! So because I didn't have copious amounts of alcohol flowing through my blood, I felt uptight about the whole situation even though I was having a good time. He was perfectly nice and sat at our table the entire evening. He wasn't drunk, even though I thought he was because he had a serious drawl. Like, seriously serious I can't understand what you're saying because you're talking at .2 miles per hour*.

To be fair, he didn't know what I was saying half the time because I was talking "too fast". If anything, it wouldn't have worked out because of the language barrier alone.

Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that my interaction with this perfectly nice southern gentleman (I think that's what they call them down here) taught me that I'm actually happy without a Valentine. Last night I got to know a nice and attractive guy who took a genuine interest in me, but at the end of the evening I made a point to keep my contact information to myself.  I was uptight about it because right now I'm content with what I've already got. I also might have turned him down because, oh I don't know, he lives in South Carolina and I have absolutely no plans to ever go back there.

But honestly Blog, it hasn't always been this way on this day of love. That's why I'm telling you (and the rest of the internet) about it.

Happy Valentine's Day**! Whether you've got someone or not, you've always got yourself, so make sure you're loving you. That sounds like a sad pat-on-the-back a single girl like myself says to make herself feel better. But you have to admit, Blog. There's truth to it.

*Fun fact: When southern people get really, really drunk for real, it's even more difficult to understand them. I learned this when a "cowboy" came over to our table, highly intoxicated, and proceeded to make vowel sounds and then kind of say the word "Florida". It was one of those moments in life where all you can do is sit there and wonder how the hell you got yourself into the situation at hand.

**Also happy birthday to my dear friend Kerin! She's out of her 20's y'all! She's also going to hate that I used the word "y'all" in her birthday wish. OH NO! IT'S RUBBING OFF ON ME!

Super Sweet Birthday Post

Another year of life lived, Blog! I always try to post a little somethin' somethin' on my birthday, and this year is no different. I ended last year's entry with an optimistic "I'm going to try and make 28 the best I can make it." Even though I fell into a weird winter funk shortly after that, I feel like I eventually got my ass in gear and made some really scary but exciting decisions. I learned that when you say yes to stuff, you can end up in an elementary school with a bunch of 3rd and 4th graders singing happy birthday to you. And then you can end up at a Pizza Hut afterwards, gorging yourself on the lunch buffet. And then you can go on a lovely walk with your tour partner in the sunshine and point out how you happen to be wearing all black and standing in front of a high school taking a picture. Oops. And then you can spend the afternoon perusing Facebook and all the lovely people you know who took the time to wish you a happy birthday. And then you can talk on the phone with your friends. And after that you can go roller skating and not fall even once! But afterwards while you're watching The Bachelor special, your legs start feeling a little weird because roller skating is something that you don't really do... ever.

What I'm trying to say, Blog, is that I had a really great birthday today. And I didn't drink any alcohol whatsoever! That makes me sound like a lush, doesn't it. But let's face it, Blog. I'm usually going to have a drink of some sort when there is cause for celebration. Being an adult is fun, but doing kid things (like an impromptu foot race across a roller skating rink) can also be fun.

So now I'm in the last year of my twenties. Frankly, they've been all over the place. I've earned a bachelors degree, and have moved from what I once thought was a city (that would be Bemidji) to Minneapolis. I stumbled through three long-term relationships only to continue to stumble through dating. I've gotten stuck in an office job, yet traveled to more countries than I could have ever imagined (I've never imagined traveling to vast amounts of countries, for the record, it's been like 6). I've shunned playing music for years only to join a band within the last six months. I feel like I've figured it out over and over again and now am realizing I probably never will. I can only do what I want to do to the best of my abilities, which are growing because I've putzed around so much in my twenties. I guess that's what they're for. To one more year of putzing! Then shit gets real.

Putzing = Overly Posed Skating

 

So Far, I Like 2013

Happy New Year Blog! So far 2013 has been superb. I had my first rehearsal with the NTC today and had a tough time believing that running around yelling about conserving energy and electricity has become my new job. I get to do it again tomorrow. And the next day and the day after that and even the day after that. I'll be doing it until March. It will become just like any monotonous job, but it will be one based in the things I love (that would be primarily the theatre arts, but I'm also a fan of energy conservation I guess). And then I will get to come back to this wonderful city that I love more and more each time I return to it. Tonight I walked along Lyndale Avenue and realized there have been a number of stages I've been on in this city. It's nothing out of the ordinary and I know a plethora of people who have done more than I have here, but for me it's a personal best. Even though I've been here for a solid six years, I still appreciate the novelty of living in Minneapolis. It's still a city to me, even though the social circles I run in can be sometimes painfully small. Perhaps it's the perfect mix of city and small town that has made me fall in love with it.

Perhaps I'm gushing over Minneapolis because I missed it after I came back from I like to call "mini tour" with my tour family where we visited five states in five days and spread ridiculous comedy to the masses. I saw enough stand up comedy to last me the rest of 2013 on this tour, Blog. I feel like I've been capitalizing on my burnt-out reaction to this. Though I also feel like I've been spending a somewhat obscene amount of time with comedians since I've been back, so it's to be expected. I've found that they are, very appropriately, easy to make fun of. There are many of them and each one thinks they are the shit. It's kind of amazing. It also kind of makes me want to take the microphone out of their hands and hit them over the head with it because, frankly, I'm sick and tired of hearing their exasperated breathing amplified over your general bar chatter as they lead into yet another joke about how sorry of a person they are.

Sure that sounded really mean, Blog, but that's how comedians roll. They like to poke fun at not only the mundane moments life has to offer (I mean what IS up with this box of wine I've been drinking? Can we get some class in this glass?), but also each other... I think. And while I'm no stand up (read previous paranthetical joke to find out why), I might as well enjoy the amusement I get out of making fun of people; especially if they're into making fun of other people themselves.

With that, I leave this great place that is crawling with comedians for two months on Friday. A week from now I'll be sharing a wonderful evening with good friends Will and Andy in Chicago; preparing for a drive to Appalachia the next day.

Remember a few weeks ago when I had a maddening desk job, Blog? Yeah, me neither.

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.

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.

Bye!

Sam

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

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...

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.

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.

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.

Fuck.

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.

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.

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.

Tonight I Meet My Past

Blog, I leave for my high school reunion in half an hour. Well, technically I just leave for home in half an  hour. The home that is North Dakota. The home that I used to hate and grew to love. Now I'm scared of it because my classmates are going to be lurking around the quiet streets of Finley. Only the streets this weekend won't be quiet. They'll be filled with parties and bands and parades and events. It is Finley Days, Blog. And the class of 2002 is going to be making an appearance.

Not all of us, of course, but more than I thought would ever get together for a reunion. I honestly didn't even think we had it in us to organize one. I certainly wasn't going to head up anything. I guess that's what we get for having a guy like Brad graduate with us though. He's bought up all of Finley over the past ten years and now has invited us to reconvene in the place we all have in common. I'm tempted to take furious notes the entire time so I can recount every oddity, forgotten memory, and sick gut feeling I experience. I'm also petrified that I will for some reason be called out as the weirdo I was in high school and embarassing memories will surface. I never belonged with them. I have a feeling I still don't.

Still, three things I have now that I didn't have then are experience, social skills, and the ability to drink alcohol. I plan to use all accordingly. I also have learned how to shop for clothes that fit me, embrace my curly hair, put on make up, and be comfortable in my own skin. But what is it about those you spent your adolescence with being the ultimate keepers of every insecurity you've ever had? I feel like want to prove something to them, but at the same time I don't care. I'm honestly going because I was going to Finley Days anyway. And I'm curious. I'm curious to see how far I've come since those days when I was made fun of because I was weird. I still am weird, but I'm ok with it now. I want to see how that weirdness translates to those who knew me during my formative years now that we're adults.

Basically this boils down to "blahdiddy blahdiddy blah blah blah I'm going to my ten year reunion and feel just like everyone else who ever went to a ten year reunion blahdiddy blah".

Time to drive to North Dakota so a rendition of this can happen:

There we are. Primed and ready to get out there and make huge mistakes.

Late Night Thoughts

Blog. I am doing ok. I am happy. I think I'm figuring out what I need in my life. Creativity. Friends. Activity. Adventure. Genuine experiences. These things may seem obvious, but for awhile they have been anything but. I hope I can ride this high for as long as it will let me be a passenger. It is easy to get caught between four very close walls that obstruct your view of what is out there. But take the time to build a door, even if you don't know how, and you can make your way out and into a new and exciting and satisfying world.

Yeah, I've probably had this sort of an epiphany before, and who knows how long this will last, but I can only make the most of it and acknowledge it to you Blog. Recently there has been a phrase that I've keep close at hand, especially for those times when I feel totally inept and stupid and out of my league:

"Do it because you love it"

Don't do it for any other reason. If you love it, do it. Unless you're Jeffrey Dahmer and love killing animals and young boys, then maybe hold back and figure your shit out. But if it's a healthy hobby like writing or knitting or trivia or cars or golf or anything constructive, do it. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, because if it did, you wouldn't have the innate free will that drives you towards whatever it is you love to do.You wouldn't have the unbearable guilt and regret that takes over your conscious when you turn to other "more practical" activities. You wouldn't have that exhilarating ecstasy flood not only your mind, but your soul, when you make yourself available to the malicious jaws of failure and self consciousness only to come out on the other side unscathed; better, even. You are more at ease and confident in that one thing; that thing that is in your life for no other reason than the fact that you love it. And the only reason you do it, is because you love it. And the ecstasy you feel comes from experiencing that thing you love.

One thing I've learned is that if I love it, I fear it as well. This is experiences, people, and things for me. It's because love is an incredibly vulnerable feeling and vulnerability is a scary thing. But if you overcome that scary feeling and go for it, you fall even more in love. I might not have been able to go there with the people in my life, but at this point I'm determined to do it with the experiences, arts, crafts, and creativity that is out there. We are all made to love (except for Jeffery Dahmer and probably Ted Bundy too) and we should tap into that whether it be in our relationships, careers, interests, or callings. If you're lucky, it could be all of those things.

For now I'm going to do my best to surround myself with inspiring people, promising plans, and alcohol. Because in the end alcohol lets down our inhibitions enough so we can conquer that fear and everything else that goes along with it.