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 18: I Think I Got Used to Europe Being Weird

Well Blog, I just got off a Skype call with my favorite brother. And by favorite brother, I mean only brother. He certainly wasn't my favorite brother when we were growing up, but he's alright people these days. He doesn't go through my stuff and put my belongings in the toilet anymore, so I'll accept him for who he is.

Beyond that, today I got a pedicure and immediately went to the beach afterward to fulfill the one thing I do when I travel to anywhere with a beach:

I kept up tradition by writing Kerin's name in the sand at the beachfront in Praia.

And then it was time to see some sights!

"Ready to see some sights?!" Carly excitedly proclaimed.

Too bad we have terrible timing when it comes to venturing up mountainous hills to catch a glimpse of the island from above. Just as we parked the car at the top of Serra de Cume a pesky cloud came in to wreck the magical view; just like it did the last time I was here.

But right before it ruined my island vacation forever, I snapped this shot of a patchwork of fields.

Blog, have you ever had it where you're in one place and you're suddenly reminded of another place that is certainly not the place you are currently in? Like that one time my mom compared Venice to Fargo when she connected that both "had a flooding problem"?

Though she did embrace Italian culture by wearing a hot pink windbreaker on an 80 degree day.

Today that happened for but a brief moment when the road down the mountain was just narrow and drizzly enough to remind both Carly and I of England.



England.

Not England.

When this sort of thing happens, Europe no longer seems like this exotic, novel place. Maybe it's because I've been here for three weeks. Maybe it's because I've consistently been visiting for the past four years. I still love me some Europe, but it's not weird anymore. I mean, it's Europe weird and will always be Europe weird (i.e. why would eggs go in a refrigerator?), but it's not like "OMG every little thing about this place is unfathomably weird and strange and I can't comprehend it." It's just "Oh that's right. This is the place where people walk in the middle of the road with 40 mile an hour traffic. Also, refrigerated dairy? Not a thing."

Anyway, just an observation on my part Blog. It was a nice thing to realize I guess.

After some failed sight seeing and a failed attempt to attend Thirsty Thursday on base (also a place that I find strange but have gotten used to; as in "Oh, you want to go into this grocery store--err--commissary? Passport please. Also, you can't buy anything.", Carly and Casey and I played a nerdy zombie board game THAT WAS AWESOME!!! Of course I don't remember what it was called and I'm too tired to go into the living room to see what it's called, but it involved little action figures and dice and hero cards and a CD soundtrack. Play it, Blog. It's super fun.

With that, the Skype call with my brother (and adorable niece) drained most of my battery, so I'm signing off Blog. Only three more days left before I leave. Where has the time gone? Actually, I feel like I've been here for a long time. Probably because I'm on a tiny island that is full of grocery stores that card you and highways with pedestrians on them. Yay for overseas military!

Cat on purse. The only sensible thing that happened today.

Azores Day 13: A Disjointed Recap of the Last 27 Hours

Blog, it's the weekend and that means I've been doing some drunk writing lately. Last night I had a great time opening for Tommy and the Time Machine at Praia Rock Café with some Dirty Curls songs. Turns out Air Force people really like erotic bluegrass music. It felt good to get up and play in front of a (small) audience, but strange to be up there alone playing Court's awesome songs. They loved it though and there was even a Portuguese woman who wanted to take a look at the words to Suck a Ring. Low level international fame, here we come!

Carly was a documenting beast with her camera and snapped a few shots of my set along with me accepting an invitation to join backing up the main act themselves. I'm not used to rocking out so hardcore, so I kind of stood there for awhile with a drink. Worth it.

Pedro knows what he's doing. I do not.

But I think the Dirty Curls might have a few new fans on the island which is exciting. Also, there were kids in the audience. What is it with foreign countries that always attracts children to dirty comedy music audiences? At least here they didn't get upset about it. Portugal: 1, Mexico: 0.

I'm tired, otherwise I'd explain that scoreboard more. Frankly, there's not much more to say. Today Carly and I did some shopping in Praia and then we went out to eat at this restaurant called La Barca where I guess we were in the presence of some famous DJ (European I'm sure, so don't get too excited). Then we tried our hand at attending Vila Nova's summer festival but were discouraged when it started getting late and nothing seemed to be happening except for sporadic cannon bursts and random flag ceremonies.

My bored list of today's activities is indicating I need to go to bed. I'm still loving it here and am glad I have a week left. Also, I haven't been down to the ocean for a few days and it's a little weird. OMG. I'm becoming an islander. However...

"I feel naked without Courtney. Where is my comfort banjo?"

Azores Day 9: What's a Trip to Europe Without Some Language Barriers?

First things first Blog, when I say I'm going to take a picture of a cow, I actually take a picture of multiple cows. Case in point:

The ocean is a part of this because that's what the cows see when I'm not standing there causing herd befuddlement and taking pictures.

Livestock photography was just one small part of today's excursions. I also climbed on some rocks, got afraid of the tide again, and found out Portuguese people, like every other European, pretend they don't speak English until you try to speak their language and fail.

I've pretty much figured out how to navigate the landscape here. There are rocks to climb, waters to swim in, and pastures to hike across. None of these things, however, have taught me how to speak Portuguese. I don't know if there is anything in this world that can teach me how to speak Portuguese. It sounds beautiful, difficult, nonsensical, and like every single Latin-based language combined into one. Just when you think it's like Spanish, you find out it's more like French. Or Russian. Or none of these. And I guess the Portuguese get really offended if you try to speak Spanish to them because apparently the two have a history of not getting along. Also, I'll reiterate, Portuguese and Spanish are two entirely different languages.

I knew that fact even though I ended up speaking Spanish (poorly) today when I found myself in a tiny grocery store in search of eggs, milk, and, of course, wine. I don't even really know Spanish, but it's the only language that was ever even a little bit taught to me besides English. So when the two men who were lurking next to the wine started talking to me, I had nothing--I mean nothing--to say in their language. I didn't even know how to say hello in this language (it's ola) when I first got here. I mean, I knew how to say hello in Portuguese at the time of this interaction, but it wouldn't have made sense. The conversation had already been initiated. Ola wasn't going to cut it. After they kindly moved out of the way so I could look at the wine I said the only other Portuguese word I know: obrigada.

They were amused by this. I decided to try and instill their help since despite this grocery store's tininess, I couldn't find the milk. I had seen the word milk in Portuguese when Carly and I were at Biscoitos the other day. I remembered it was pretty much like the Spanish word for milk, leche. So I just went for it. "Donde es el leche?"

Shit. I was speaking (terrible) Spanish to Portuguese people. It's like you can't not do it.

But they were nice and could tell I was trying and that's when they pulled their European slight of hand and decided to whip out some English chops by telling me that the milk was right behind me. Of course it was. Why would it be in a refrigerator? That would make too much sense.

Beyond that, they helped me pick out some wine (from the mainland!) and ring up my things. Thanks Portuguese guys. You brought me out of my comfort zone and accepted me for the unilingual American I am. Except I was a little confused when everyone said ciao to me as I left. So we say goodbye like Italians?

So now I guess I know three words in Portuguese: ola, obrigada, and ciao (even though I already knew ciao from Italy, but whatever). Oh wait. Scratch that. I know a fourth: fodis which of course means fuck. Like Carly's husband says, you've got to learn the swears first. I don't know why, but it sounds like good advice so I'll go with it.

Azores Day 8: Awkward Beach II - The Tide Is In

Blog, I meant to ask Casey and Carly what the far-off booms are that I've been hearing throughout the evening, but they went to bed and I just realized that I'm not in America anymore. "Left-over Fourth of July fireworks" isn't a viable excuse here. Neither is "Portuguese people love celebrating our independence a month and a half late and on our behalf".

I guess it's just some weird Europe or Air Force thing that I don't know about. STORY OF MY ISLAND LIFE.

Another story from my island life is my excursion to the beach today. You might remember my first encounter with the Vila Nova beach from just a week ago. In case you don't, then you clearly have either a tragic case of amnesia or no interest in yourself Blog, both of which are disappointing situations. But fine, I'll baby you as I am wont to do and will sum up my last Vila Nova beach experience by saying that it was awkward. It was awkward because I overthink my existence when I'm alone in new and strange places and don't know how to just go into the goddamned water already.

But today, Blog. Today I found a nice spot that was both accessible to, and safe from the water. I set up camp and immediately made my way down to the stairs where last time I realized I didn't know the Portuguese word for hello (it's ola) when I encountered two ladies already in the water. Today it was just dudes in speedos and more small children running around on slick concrete. And today I knew what I needed to do. I walked down the stairs into the water and swam Blog. I swam for a full five minutes and then got scared that the ocean was going to kill me because the tide was high and water was flowing over the slick concrete and that kind of shit is just scary when you're literally from the geographic center of North America, ok? Besides I needed to write my morning pages for the Artist's Way even though by this time it was the afternoon. Whatever, Julia Cameron. I'm giving it my best shot.

The ocean can do things like DEVOUR CONCRETE STAIRS. Beware.

Despite all the self deprecation, it was a successful afternoon at the beach! Until it started raining and I was forced to pack up and walk back to the casa de McSwenny. But hey! I took a sweet scenery picture because that's what you do when you're on vacation, right?

Where Island Meets Ocean: A Love Story

Tomorrow? I'll probably take a picture of a cow. Get ready!

Azores Day 7: Not Every Day is an Adventure

Blog, I didn't take any pictures today because it was a lazy Sunday to the max. After saying goodbye to Jimmy and Trishell this morning, we went to the grocery store and then immediately returned to the casa de McSwenny where we proceeded to eat ice cream, watch movies, and nap. Sure Carly and I took a very scenic walk this evening, but I'm not going to bring a picture-taking machine with me on such an outing. No no. Just water for hydration and my mad rock climbing skills, yo. Don't worry, Blog. I have an entire day to kill tomorrow. I'll go for the same walk and get some scenic snaps of ocean and rocks and shit.

Also, reading the above paragraph makes me realize I'm starting to sound like Casey McKinney due to the ample amount of time I've been spending with him. Give me a week and I fear I'll be dropping f-bombs all up in here while trying to convince everyone that goats have x-ray vision.

Since there are no pictures, I'll leave you with a portion of the safety video they show you on the Portugal airplane before it flies you to an island that's full of livestock and good times. I realize this might be more appropriate to post when the end of my trip is approaching and I'm getting ready to fly away on the Portugal airplane, but it's worth posting now because I need someone to tell me why a Victorian-era woman is on this flight:

 

And if that wasn't enough, you can find all five weird and European minutes of it here. 

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 4: Running From Bulls

Alright Blog. Today I saw the one thing that Terceira is known for. It's obvious that Terceira is on the tips of everyone's tongues these days and those tongues are more than likely talking about the most exciting thing that this world has known ever in this universe ever and that is...

BULL AGGRAVATION!!

No, it's not running with the bulls like they do in Spain. No, it's not a bull fight with a matador and a red flag. NO it's not cow tipping.

It's simply what it sounds like. A bunch of (drunk) Portuguese men annoy bulls in the street and then run from their subsequent wrath.

Also, bull aggravation is very difficult to photograph.

I mean what else are you going to do on an island in the middle of the ocean to pass the time? There's livestock and streets and drunk Europeans all over the place. Might as well combine them all into one evening that is ruled by testosterone and adrenaline. It seriously was one of the more entertaining things I've witnessed and I'm secretly hoping that this happens again before I leave. What is it about a bunch of creatures with testicles pissing each other off in the streets that is so alluring? I know not, but hundreds of men, women, and children gathered to watch. Blood was drawn. I'm the entire tradition's newest fan.

OMG it was seriously so exciting I can't believe I'm falling for this ridiculous European pastime!

Everything else I did today pales in comparison. Sorry Carly. Lunch with you was great and I had a wonderful time eating questionable baked goods at the Biscoitos swimming hole, but bull aggravation Carly. BULL AGGRAVATION!



So hard to photograph, so fun to watch!



Azores Day 3: Oh That's Right... the Military

That's right Blog. Every trip overseas is made for a reason. Mine more often than not have to do with a particular branch of the military known as the Air Force. Today I spent a couple hours face to face with the intimidating Security Forces (keeping things secure!) while trying my hand at getting a base pass so I could do elaborate and secret military things like eat hot sandwiches and buy hair dye. Apparently I needed someone who was an E5 rank or higher (don't ask me what that actually means) to sponsor me so I can access these luxuries and apparently everyone who was at an E5 rank or higher (seriously, someone tell me who invented this system of ranking) was at some mysterious military welcome-something-or-other.

Or they were defending the freedom all of us civilians back in the states enjoy day in and day out without a second thought (by attending some welcome-something-or-other). Whatever.

After getting to know the airman who was airmanning the front desk that assigns base passes to random civilians like me, Casey finally showed up to sign a piece of paper that apparently gives me Lajes access for the next three weeks. Score! I'm totally going to hit up the BX and gorge myself on sparkling water and candy bars that I pay for in American dollars, just because I can. Well worth the wait, if you ask me.

Other than that weird adventure, today was full of cats, naps, lava rock, and Chicken House. Here's where I'd post a picture of Chicken House with a clever caption, but I was dumb and didn't snap a photo of it before we went in to eat. So all you get is Carly on some lava rock.

There's lava rock here because this island is basically a volcano that exploded millions of years ago. GEOLOGY.

Azores Day 2: Awkward Beach and Old Friends

Just like that, I've adjusted to the time change, Blog. All that sleep paid off and today I was able to take some time for personal reflection along with a nice jaunt down to the beach where I silently freaked out about which part of the swimming hole was best to explore. I was clearly the only American at this public access. While everyone else confidently navigated the concrete stairs that have been built into the rocky cliffs so as to access the Atlantic's chilly waters, I was awkwardly reading Kurt Vonnegut's Jailbird while watching the Portuguese dive into water that I eventually learned was not deep enough for even a belly flop (in my opinion anyway).

The cliffs distract you from the fact that all water in this photo is no more than 4 feet deep.

I love Europe because rules are a moot point here. There was a kid who was no more than four years old running around on the concrete, peering over edges that dropped an easy 15 feet down into frigid water that was well over his head. He was walking along rocks with waves splashing around him. He was pushing off the edge of the stairs to try out his puppy-like doggy paddle with no adult within reach. Sure there were lifeguards present, but they were occupied with trying to capture what I assumed was a jellyfish in another part of the swimming area.

After overthinking it to a maddening point, I finally just manned up and made my way down some stairs where there were a couple ladies around my age cooling off in the water. As I approached them I realized I had forgotten (or, fine, maybe I didn't know) the Portuguese word for hello, which is sad because it's ola. I awkwardly smiled as they blatantly judged and then decided to escape the entire situation by submerging myself in the cold and salty water.

Swim swim swim. Yes. This water was definitely only up to my rib cage. Why are full grown men diving into this head first from 15 feet above? Oh that's right. Europe doesn't have rules or a sense of preventative action. Anything goes! I'll bite if it means I can drink wine in the passenger's seat of Carly's island bomb car, which I can. No one is forcing me to dive into this ridiculously shallow water or flirt with poisonous jelly fish. No rules it is.

But the real highlight of my day was seeing this lady:

All I got was an action shot of nipple warfare in the car.

Megan Ramage White is on this island and we had dinner and it was the best. Old memories resurfaced and we reminisced about the good old days (and holy hell that entry I linked to above is so old, I was still nursing my wounds from my break up with Rob. ROB.). It's been four years since we've seen one another; a time that has been easily marked by her daughter's existence, who before tonight I met only once when she was a baby. She's four now and we had a lengthy conversation about her cat, Chicken and how she had all sorts of animals at her birthday party. I'm sad I'm away from home for so long, but am so happy I'm here for the next three weeks so I can be with these awesome people in this awesome place for an adequate amount of time.

Tomorrow we go to Biscoitos for more beach. This time I won't be alone so I'm hopeful my ability to exist in European society will be realized and executed.

Until then, I'm totally going to bed when I'm supposed to. Success!

I Tried to Avoid Spoilers, but Maybe Ignore This if You Haven't Seen the Most Recent Episode of Downton Abbey

Blog.

Downton Abbey.

W.

T.

F.

I haven't cared about a TV series in a very long time, and now I know why. IT IS AN EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER. Caring about fictional TV characters sucks. I'm depressed about make believe things, Blog. Make believe things that happened 90 years ago, 4,000 miles away. This has absolutely nothing to do with me, BUT OH HOW IT DOES.

A while back, I let you know about how Downton Abbey was a catalyst for me to feel feelings again (coincidentally on the same day I auditioned for the theatre I'm doing right now). It has since turned into an evening obsession since I realized I could successfully stream season 3 from the PBS website using various hotel wireless connections that prove to be better than what I have at home.

And then last night I realized season 3's finale was on PBS itself. On the actual TV, Blog. I watched it as myself and every other American who cares about fancy parties and servant snobbery began to HATE JULIAN FELLOWES FOR CREATING THIS DEVASTATING WEB OF LIFE AND DEATH THAT WE CAN'T QUIT.

Why'd you do it, Julian? Why?

Instead of feeling alive as I once did, I feel dead. Just like some of the cast, APPARENTLY.

Someone who watches this show, please come down to The South and hold me. Andy knows nothing about this. At least I got him into The Bachelor enough so we can bitch about Sean and the harem of waifs he's been whittling down over the last few weeks.

But Downton, Blog. WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN AT DOWNTON?!

I need to sleep now. Good night.

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

 

I Miss You, Minneapolis

I miss home, Blog. This isn't the first time I've been away from the place I live for a chunk of time, but it's the first time I've been away from a group of people who I tend to include in my every day life. I get that I left my mom and brother when I went to college way back in the day, but that's different. They were just down the road a couple of hours. I knew I could go back whenever I wanted. Plus, I had better things to do than sit in North Dakota and try to fit in with a culture I wasn't meant to fit in with.

I studied abroad in Europe for two months when I was a junior in college. I went the furthest from home I've ever been during that trip. I saw things I never thought I'd see. But I experienced the whole thing with an established group of friends; with people with whom I had cultivated friendships after I left my family in North Dakota. They were the people who are still some of my closest friends today. I got to bring home with me during that trip.

And while I'm still in the good ole USA, I feel far away from the things I love. Don't get me wrong, Blog, I'm totally happy with this decision. I'm not regretting it at all. Every day is different. I get to make kids laugh and I get to be on stage. I get to hang out with my old and dear friend Andy pretty much 24/7. We have numerous belly laughs every single day and have already collected a myriad of inside jokes that only we understand. "Do you remembah?" "Rob is requesting songs for us." and "What if the bands White Snake and Ratt played a concert together?" are daily quips that we throw at one another. Not to mention the whole "Moon Shadow" thing that happened over this past weekend with the acting buddies we saw.

But home is where the heart is and my heart is in Minneapolis. I knew this even before I left, but what I didn't realize is that there is a whole community of people there that I was just getting to know as I was packing my bags. Now my Facebook page is littered with status updates and event invites that I am unable to take non-cyber action on. All I can do is watch from a distance and know that I'll one day be back in the city that has everything I want. Friends and theatre and music and lakes and even a little bit of family. The South has been quite hospitable (people here are kind and curious and also bewildered by our accents) but it's not home. I don't do chicken and biscuits. I am afraid of the ocean (even though I love going to the beach) and call me crazy, but I'm feeling pretty weird about missing the cold snap that just happened. It made me realize that I've never missed a cold snap before. While it was a balmy 12 degrees in Minneapolis today, I took the liberty of running a couple miles outside this evening. Running outside in January is something I don't do. And while it was great and freeing and felt wonderful to exercise today, it's not home here. Home doesn't let me go outside with ease during this time of year, and if it does, it's a special day that everyone appreciates with a quaint insanity that causes them to rollerblade in short shorts even though it's still below freezing outside.

The Wizard of Oz was right. There's no place like home. March is going to both rush me and tease me with unemployment and the second round of best friends that I've made thus far. I'm looking forward to you, Minneapolis. Please hold a spot for me until I come back.

And when in doubt, put a cherry on it.

Hello From Terceira!

Blog, today I write to you from abroad! I am visiting my dear friend Carly this week and am simultaneously exploring the majestic Azorian island of Terceira. So far we have done many things like eat this delicious thing called alcatra, drink wine, catch up on old times, play with puppies, and ride in the back of a pick up truck to a club. It's been quite the adventure and there are still three days left! Including today, Cinco de Mayo, which will entail a party complete with a pinata. I'm also really hoping to see some bull aggravation along the way, but who knows if there'll be time for that.

I do believe this may be my first post to you from abroad, Blog. How fun! For as many times as I've flown over the Atlantic, I only have gotten the chance to write to you during the one time I've been dropped in the middle of it. Seriously. This island shit is crazy. Ocean views all the time. And we all know how I feel about the ocean...

I fear the ocean. It. Is. Right. Over. There.

It is right over there all the time. Because I'm on an island. An island surrounded by ocean. That's what makes it an island.

Also, I don't speak a lick of Portuguese. I thought maybe my really bad Spanish might be able to get me by, and it does when it comes to reading subtitles on the TV, but speaking this stuff? I asked a cab driver about 15 times how to say "thank you" and still said "thank you" as I exited the car. Oh well. At least I know how to get a plate of squid around here and if I'm honest, that's half the battle right there.

Squid.

It's Not That Great

Blog, I've been MIA for the latter half of April. I'm aware of this. I'm also aware of my reverting to the typical blogger tendency to acknowledge a rather lengthy absence. Luckily I had four posts in April. That's keeping up with my average, I do believe. I just got all of it out of the way during the first week of the month.

Ok. Enough with the posting about how I haven't posting. That's no fun to read.

Tonight I realized I could make my life sound fucking awesome if I wanted to. I have a cushy office job that pays me pretty well for the work I do and has regular hours. I love the people I spend my 40 hours a week with; they both challenge me and make me laugh every single day. I have this really great second job that not only brings in extra cash, but also is a gateway to free theater and fun parties with food and wine and chocolates and actors and crew and paper lanterns lighting up warm spring nights on a city balcony.

I have a quaint little apartment that has french windows decorated with paisley curtains. There's a fireplace filled with books and a gallery of friends' art on my walls. I have a cabinet stocked with wine and a fridge stocked with food. I take the train to visit my brother. I always have music in my ears. I can sing and play the guitar. I find myself sporadically going on auditions or performing in front of paying audiences. I'm asked to be a part of films here and there and every once in awhile I'll see someone I know on TV.

I live walking distance from a plethora of bars, restaurants and theaters; not to mention a grocery store. Half a block from the bus stop. Half a mile from a lake surrounded by multi-million dollar homes. I can walk down the street and not be surprised in the least to run into someone I know from some circle I'm a part of.

I'm like fucking Carrie Bradshaw sometimes with how I sip wine and sit in front of my computer in nothing but a towel, fresh out of the shower; save my image from riding around on the side of a bus all day long.

I've settled in the suburbs with a two car garage, dog, and fenced in yard. I've traipsed around the bars lending my mouth to any boy who was accepting of my drunken offers. I've gone on dates where doors were held and chairs were pulled out. Checks were taken care of and checks were split. I've been nervous, confident, cocky, and disinterested. I've felt beautiful more than I've felt unattractive and I think my wardrobe is alright; maybe even slightly above the fashionable average on a good day.

Sometimes I'll get into a routine where I do yoga and run on a regular basis. Other times I'll pass my evenings trying new recipes or eating ice cream while perusing the internet. I have close friends who are far away and because of this I'm starting to need my toes when it comes to keeping track of how many times I've flown across the Atlantic. My passport is filled with stamps from Europe and Mexico. I've been to Canada and both coasts. I've seen the northern lights and a meteor shower and the Swiss Alps...

Twenty four hours from now I'll be on yet another flight hanging over the Atlantic, preparing to land in a new country for me; Portugal. More accurately, the Portuguese islands known as The Azores. I've somehow managed to travel more than I ever thought I would. Make more money than I ever thought I would. Know more talented, amazing, inspiring people than I ever thought I would. I have a cute apartment, good health, and a glass of wine right in front of me. My bags are packed and I'm ready to get yet another stamp in that passport I got at a time when the only place I had ever been outside of the US was Canada.

And here I am barely holding in the tears because despite all of that "cool" shit I've just listed, at the end of the day I come home to an empty apartment and no one to share myself with. Reading through the self-involved vomit I've just spilled to you Blog makes me realize I'm an alright gal. I'm a catch. I've got a lot going for me. But that good feeling goes away when I know that those friends of mine have someone they love by their side every night. They have valid relationships and it makes me just want to throw all the parties and circles and performances and travel to the side because it's not important. It doesn't matter. It's just busy work until someone meaningful comes along.

The twelve year-old me would be blown away by who I've become. Sixth grade Samantha wanted nothing more than to travel and work in a skyscraper and live in a city doing important business with important people. Well Little Samantha, what you didn't know was that laying low and having a meaningful relationship with someone could have been just as, if not more fulfilling.

Of course, there's always the potential of a stay at home mom or settled down wife coming across this post and thinking that this life I lead is a fabulous one. You always want what you can't have, I guess.

To Portugal then.

Getting All Hipster With an Entry About Relevent Music...

I used to run along the edge of Lake Calhoun over the summer time, listening to The Current and watching the sun set. I would watch all of the couples and groups of friends walking and running and sitting and swimming in the hot summer evenings and would feel a dull and familiar jealousy take over. It was a hopeful jealousy and as I could feel it gnawing at me, I would look up to the sky at the airplanes overhead and daydream about the people they were carrying away from the city. I would wonder where they were going; who they were going to see; if they were crying or if they were happy. I'd lose myself in their made-up lives and compare my own anticipation with theirs. And it was a good anticipation. I was one of the happy passengers. I was going to be on one of those planes soon enough to see the person I would be able to walk and run and sit and swim with. I knew I wouldn't be alone for long.

But then something changed even though I didn't want it to. And one day after one of those planes had carried me back to this city, I looked up and my heart sank. A song I had never heard before came on the radio and the lyrics told me a truth I didn't want to believe. My gaze returned to the path in front of me and for the first time in a long time, the dull and familiar jealousy left me with an unfamiliar presence and calm.

This is that song:

The jealousy is back in full force now. It is no longer dull, it is no longer familiar. Instead it follows me; jabbing at moments that occur just when I think it's left me alone. I don't know what else to do but turn this song on its head and make myself believe that one day it won't be there anymore and that I'll be one of the hopeful and happy ones again. I am tired of this and I want it to be over.

Beau Meets Bro

Beau meets Bro, Blog. Beau meets Bro.

For New Years my brother and his wife Heather visited the city to live it up a bit and get away from the current boomtown that is Minot. It's all part of the novelty of them being back in the states and so much closer to us than they were when they were in Italy. This trip was a bit of re-assimilation for them since they haven't been out in a city setting pretty much since they've settled into their new North Dakota home. As a result, lots of crazy stories from their time in Europe came up since that's what they've been up to for the last four years.

That guy I'm dating found them to be quite entertaining. It's amazing how much fun little brothers can be in adulthood. Thank God he's not what he used to be when we were kids. New Years wouldn't have been as much fun had I known that he was going to go through my journal and embarrass me with his giant glasses and crooked teeth. Although he might have trashed up the NYE party we attended at a friend's house with his solo pick up game of "Excalibeer" which is pictured below:



Beau offered to be Bro's "Tape Guy". I think they bonded. No pun intended.

 Slight embarrassment aside, I can't help but think that the guy I'm dating might actually be considered my boyfriend now since he has met family members... and he liked them.



Even if this is happening.

  That guy and I even went to see this movie on Sunday night where we in turn decided that there were too many knowing glances and not enough character name drops to completely understand what the hell was going on. But we knew that Peter was gay. Peter was gay and his homosexuality had absolutely nothing to do with spies and the Cold War. Luckily my hopes for this actor to make an appearance once I realized that the show was full of English dudes came to fruition about an hour in; and that alone made the entire experience worthwhile.

Despite my celebrity crush, I was pretty happy that I got to kiss this guy as we rang in the New Year:



♥



Triple J and My American Friends

Blog, my go-to friend and nearly constant companion Kerin, is leaving for Australia on Friday. Well, I guess technically she'll be flying to LA on Friday night, but from there on Saturday she'll be hopping on a plane across the Pacific to the land where "it all started" (as she likes to put it). What started there? Why her relationship with her now husband of course. Though Kerin is from Boston, she lives here in Minneapolis because he is from here. And because she met him on a study abroad trip in Australia in 2004, she took a giant leap of faith to be with him in a land that, to her, is almost as strange as where "it all started". Since she's taken the plunge of becoming an east coast girl who resides in the Midwest, we've become incredibly close friends who finish each others' sentences and eat lunch together every day. That guy I'm dating might also be her husband's distant relative, but who's really keeping track of just how much our lives are intertwined at this point...

Not me.

Anyway, one bit of knowledge that Kerin has taught me about the land down under is the existence of Triple J, Australia's version of England's Radio 1. What's Radio 1? Well, it's England's radio station of course. Imagine if the States had a radio station that expanded across our purple mountain majesties and amber waves of grain and this radio station played magical music that was more than just Rihanna's We Found Love every ten minutes and bad jewelery commercials. Imagine that you could call into this radio station no matter if you were in Seattle, or San Antonio, or Tallahassee and when you call in, you talk about silly things like what makes a good name for an uncle or the giant hamburger you ate at McDonalds. And you can share that with the rest of your country all while fun and exciting music plays in between the little conversations you have with the Dj's. And everyone is friends. Everyone is radio friends who listen to fun music and talk about hamburgers. Why America? Why don't you have the Triple J of the New World? I know I just wrote about how I love you and how it makes me happy to be here, but your approach to radio needs an improvement.

At least there's MPR...

I digress. This Triple J has become somewhat of an addiction for me. Especially in the morning at work since I like to mindlessly listen to music and radio Dj's can be distracting what with their talk of uncles and such. But remember Blog, this is Australia. When it is morning time for me, it is the middle of the night for them, so they don't really have a lot of Dj babble. They just have fun Australian (and UK and US and European) music with the occasional Dj being all "it's 4 am, WTF are you doing up at this hour?"!

And next week when I'm listening to the "Mid Dawns" on the "J" (as I've nicknamed it), I'll be thinking of Kerin and Nick on their honeymoon, revisiting their old Aussie haunts that brought them together so many years ago. Only they won't be reminiscing as I listen in the morning time. They'll hopefully be sleeping and getting rest for the bright and sunny summer day that lies ahead of them. I'll miss them both, especially since Kerin is such an installment in my life, but I think it's such a lovely bookend for them at this point to revisit the place where they met in the form of a honeymoon. And by "bookend" I mean one of those decorative ones that you'd put in the middle of a line of books on a shelf. I don't want this to be the last time they visit the weirdest continent on the planet.

OMG! Drinking wine and blogging about my friends is totally making me tear up. I love you guys!

Americans in England

Thought: I was walking in the skyway the other day, Blog, and I had a flash of a memory from the last time I was in London. It was an odd memory because it was at a point in my trip over there where I had been the only American for a good week or so and had settled into the fact that no one else around me was from where I was from. And then I went to London where the moment I got on the tube, I noticed there were Americans all around me. I felt both very much at home and oddly disappointed that I wasn't the only American anymore. I found myself wanting to start up conversations with my brethren just for the comfort of knowing that they'd understand the joys of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and 30 Rock. At the same time, I felt like I had to share England with them. Like, what are you doing here? I'm the American who is in England right now. You guys aren't supposed to be here because you're not from here. Only English people are in England. I understand that is a ridiculous thing to think and feel, but I'm just going to chalk it up to the little bit of culture shock I had taken a week to absorb and appreciate by that point.

We're the ones wearing not black.

Anyway, it was a really random memory to have as I was in the skyway headed into the Wells Fargo building in downtown Minneapolis. There is really nothing reminiscent of London or England in that particular place, but I guess sometimes memories just happen to us completely unprompted. If anything, it made me appreciate that I am in the place where I am from and that even though our American culture isn't always lauded or apparent (to us anyway), it is more of a part of me than I ever realized before. It feels good to belong somewhere.

The bright, spacious, and clean New World. No wonder we're cocky about this.

I Don't Think I Even Like Oysters; Nonetheless...

How silly of me to be thinking on the bus ride into work today that I had nothing to write about to you, Blog. No sooner had I arrived at my cubicle this morning, my long-faced supervisor asked me if I had heard. I hadn't, but I knew exactly what he was talking about.

Time to freak out about job security.

At least this time they decided to surprise us with the news instead of notify us a week before anything actually happened. I only lost my appetite for a couple hours this morning until I was reassured that once again, my position is safe. I have once again avoided being laid off.

However, this whole experience of feeling like I'm going to lose my job twice in the span of one year is not for me. My response to my supervisor this morning was made with teary eyes and a statement that blatantly summed up how I no longer have any desire to work here. It's not worth it. Online education is a fad that has come and gone. Everyone knew it all along that the self motivation required to sustain a student through an online degree program is hard to come by. Retention isn't in the cards for online school. Or maybe it is, but I just am not innovative enough to see it at this point.

The best and worst part of this is that I don't know where to go from here, but I know I get a chance to discover it. Once again the world has become my oyster; really it was mine all along. I seem to have briefly forgotten that since I last returned from Europe. I had goals that ended up fizzling away and I didn't bother to replace them. I don't like that. I'm going to have to take some sort of action here, even if it is small, so I can feel like I'm actually worth something in my day to day life.