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 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 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.

My Yearly Fringe Post: 2013

I didn't write in July, Blog. I didn't do it. It's the first whole month I've missed blogging-wise in several years. I'm sure your Blog-heart is broken, as I know mine is. There's only one way to come back from the tragedy, Blog. It's time for my yearly Fringe post.

What's my yearly Fringe post, you ask? Why, you can take a look at what I had to say last year to get an idea. Basically I've fallen into this habit where every August I express my complex and conflicted feelings about the Minnesota Fringe Festival to my one and only Blog, Blog. That's you. Never forget it.

Fringe has to do with theatre and theatre, unfortunately (fortunately?), is the one thing in this world that I love to do. Ever since I was cast as a cow in the Missoula Children's Theatre production of Beauty and the Beast when I was 7 years old, I have been in love with, and a slave to the performing arts. Because of this, the Minnesota Fringe Festival  is both my best friend and my worst enemy. It provides me with the most straightforward opportunity to participate within the vibrant theatre and performing arts community that lives in Minneapolis. And the reason I love living in Minneapolis is because of that vibrant theatre and performing arts community's presence. I want to be in you, vibrant theatre and performing arts community. Luckily the Fringe Festival allows me to penetrate you without the aid of cheesy pick up lines or date rape drugs. We can just exist together and share our love and art and a beer together at The Crooked Pint after 11 o'clock on any given night come the first two weeks of August.

And the first week of those two weeks is just like the start of any relationship. It's new and exciting. It's blissful and carefree. We've opened our show! Everyone remembered their lines! My friends loved it! I've gotten a chance to make myself completely vulnerable by exposing my heart and feelings and abilities on a stage in front of an audience and it's all been accepted! I don't see any sort of an end to this huge success! I'm living in a dream that has only four performances left and you'd better buy your ticket now so you can live this incredible fantasy with me!

Then the halfway point of the festival hits and shit starts getting real. Real real, yo. You get a review like this one and don't know what to do with yourself. Your initial reaction is one of rage which then develops into defeat. "I'll never do theatre again," you say to yourself. "This is my last Fringe," you decide. "I guess I should get to slitting my wrists now since that's the only viable response to this entire situation," you reason.

A good night's sleep later, you realize that everyone is entitled to their opinion and that bad reviews, even scathing ones that seem to almost personally attack you and/or others within your production, are a means to build character and even improve the art that both nurtures and dominates you. "Who cares what they think?" you declare. "I'm just as worthy of being a part of this festival as they are!" You know it's true. At least you keep telling that to yourself in order to prevent the blade from slicing the translucent skin covering your vulnerable wri--err--feelings and emotions and stuff.

Here's the ridiculous part: after all the emotional turmoil that comes with your beating heart being slashed to bits in a public arena for all to see, you want to do it again. You completely and wholly intend on submitting your application next January. You know you'll be heartbroken and disappointed if your number isn't drawn. You already know in what direction you'll take things if it is. We are slaves to this sick and wonderful thing. Year after year after year. We love it and we hate it but for some reason we can't live without it and fortunately (unfortunately?) we have realized that and have managed to produce one of the most prominent Fringe Festivals in the country.

Thanks vibrant theatre and performing arts community of Minneapolis. You're one of a kind and I'm both sad and relieved that this version of our summer camp is coming to an end in just a few days.

Here's to next year! (and my number being drawn, because it has yet to be)

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.

Why I Put On a Bunch of Makeup and a Corset

Well Blog, with the stress of unemployment comes the loss of appetite and with the loss of appetite comes the ability to stuff my girlish figure into a corset. (See figure A)

Figure A. As in "Awkward stress girl tries her hand at being sexy."

Also I've found that stuffing my girlish figure into a corset is one way I can spend the myriad of time I have at my disposal. Other ways to consume this time include but are not limited to: dancing to the same song over and over again, being referred to as a "circus freak", nearly breaking my ankle in 5 inch heals, and taking dramatic and grainy pictures of my face. (See figure B)

Figure B. As in "Be afraid of me. Please. No? Ok."

In other words, I spent last night spontaneously being a part of a music video for local band El Le Faunt thanks to my roommate Kirsten. I met some cool people and learned that there are such things as sousaphone miracles in this world. (See figure C)

 

Figure C. As in "See? I told you flames could come out of sousaphone bells. Yes, bells.

Don't worry Blog. Me feeling up that sousaphone was totally a part of my contribution to the music video. I'm excited to see how it turns out.

Thousands of Miles Later...

Blog, it's been way too long. Over a month in fact. Sometimes when I become busy, I get overwhelmed with the thought of documenting every detail of what I've been up to and then I avoid you. And then I realize that I've continued to be busy while avoiding you and this makes me avoid you even more because the amount of things to document has reached a staggering amount and the thought of it all is too much to bear.

But in the end, it's you and me Blog, documenting life. So here's what the last month has held for me:

1. North Dakota

At the end of March I boarded the Empire Builder and one Benedryl and a thermos of wine later, I was groggily coming to at the outskirts of the one Magic City (or what is more commonly known as Minot). I was making the trip just in time to wish my awesome sister in law farewell as she deployed to Guam the day before Easter. Because of this, we used the limited time we had before her departure to teach my niece about who the Easter Bunny is and then immediately demonstrate what the Easter Bunny does. I think she was excited only because every adult in the household was running around like a crazy, pointing out brightly colored pieces of plastic and gorging themselves on jelly beans. I learned we do this to ourselves. Also, Easter candy is the best candy hands down.

She's only smiling because we told her that egg was the secret to happiness once she recovered it from an imaginary rabbit.

 

I'd go into the saga of removing my car from the snow bank that consumed it in the month of March, but it's a long story, so I'll just say that a man named Tracey and a couple of violent tows from his pick up brought my 1997 luxury sedan to freedom in just minutes. Yay for small towns and stuff.


2. Chicago

I returned to Minneapolis and spent a few days rehearsing for the NTC tour I'm currently on (skip to #4 for details). After a few glorious nights in my very own bed, the band I'm in packed its lead singer, bassist, and myself into one of those boxy Scions (complete with a stand up bass we've named Bud) and drove to Chicago to play a couple gigs over the weekend. I felt a little famous when Courtney coordinated her contacts in such a way where we got an amazing free dinner at a hip Italian place downtown only to rush away to play our glamorous songs for the tens of fans that were waiting for us at the bluegrass bar where we were booked. On Sunday night we partook in a comedy show put on by the hilarious and wonderful Puterbaugh Sisterz that turned out to be just plain weird with drunk lesbians and catty comics. I ate some homemade bars that Courtney's friend brought out though, so everything ended up a-ok.

What is going oooooooon with this comedy shooooooow? Ahhhh!

3. Mexico

We returned from Chicago with just enough time for me to do my taxes, shower, and pack for Mexico. Court and I were playing at the Akumal Comedy Festival in Akumal, Mexico the week following our adventure in Chicago. I had absolutely no idea what to expect from this, and frankly when I got home that evening, I didn't even feel like catching a red eye flight to Cancun. But of course, I went and ended up having one of the most amazing times of my life. I've been to Mexico before, but this was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was the perfect blend of business and vacation. We were busy but relaxed and we met some of the most wonderful people ever in the world. We played shows with tropical breezes in our hair and palm trees above us. We drank margaritas and swam in a turquoise sea. We made new friends and lived in luxury. I want to go back and have been going through Mexico withdrawal ever since I returned a week and a half ago.



All I had was the sea and a sunburn, Blog. Thanks to Courtney for capturing the temporary bliss.

But alas, I live in a frozen tundra... when I'm there. When I'm not, I'm on the east coast apparently. Which brings me to...

4. Philadelphia

Ok, so technically it's Bellmawr, New Jersey, WHICH I'M TOTALLY AWARE OF IT NOT BEING THE SAME THING AS PHILADELPHIA. But, I do go to Philadelphia every day to perform questionable short-form improv sketch comedy for high schoolers even though the show we've got is written for middle schoolers, but really who's paying attention to our age demographic? Not me. I've been laying low since I've been here. Mostly because things cost money, but also because I'm tired. It's time to be home and I'm still not there. I'm not sure if I was looking for a life of travel when I quit Capella, but now that I've spent the last month living it, I've found that while it's fun and exciting and different, it's also like anything else and can get old. Where is my bed? It is not here in this seedy Super 8 with an Indian man who stands in your way and interrogates you about what dairy products you're about to put in your coffee at the continental breakfast. My bed is in a cold room in an apartment that all my friends think is haunted that is adjacent to a building occupied with Mexicans. That's home, Blog.

But until home happens, I'll continue to wear this wig and contemplate if cutting off my hair and dying it grey is a good idea.

Just a Little Freak-Out Spill

Blog, I am more petrified and excited than I have been in a long time. Isn't it funny how excitement is usually accompanied by a crazy sense of doom? Well, that's what it's like for me anyway. I feel like I've got all sorts of amazing things lined up and also like I've got nothing going for me. I wonder why that is. Maybe it's because tomorrow is our last day of this tour and we'll be on our way home. Saturday night I'll be in Minneapolis with no job and a myriad of travel plans; hence the excitement and doom combo.

I have to keep reminding myself that it's more interesting than sitting at a desk for nine hours a day only to go and sit at home for the rest of it.

I'm going for a swim since tonight's hotel has a super sweet pool. Then I'll ramble on for 40 minutes as I rehearse my monologue for Bash. Then I'll try to fall asleep despite the excited doom that is consuming my mind. North Dakota, Chicago, Mexico, and Philadelphia are all going to experience my presence over the next two months. The fear of the consequences to saying yes to these things was easier to accept than the regret of saying no. That's a good thing, right?

Anyone Wanna See Me Act? A Lot? Like, Seriously. A LOT.

Blog, it's crunch time. I have been tasked by my platonic hetero intergendered tourmate Andy to perform in a highly depressing entertaining show based in Greek mythology and set in contemporary times called Bash. It's the first of many shows he hopes to produce through his new theatre company, Ghostlight Theatre. I'd like to say that I've been in enough shows to where I feel confident tackling this project, but if I'm honest it's a little daunting.

Ok, it's a lot daunting. See, the entire thing is basically made up of three one act plays. I'm in one of them. By myself. Like, the play is me. Alone. No one else. For, like, half an hour. Things like this are easy to say yes to when it's October and you have Halloween things to do and March seems like a far off fairy tale of melty snow and sunshine. Then suddenly you're in a $37 hotel room with copious amounts of cigarette burns on the comforters, but you don't care because you have to drill these thousands of words into your brain over the next two weeks. Not to mention all the words are like, umm... and, yeah... so, you know, anyway... right? Uhh, yeah.

Come see me, if you dare. I'll be acting up a storm in Chanhassen come March 14th. And 15th. And guess what; the 16th too. Oh, you can't make it that weekend because you're too busy Blog? (yeah right) Well good thing we're putting the thing up the following weekend as well (the 21st, 22nd, and 23rd). YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.

I know I'm all iffy about this at the moment, but a lot can happen over the span of a few weeks. Every day I'm learning more, and if anything, this is a huge lesson in memorization for me. I've been insanely out of practice over the past few years, so why not go balls-to-the-wall and just cram half an hour of messed-up and depressing theatre into my mind just in time for spring? You know? Yeah, I mean, like... why not?

Because who can resist this view for the next 14 days? Not me, apparently.


Oh, you want to know who else is performing in the other two pieces that make up this madness? Well that would be my hetero tourmate himself, Andy Browers (who also is braving the let's-talk-on-stage-by-myself-for-half-an-hour-as-a-messed-up-character madness), along with old Bemidji pals Sarah Bull, and Skot Rieffer.

And since this post has turned into a shameless plug for my ridiculous theatre endeavors, give us some money. I did. I'm officially paying myself to mince my brain into word meat. If you like, you can pay me to do that for your own entertainment. It'll be worth it.

Off to read things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.

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.

Southern Snow

Blog, brace yourself for snowpocalypse, North Carolina style. Tonight's forecast calls for 31 degrees and heavy snow. An accumulation of 1 to 3 inches is expected. Schools are canceling evening activities and there is potential for our shows to cancel tomorrow as well. Andy says everything has potential to close; even grocery stores. I'm confused, scared, and amused by this.

I also am confused, scared, and amused by the giant dresser that is making up part of the building I am in right now.

Someone please tell me what happened to my life.
 

The South Hath Charmed Me

It's only been four days since we last caught up, Blog, but it seems like so much longer. I guess when you have all sorts of things going on even the short time of a few days ago seems almost like a lifetime. We've made it to the south. Somehow the dialect has changed along the interstate that brought us here. I got out of the car in West Virginia yesterday and was suddenly surrounded with a charming drawl. Where did this come from? I shouldn't be surprised since all the learners I would talk to at Capella were from the south, most notably North Carolina. Still, it's different to hear it in person. It's also different to be driving through these mountains and hills. Andy says this is what Scotland looks like, so we put on some bagpipe tunes as we wound through tiny towns and past rundown shacks yesterday as we were getting into our first stop of Galax, Virginia. I've never been to a place like this. It's weird, Blog.



Look at all that crazy weirdness. It's all over the place, Blog. I can't even handle it.

You know what else is weird? Kids, Blog. They are weird in an amazing way. They hold no judgement. Only awe and wonder and joy. Today I hugged roughly seven children at once. It was so much fun. They all wanted to high five me and touch my hands. They all knew my name and said their sweet little farewells and "bah's" to me as they filed out of the gym after we were done. "Open your eyes, be energy wise". Think of that phrase with a southern accent. Now think of it being shouted at you by hundreds of tiny voices with a southern accent. Can't. Even. Handle. It.

Then there was the little girl who raised her hand in response to Andy asking what they thought the show was going to be about. "I'm gonna sleep over at my grandma's house." Oh man, Blog. It's so cute I could cry.

Tonight I'm in Mount Airy, NC. It's actually my first night in North Carolina since last night we stayed in Virginia. Did you know that Mount Airy is the birthplace of Andy Griffith? Well now you do. You'd know it if you ever ended up here, Blog. Everything downtown is Mayberry Toys, Mayberry Cafe, Mayberry Museum... Who knew a TV town would make such an impact on the names of a real town's businesses? There's also an Andy Griffith Parkway and an Andy Griffith museum. Andy (Browers, not Griffith) and I wanted to check it out tomorrow, but we're off to another part of the state for some last minute shows. Fortunately we did a tiny bit of exploring and found a Mexican restaurant across the way with an indecipherable name and $3.00 margaritas. I learned that "Texas Style" means an extra shot of tequila (not the hard way, thankfully). I also learned that Mexican restaurants in Mount Airy, North Carolina are the bomb diggity yo.

But I have to admit that while driving through these beautiful hills and allowing myself to be charmed by the accents, it's not home here. I miss Minneapolis and seeing my friends in person and not over Facebook. It just takes getting used to I guess. I'm looking forward to the day when I've settled into this very unsettled life.

For now, I'll continue to figure out how to boil eggs in hotel rooms.

Until then, more shows and children this week and then off to Wilmington for Andy's birthday. It's going to be a good one. I'll keep you updated on any mechanical bull adventures we run into, Blog.

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.

Hello From the Road!

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

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

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

Look at our merchandise Blog! Buy some!

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

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

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

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



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

This Is a First

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thoughtsy Thoughts

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

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

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

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

The Notes of Strangers

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

Speaks for itself.

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

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

I'm banking on my decent penmanship to carry me through this one.

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

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.