Make It Hurt So Good

Blog. I yelled at a chick today. Face to face.

It's an amazing feeling to get so upset and angry where you suddenly find yourself marching towards someone, numbly preparing to verbally unload all of the emotions, thoughts, and words that are madly buzzing around your head. It's almost as if it's a drug. I'm pretty sure whatever brain chemical that was taking over my mind the moment I decided to walk up to the bitch and yell at her as quietly as I could, is found in some illegal drugs. It felt amazing. I can see why some people may be addicted to being complainy assholes all the time.

But I had reason, blog. Just like every escalated learner on the other end of my advising phone has a reason. People don't get mad without a reason. They usually have a good reason, a small reason, or a reason that they have purposely brought upon themselves to back up their anger. Usually those who are angry are going to say that their reason is a good one, no matter how ridiculous that reason may be. So while my reason may seem small, self imposed, or weak, I'm the one who's angry. Therefore, I think (know) I have a terrific reason to back up my uncontrolled action of marching up to this girl and yelling at her in front of... we'll say 15 people. Luckily most of those people were Minnesotan so they pretended that nothing was going on and went about business as usual.

I'm sure you're dying to know the reason I was yelling at a girl in front people. I'll do my best to keep the story short. Angry people tend to take their emotions as permission to ramble on for blocks and blocks of text, complete (or shall I say incomplete) with bad punctuation, spelling, and misuse of CAPITAL LETTERS. Never a good sign.

Basically speaking, my aunt, uncle, and cousin came to the Fringe show I'm in tonight. My aunt, on whom I base some of the inspiration that colors the caricature I play on stage. My aunt, who is always happy, supportive, and tickled by any sort of theatrical production I've ever been a part of. Tonight, they happened to run into some bad traffic and ended up late to the show.

Now here's where the emotions, thoughts, words begin to buzz. I'll do my best to keep my words spelled, my punctuation permissable, and any emphasized emotions in italics.

I received word that they were going to be late before the show started. So I took it upon myself to head out to the box office shortly before the show began to let them know that I had three people, all with will call tickets, who were going to be a few minutes late due to traffic conditions. I know that the Fringe has a strict late attendance policy, but I've worked in a theater. I've done the Fringe for four years now. And I've learned a thing or two about a thing or two about exceptions to strict policies in my current daytime role as an academic advisor (aka. rule breaker extraordinaire). It doesn't hurt to ask.

Oh but yes it does! I had barely finished my request when the house manager came up waving her arms at me saying "No. No. No. It's policy. No late attendance. It's policy. No.".

I can't even get an "I'm sorry but..."?!

"They're stuck in traffic. They're very close. She's my aunt."

"NO" (I know I said no capitals, but this is the bitch talking, not me)


"They have will call tickets. I thought I'd let you know so you could be prepared for their arrival."

"IT'S POLICY. We can get them a comp for another show if they like."

"They can't make the other show. This is the only one they are able to attend."

More arm waving happened and then more no-ing. I had no choice but to go back stage and cry. Because yeah, I get emotional about this stuff yo. She's been excited to see the show for months, and now this? You're not going to let a paying customer in because they're three minutes late and you've never heard of going against policy under certain, understandable and rational circumstances? Can someone say POWER TRIP?! (There we go all caps. I can't help myself. It feels so good.)

Not to be a diva but, it's kind of hard to go and act on stage immediately after crying. Especially if you're having to act in a similar way to your aunt, who's absence is the source of said crying. But I somehow did it. Probably wasn't my best performance, but I don't think the audience was any the wiser.

So the show goes on, people laugh, tech fucks up once again during the party scene and Sam and I get yet another opportunity to improvise in a scripted environment. And then we're done. All the while I know my family is waiting outside in the lobby, merely overhearing an entire show that they paid money to see all because they were three minutes late.

That's right. It was only three minutes I found out. I get if it's 15, half an hour, oops I missed the entire show because I thought it was at 7. No. Three minutes. The first scene had barely started when they got there. I went out and gave her a hug. She was tearing up too. What can I say? Schmitz's get emotional when it comes to late arrivals to theatrical productions. They also get angry.

Before I knew it, I had locked my gaze on her, the bitch who is too scared to bend the rules for paying customers. The bitch who doesn't know how to deal with angry people. The bitch who's vocabulary consists of the word "policy" and the phrase "If we let them in late, we have to let every one else in late."

Everyone else who? They were the only ones sitting in the lobby for the entire show.

Oh, and the kicker in all of this? After finding out about the policy of all policies (apparently), my aunt went and sat next to the curtain that was drawn at the entrance of the theater so she could listen to the show. It wasn't drawn all the way, so she was able to see part of the stage. The bitch came up and closed it during the second scene of the show. What a cold, artless, unbending heart you have. Once again. POWER TRIP.

I digress. I found myself marching; breezing past those in line, glaring at her large, far set eyes. She's pretty, don't get me wrong. But looks have nothing to do with turning paying customers away from a show just because they got caught in traffic. I don't remember what I said to her. But it was something along the lines of my family not getting what they paid for. I'd like to know how my show would have been ruined had they come in three minutes late. I want to know a good, legitimate reason for your policy. Probably some other stuff too, but I don't remember. Turns out angst makes you pretty forgetful after that high is over.

My favorite part was probably when she started to fight back. Big no no, lady. You don't start fighting back when a customer is mad at you. It only fuels the situation.  I told her "No. You let me be mad. That's what is going on right now" and the older, wiser volunteer next to her gestured to her to let her know that, yes, let this girl yell at you. This is your position of the house manager. To get yelled at. Because you're a bitch.

She immediately didn't know where to go from there and referred me to her manager, who happens to be a saxophone playing story telling lesbian. I will begin my quest for her contact information once this blog post is complete.  Because, yeah, in my angry state I don't think to ask helpful questions like "what is your manager's contact information?" or "What's your name?". I guess it takes practice to get these things right.

I want to make it clear Blog that this anger thing is a very foreign thing to me. I'm usually laid back and accepting of most situations. It's the Veldhouse in me. But if something is not making sense to me, if there is a person involved who is on a power trip, if money is being spent but nothing is gotten back in return, then I find myself navigating the strange paths of reasoning with the unreasonable, negotiating with the non-negotiable, and ultimately accepting the unacceptable. All in all, I guess it makes up for a long blog post that I really did try not to make incredibly long. Writing about it helps though, as it does with everything when it comes to emotions whether they are good or bad.

I could go on about how I've put work into this show, my cast mates have put work into this show, the entrance fee is $400 and if it wasn't for people like us willing to pay the money, spend the time, and work with you assholes for a hundred bucks in the end (if that), you wouldn't have a festival to house your "policies" in the first place. Be kind to your patrons. They are the ones who make a theater community possible in the first place. Without them you'd have a bunch of actors performing shows for no one and frankly, there's not much in the world of theater that is sadder than that.

Ariel's Ode

Blog, today is my friend Ariel's birthday. Oh if only I had all the picture memories of our friendship saved on this computer so I could include them here on you, Blog. But alas, all I have is words and some random photos of us on the beach from when I visited her last year on the west coast...

I am a giant next to Ariel. But not as giant as Haystack Rock.

What a strange and lovely little person she is...

Very strange and lovely. You put us in the same room as a hurricane lamp and shit gets real yo.

 

Ariel is the only friend I have left over from high school. She's an interesting friend because she's managed to become very close and long term friends with my friends from college, even though we did not go to college together. Her likable personality allows me to meld together high school, college, and beyond when it comes to my friends. It's almost as if she's the weird, flighty glue that holds us all together.

Yeah, that's me, Ariel and her boyfriend Chris on a mountain. But really Blog. She's friends with Bemidji and Minneapolis folk too. I just don't have the pictures on this computer to prove it.

Today Ariel turns 28. I remember 10 years ago when she turned 18 I picked her up from her farm full of chickens, goats, sheep and a donkey named Thistle who loved the smell of exhaust and we drove out to the field runoff that is called Golden Lake to spend the day on the beach. Our little North Dakota lives were so simple and we were so easily entertained back then. We just drank soda, ate donuts, and stole Little Mermaid t-shirts that we'd find on the "shore". It's funny to think about all the stuff that's happened to us both since then. We got email, bachelors degrees, boyfriends, and cars. Then we got rid of our boyfriends and our cars, and got new boyfriends and cars. Then I moved to the city, she moved to the coast and eventually became a vagabond to the point where Kerin's dad asked if she was ok the one time he met her randomly in the Minneapolis skyway as she lugged a pillowcase full of her belongings. She's gone to Hawaii, I've gone to Europe. She talks about sealife, I talk about masters degrees. She does yoga, I do theater. And here we are, half a continent apart, still the same old friends that can go to the beach together. Only these days it seems we frequent the Pacific Ocean more than Golden Lake. Sometimes change is a good thing.

Here's to you friend. Salt in your eye, guess what... chicken, good night God, good night Jenny, I love you both. To two person games of Clue, Mrs. I harmonies, and Dr. Who scarves. To the oil gloves and the oil room and all the lessons you've taught me about the crazy sea life that exists on the Goonies rock. You are the one friend I have who I've considered the best for the longest. I hope in 10 years our kids are getting together, playing soccer, and eating at that barbeque we've been planning since we were smoking swisher sweets on the roof watching shooting stars and talking about how crop circles seem to frequent the month of July, particularly the 18th of July. Happy birthday friend.

You're the only person I know who actually wears sunglasses over glasses.

It Happens

Blog. Yesterday it was 92 degrees. As you can probably tell, my apartment was that of a sauna. That's why I didn't really spend any time here yesterday. Instead I went down to the lake to sun (burn) myself and enjoy the cool, clear water that the city of lakes has to offer me. I memorized lines, listened to music, and watched the cutest little puppy you ever did see frolic and play in the shade of a tree with his owner. Oh special lake day! The sun even went behind a cloud for awhile so my pale body could take a break from the glaring rays that were attacking it with both vicious heat and healthy vitamin D. I ended up getting a really weird sun burn that covers the right side of my back and a strip of my leg since I don't really have an eye for even sunscreen coverage and also have trouble reaching my shoulder blades.

Anyway, after some glorious lake time, I found myself rushing home only to have enough time to throw the juice I had purchased at Lund's for some lake hydration into my fridge and change out of my annoying moist (that's right, I said moist) bathing suit into some dryer duds before heading off to rehearsal for that show I was memorizing lines for. After spending three hours in a sweltering rehearsal room (but not as sweltering as my apartment, mind you) and saying things like "I hope you like Supervalu mayonnaise" and "I've been testing all the pens I found in my purse to see which ones still work" with a heavy northern accent and somewhat mannish voice, Sam, Molly , and I went to the BLB for some dinner. Sure it was the third, maybe fourth time I had eaten out all weekend, but whatever. Before I knew it I found myself at Improv A-Go-Go for the first time in YEARS laughing at people I somehow have the priveledge of knowing personally. Lucky me.

All in all it was a lovely day where I got to touch base with my theater/improv friends and enjoy some good rehearsal and performances. I even got to escape the heat a bit by finding solace in the air conditioned theater. Hooray!

On my way home, I was reminded my my hot house of a living space, so I decided to stop by the CVS and get some ice cream so I'd have a cool treat for when I was sweating in front of you, Blog. I always get fat in the summer because of this kind of shit. I lay around in the sun and then I eat ice cream. I'm so going for a run after I post this...

I digress, I bought the ice cream and went on my way home. Upon entering the hell fire that I call home, I noticed something strange. There was a light coming from my kitchen area. And not like I had left a light on. No, instead it was as if a night light had been turned on as if to gently guide my blind self through my darkened kitchen/dining spot. But hark! I do not have such a light in that part of my apartment. Whaa??

I turned the corner only to find to my horror that my refrigerator door was slightly ajar and the gentle light I had noticed was that from the light inside. My mind slowly did some what I call "life math" and added it all up to equal the realization that ALL MY FOOD HAS GONE BAD. And then a few minutes later... I HAVE NOWHERE TO PUT THIS ICE CREAM I JUST BOUGHT since my freezer had been affected by this as well. F.

I hastened to shut the door (that's right, hastened) and then opened it up again to see what damage had been done. Since I don't really eat regular food, it wasn't as bad as I had initially thought. I think the worst of it was the half gallon of unopened milk that I had purchased just a couple days before. Everything else, the butter, the wine, the orange juice... I had hope for.

Turns out that what ended up being the most annoying thing was the fact that I couldn't put ice in the lukewarm water that comes out of my faucet. That and I had to eat a whole pint of ice cream. I couldn't bring myself to let so much dairy go to waste after the initial shock of losing an entire half gallon of milk. But after sweating and sweating in my apartment, I needed to hydrate and cool off. That is hard to do when you leave your refrigerator open for six hours in a 90 degree room.

But then things started turning up. Half an hour after I got home, a vicious wind and rain storm blew threw the 'hood and cooled everything down. I probably should have closed my windows just in case something like lightening or a tree came flying through in an attempt to attack me, but I considered this opportunity to cool off the oven I live in too good to pass up. So I sat here getting rained on and talking to Emily on gchat. It felt glorious.

AND! The maverick in me came home today and hoped, just hoped that maybe that milk hadn't gone bad. Maybe, just maybe milk can still be good after sitting in 90 degrees for six hours. You never know until you reluctantly open it up, smell it, and slowly pour it down the inside of a glass just to be sure. You never know if milk is truly bad until you taste it. And so I did. And the milk was cold, smooth, and... delicious! Yay! I didn't completely waste $2.49!

Although I'm pretty sure I gained a pound or seven from all that ice cream last night. Having a warm freezer shouldn't be an excuse for eating an entire pint of ice cream, but I guess it's a better one than having your heart broken or losing your job or something. That would suck.

Family Fourth

Blog, why haven't I taken up my family on invitations to the big Fourth of July bash they have every year? This weekend I went to my grandma's house and realized I haven't spent a summer day on Little Pine Lake in years. Seriously, years. The sandy shores that we played on when we were kids have washed away, but grandma's house and all the summertime memories that go along with it are still there. I got my first sunburn of the summer blog, and it was a real one. I actually went out on the water. I went to Zorbaz. I went swimming. I hung out with cousins. I did all the things I would do when I'd spend a week at grandma's in the summertime as a result of my parents attempting to get rid of their kids for a week. Well, everything but be towed behind grandpa's fishing boat in a sad attempt of tubing with a 40 horsepower motor designed for trolling the lake. But you know, I'm glad that wasn't experienced.

I was surrounded by family for a good solid 24 hours. Hanging out with family in bulk reminds you of how interesting, entertaining and annoying it is to hang out with people who are all kind of the same. My only regret is that I didn't get to experience going to see the fireworks after the baseball game in town and ooh and ahh with the rest of the Schmitz's. That, and the fact that I missed out on being a part of this gem of a boat parade entry complete with a canopy full of pre-teen girls in bikinis:

If you look closely you'll see patriotic decorations and the letter B. Why they didn't win is beyond me...

There's something really funny yet disappointing about having your cousins jump overboard in the middle of a boat  parade and swim to shore. I mean you guys can't ride out the whole route? Luckily this gave me a chance to make Mary find the patriotic beads that a boat previously had thrown our way, but missed the dock by about five feet.

Mary and Claire with the beast of a lab Libby, mid-parade.

 
Apparently every year, the float (no pun intended) that wins has nothing to do with the theme of Red White and Blue. I heard last year it was Batman. This year? It was even further off target. Can you say British Invasion, Yellow Submarine?

At least Clive is probably amused by this.

Anyway, it was fun for all. The weekend concluded with my grandpa ordering a ridiculous amount of chicken from the Pizza Ranch and everyone coming in from the lake, the cabin, the dock, California... and gathering around grandma's kitchen island to talk about what sports everyone plays and how annoying my cousin Nate was when he was a kid. The family get together is always an interesting one. Where else can you board a pontoon and hear the phrase "I changed everyone's diapers here except for Tina" and hear stories about your aunts cooling off in their training bras after bailing hay only to be happened upon by Uncle Ray? We cooed over a baby and yelled at the twins. We gave diving lessons to the kids and lost our bottoms when we attempted it ourselves (or maybe that was just me). And the great part is that it's all the same, just like it's always been, except everyone is taller, older, married, and pregnant. There's nothing like going home to grandma's...

My crippled cousin Anthony... or he just likes to take Grandma's Jazzy scooter off roading around the house.

Solitary Beach Time

Blog, there's something incredibly lonely about going to the beach by yourself. When you go, you see that most everyone else is at the beach with groups of friends or significant others. Beach by yourself means you lay there alone, reading, eavesdropping, and dipping into the water of your own means. It's wonderful.

Today is a perfect beach day and I have no one accompany me on my walk down to the water. I've run some errands and now I'm going to head down by myself. I'm going to bring a book, a notebook, my ipod and some alcohol. I'm going to lay out in the sun in my bathing suit this summer for the first time and enjoy the sun, reflect on my weird life, and soak in the fact that I (more than likely) am the only one there by myself, and only myself.

I have people in this life who love me with all their heart. Sadly, none of them are able to go to the beach with me today. But knowing that they are out there, living their own lives and allowing me to be a part of them is a great thing to remember when you find yourself at the beach alone.