Samantha Gets Caught In A Literal Storm

Well, Blog. I've been terrible at keeping up with you lately. I'm not sure why. I can't say that I haven't had time, because that's all I ever have these days. But I guess it's easy to procrastinate when you have stretches of empty days ahead of you. Anyway, I got caught in a bad storm last night, so I'm going to tell you the brief and anticlimactic story of that.

Once upon a time Samantha had a lot of time on her hands so she was always looking for creative ways to spend it. Samantha's roommate Kirky knew about this particular dilemma of hers as well, so she invited Samantha out to a birthday party she was attending one Friday evening. Samantha acquiesced and the ladies began walking to the bus stop since taking a bus was the best way to get to this super sweet shindig.

As Samantha and Kirky approached the bus stop, they noticed an ominous cloud in the sky. "Pssh!" scoffed Samantha. "What disaster could a sourly-colored cloud possibly invoke upon us on this night?" Kirky also couldn't imagine anything awful happening from said cloud and the ladies continued to wait for the number 4 in the plexiglass bus shelter.

Then it began to rain. And then it began to rain more. And more. AND MORE. Kirky decided to stand on the bench in an attempt to keep her shoes dry from the rain that was blowing into the shelter from underneath the panels of plastic. Samantha had been watching the wind blow the trees over yonder. And then she noticed the wind blowing them harder. And harder. AND HARDER. And then Samantha couldn't even see the trees because there was so much rain!

It was at that moment, that Samantha decided a bus shelter made of plastic might not be the best place to weather this storm. She turned to Kirky and said that she was going to go into the CC Club across the street since the CC Club was an actual building. Also, there was beer in there!

Samantha and Kirky stepped out of the shelter into the torrential rain and gusting winds and struggled across the street. Cars were at a near halt since it was impossible to see anything. Once inside the CC Club, the roommates were greeted by a bunch of people who seemed to have no idea what was going on outside. This is because the CC Club is a windowless vault of old men and hipsters and a tall black woman who tells you that you look beautiful even if you're all wet.

That's what she told Samantha anyway, as she stumbled in the front door soaked from head to toe.

And then Kirky saw the bus. Suddenly she was back out there, struggling across the street so she could proceed with her Friday evening plans!* Samantha was not so brave and stayed inside the dark bar amongst a bunch of strangers who were much dryer than she. She felt out of place, but safe, considering that moments after she had been blown into the CC Club, the stoplight out front indicated just how blowy things had gotten outside.

On the upside, at least the other side of the street was visible at this point...

She ordered a beer and ended up having a small town chat with a girl who's originally from Fargo. It was such a small town chat, Samantha found her northern accent dominating her speech as she said the most small town thing you could say:

"I was going to say, you look like an Ihry!"

Finally, the storm let up, Samantha finished her beer, and decided to walk back home. There was no point in going downtown now that she was soaked from head to toe. Plus, she was pretty sure she left her bedroom windows open. Eek.

The walk home was an eerie one. The chaos had subsided and leaves, branches and trees littered the streets. People were milling around, assessing the damage. As Samantha turned onto her street, she noticed the tree that all the children in the apartment building next door tie their bikes to had been split in half; part of it was lying in her front yard. Oddly enough, it seemed as though the many tiny bikes that surrounded it were just fine. Weird.

Where will the children lock up their bikes now? Someone get them a bike rack!

Then Samantha went up to her room and drank beer and read about acting in the Twin Cities because there was no internet but at least there was power which is more than what a bunch of other people have right now.

Ok.

*Though the last time I saw Kirky was when she was in the middle of traffic and torrential rain, I have confirmation via text message that she is alive and well, though I know not her whereabouts. I get that that's weird since I live with her, but that's just how our household rolls, yo.

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.

Womp Womp

So this is unemployment, Blog. It feels terrifying. I'm constantly at the edge of an abyss of time that I have no idea how to spend. And then there's the money thing. Oddly enough, that's not as pressing as my desire to find a direction in which to take my life. Opportunities come up and then I freak out. What if I end up hating what I do like that one time I got stuck in a desk job? But what if I can't find anything else besides a desk job because that's all I know how to do? What if I never find anything and end up one of those people on Nicollet Mall who wears a falling-apart neck brace for no noticeable reason and just looks really sad? Maybe that's what the bottom of that abyss of time looks like. Oh God.

The worst part is I don't know what I want to do. I just had a lot of fun traveling around and performing for a living. I want to keep doing that, but I want to stay in Minneapolis. But if I stay in Minneapolis, I'm going to have to find some kind of daily grind. But what kind of grind do I want to do? I don't know, Blog! Decisions are hard for me. I'm too afraid I'm going to make a mistake and end up doing something I hate.

Hmmm. But if I end up doing something I hate, I could always quit and try something else.

These are basic lessons that you learn when you're in middle school and are figuring out what sport you want to play, Blog. Why am I having such a hard time with this? Apparently I never progressed past the mental capabilities of a 13 year-old.

In other news, I bought a bike today and I'm both terrified and ecstatic about riding it home. Currently I'm downtown and it's rush hour. I'm wearing a dress, have a heavy bag of books with me, and no proficiency in riding road bikes that are slightly tall for me in cities. Things should go about as well as this job search has.

At least unemployment has a nice view.

Wine Is Important, Ok?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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