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.

Valentine Karaoke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My New Life (and a Sundog)

Well Blog, I quit my job last Friday and have put 400 miles on my car in the last two days. I still feel like I'm on a Christmas vacation of sorts, but I received a Facebook note about how today would normally be my late day at the job I just quit, and I realized that it's indeed happened. I don't have to answer to a phone queue anymore. I'm no longer at learners' beck and call. I don't have to calculate GPAs and talk people out of taking Tests and Measurements with Stats next quarter. Even better: January 7th isn't the start of a quarter anymore. It's an idle Monday; one where I'll be in rehearsal with the NTC.

At the moment, I'm in North Dakota. Home. Being here during Christmas time is something that I haven't done in years. It's a little weird. A few weeks ago my roommate Andy asked me what my favorite ornament from my childhood was. I found that I wasn't able to answer him because I haven't been home to my mom's for so long to even see what ornaments she has from when we were kids. Upon arriving in Finley tonight, I noticed that she has decked her tree with a matching assortment of red and gold balls and stars. I like it. I also have realized I'm sentimental about specific things. Apparently Christmas ornaments haven't made the cut since I haven't gathered the gumption to search the basement for what is left of this time of year circa 1990.

In other, more exciting news, 48 hours from now I'm going to be in Iowa. I know. Iowa naturally equals immense excitement. But I'll be winding down from a show at some bar that has decided to pay us in t-shirts. That's not a thing that happens to me. I can't quite wrap my mind around it, but I'm sure it will all make sense once we're on the road. I'm hoping it will make sense once we're on the road. If I think about the future too much these days, I stop believing that I've actually taken a step toward this life. The present is going to be the best place to keep my thoughts, I think. It's where I'm the happiest anyway. Might as well live it up where I most currently am. My most recent situation tells me that place is the frozen prairie. Tomorrow that place is going to be a seedy bar in Fargo. The next night? Iowa. After that? Chicago.

But as I said, the present is the best place to be. So is the past. Maybe not 1990 though. But a couple days ago, I got the most kickass picture of a sundog. Check it, Blog:

This is what happens when it's legit cold outside. .

It was weird, Blog. I was driving to see my Dad for Christmas Eve and I looked up into the sky for some reason to see where the sun was. I was surprised to see a dull point of light. It was bright outside and the light that was cast on the prairie wasn't the kind that is done so by a cloud-muted sun. But that's what this light looked like. After a moment I realized that I wasn't looking at the sun, but at a sundog. I had just explained to Kerin what a sundog was a few days before; mentioning that I hadn't seen one in years. And here one was with me on my drive to Herman on Christmas Eve. Sundogs are one of the two things I like about the cold, Blog. I'll let you guess what the second one is.

Hint: It's not worrying about my car starting.

With that, I have drunk a bottle of wine, Blog. It's time to turn in. Here's to hoping I get a chance to update you on my band tour adventures. Tomorrow we tackle the great city of Fargo. I can't wait.

I Found That Corner

Look at what my dear sister in law sent to me this evening, Blog:

Trust me. There's meaning behind this.

A full explanation as to why this is so incredibly awesome can be found in a post I made six months ago.

Really this article is just a cherry on top of a very exciting stream of events that have made themselves present in my life over the last 24 hours; one being an invitation I received to be a part of this band. It was something that I totally saw coming, but that didn't stop the elation from taking over me as I listened to Courtney herself offer me a position through a very darling and amusing voicemail. I don't know why I'm acting all star-struck with her. I've improvised with her and stage managed one hell of a Fringe show for her as well. I guess there's something really great about being asked to be a part of a project that I respect and am impressed by. Finally, after so many years of awkwardly sitting on the outskirts of the creative community down here, I'm finding the beginnings of a niche. Granted, I think I've had to let my guard down a little bit in order for it to happen. But it's further proof that a little bit of uncomfort and a lot fear lead to good things if you embrace them and hope for the best in the end.

There's more to say, but my mind is too preoccupied with freaking out with fear and hoping for the best to articulate it. The best I can do is finish this glass of wine and turn in so I can rise and shine for breakfast with Kerin in the morning.

So long...

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.

No Excuses. Just a List.

I've been on a hiatus, Blog. I'm not going to make excuses. I'm not going to feel guilty. Instead I'm going to take the easy way out and make a list of thoughts. I guess you could call them updates. For your reading pleasure, let's put on this new favorite of mine:

Ok. Let's begin.

1. I have a tan. This hasn't happened in years. Last summer I made my way up to my grandma's for the Fourth of July and was reminded that having family that live on a lake can make for a pretty kickass summer holiday. This year, I managed to take more time off than I meant to, but as a result I spent nearly every day in a lake of some sort; toasting my skin to a pleasant golden brown that hasn't gone unnoticed. Even my legs are a shade darker than they have been in the past. Skirts are not a means of reflecting light anymore. I feel like a new woman.

2. I not only spent days (that's right days) with my extended family, but I also somehow fanagled a way to spend a few days (yes, days!) with my dear college friends Andy and Will. You may remember Will from my post about how I ran into him in April and was reminded about how he was my first love, and probably the most satisfying and healthy relationship I've had. I guess I haven't been blessed with a wonderful man to love and cherish me for the rest of my life, but at least I have a picture perfect first boyfriend and subsequent friend who has somehow defied all the ex-boyfriend stereotypes out there over the past 7 years. Add Andy to the mix and it was suddenly hours and hours filled with laughing turned to small talk turned to deep life conversations turned to silly games and scenarios leading to a myriad of inside jokes that only live between the three of us. I feel so special that they let me tag along with their boy time. I couldn't have enjoyed myself more.

3. This computer sucks. I know I didn't want to make excuses, but I'm going to categorize this as a reason for why I haven't written. This computer is slow. I type faster than it can process words. Do you know how frustrating it is to wait for a machine to catch up with the brilliance that spills from my fingertips, Blog? Of course you don't. You don't have hands. I was going to wait for another paycheck to go through before I buy a new one, but I might just bite the bullet and go in tomorrow. In to where, you ask? Good question. I've never bought a computer before, so I have no idea what I'm doing. But remember, there was a time when I had never bought an iPhone before either, and now I'm on my second one (unwillingly, but still) so I guess miracles do happen.

4. Kerin is leaving work. She is my best friend and confidant who I spend nearly every coffee and lunch break with. Now she's taking the leap to pursue a writing career. I'm excited and happy for her. I can't wait to see what she creates and experiences with this magnificent opportunity. It will be exciting to see her in this new light; one that is meant to shine on her. She's already noticibly happier and at ease even though she still has a week left of answering phones and making irritible people slightly less irritible. I know no one reads you, Blog, but if they did, and if they needed a writer for whatever things writers are needed, I would suggest that they hit me up for her contact information. I would also suggest that they hit me up just so I would know that someone actually reads this thing.

5. Over the last few days I've realized I am in the midst of the longest dating/hanky panky/boy attention dry spell of my adult life. I don't know what to do about it because the length of time that has passed since I last was "intimate" with someone has been so much so, that I've forgotten what it's like and am therefore slightly freaked out by the thought of a guy even being interested in me. It's like I'm 18 all over again. But even hanging out with my first boyfriend over the holiday weekend didn't really give me any insight into how to approach this... situation. I want to date boys. I want to be intimate with them. But at the same time I'm overwhelmed and grossed out. When did I become such a 4th grade girl about this? What do I do to regain the dating confidence I once yielded with the ferocity of 10,000 episodes of Sex in the City? My friend Trisha told me to rate boys on OkCupid to let them know I was interested in them. So I did. I have yet to hear a response. Confidence meter = Low. Very low. And thus another sip of wine is down the gullet.

6. Regardless of my current asexual state, I've found some solace in the fact that I'm going to be stage managing a Fringe show this year. I haven't stage managed since I learned how to do so in college, but I remember liking it even though it was stressful. This is a low key show though, so I figure it's a good opportunity to explore the position and see if there are other opportunities out there for me. Andy wants me to stage manage his production of Bash in September too. And while I want to continue auditioning for shows, it's nice to know I have something lined up over the next couple months that will be getting me back into the theater mode. I think once rehearsals are underway for both shows, I'll even consider myself happy with what I'm doing with my life. That'll be nice.

7. Chet Faker. New fave find on Triple J. Check it.

8. I was going to write something here, but since it took a good 8 minutes to hyperlink to Chet Faker's fun rendition of an old 90's favorite above, I lost my train of thought in frustration and dried out contacts. New computer. Tomorrow.

Good night, Blog. I hope you didn't miss me too much. Now that I've got this list under my belt, the rest of the summer should be smooth sailing for writing to you. So long and farewell until tomorrow or over the weekend or whatever. I've got tons to write about. I'll get it all out to you sooner or later. Hopefully.

Either This is a Masterpiece, Or an Embarrassment

Not to get all philosophical on you Blog, but if the pen is mightier than the sword, why do actions speak louder than words? And even after that, a picture of the whole ordeal is worth a thousand of them.

Visuals: 2
Literature: 1

And this is why I need to take up photography and turn you into a wedding blog, Blog.

Oh come on. I'm kidding, I'm kidding! You and I both know that I'd much rather get drunk and ramble incessantly with you rather than capture the ridiculous dedication of eternal love with unfocused backgrounds and agreeable outdoor lighting.

What's that? I've become cynical? Blog. It's not like you to be so vocal about what I share with you. What gives?

Oh I see. I created you and now you've become an entity that has developed an opinion and feelings that are reflective of my own yet independently formed. How like Frankenstein. Well, at least you have an aesthetic color palette and aren't made of a cadaver...

 Now that we have that inevitable exchange behind us... where was I?

Oh yes. Philosophical ponderings. Did you know that I don't even really know what the word philosophical means? Oh the honesty I have with you, Blog. It is second to none.

You didn't know either? Well, that's not surprising. I mean, you are an extension of myself. We aren't that different, you and I.

Anyway, I never took any philosophy courses and therefore have never given the subject much formal thought until now. Upon gazing at the word, I've had the revelation that it probably means something like "for the love of Sophocles" or "Gee, I sure do dig everything Sophocles had to say".

Too bad I don't remember what Sophocles had to say. I do know, however, that he taught Plato, who taught Alexander the Great. Why do I know that? Acronyms, Blog. If there is doubt whence studying history; acronyms. "Spa" wasn't just my business idea for my 11th grade Agribusiness class. (And yes, if you gaze upon the word agribusiness for long enough, I'm sure you'll figure out what it means)

Wow. I am tangent city tonight. Now I feel like gotten too far off track to write about the impact that the type of music I listened to as a teenager has had on my current state of affairs.

Fuck it. I'm going there anyway.

I had the revelation the other day that the type of music I listened to during my coming-of-age years has formed my thoughts and feelings on my approach to the idea of romantic love. Or so I initially thought.

That's it. I'm creating some case studies, yo.


Case Study: Kerin the Bostonian

Though Kerin is one of my very best friends and we share many things in common, one thing that differentiates us (besides our seemingly opposite upbringings) is the music we listen to. Kerin is a hip hop gal. She's from the mean streets of Boston. She's agile in the arena of pop culture and appreciates the mainstream. This means she listened to the Backstreet Boys when she was a teenager. This means she lived, breathed, and probably somehow ate lyrics like "You can save me from the man that I've become" and "No matter the distance, I want you to know, that deep down inside of me... You are my fire, the one desire..."

As a result, Kerin has a romantic sense about her. She is confident in the ideas of fate and destiny. Instances and experiences that some may find sappy, she sees as sentimental and revealing to the existence of true love and the idea that it is meant to be. Yeah, I know this makes Kerin sound like a hopeless romantic. But on the contrary she's quite the opposite. She's an incredibly hopeful romantic; and we have Howie Dorough to thank for that.


Case Study: Little Samantha on the Prairie

Like I mentioned in the previous case study that I have created for illustrative purposes, even though Kerin and I have many things in common, we differ in our upbringings and tastes in music. While she was hip hopping on the mean streets of Boston, Little Samantha was naively exploring what the flower children of the 60's had to offer the generation that had given birth to her. In other words, I was a hipster before being a hipster was a thing.

For the record, being a hipster before being a hipster was a thing cancels out the idea of hipsterdom (which is being into something before it becomes mainstream). Therefore, I was never really a hipster to begin with.

Or was I?

I digress. As a result of this naive exploration, I found myself engrossed in Joni Mitchell. I lived, breathed, and probably fueled my car with lyrics like "You leave 'em laughing when you go, and if you care don't let them know" and "Everything comes and goes. Pleasure moves on too early and trouble leaves too slow."

Of course I'd be into someone who is poetically rooted in realism. And there was no context for these ideas for a timid 15 year old in Steele County, North Dakota. I was a lost cause from the start. The cynicism didn't start with my earlier comment about wedding photography, Blog. It started with Blue in 1999.

As a result, I am jaded in the eyes of romance.

Just when I thought I had it all figured out, another friend of mine, Trisha, mentioned in response to this whole idea of adolescent music habits contributing to adult relationship trends that the music didn't choose me. I chose the music. And she is right. I had my radio tuned to Y-94 out of Fargo in those days. I was totally familiar with I Want it That Way and yet I chose to flip my Court and Spark cassette multiple times a night just like Kerin chose to make it a priority to liken the Backstreet Boys to that of an infallible deity. The music didn't choose us, we chose the music. Our hormones just made us think we weren't in a place to take responsibility for our actions.

Damn you puberty!

And here's where I'm going to bring this ramble back, Blog. I bet you didn't see it coming, but it's going to happen.

Though Joni's words speak volumes to me, I am the one who has acted upon pursuing them for inspiration. Just like Kerin opted to follow those boys from the back streets in a response to the emotions that overtake any teenager when they finally realize that, hey! Sexual attraction is a thing!

Visuals: 3
Literature: 1

The score is settled... for now.

Also, I've finally wikipedia-ed all the Greek philosopher stuff I was going on about earlier. Turns out, with my logic, philosophical might as very well mean "I'm a huge fan of Antigone". Acronyms don't work quite as well when Socrates and Sophacles start with the same letter...

Blog, after they legalize gay marriage, I hope they legalize blog marriage. I fear you're the only one who truly gets me to a point where I could ridiculously dedicate my love to you in front of a focused camera in agreeable outdoor lighting.

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!

Christmas Creativity

Blog, it's Christmas party season and as a result I've found myself getting all dolled up for house parties over the weekend. Why is it that a Christmas party calls for an air of extravagance? Both Friday and Saturday evenings I spent way too much time doing my hair and make up, and figuring out what I was going to wear. Friday was especially fancy since the party I attended was put on by a couple of gays I know. Those gays know how to class a get-together up, I tell ya. I mean, I got an invitation in the mail complete with party time being described as 8 o'clock post meridian. I didn't even know p.m. was a real acronym. And the loft condo that it was held in was flawlessly decorated, complete with a shag rug and vase (pronounced vahz, naturally) collection.

Saturday, Kerin put on a holiday get together that included a cheese tray, tons of beer, and a dress from Saks 5th Avenue. I didn't even think I knew people who actually shopped there, but it turns out they had a sale on Wednesday that had some pretty good deals. Had they had that little green number in my size, I totally would have allowed it to make its debut at both parties. But alas, I was left to what little fashion creativity I possess to figure out that wearing cheap second hand clothing can be classed up by sequins. When in Christmas party doubt, sequins. Just sequins.

And now I'm home, working on this summary of Wuthering Heights that I've put off for way too long. No offense, Blog, but I want to expand the venues in which I write. Improv is great, but is getting a little stale as of late so I've been looking for other creative outlets. Writing in you is nice, but then it leads me to want to explore what else I can do. Kerin and I have been looking at classes at The Loft which I think would be a great way to expand my horizons and also hold me accountable to creating independently. What do you think? I mean, I wouldn't leave you behind. You're actually the only thing that I can write in continuously without having to stop, read, heavily criticize myself, cry, and then delete everything just came out of my finger tips only to try, try again. Of course you've know that all along, haven't you.

Well, if anything, I can look into it and learn more. A year ago, I was in England meeting a guy I'd eventually fall in love with, travel thousands of miles to see, and then come to a realization that home is where the heart is. Maybe a year from now, I'll have a new skill set. Who knows.

It's Finally Happened

Well Blog, it finally happened. After over a year of cringing at the thought and the likely possibility of it happening, it finally took place. I'm honestly incredibly surprised that it hadn't happened sooner, or even on a more regular basis. I think the fates have been kind to me over the past year what with misaligning my morning walk to a timed perfection. But this morning, they finally decided to put me on a path that undeniably lead to the moment of awkwardness and intrigue that I have anticipated since last fall.

I finally ended up in an elevator with my ex.

I mean, there's got to be some sort of destiny at work here since my ex has been my ex for over a year now and has worked a mere floor below me the entire time. Sure I've seen glances of him here and there, but it has been on anything but a regular basis. And for the amount of time people around here spend in the elevator lobby waiting for one of the four to bring us to our respective floors, it's a goddamned miracle that this hasn't happened sooner.

It's also a goddamned miracle that I was nearly done with, for lack of a better term, a walk of shame from that guy's apartment. You know, Blog. That guy I've been dating. He happens to live incredibly close to skyway access and therefore my workplace. I happened to unexpectedly spend the night last night, because that's what you do from time to time when you date that guy.

Nothing like running into your ex and then having to ride 10 floors up in an elevator with him as you wear the same clothes you wore the day before without any make up on and an entire half hour of your day already behind you. That's right. I had been out of bed for half an hour at that point. Terrific.

At least I dressed cute yesterday.

At least I had had a terrific time with that guy last night.

At least this is a tangible confirmation that I really don't care what my ex thinks of me. I may have looked like shit, but it doesn't matter. And here's where I try to extrapolate on that, but I care so little about the entire situation that I can't even think of anything to say about it. Everything that there is to say has already been said.

All that's left is the fact that I need to shower something fierce. That and a special thanks to Kerin for bringing in a shirt for me to wear so I didn't look exactly like I did  yesterday. This is what friends are for, Blog. Take note.

Dietary Boredom

Blog, I finally bought some peanut butter. I was weird about it at the store though and found myself having a hard time committing to a full sized jar. I have this irrational fear of buying food and then not eating it all. I stood in the peanut butter aisle at the grocery store contemplating for longer than I should have on whether or not purchasing a full sized jar was an investment worthy of my money and time. It has been a year since I bought the stuff, and despite my previous and ongoing desire to eat it all the time, I felt that I was not in the habit enough to commit to a full size 18 oz. jar. I mean, that's over a pound of peanut butter. So I ended up going with the little 12 oz. guy. It was less money spent and less of a commitment, even though in a week I have a feeling I'm going to be regretting that decision since all I do now is spread peanut butter on bread whenever I get the slightest hankering for anything.

This is me not liking changes to my diet. I eat a very undiverse array of food. My trips to the grocery store are uneventful. My kitchen is the least creative place in my apartment. Why would I cook when I can make some toast, slap some mayo on it and slice up a tomato? Bon appetit, if you don't mind me saying so myself.

Here's the part where if I had more people reading this, I'd ask "what are some recipes you consistently go to?", so I could get a feel for what other people eat and maybe make an attempt to broaden my dietary horizons. But unless Kerin has started eating not crackers and cheese at every turn, I'm shit out of luck on that one. Hey, as long as I'm not going hungry and have enough to eat, right?

I know I made a promise to update more on what I've been up to, Blog, but that's a hard promise to keep when I don't get up to much. Although this weekend I'll be making a trek to a casino for the first time since college. And this isn't going to be any Palace up in Cass Lake. This is the real deal. Treasure Island, folks. It's going to be a classy time. So perhaps over the next few days I'll have some life anecdotes to reflect on with you, Blog. It should be a good time.

Halloween Times

Real quick Blog. Happy Halloween! This year I went as Babe the Blue Ox. My dear and sweet friend Kerin was kind enough to accompany me as the most adorable version of Paul Bunyan ever:

Turns out Babe outdoes Paul on giantness.

I realized that I haven't really been writing about what I've been up to, Blog. And for that I apologize to the me of the future. I want to have the option to relive my life by way of random and dated ramblings that I spill out to you, Blog. I'm going to make a point to become more specific on the happenings that be happening. That weird picture up there of Kerin and I is the first step to documenting my life via the internet. Well, that and the fact that I've been blogging pretty continuously for the past five years, but who's really keeping track...

North Dakota Weekend... Again

Blog, the internet is disappointing me in the lack of distraction it's providing today. So I guess I'll write in you.

This past weekend I went to North Dakota. I am originally from there, as I've mentioned a million times before. North Dakota is an amazing place, but only for three days. After that, it's time to leave and come back to a place where things make sense to me. North Dakota makes sense to me too I guess. It's a place I can go to reset myself and get in touch with the one area in this world that is the most familiar to me. But after living in not North Dakota, I find it refreshing to return to the city and the hustle and bustle that is completely absent from the plains. Even when it was the only place I had ever known, I never felt like I belonged in North Dakota. And going back, it certainly is home to me, but I still tend to feel out of place. I don't have a preference over Sioux or Bison. I don't know what grows in the fields outside of my house. I don't understand how the farmers co-op works. I don't own anything with fertilizer advertising on it... The list goes on.

But I like it enough to appreciate it and recognize it as a place that has contributed to who I am today. Blah blah blah. I've written about this a million times before. North Dakota. I guess I'll just proceed with some pictures...

Making our trek to the bar on Saturday night.

Kerin's first harvested cornfield experience.

My first flying experience.

I forgot how fun it is to play in the tall grass. There's something so comforting about completely disappearing from sight in a vast expanse of fertile land.



A view from the grass. Hello dear friend Ariel!



My friends in a field.

Dear Ariel Wolf on her way back to town.

That's all I've got Blog. Tonight I embark on a lovely weekend that I plan on spending with friends and taking some time to paint myself blue. It should be wonderful.

Minnesotan Commentary

Blog, I'm just gonna get this out of the way right now so I don't have to worry about it when everyone else is going at it. This will be my yearly commentary on how Minnesotans are notorious for allowing their lives to revolve around snow, the idea of snow, the memory of snow, and the absence of snow. No matter what season it is, you find them talking about snow:

Early Winter - There's snow right now, but there's not that much snow. I mean, it's just snow right? We're Minnesotans. We know how snow is. Whatever. Snow. No big deal about that snow that's everywhere. Time to drive 80 mph on a slick highway!

Mid to Late Winter - We just got 20 inches of snow! There is so much snow out there! I can't believe all the snow that we've gotten over the past week! But whatever. No big deal. This winter is still milder than every other winter I've ever experienced in my life.

Spring - There's still snow here, can you believe it? It's April. Everywhere else is full of flowers and hummingbirds by now.

Summer - Remember how much snow there was when it was winter? Now there's none. But just you wait!Three more months!

And then there's November. November is the month when snow first happens despite any rumors you might hear of snow actually happening in October. Snow, contrary to popular belief, doesn't happen in October and if it does it only happens once every ten years and it's like half an inch in some obscure county in the northern part of the state. November is where it's at with first real snow fall. But the thing is, until that first snow happens, Minnesotans get all antsy about it. They are like "It's cold, but there's no snow. Something's amiss." "The leaves have all fallen from the trees, yet the ground is bare. Something's amiss." "Parka? Never! There is no snow yet. It's still summer. Yet it's November. Something's amiss." Their worst fears might come true and it perhaps may not snow at all. Then what would they have to brag/comment/complain about for the next period of infinity? Farming? Loons? Paul Bunyan?*

So until the snow arrives, everyone is on edge with hopes that their validity as cold-bearing, shovel-wielding Minnesotans won't be diminished with the vast presence of brown grass and naked trees that occupies their state.

And then it's here. And in that moment when the ground is so silently covered in white, the bragging and commenting and complaining and car accidents begin with full force... and it won't stop until never.

I realize that I myself am considered a Minnesotan. I have a Minnesota license, a Minnesota address, and a slight Minnesotan accent. But one thing I learned when I first moved to this state from the "barren" expanse of North Dakota is that the locals here can't get enough of the snow-talk. And because that realization has stuck with me over the last 9 years that I've lived here (It's been 9 years? 9? Jesus.) I've taken to commenting on not the snow and its presence, memory, absence, what have you, but the reaction that Minnesotans themselves have to it. This thing. That happens. Every. Single. Year.

They have this uncanny knack to act like it is the most amazing, wondrous, rare experience that happens all the time and is no big deal at all.

Ok. Yearly rant over. Except I do want to say that I'm going to put an early New Year's resolution out there and do my best to bite my tongue this year when everyone is facebooking about how it was three degrees colder in Shoreview this morning than it was in frickin' Bloomington. Guess what. Three degrees means nothing. It only matters if freezing is involved, and we all know that by January everything is frozen anyway. Get over it and put on a sweater.

*Speaking of Paul Bunyan, I must insert that I have thought of the most brilliant Halloween costume this year what with going as Paul's trusty sidekick Babe the Blue Ox. Even though I have a date to the Halloween party I'm attending, I don't have a Paul Bunyan to complete the tall tale awesomeness that I am going to replicate (my date thinks Steve Jobs is actually something you can dress up as). Luckily, Kerin's husband Nick has offered up his lumberjack manliness and support and will be making a cameo as Paul himself. God bless friends' husbands.

Back to Blogging

Blog, I feel like I'm brain dead. Maybe I should start reading again. I've been so very bad at it for the past couple years, I just can't get into it. Maybe I should start exercising again; it clears my mind and allows me to think and focus. Maybe I should get into the habit of writing about things other than my love life and the inane feelings that overcome me when boys happen.

Maybe I'll get a cup of tea and take a moment during this slow work day to think about what it is I really want to write about in this, my first post in October.

This tea is not as hot as I'd like it to be. Sigh. No, that is not what I really want to write about.

It's actually been on my mind lately that it's coming up on a year since Ryan broke up with me. I'm pretty much over it outside of the realization I had the other day when I ran into him in the elevator lobby and ended up hiding behind a corner to avoid him. It's not the pain of no longer having him in my life that kept me so childishly behind the corner; that pain is long gone. What drives my avoidance is now the incredible awkwardness that would saturate any sort of interaction between us. I stood there peeking around the edge of the lobby, raking my brain for any sort of casual "how do you do" or "good morning" approach that would be appropriate if we were to end up in an elevator together. Absolutely nothing came to mind. With my cartridge completely depleted of any social ammunition combined with the buzzing feeling that had completely taken over my mind and body, I realized that Ryan is completely out of my life. There is absolutely nothing we have to talk about and there is no interest we have whatsoever in one another.

What difference a year can make. Last October we were still sharing a bed.

And thus Samantha chose to write about her feelings that boys conjure within her regardless of her laments over doing so an overwhelming amount in her blog. Christ I'm annoying.

What I really wanted to say was that I've lately been very aware of my typing habits. I think this is because I'm bored at work today and have become fascinated with watching my fingers hit the keys with the regular motions and strokes that I never think twice about. This is complex shit that's happening literally under my nose day in and day out and I never take note. Every bit of text I create whether it be in you Blog or in an email to a learner or to Kerin or chatting with friends on gmail is created so instantaneously with the the use of 26+ separate and tiny keys. It's really quite the feat when you think about the sounds that we've turned to symbols that we've learned to draw and write that we've translated onto a keyboard that in the end allows us to silently dictate our thoughts through what seems like random punching performed by our fingers. We can have silent conversations lead by our fingers. We can create thoughts and ideas as they form in our minds. It's almost as if you are a window into a piece of my brain, Blog. Lucky you. Keyboards and typing are amazing. That's all I really have to say about it.

Also, what I really wanted to say is that the longest academic paper I've ever written was 10 pages long. It was my senior thesis for my undergrad degree. Yes, I went to a state school. Yes, I feel incredibly inept at writing academic papers. No, I don't discredit my writing abilities due to the two previous facts I have just uncovered about myself. I'm going to be all charter school about it and let my writing style lead me to wherever it may instead of trying to box it up in an MLA format with quotes and commas and paranthetical citations. Gross. There is a time and a place for the, in my opinion "overuse", of punctuation (no punctual pun intended with the massive amount of said punctuation in this sentence, and yes, I'm completely aware it's probably incorrect).

I just re-read this whole thing and hate it. But it will do as far as getting back on track with my blogging goes.

Blog. Let's Touch Base.

Blog. I just want to say I had much higher aspirations for you and June coinciding your efforts to document my life. Alas, I've become lazy. No. Not lazy. Uninspired. It's not you blog. It's me.

But! Inspiration is something that hits you upside the head like a bulky backpack making its way down the bus aisle. And suddenly you're swimming in it. Ideas float into your mind and all you can do is get pissed that you're on the bus and not in any position to record the brilliance that is flowing through your brain, unexpectedly and without hesitation.

It all means one thing, Blog. Fringe is in the air.

This happens to me every year. My idea for a Fringe show hits me and inspires me; be it too late to actually do anything about it this year. But there's always next year... Come February when it is time to act on an application, the lottery, and paying up the $400 entrance fee, things just never seem to pan out in my favor. Either I've forgotten, I'm too busy, I'm too broke, or I'm too removed from the inspiration that hits every single July to trust that I can move my project forward.

The thing is Blog, the project is you. All I have to do is continue writing in you and then take my favorite parts, tweak them into something amusing, create a slideshow to go along with them, and present them to the Fringe masses (a.k.a. the 12 people that might give me a chance). People do it all the time. They call themselves "story tellers". I call it "reading your blog out loud". And every year I say "next year".

Maybe I've been saying "next year" because up until now my life wasn't that great or exciting. I mean, I guess if you really wanted to, you could argue that it was. I made a dramatic move down to the city by myself to try out a new way of life that I had never experienced before. I met a guy and ended up moving in with him and his dog to live the American dream. I had the three bedroom house, the fenced in yard, two car garage, friendly neighbors, dishwasher, laundry room, bay window, back porch, the list goes on. And on. But we must remember Blog that I moved down here to live in the city. I wanted to be walking distance from everything cool. I wanted to take the bus and be around art and music (even though I don't go to concerts) and theater and alcohol. The suburbs are boring and I never felt like I fit in. Plus I was a million miles away from everything, even though on paper I had it all right there in the comfort of my own split level. Thang God it wasn't really my split level and when he kicked me out, it hurt, but at least I got to come back to uptown where it's interesting and worthwhile to live.

My point is, Blog, that my life has gotten more interesting since I left the burbs. Both in where I live and also who I interact with and where I plan to go from here. I might as well keep documenting and continue to take my favorite parts, tweak them, accompany them with pictures and put up one hell of an automentary (a term I've just created) in the form of a Fringe show. Inspiration starts here. Every summer on the edge of the Fringe. It fades once I lose interest in the Fringe website and resurfaces briefly in January only to be dashed by the intimidation of piles of snow and the idea that it will never be summer again. But hark! Summer is once again upon us. And this very eve I shall put on my flip flops and slip slap over to yoga so I can continue to be inspired. I will go to Kerin's for one final down the road hangout before she moves. I'll continue on with my summer plans of Fringing, writing, yoga-ing, and waiting. Waiting for the rest of the story to unfold and trying my best to keep up my inspiration to write about it with an audience in mind. And then September will be upon us and what do you think I have planned for then?

England.

Lazy Sunday as a Female Bachelor

Tomatoes. The fruit of the gods I tell you. There is nothing like sliced tomato on some toast with mayonnaise. I like to call it a T since it's really a BLT without the B or the L. This is my second T of the morning. Hopefully it will be my last otherwise I'm going to start thinking there's something wrong with me.

I'm realizing that I'm a female version of a bachelor. A bachelorette you say? No. A bachelorette wouldn't find herself sitting in her kitchenette in her underwear and sports bra eating her second T of the day writing in her blog. I imagine bachelorettes have it more together than this. They do things like wear make up on the weekends and find air fresheners to make their homes smell pretty. Hell, they wear perfume to make themselves smell pretty. They shave their legs and do their hair and get manicures and drink martinis. They decorate their little bachelorette apartments with pictures and vases and go shopping for cute bachelorette clothes that they wear to attract bachelors.

I have been known to do one or two or maybe even three of the above stated activities (minus the manicure, stay away from my hands vietnamese ladies), but as I look around my home, I'm seeing more and more that it doesn't resonate an essence of "a woman's touch" but more of "a woman lives here, but she doesn't really know what to do with it". I do happen to have a plethora of art in my posession. Partially because I happen to have artist friends who hook me up big time with their creations. Partially because I used to live in a 1600 square foot bachelor pad that had nothing on the walls whatsoever, so I made the best of the situation and conjured what little woman's touch I had within and did my best to make the place not look like a beige cave. I succeeded in certain areas of the home, but definitely not all. 1600 square feet is a lot of room to decorate. Luckily I was kicked out of that suburban nightmare and I didn't hesitate to bring all of my art/decor with me. Now I'm in a quarter of the space I once had, so covering the walls with pictures and frames wasn't a difficult task to do.

So I have a lot of art. But do you know what I don't have a lot of? Furniture. And here's where I start thinking I'm really a female version of a bachelor. I don't have a bed. I have a mattress. I don't have a couch, I have a floor. And right now I'm sitting at the first kitchen table I've ever had, in my life. Ever. And do you know how I got what little furniture I have? Kerin everyone. It wasn't even my doing. Kerin hooked me up big time with a mattress to sleep on, a table to eat at, and a chair to throw my purse, jacket, and what not on when I walk in the door. Kerin is the one who helped me figure out where to put the little frames and candles I ended up with. She's the one who had the idea of using the mantle above my little fireplace as a spot to display some obscure pieces of Carly art that are hard to hang. She's the one who went out of her way to buy me two extra panels of curtains so I didn't have bare windows staring at me all the time. Really, this place looks as decorated as it does because of her, not because of me. And I'm grateful for this because at the end of the day I really am a girl. I'm just not one who flourishes in the homemaker department.

So anyway, I sleep on a mattress, and I have a sink full of dirty dishes and a corner in my kitchen that contains an overflowing garbage can. I'm in my underwear on the internet on a Sunday morning with no plans except to maybe go for a run eventually. No shopping, no hair appointment, no martini. I live off of tomatoes, Pasta Sides, and wine. I really need to clean my bathroom, but probably won't any time soon. And my very first kitchen table is covered with mail that I should really go through, but again, probably won't because today is lazy Sunday folks. And I'm a girl bachelor with no plans. It's going to be glorious.

I think I'm going to call it quits on eating a third T. But I might think about putting on some clothes...

Things That Are and Aren't the Bees Knees

You know this apple cinnamon variety of instant oatmeal is really hitting the spot for me this Tuesday morning. It's all hot and gooey with little bursts of apples surprising me here and there. Just puts a smile on my face if you ask me. A smile on my face and satisfaction in my bellly. Mmm mmm mmm. Instant oatmeal, you really are the bees knees.

You know what is not the bees knees? My car breaking down on the side of the road on Saturday night--err should I say Sunday morning. I knew something was amiss before I even left Maple Grove as my battery light was on. No. It wasn't just on. It was flickering. Obviously it was just a weird short in my car, since the light flickered with every pothole and bump my car ran over. Sure the only other time I've seen my battery light on was that one time my serpentine belt broke with T-Gro in tow on the way back from Bemidji a few years back, but that problem has been fixed. If it's not the serpentine belt, then it's nothing. It is easy to ignore things like this. You're supposed to watch the road when you're driving anyway.

But then the sun set and I noticed that my lit up dash looked not as lit up as it had in the past. I thought perhaps instead of my car failing me, it was just my eyes. I am in need of new contacts anyway. Obviously my eyes are worse off than my 1997 Mercury Sable with 175000 miles on it. Obviously the orbs I rely on for sight day in and day out are more likely to fail me than the hunk of steel I bought three years ago for $1000. Obviously that battery light and seemingly dimmer dash mean nothing is wrong with my car at all.

And as I found out on the way home after a night of karoaking with Kerin, it was obvious that my ABS system was having trouble, my gas was low (even though I had filled up earlier that day), and that my spedometer was having issues that are described as telling me that I was going about 0 miles and hour as I sped down the highway. Obviously all these things were not warning signs that my car was indeed failing right before my failing eyes. I refused to believe that I was about to stall on the side of the highway at 3:30 in the morning. As I suddenly felt myself slowing down, as I suddenly lost my power steering (which breifly brought me back to my '92 Topaz days in college) I pulled, no, cranked over to the side of the road a mere four miles away from home. My drunk passenger, aka boyfriend, awoke from his slumber confused at the situation at hand. I breathed hard and started crying, because as a girl, that is all I know how to do in this sort of a situation.

After some drunk frustation and an attempt of coaxing me down from my panic attack, my boyfriend suggested I try starting my car. I turned the key and it "roared" to life. I made it up the exit ramp and around the corner only to crank my slowing car over to the side of the road. 3 miles from home, but at least no longer on the highway. I'd like to continue this story with intervals of my car dying, and then me successfully restarting it for every mile of the trip we had left. What a clever and cute and happy ending we'd all have if that had actually happened. But here's the thing: Outside of the brilliance of apple cinnamon oatmeal, life is never quaint and clever like that. My car was dead on the side of the road. The culprit, a bad alternator. And here I thought my car ran on gas. Hilarious.

After 45 minutes of frantic phone calls, Ryan had signed up for a new AAA membership and we were being towed home by a very high tech truck complete with a camera that allowed the mildly retarded driver to hook my car up with ease and agility. He took the corners fast on the way home and all I could hope for was that the bottle of wine in my back seat would end up in one piece. It did. That was about the happiest of endings I could have wished for.

So anyway, I'm out of a car. I can't really afford a new alternator at this point in time and there are things called mass transit and bikes that get me around just fine for now. I'm not going to sweat it. Although what I am going to do is listen to the Savage Love podcast on my ipod because it is brilliant and raunchy and passes the time at my currently boring job. It is also the bees knees.