Here's How I Played Music in the Azores

Blog, I know you might be wondering how I was able to get two gigs playing Dirty Curls songs on an Azorian island in the middle of the ocean. Well, just like everything that requires you to make an ass of yourself in front of strangers, it's all about who you know. And I happen to know this guy:

Don't worry. He's big in Portugal.

Sergio runs Praia Rock Café, which I actually wrote about here after my first trip to Terceira back in May of 2012. Turns out Sergio came across that article a few months later and befriended me on Facebook since he remembered me from my visit. Ever since, I've been invited to copious beer pong events that I have no interest or ability in attending.

But when I was standing in line to check my bag at Logan International in Boston at the very beginning of my trip, the couple in front of me asked about my guitar*. We were all on our way to the same place, so they were wondering where I would be playing. I hadn't actually planned on playing a show while I was on the island, but was open to the idea. I mentioned I knew Sergio at Praia Rock and they knew exactly what I was talking about, because this world isn't that big after all. And maybe because Terceira could easily fit in the 494-694 loop (for you Minneapolites' reference) and has a population of 50,000 and everyone knows everyone else. Seriously. That bag check line was like a big Portuguese family reunion. So was the plane. And customs.

Anyway, long story short, I contacted Sergio about playing and he agreed and got me set up. Dirty comedy music that is sung explicitly in English may seem like a weird choice for a bar in Portugal, but like my first article mentioned, the bar is located right outside of the front gate of the base. It's swarming with Americans. So much so, there's American shit all over the walls:

American shit = money and license plates.

And so I got to play dirty songs about threesomes and Joe Biden for Americans who were able to appreciate all the naughty humor that goes with something like lusting after the vice president. The first of my two nights on stage lead me to be invited to sing for the main act, Tommy and the Time Machine. However, while I can hold my own singing erotic bluegrass with my guitar, it turns out I have a tough time incorporating my voice into a classic rock cover band because I get distracted by things like Pedro's electric bass prowess that is second to none.



But that other girl from North Dakota knew exactly what she was doing.

Despite my ironic stage fright, I still had a great time at Praia Rock. I have to say I teared up when the airport shuttle passed by it on our way to the plane. Sometimes it's only when you leave a place that you realize just how familiar it's become to you.

So thanks Sergio and Tommy and the Time Machine, and everyone else who came out to see me play in such a far off land. If I ever manage to reproduce humans who in turn reproduce more humans, I'll tell them about it as they're getting me ready for my sponge bath, or Sunday outing, or whatever it is that I won't be able to do for myself by then because I'm old.



*Fact: When you travel with an instrument, everyone automatically thinks you're cool and probably a little famous. So next time you travel, pack your shit in an instrument case (or just bring an instrument) and let the questions and awe rain down.

Azores Day 12: Praia Rocked Out

Blog, I'm tired. But it's good. I played Dirty Curls songs at Praia Rock and they loved it. Court, you're a genius. Carly, you're awesomely supportive. Me? I'm tired and intoxicated and amazed that I hung out with a couple ladies from VALLEY CITY NORTH DAKOTA tonight. Just when you think you're isolated in the ocean... you're not.

There are many pictures, but not in my possession. I will find them Blog. I will find them and post them and caption them. Until then, good night.

Azores Day 11: Sewing and Spouses

Today was a day in, Blog. It was rainy on the island and I've beached enough over the past couple days to where a break was warranted. This means that Carly and I were able to get some sewing done. And by Carly and I, I mean Carly made some shirts of mine fit better than they did before. In particular, this gem of a wardrobe piece that my sister in law got me from Guam:

All you need to know is that it was the only one left at the BX on Andersen AFB.

I don't know if I should be embarrassed or flattered that she thought of me when she saw it, but it's so ridiculous that I love it. However before I rocked what I perceive to be a Guam native with some sort of Guam ruin, I was sure to make the most of the scraps Carly was creating as she trimmed down my collection of giant t-shirts. With that Blog, I present to you the one and only "sleeveshirt":

Whoa. It looks trashy. Probably because it's made only of sleeves.

As much as I wanted to wear "sleeveshirt" to the Spouse Club get together that happened this evening, I opted for my sweet Guam garment instead. Spouse Club is a thing where a rousing game of Bunko and some delish turkey sandwiches made for an evening well spent. I mingled with ladies who married into the military and was further convinced that being a military spouse is not the life for me. But that doesn't mean I don't have a good time hanging out with them. There was wine and dice. What more could a guest at Spouse Club ask for? Awesome friends from college? Well ok.

It's hard not to notice the Guam shirt, isn't it.

Tomorrow I make my Azorian debut at Praia Rock. Sergio was kind enough to give me a few minutes to play some erotic bluegrass music by way of Courtney McClean and the Dirty Curls before the main act goes on. Of course I announced it at Spouses Club when they all asked me to stand and introduce myself before we started rolling the Bunko di. If anything, I'll have my Bemidji alums in the audience along with whatever other random airmen show up. Here's to hoping my diligence in blogging continues so details are shared tomorrow evening.

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.

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:

Super Sweet Birthday Post

Another year of life lived, Blog! I always try to post a little somethin' somethin' on my birthday, and this year is no different. I ended last year's entry with an optimistic "I'm going to try and make 28 the best I can make it." Even though I fell into a weird winter funk shortly after that, I feel like I eventually got my ass in gear and made some really scary but exciting decisions. I learned that when you say yes to stuff, you can end up in an elementary school with a bunch of 3rd and 4th graders singing happy birthday to you. And then you can end up at a Pizza Hut afterwards, gorging yourself on the lunch buffet. And then you can go on a lovely walk with your tour partner in the sunshine and point out how you happen to be wearing all black and standing in front of a high school taking a picture. Oops. And then you can spend the afternoon perusing Facebook and all the lovely people you know who took the time to wish you a happy birthday. And then you can talk on the phone with your friends. And after that you can go roller skating and not fall even once! But afterwards while you're watching The Bachelor special, your legs start feeling a little weird because roller skating is something that you don't really do... ever.

What I'm trying to say, Blog, is that I had a really great birthday today. And I didn't drink any alcohol whatsoever! That makes me sound like a lush, doesn't it. But let's face it, Blog. I'm usually going to have a drink of some sort when there is cause for celebration. Being an adult is fun, but doing kid things (like an impromptu foot race across a roller skating rink) can also be fun.

So now I'm in the last year of my twenties. Frankly, they've been all over the place. I've earned a bachelors degree, and have moved from what I once thought was a city (that would be Bemidji) to Minneapolis. I stumbled through three long-term relationships only to continue to stumble through dating. I've gotten stuck in an office job, yet traveled to more countries than I could have ever imagined (I've never imagined traveling to vast amounts of countries, for the record, it's been like 6). I've shunned playing music for years only to join a band within the last six months. I feel like I've figured it out over and over again and now am realizing I probably never will. I can only do what I want to do to the best of my abilities, which are growing because I've putzed around so much in my twenties. I guess that's what they're for. To one more year of putzing! Then shit gets real.

Putzing = Overly Posed Skating

 

Hello Visitors!

Blog! We're hanging out two days in a row?! What is this nonsense? I'll tell you what it is. Lately I've been on a coffee house kick. I'm finding it to be a good way to get out of the hotel and get to know my surroundings a bit. Since tonight is Friday, I thought about trying my hand at stepping it up a notch and perusing a local bar for a glass of wine, but Charlotte is a big city, Blog. There is a part of me that doesn't want to misstep and end up at the weird bar where all the douches go. And again, Charlotte is a big city. Looking at all my options of where to go became overwhelming and when I saw that there was a Caribou just a few miles from where we're staying, I decided to hole up in a corner with this song in my ears (I'm into making myself sad with music, ok?).

Anyway, as you know Blog, I've started to post links to you on Facebook whenever I write. This is a huge step for me in my blogging experience since for years I've been incredibly aloof with anything I write. I've always written on the internet about my life (well, since 2006 anyway), but have never really let people know about it. Just before I left for tour, I decided to be a little bit bolder with you and cleaned you up to the best of my abilities so more than just me and the three other people who know about you could read you at will. I'm realizing now that there is a chance I might be writing for an actual audience... well, one that is made up of tens of people since last night's post appears to have gotten a whopping (by my standards) 40 views. I don't think I read what I wrote 40 times, so I'm going to assume we've had a few visitors.

I think we should acknowledge our new friends, Blog, since you are just an internet entity that I have personified with whatever ramblings that come out of my fingertips, and those who visit us are actual people with souls and jobs and stuff. So thank you for hanging out with Blog and I, visitors! We hope that you make us a regular part of your internet adventures. I also hope you don't mind that I basically have made Blog into the equivalent of an invisible friend. If you want to learn more about where I'm coming from on the whole thing, you can always check out my About Blog and I page.

Back to coffee-housing. There is a lively card game happening over yonder. Who knew a Caribou would be such a hopping place on a Friday night?

Hello From the Road!

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

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

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

Look at our merchandise Blog! Buy some!

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

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

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

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



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

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.

No Prelude, Just a List

1. Today I went to the dentist for the first time in ten years. I've always kept it a secret as to how long it's actually been since I've been to the dentist, but now that I've broken that streak I've become more ok with my former dental irresponsibility. I have miraculously come out once again with no cavities. I don't know how I did it, Blog. They don't just tell you to brush twice a day for your health... or actually they do. This good news, however, reinforces the fear I have for the dentist since I've never experienced the pain of a drill. Though I did get my wisdom teeth pulled way back in high school. I can't imagine drilling would be that bad...

2. I have somehow ended up with two guitars in the back seat of my car, neither of which are mine. Weird. Had you told me that a year ago, I would have slapped you with a soft and supple hand that hasn't been mangled by steel strings digging into its fingertips.Then I would have silently worried about the impending root canal for which I was surely due since it had been a ridiculously long time since I had my teeth cleaned.

3. I just re-read points one and two and almost deleted them because I hate how they sound. But I won't because I've started writing point three. I'm past the moment. Must continue on and accept what is now the recent past.

4. I had a Mediterranian sandwich from Potbelly today for lunch/supper. It was my food conclusion after a long day of wondering what the hell I was so hungry for. The sandwich hit the spot. I would have never thought to eat it without taking a good seven minutes to pore over the friendly-soaked menu at the Potbelly in the IDS until I conjured up the memory that feta is delicious cheese that should never be put in a corner.

5. I wish I knew what IDS stood for. I'm sure I could look it up on the internet, but I did enough of that yesterday. I'll let it be a mystery for now.

6. Investor's Diversified Services. No wonder no one knows what the hell it stands for. How forgettable.

7. I like this song:

Bye!

Sing My Name, Sing My Name

Have you ever thought about songs that have your name in them, Blog? I haven't either. But thanks to the magic that is the internet, both you and the ability to look up songs with our names in them exist. Look at this gem I found just for you, Blog. You're welcome:

Today, a slight facebook tiff with my ex-boyfriend (one of the two I'm still friends with) lead me to look up Cole Porter's array of songs that he wrote for musicals, movies, and the general public's ear back in the first half of the 20th century. I won't get into semantics of exactly why I was looking up Cole Porter music*, but as I perused the long list of hits, a title stuck out to me: "I Love You Samantha".

Whaaa? I've never been aware of any songs that featured my name. When Mambo No. 5 came out during my freshman year of high school, I anxiously listened for my name so I would know the flavor of sexiness I was destined to represent. Unfortunately, the only person I knew who shared a name in the line up was my mom with "a little bit of Mary all night long". Great.

I've pretty much thrown out the novelty of having my name in a song ever since. The internet wasn't a thing I did back in high school and when it finally did come into my life, I had better things to look up.

But today, the simple and fun thought of looking up songs with my name as a defining detail was presented before my very eyes. I was pleased to find that Bing Crosby himself was the man who was in love with me. He's a one gal guy, in case you didn't know:

I also need to invest in a fabulous yellow robe.

Hearing my name sung by Bing's voice is so strange and fun! I was hooked. I did an official Google search for songs about Samantha and found this other one by Sir Elton John (one I probably should know about but don't because I'm terrible with pop culture):

I'm both amused and disappointed that I can identify more clearly with Lady Samantha, but what do you do. Having a slight case of the sads with you at all times can lend itself to creativity and the forlorn listening to a 1960s superstar's remorse for what he had said 'round the campfire. At least the truth came out in the end.


*A viewing of De-Lovely in late 2005 combined with my ex-boyfriend's loose wrists equalling an inside joke that includes the phrase "Cole Porter-Gay" might have something to do with it if you're really curious.

The Title is Untitled

I have calluses on my fingers, Blog. I haven't had calluses like this in years. They are an achievement for me. They tell me that I've been diligent in playing music.

I can play for longer and longer periods of time each day. I've replaced conditioning my body by running two miles at a time with conditioning my left hand to twist and wrench itself in unnatural positions for half an hour at a time. A month ago it was painful and foreign. Tonight it was comfortable and satisfying.

Practice, practice, practice. Another thing my mom was right about.

I love that I once again have the ability to tap the hardened skin at the tips of my fingers on whatever hard surface that finds itself beneath them. I do it because I've never had the nails to make that sound. I do it to bask in the physical results of my accomplishments.

Oh man, Blog. I'm a little tipsy and therefore I'm a little poetic. I'm also a little bit happy. I really love this roommate thing. I am really loving this band thing. I am really loving my life for every moment that is given to me outside of the dull and monotonous corporate job that graces my daylight hours.

I want to punch myself for being so overly descriptive, Blog. That's it. I'm making a list.

1. I've spent a lot of money at Ikea over the past few weeks. This apartment I've moved into is actually a wonderful place. There are expansive windows that let incredible amounts of light to spill all over the hardwood floors. There is ample counter space in the kitchen. I have my own room with a reasonable closet and large window. The only thing that really sucks is the bathroom. There is no place for my toothbrush. My toiletries are often times lost behind the claw foot bath tub. There is a glass bottle reminiscent to a wine bottle lying underneath the tub. I don't know what's going on there.

2. I am getting old. I have gray hair. People don't believe me because I color it. But it's there, Blog. I am going gray. Big time.

3. Me going gray is an indicator that while I've inherited my mother's tone and demeanor, I've inherited my father's looks. I haven't seen a youthful picture of him since I was a child, but I'm hoping that he was a good looking guy back in the day. Please let him have been a good looking guy back in the day. I can't afford to be looking like this any time soon:

Though, I can afford that magnificent purple shirt.

3. Random thought: I've had to say goodbye to someone I've cared about immensely knowing that I would never see them again. That's the kind of thought that crosses my mind whenever I think of the Englishman. It's been over a year since I've seen him already. Crazy.

4. I want to make you fun again , Blog. I think the best way to do this is to write in you more often. That way I'll get sick of blanket blogging and will be forced to write about the stupid specific stuff that happens to me on a daily basis. Like today I was hugged by the Goblirsch Jr. as he told me he'd hug me until I starved to death. Unfortunately for everyone, I had just eaten. It would take him awhile. He gave up and left for Chicago instead.

I've drank a handsome amount of wine this evening Blog. I think I'm done. Until tomorrow... (because here's to hoping that I write tomorrow)

The Places We Live

Every two years or so, I tend to pack up all my belongings and leave a place I've grown to love. It's a place where the secrets to opening cabinets and locking doors have all been told to me, but their tricks still leave me stumped from time to time. It's a place that has gathered a myriad of memories but still could hold many more. Every time I move, I feel like I'm doing so prematurely. Like there is something still waiting to happen within these walls and now I've only got 48 hours left to figure out what that something is. I have to remind myself that that something will happen to me, and not to the apartment I'm once again moving from.

The longest I've lived in any one place since I was 18 was my first apartment in Minneapolis and it was for a full two years. I documented the day I got keys to the place. I'm glad I did. I imagined what was then unknown to me happening there over the next year. I don't know what I thought would happen, but I'm certain whatever it was didn't actually come to fruition. It never does.

Maybe that's why I move so much. I'm a fan of new beginnings and seem to seek them out once every few years. Moving so much has kept my earthly belongings to a minimum. I for some reason need to shed my skin every once in awhile and make a fresh start. I wish I wasn't this way. There is a part of me that is jealous of settled friends who know what to expect and are satisfied with where they are. I wish I could just relax and resist the urge to pack up and try something new. Mainly because this packing up thing breaks my heart every time. The places we live are alive with us and leaving them is like leaving a comfortable and satisfying relationship for someone you're not quite sure you'll be happy with, but who you have to go for because otherwise you'll never know.

You'll just never know.

So that's why I keep moving. Because I'll never know what it's like if I don't. I'll only know where I am. Granted, the last time I moved was completely out of necessity and nowhere near my personal desire to do so. But now that I think of it, it usually is anyway. I love this apartment more than most of the places I've lived. It's got character, it's a great location, a decent price, and my landlord is wonderful. It helped me get over one of the most difficult break ups I've ever gone through and then served as an abode where I foolishly yet necessarily pined after an Englishman. The solitude here has helped me, has hurt me, and has let me grow. And while I feel like I could stay for another few years, I know I can't. It's time to go try something new. It's time to go after what I really want for once and since I was cursed with the desire for a completely un-lucrative career, I have to downsize in the residence department. I'm going to have roommates who I'm not dating for the first time in 7 years. I'm going to have to learn how to share a bathroom and a kitchen. I'm going to have to figure out how to split bills and what food is mine. Change is scary, but change is good.

I just have to remember that one day it will be ok to settle. Because even when you settle, you still can't accurately imagine what is going to happen to you in the next year. It could be anything. And even if it is the scariest thing in the world, there is another side to come out on.

I remember when I graduated high school, I had a thought that I've managed to keep with me since: "A year from now, who knows the people I'll know". I couldn't even fathom the thought of what turned out to be the most familiar faces in my life; one who is my soon-to-be roommate. It was petrifying and wonderful all at the same time.

A year ago I was leaving a long-running overseas relationship for someone I wasn't quite sure I'd be happy with, but who I went for because otherwise I would have never known. Well now I know. He wasn't for me. But a year ago, I also wasn't in this band. I also wasn't going on tour. I also wasn't going to take a leap of faith and leave this apartment I love so very much as a sacrifice so I could pursue something I've loved my entire life.

Change is good.

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...

Tunez

Basically I'm just making it a habit to embed songs I hear on Triple J that I can't add on my Grooveshark or find on iTunes so I can keep track of them somewhere. The plight of being so exclusive with the music I listen to is a difficult one, Blog. As a result, I am the ultimate hipster.

Two Things... No Three

Two things, Blog:

1. My little view counter thing hit 4,000 views today. I don't know if that means I'm just that obsessed with you Blog, or if it means that there are people who actually read you (or at least "view" you). I only have 10 followers, and I think that half of them are defunct accounts. I did learn last week that Jo from work reads you though. That brightened my day. Thanks for reading, Jo.

2. This song.

Oh, and 3. I discovered Downton Abbey over the weekend, Blog. Now I just want my life to consist of interrupted conversations and knowing glances. If only...

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.

You're Still In My Heart

Blog, I haven't forgotten about you. A night of sipping wine and listening to music by myself has rekindled my desire to contribute to you. Don't worry. There'll be more to tell you soon. For now, it's time for sleep. And this song that I love: