God's Punishment

When you hear "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" THREE times in one day through no fault of your own, you know you are being punished by God.

Things I Learned on The Bus

1) You have been riding the same bus route too often when you start to recognize the smelly men who get on and you also know which stop they exit the bus because of the change in air quality and you have begun to NOTICE THE PATTERN. 2) A sign that says "EFF. for rent" means efficiency apartment for rent. I had to think about that for a LONG time. 3) Gauze is the newest, hottest fashion accessory for the urban young. In the past week I have seen more and more young men sporting guaze wrapped around their arms and/or legs. Hip. 4) I still hate, hate, HATE the Starbucks at the corner of Franklin and Nicollet. It offends my sense of superiorness for living in the ghetto. How DARE Starbucks enter my hood? 5) There's a bridal place on the corner of Marquette and 10th going out of business. I promptly called and left voicemails for the two women I know who live in the Cities who may be interested in this nugget of information. 6) It's hard to fill out surveys on the bus. The driver gave me one this morning to fill out on my way to work. I HEART Met Transit, so I filled it out with gushing praise for the drivers and how much money it saves me in gas and parking and doctors appointments because heaven knows it saves me from getting ulcers because I don't have to drive on I-94 every single day of my life. Oh, yeah, but the point it that it was hard to fill out the little boxes when the bus was moving. 7) I don't know what is grammatically correct among: "He needs washed," "He needs washing," or "He needs to be washed." And the fact that I don't know may keep me up tonight. I said, "he needs washed" and Biker Boy laughed. This is on the bus list because we had the discussion on the bus. 8) The new Marshall Field windows will be opening June 30. Apparently there will be live entertainment and everything. Can't wait.

The Fun Never Ends

On a trip to Minnesota to find housing, my father and I stopped by the Mall of America. Of course, this was before I lived here. We walk into the MOA and I promptly had a panic attack. Tears were streaming down my face, my breath came in short jerks, and I motioned to my father that I had to leave. This was not an untypical reaction to crowded new places for me. On my first trip to the bookstore on campus, I also had a panic attack that ended only when I threw my books down on the nearest available horizontal surface without purchasing them, elbowed my way through the crowd, and ran outside to take deep breaths for an unmentionably long time. My bestest friend came to visit me here last week. It was the first time she had ever been here. Of course, every girl from the Midwest wants to see the MOA. So I took her. And it was with great confidence and aplomb that I led her through the tortuous maze without a negative word spoken about it being a portal to hell. Props to me for finally accepting life in the city (yay! I gave myself props!). Three years later and I am almost a full-fledged city girl. The panic attacks have nearly stopped. I will never defend Minneapolis in quite the same way that Carrie Bradshaw defends New York in Sex and the City, but if I could give up country music, maybe, just maybe, I could pretend that I'm not a country girl. (Sorry for the SATC reference - my boyfriend is out of town and I may have rented several seasons to watch....hours and hours and hours....since I've been watching so much I realize 1) all problems can be related to a SATC episode and 2) television is a tool of Satan.) Because bestest friend was in town, I could reflect on trends in my life. I have made friends while in grad school, but my closest friends, the friends I call at 2:00 in the morning when those panic attacks do sneak up, are from long ago. High school, college, OH MY GOD, I just realized that the person I call most frequently is a person I MET IN SECOND GRADE. Anyway, the point is that it's because I have a persona that I've developed since coming here. I think it's to deal with the stress of the city. Anyway, this is not the real person who I am. And the people who have known me the longest know that the act I am putting on is bullshit. And they call me on the bullshit. And since they do, I don't even put it on with them. I can be the person I was before I came to Minneapolis. The person who didn't have panic attacks. The person who was so naive she didn't know that loving Garth Brooks music wasn't cool. The person who cared deeply and passionately and was loyal because she thought she would receive that same loyalty in return. So with my bestest friend in town, I was able to cut the act. I could whisper mean comments in the movie theater and not get told I was too mean or (worse yet) to shut up because someone else is taking the movie seriously. I was able to get lost in downtown St. Paul and laugh hysterically about the predicament instead of pretending I knew where I was. I didn't have to pretend I knew all the countries in Africa because she wasn't judging me based on my knowledge (or lack thereof). I was able to fall right back into inside jokes that haven't seen the light of day in five years. I was able to me for the first time in too long. And I did all of this because the loyalty is there. There's nothing I can do to her or say to her that would make that loyalty change. I feel like the loyalty might change with some people I consider my friends here in Minneapolis. It's not that they aren't wonderful people who have supported me through many tough times, but if they heard that story or knew what I did that one time, would they still want to be my friend? After going through so much drama in the past year with personal relationships, I wonder if I'll ever be able to develop a friendship as sustainable as those from times past when I was a different person. I cherish those friendships all the more knowing that they don't come around all that often.

Not Enough Cherry

You know how they sell cherry Lifesavers separately from the rest? They should do the same thing for Starburst. I hate getting a whole pack and eating it for weeks because I don't ever want to eat the "lemon" ones. My bestest friend is coming to town today. I am so excited. Off to wash the sheets and other things good hosts do.....

Irrational Fear #237

Dropping my cell phone and/or keys in a storm drain. I find myself clutching my keys compulsively when I am at an intersection with a storm drain anywhere near. Today, I looked down at my hand and saw I WAS BLEEDING from clutching them so hard. What does this say about me, I wonder?

Ira Glass update

There's never enough Ira. A friend gave me a copy of a CD with an interview of Terry Gross by Ira Glass and an interview of Ira Glass by Terry Gross. NPR listeners are such geeks!! And I mean that in the nicest way possible.

Oh, so there's a comment made by Terry Gross. She describing how she thinks people might be living their lives for display. We've become a society where we are so open about our personal selves that it seems like every action we undertake is so that we can tell others. And she has some angst about it because she feels like her show (Fresh Air) might have something to do with it. And Ira (I can call him Ira, right, because I love him) says that he has no problem with it at all because so much of what we hear is so fake all the time. These little bits of honesty are to be treasured. He also doesn't think it's a problem because he doesn't think it is something that crosses the minds of most individuals. I think he's thinking too small. No, I don't think my life will every be on the radio, but I sure can make my friends laugh when I go back home. I live everything thinking about the story I will tell.

So I actually agree with Terry Gross and not Ira as to how I live my life. I live my life thinking that everything I do will be a good story. I left the house ten minutes late, it started to rain, I missed the bus by thirty seconds, the computer crashed before I saved my work, the place I wanted to eat closed early, and the place I was going to stop and buy that card was closed because it didn't have electricity. All of it is okay because IT WILL BE A GOOD STORY. I honestly don't know how people get through life when they don't think this way.

I think I could have enjoyed a very happy life as a first year grad student if I had only had this perspective. Yes, it's miserable and I'm sad that I have gone two weeks without a single person talking to me except the bus driver and the cashier and the grocery store, but someday this will be a fun story to tell. I wish I could have thought that way.

I have a friend who is currently at the hospital because she is suicidal. I keep calling her every two hours to make sure she's still okay. And I want to tell her that someday this will be a GREAT story. But I've been where she is. Where there's no place to go, you can't go home, you can't go to work, and there's nothing in the future to look forward to. And I know that when you're in this place, the idea of a future story is not enough to make things look brighter.

So, Terry Gross may be right that our world is all about what a great story it will be. But I don't think it's a bad thing. If that's what's giving you something to look forward to, that can't be a bad thing. I don't share her angst that it's wrong. I'm not telling the world my stories, but I have them to tell.

....And Her Boyfriends

I'm going to be honest here. Biker Boy and I differ drastically about what could be considered "good music." God bless Dwight Yokum and Johnny Cash because they represent what could be the only crossover present in our musical oeuvres. I had mentioned to my darling dear Biker Boy, briefly, a passing enjoyment of an alt/country artist by the name of Neko Case (once! about a zillion years ago!! maybe before we were dating!).

Biker Boy, who has one of the most extensive collections of music known to woman, lets me know that he, of course, owns a Neko Case CD. Of course. On a particularly tedious roadtrip (I'm not going to insult Iowa again, but for the LOVE OF GOD, couldn't they do something with I-35?), BB pulls out his Neko Case CD. Now, here's our roadtrip system. I get to pick a CD, he gets to pick a CD, I get to pick a CD, he gets to pick a CD, and on and on like this until the most boring state in the union is past us. But, whoever is driving is able to fast forward through whatever songs annoy them beyond belief (like, perhaps, the vast majority of whatever the hell that Wilco CD was that had soooo much white noise I wanted to shoot the CD player and listen to the sound of the wind instead). It's a strategic game we play. Anyway, about halfway through the Neko Case CD, after I've fast forwarded about half the songs already, I ask, "where are all the upbeat songs? you know, the ones that are still sad, but aren't boring like these ones?" He stares. "They all sound like this." "No, they don't. What about Mood to Burn Bridges? You know the stuff with Neko Case and Her Boyfriends?" He looked at me BLANKLY.

Biker Boy knows more about music than I will EVER, EVER, EVER know. Yes, he taught me what a dobro was. But he had no idea what I was talking about. I swear I thought I had made the whole thing up. I really did. I thought I had made up a song called Mood to Burn Bridges somewhere in my depressed state of the first year of my graduate school career. Hallucinating with sound. Because Biker Boy knows everything about music, and, although I can sing the lyrics to any Garth Brooks song you want, this does not qualify me to actually know anything about music.

Alas, after we got home, Biker Boy sends me an email. It seems Neko Case AND HER BOYFRIENDS are playing at a local venue. Oh, yeah. I RULE. I didn't hallucinate with sounds. I didn't.

Of course I made him take me to the concert. So we went on Tuesday night. Because I'm a baby who doesn't like to drive downtown, we took the bus. So we heard good music and we saw interesting people, but the most fascinating part of the whole evening for me was seeing what songs we actually enjoyed. Whatever songs I thought were boring, BB was riveted to. Whatever songs were playing when he was gazing at the crowd, I was singing along to. We're so different.

Oh, and while we were downtown, I caught him ogling bikes locked up to bike racks. Much as another man would ogle an attractive female, the man would stare and stare at the bikes. I wonder if I should be worried about this?

To Catch An Alligator and Take It Home

Apparently my new bike has strong brakes. Which will be fun when I brake for the first time and fly over the handlebars.

I have a shiny new helmet in my apartment. And a shiny new bike pump BB insisted I need (for what?! I thought I had a Biker Boy for putting air in tires and assorted other routine maintenance activities). What do I not have in my apartment, you may ask? A shiny new BIKE. It's getting put together or something. By Biker Boy. I was going to go for a ride tomorrow, but I guess I won't. I'll just sit around or something.

After much shopping, I purchased a great new skirt from a great store (which may be located on Lyndale Ave. and 24th - go now and see why I LOVE it). But where is this great skirt? Hanging in the closet of a certain house in IOWA. Let's examine some basic facts about me. Where do I live? Minneapolis, Minnesota. Where is my skirt? In IOWA. Sad. Sad. Sad. My skirt is sad to be away from me and I am sad to be away from my skirt. My bike is sad to be away from me, too.

Biker Boy's cousin is married. So is his brother. There was much fiesta-ing.

I have an addiction. His name is Ira Glass. I listen to the archives of This American Life over and over and over again. And I listen to Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me!, but only the episodes where IRA GLASS is on. Hi, Ira!! I love you. I would get the Puppy Channel in honor of you. You make me reconsider eating meat, although I do like me a nice piece of steak.

Oh, yeah, I need to stop. That's the point. HOURS can go by and I have listened to several episodes and I love David Sedaris and Sarah Vowell and Jonathan Goldstein, but they can't hold a candle to Ira. Ira. I know you're from Chicago, but Minneapolis is not that far from you. Please. Just move. We have an NPR affiliate here. You can do your show here. Please?

You're wondering what any of these paragraphs have to do with the others? Well, I'm not sure. If you figure out what the commonalities are, let me know.