Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Another World.

I love Science Fiction.

This may seem a bit sudden. I know we haven't been seeing each other for very long and against all of your cautionary tales... I can't hide these feelings any longer.

 It's not that I'm really into lasers or spaceships, but there's something about the personal history of a bug-like alien who came to Earth to colonize, realized an intelligent life inhabited the planet, and left hanging it's head in shame only to be blown to bits hundreds of years later by Earthlings that just really gets me going.

It's not just me. My new love has had many a mistress...and mister. I recently listened to a podcast on either This American Life or Radio Lab (same thing, eh?) about a young man who was immersed in the realm of Xanth when he should have been flipping through his dad's dirty magazines. When he couldn't find a place to fit in at his high school he stole the money from his college savings account and hopped a plane to Florida to ask Piers Anthony, the SciFi author he'd been idolizing for years, if he could live in his home and cook his family breakfast. 

This episode of whichever podcast it was really touched my shriveled little heart. The bravery of this young man astonishes me. Obviously Piers sent him straight home after spitting some knowledge across the dinner table, but at least part of his dream came true. For just a day, this kid got to feel safe and accepted by the person he admired the most. 

If I had to runaway to my fantasy land, I would run to the Land of Steele. When you walk through the doors you're greeted by a hymnal-singing weenie dog who alerts the King and Queen of your arrival. You meet with the King first as he kisses each of your cheeks and promptly hands you a 64oz Wild Cherry Pepsi with crushed ice and a sack full of party burritos. What hosts! Next, the Queen graces you with her boisterous laugh and a smothering embrace. She swings you around and directs you to the dining room table to play a board game of knights and wizards while the King slips some rum into your QT cup. 

In all reality, I would run away to my friend Katie and her husband Danny's house in a heartbeat if I could run. Kate is the sweetest, most caring person I've ever met, and it doesn't hurt that every time I'm with her I bust a gut. That lonely teenager was looking for a refuge from a world of ridicule and embarrassment for being himself. He found what he needed in Piers Anthony's strange little kitchen and the only reason I've made it in Milwaukee for as long as I have is because I have had Kate on the other end of the phone line telling me how proud she is of me. Except for her living in my closet, I couldn't ask for anything more in a friend. 

I am literally counting down the days until I get to see her sweet, sweet face and giggle all through the night. 

And Danny is pretty cool, too. He's my favorite husband. 

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Golden Girls (I'm really into parentheses)

As a young woman in my mid-twenties with an established group of other mid-twenty girlfriends in Oklahoma, I often find it hard to make (and keep!) girlfriends in my new town of Milwaukee. Every time I meet a young lady here I have such high hopes for her and her cool haircut that I might oversell her in my head, therefore making it impossible for her real, normal person self to live up to my friend standards. You’d think I was doing this on purpose so I could sit around and mope about not having any good girlfriends here and fart with boys. It can’t really be possible that I will only relate to girls my age from Oklahoma, can it?

What’s worse is when I meet a girl and immediately want to hate her. This is something that girls I actually can’t stand do all of the time, but of course I don’t realize this when I do it. But what I hate more than that (lot of hate here) is when I start to like that girl I hated at first meeting. You know, you walk by her at the reception desk and see her cutting her split ends (which is something I do on the regular at my own desk) and sigh with disgust, then find a reason to not make conversation with her on the way back from your bathroom trip (like faking a cough or checking your shoes for tp). But then enough of these bathroom journeys (I've been drinking a lot of water lately, okay?) lead to you hearing her making an extremely well set-up joke (that you would have told a tiny bit better since you are more skilled in the timing department) and you catch yourself giggling. "I was just thinking about this funny thing I said earlier. In my office. With my friends." Then you are working out the next night and she comes up to use the hip adduction machine after you. Next comes an awkward/weird giggle-filled exchange about her not having to wipe off her sweat after she’s done with her machine because you are just going to sweat all over it again and it would be all wet so why bother? Then you are sitting next to each other moving your inner things in a clenching motion pretending to not be listening to the other's iPod. Then the next day you talk to her about how lame you both are at working out and you both enjoy just sitting in the steam room and chatting with gym employees and elderly people. Then you ask her if you can grab her a coffee since you are going anyways.

Then it hits you. You like this girl. Dammit! But then, it really hits you. In your attempt to make a friend who does not possess the eligibility to be in a fraternity or who you have know since before you could legally drink, you may have given her the impression that you like her like her. I mean, you practically begged her to let you stew in her butt sweat last night and then this morning it totally sounded like you invited her to hang out in the steam room with you and giggle at all the old woman bushes. And didn’t you just hear yourself telling another co-worker how pretty you think she is and how good her hair would look in a bob? And now you are cutting your split ends at your desk while intermittently writing a blog about every exchange you've had with the girl!?

Now you are thinking back on those text messages you sent your boyfriend’s best friend’s wife this morning about her showing a little leg…the lezzy connotations are out of control and all you are trying to do is make a g-d bestie!  

The truth is, I'll probably never speak to this girl again because inside my head (and now here) I have this intimate inside joke about me having a weird crush on her and I'll never be able to have a conversation with her without thinking if she is thinking that I'm checking her out. When really I just need to know what kind of conditioner she is using. 

But this is why I only have probably, 3 or 4 ovary-laden pals in the great state of Wisconsin. And not many more testes-laden was, really. Which I used to think was horrible and made me a complete failure of an independent woman. But now I'm counting all of these girls at home I call my real friends...and I have 4. So, as an adult, I'm kicking ass in the friend area. Do you have seven good girlfriends who live in cool places where you can stay for free? Doubt it. 

If I had 267 "good friends" I would be 18, or have my current Facebook page...

Anyways, I guess the moral of this strange tale is that I'm really hard on myself when it comes to being social with someone after a first meeting or keeping plans with people when I really just want to lay in bed and read This is something that seriously plagues me at parties because I can't figure out while all of these people are so friendly...on purpose? Like, we aren't at work. You don't have to fake it! I wish I could blame it on my love of cats (which I definitely can't). 

Sunday, January 15, 2012


It's nice to see you again.

Since it's the new year I've obviously been out of my over-active mind thinking about how my life as a young professional (ha), student actually working towards a degree (5 years later) and girlfriend/friend/good family member all fits into my life now.

As I read through my initial posts here, my aspirations to be a red headed housewife on an Oklahoma ranch with a Marlboro Man, 4 punks and an iced coffee addiction were clear. Those posts were entertaining, to me at least, but I'm not that great of a cook and I never do it anymore. For instance, today I'm making pigs in a blanket and frozen egg rolls. Who would want a blog post on that? I could blog about the size of my hips and back fat increasing after consuming these delicious treats, which I'm sure someone would be interested in, but I'm just not ready to bare my soul like that on the internet. Not even for my number one reader (mom).

I also noticed that I spent a great amount of those posts on Oklahoma. Don't get me wrong, I love where I'm from, but why was I so obsessed with the hillybilly-ness of the state? It's a known fact that I'm the least country girl in Oklahoma and I don't even know a lot about the state. I should know more about my great home state, but have I mentioned how wonderful Wisconsin is? I should, because being here for the last  years has really changed my life (cheesy, I know).

So, this blog will now be more of a place that I can rant, complain, be confused, excited and manic. I'm not going to tell anyone that I've updated it, so it'll act as more of a journal than a blog. A little less Anne Frank, a little more Clarissa Explains it All.

I'm off to wrap tiny pigs in little fluffy blankets of crescent rolls and drown their sorry asses in a grainy mustard dipping sauce. Who is even playing today anyway?