Fluid Dance Weekend

I haven't blogged in awhile.  Sorry.  I've been busy writing actual stories so blogging only gets used lately when I'm stuck.

Hello.  My name is Stuck.

Sigh.

This weekend I went with my coworkers to Fluid Dance Convention.  We didn't have to go very far--it was downtown. But we still got a hotel room at the Graves 601.  That place is really, really nice. I loved it.  Of course I couldn't stop thinking about the Twins because Justin and Krista Morneau are the spokespeople for the Graves, and our room on the 16th floor directly overlooked Target Field.  I was wishing it was not covered in snow.  I was going to take more pictures of the room before 4 girls messed it up, but I forgot.  I only took pictures of the view.

The convention was kind of an emotional roller coaster for me.  I started off Saturday morning feeling okay, but a little bit out of my league.  A lot of the kids that were there were really, really good.  And I hadn't danced with my coworkers before, outside of our classes, and it's different when you have an award winning master coreographer teaching your class instead of your friends.

It's also a lot different when your new teacher asks you to do moves that you've never done--but everyone else in the room has.  You don't feel like explaining that even though you took dance for 16 years your teacher was apparently crap because she never taught you how to do this stuff. And now you look like an idiot.

It became really apparent to me that my coworkers spend 20-30 hours a week in the studio when they were teenagers and I did not.  I would have loved to, but my parents were not willing.  So I got very jiped.

Our main teacher for the weekend, Lynne, both helped and hurt me.  I should say she helped me a ton.  She's probably fixed the entire rest of my career.  But it was a painful process.

Lynne learned 10 rules for dancers from a friend and it's fixed all the issues in her studio.  She explained that everyone thinks their center is over their heels.  It's actually over the balls of your feet.  And if you're having trouble with your tricks, it's because your center is too far back.  There were other rules too, things I've never applied or even heard of.

So I have now learned that everything I've been doing for the past 16 years, everything I know (the few things I did) is wrong.

I have to re-learn EVERYTHING.  All the things my body wants to do, all my habits are wrong.

At first I was upset that I hadn't heard this sooner.  Then I felt better because I thought it would take an hour or maybe 5 minutes to fix and apply her techniques.

Um, not so much.

So then I felt worse because I couldn't seem to get it.

My coworker and I took her Turns & Leaps class at the end of the day.  I thought it would be easy--she said if we applied her techniques we would be doing 4-6 pirouettes in a row by the end of the night.

Nope.  My coworker is going great guns and I am going nowhere.  She's clearly better than me.  But supposedly if I can apply this stuff, I can do it too.

Only I can't apply it.  I can't seem to retrain my body to do this stuff.  I am falling all over the room like an ass trying to turn.  Oh I'm not the only one, but it sure feels like it.

I managed to finish the class with maybe a C.  We did the most ridiculous turning and leaping combination you've ever seen.  Filled with more leaps I was never trained how to do and just had to guess.  I was kind of upset, but at least happy I finished the class.

Then this morning in lyrical, it all went to hell.

I felt like I couldn't do anything.  I couldn't remember her coreography, I couldn't do it, it was awful.  What made it really glaring was that there were only 4 other people in the class so everything I was doing wrong was really glaring because they were all getting it.  Everyone else could remember what she'd taught in 30 seconds and I couldn't.  I felt completely retarted.  We did tricks I'd never done in my life.  But I felt like I should have been able to do them anyway.

After that lyrical class I felt like a complete failure.  I couldn't believe I spent 16 years of my life dancing, it felt like a waste.  I didn't even know what I was doing there.  I thought seriously about going home and quitting dance all together (not my job, just dancing).  I should probably preface this by saying I love lyrical and it's pretty much my favorite style and I have actually done it before (albiet more simple) so I felt like I should be good at it.  I thought I WAS good at it, until Lynne and her intense coreography got ahold of me.  Then I realized I didn't know jack shit about it.

It didn't help me that right after lyrical we had contemporary.  I hate contemporary.  I didn't like it before, but now I really hate it.  So I already had a bad attitude because of what happened at lyrical, and then I have to do contemporary, where I have to pretend I'm a clock and do all these seizure-like motions to a song by a Swedish techno group called Mum, "Smell Memory."

Yeah.  "Smell Memory" is a "song" about a clock. There are no lyrics. It's different beats and a ticking clock sound.  The kind of stuff I hate.  Mum also has other lovely classics such as "I Can't Feel My Hand Anymore, It's All Right, Sleep Still" and "I Was Her Horse" and my own personal favorite, "They Make Frogs Smoke 'Till They Exploded."

No I didn't make those up.  Look it up on iTunes.  I'm not sure if they're trying to be sarcastic or what.

So I spent an hour pretending to be a clock.  When I was already upset.  I won't say it was a waste or I'm upset I wasted an hour of my life--it was a good learning experience.

I learned I really hate contemporary.

We went to lunch.  I brooded.  We had a class where we sat around and discussed studio stuff.  I brooded.

Then we had one class left for the day--lyrical from Lynne, for the seniors (high school age kids).  We were going to take it even though we were "teachers." (I'm not technically a teacher).  I wasn't sure I wanted to take it after that morning.  I was still wondering what the hell I was doing even dancing, much less going back to lyrical, a style that until that morning I'd loved.

So I sat and watched for a bit, watching her coreography.  It was really similar to her dance from this morning, same elements, different song and different order.

Finally I just snapped and thought "I'm going to do this.  I'm going to take this class and learn this coreography no matter what it looks like."

And it clicked.  It actually clicked.  Apparently I needed a few hours to digest the morning class.  I felt like I could do it, passibly, and I actually turned the easilest, most natural double pirouette I've ever done in my life!  (my main issue is my spot--I keep losing it. And as Lynne says, "you can't drive a car anywhere if you can't see where you're going")

So I went right back to loving lyrical and realizing that I was not the only one who was struggeling.  That I just needed to go back and practice this stuff so I can do it.  I realized that most people couldn't do this stuff to save their life--and the fact that I can passibly do it having never been taught it means I can do this.  I am meant to be here.

Sometimes all it takes is to get even one move that you know is super hard and just have it feel like it's the easiest thing you've ever done in your life.  It's an amazing feeling.

I should be really tired now, but instead I'm wired and I have still been dancing since I got home, even though I am completely black and blue.  I have bruises everywhere.  It's wonderful :)  I can't believe people who say dance is not a sport and it's easy.  They obviously have never done it.  I'm just as beat up as a football player or anyone else who plays a contact sport. If you don't believe it you can look at the pictures.

I recently re-joined the human race, give me some grace

I realize it's been nearly a month since my last blog.  Of course I've been very very busy, working not one but TWO jobs.  It was okay for a bit, but the last few weeks were super hard. My hours at both jobs increased which was very difficult to manage. This makes me glad that I didn't make the Swarm dance team because I would have had to be at practices on top of everything else. I just didn't have time.  A certain person that I live with offered to help me out, but we all know that a man's definition of helping is...well...not much. They lay on the couch until you tell them what to do, then they complain that you're yelling at them to do stuff. Ridiculous. Oh well, I'm trying to let it go. Now I do everything myself which requires so much less yelling, begging, pleading and disapointment and suprisingly--things actually get done. 

I might be giving him a bad rap. He did help me with some stuff.  Sometimes he'd wash the dishes and once a week or two he'd clean the cat box. Two or three times he did the laundry (in three months).  Seriously, the cat is so impressed that her box is getting cleaned out every day.  When I do it, she stares at it like she can't believe it's actually happening.  Then she rubs against my leg to say thank you.

Well no one wants to hear me complain about my husband, particularly not him and he does read this blog so I'll stop now.  Don't worry, he's aware of everything I mentioned here.

On a happier note, I got to see Joe Mauer on Sunday. That was a nice treat. No, he was not on t.v.  I actually saw him in the flesh. My friends who also happen to be Joe Mauer freaks were with me (well one was missing and she is bummed) of course we were at this particular establishment because we knew that he went there.  I won't name this particular establishment because we want him to come back. 

We were sitting at our booth when a nice black Mercedes pulled up right in front of our window.

To be conintued...time to dance!

I was in the Hive but I didn't get to stay

Anyone that's been paying attention to me knows that tonight I tried out for the Swarm Performance Team.  Basically the Swarm is Minnesota's professional Lacrosse team, and the SPT as they are called for short are their dance team/cheerleaders.  Since they're the Swarm, their little fan group, arena, etc is called the Hive (even though they're in the Xcel). So you understand my title...

Anyway there were 44 girls there tonight.  I was number 26.  I was really hoping to get my favorite numbers (16 for Ross and Joe Mauer in high school or 7 for Joe Mauer now) but I had to settle for a number with 6 in it and being in group 7. Haha.

There was one moment before we even got inside that I was just like, wow we are sterotypical dumb cheerleaders.  We all had to park in one of the lots and it was a pay lot where you go pay at a machine in the middle of the lot.  Well nearly all of us just ran to the machine to pay, only to realize we had to enter the lot number our car was parked in into the machine!  So you see all these girls running up to the machine and then running back to their cars and running back to the machine again...and I was thinking how we were just totally fitting the sterotype right then.

Right away I met really nice girls, a few of them were Vikings cheerleaders.  In the first group of girls I was part of walking in, I ended up going out with two of them at the end of the night because their friend who was a Vikings cheerleader got called back and she was their ride.  There were a TON of Vikings cheerleaders there.  Usually at a tryout like that you see girls and you're like, "really? What are you doing here?" I didn't see any of those.  All the girls were gorgeous and good.  We didn't envy the judges.

Right away they tell you that they don't care if you screwed up your routine, they care about your attitude.  That's a lie.  Espeisally when everyone is equally good.  It totally matters if your routine is good or not. My problem was that right before I went into the judges, my mind went totally blank and I forgot everything.  I really wanted a do-over.  And I did get to do it twice, but the second time was even worse than the first time because I knew I'd just screwed up the first time.  My moves were not sharp.  It sucked because about the 30th time I did the dance I really nailed it.  I know I did.  But the 40th and 41st times I did it in front of the judges I couldn't remember anything.  I actually wished it was a two day tryout like the Vikings so I could have had time to process the routine better. Maybe I should have done it less. I don't know.  I mean, I don't screw up during performances, so...I don't know what's with me and judges.

I'm going to keep going.  A lot of the girls were like, I don't know if this is for me, I'm not going to do it again.  But I loved every minute of it.  Except when I screwed up of course.  I already plan on doing the Vikings in April and even the Timberwolves whenever they are.  Just for more practice.  Bcause I'd really like to be on the Swarm.  It's not as much of a commitment as the other teams and that's why everyone wants to be on it.

Actually, my real hope is that the Twins decide to get a dance team and that I can make that.  THAT is my real dream :)  So I'm going to keep practicing.  It was fun.

I did get cut in the first round.  But so did a whole lot of other really amazing dancers including Vikings cheerleaders.  So I don't feel bad...

And now I can eat.  It was so funny, when the four of us decided to go out after we got cut, we asked each other what we were doing the rest of the weekend and we all were like "EAT!!!!"  None of us had eaten real food in weeks.  It was nice to know they were going through the same things I was.  We just sat around and talked about all the things we wanted to eat. 

And I did get to try on the uniform and the boots by the way :)  I wish I could have gotten to keep them.

And it's taking me a really long time to write this blog because I'm also watching The Hills Have Eyes.  I don't know why I'm watching this movie.  It is so horrible.  The first time I saw it I was home alone for the weekend and watched it in the dark, with the screen door open downstairs.  You have to give me credit, that takes a lot of balls.  Anyway right now I'm on the part where the dad is getting burned alive and it makes me feel sick.  I hate that part! Why am I watching this movie at all?  Now the dude is eating the parakeet... I really should turn this off.  This is the most disgusting movie I've ever seen.  No wait, I did see the Hills Have Eyes 2.  That was worse and that had no plot.

This is why I usually stick to comedies.  This movie is just so sick.  If you've never seen it, don't.  Maybe I was much more desensitized three years ago because I don't remember it bothering me this much the first time I saw it.

So I'm getting a little sadder now that I didn't make it.  Probably just because I forgot some of the routine so I feel like I could have done better even though it supposedly didn't matter if you forgot it.

Okay so instead of the Hills Have Eyes I am now watching Worlds Cutest Dogs.  That should make things better!  I will try not to imagine the dogs gutted and cut to pieces with people eating them as in The Hills Have Eyes.

My knees really hurt.  I loved our tryout dance but I knew there would be some floor work involved and I was right.  They're already turning black and blue.  I guess my knees are just too bony for floor work :)  And you should have smelled me tonight!! It was the first and only time I've ever smelled like a football player.  I was kind of impressed.  Of course it was so unGodly hot in the tryout space, we were all pouring sweat.  I mean pouring.  From head to toe.  Probably the worst I've ever sweated in my life, and when you take into account I was only wearing a sports bra, booty shorts and tights, that means it was pretty ridiculously hot in there and we were working hard!!!!

And fyi I think Ross's other fish just died.  I'm already wondering if we should get some goldfish or surrender the cabinet for more decorating space.

Well I think maybe I'll do some real writing now.  And instead of being bummed about not getting on the Swarm (this year!) I will focus on our upcoming Christmas show and Fluid Dance Convention!  And of course the Vikings tryouts in April...

Until tomorrow...

Coming to you LIVE from the Pink Laptop

Oh yes, I got it.  I am coming to you live from my new laptop.  I've waited over a year for this.
Really. An entire year.

Actually, more than that.  My old laptop died in May of 2008.  It was a rough week in general. One of those week where the whole world comes crashing down around your ears.


My laptop dying was first.  I was just reading through some old stories on it late at night when suddenly the screen went black.  In a Mac, we would call it The Blue Screen of Death.  I guess in Windows its called the Black Screen of Death.

Regardless, being the computer person that I am, I knew what it meant.  I knew it was bad.  I knew either my motherboard or my hard drive was fried.

Looking back I now know it was my motherboard and maybe it could have been fixed.  But let's face it, I got that laptop in June of 2001.  It followed me through that summer after senior year, the beginning of college, 9/11, all the stuff that happened in college, the end of college, after college, getting engaged...it lasted a long time.  On 4G of space.  It was angry towards the end, arguing with me that it didn't have enough virtual memory and of course that's bad for the computer.  I tried to delete files and programs but eventually it was just too much.  7 years of solid use for my Compaq was just too much and it died.

I cried.  For days.  I was lost without that laptop.  It literally was my best friend.  Being a writer, you understand, my entire life was documented on that tiny black machine.  I did everything I knew to do.  I sweet talked it.  I restarted in Safe Mode.  I petted it.  I begged it.

IIt was just dead.  And all my stories, my entire life, was sitting on the hard drive.

I got desktop from a garage sale.  We ripped apart my laptop, knowing we were out of options (We being me and my dad, a computer guru) and tried to install the hard drive into the PC. No dice.  I was on the phone with Ross, crying about how I just wanted my files and everything would be fine.

Finally, I found a little computer shop in Sun Ray Shopping Center that seemed to be able to help.  I took my precious hard drive to them (that's all it was by that point, just a hard drive) and they turned it into an external hard drive for $80.

It worked.  Sort of.

I have an $80 paper weight right now because several months after they "fixed" it, it randomly stopped working.  But it was enough.  By then I'd learned my lesson and as soon as I got my files back I burned them onto a c.d.

That c.d. is sitting in my safe right now.  Really.  I won't take that chance again.  But of course I still have an $80 paper weight sitting in my filing cabinet.  I don't care.  I'd pay it over 100 times to get those files back.

I remember once when I was in high school and I was at my boyfriend at the time's house, playing a game of "Would You Rather"--an actual board game version.  His mom read off a card, and I don't remember what the first option was, but the second option was "or lose your entire life's work."  Of course I thought of all my stories and felt ill.  I couldn't imagine it!  It would have been some of the worst possible torture.

So there I was, in May of 2008, faced with that very possibility.  I waited on pins and needles a solid week to find out the fate of my life's work.

In between that week: my kitten was sick, my dad landed in the hospital and had to have emergency surgery, my Memorial Day vacation was ruined, and I landed myself in the middle of a tornado and major hail storm that severly damaged my car.

That was ONE week, people.  There was more that happened but honestly I can't remember it any more.  I think I blocked it out.  I remember sitting in the living room (before the tornado!) thinking that I must have done something really bad because honestly, what else could happen to me at this point?  My life was a total hhole...and like I said that was before the tornado hit.

So a piece of advice: Never say "It can't get any worse than this."  Because trust me, IT CAN.  I lived it.  Every time I said it, something else happened.

So I've been through 3 computers trying to find a replacement for my beloved laptop.  The one I bought at a garage sale (lots of space, video card from the 1980s), my parents old computer (had a video card from the 1990s but still sucked and couldn't use broadband internet) and one we bought off Craig's List.  That one is actually a pretty decent computer, a few quirks, but semi-modern.  It's Ross's computer now :)  We fought over it a lot.  So I'm so happy to finally, FINALLY have a laptop replacement.

Now I just have to replace a lot of things that didn't get transfered from my parents computer--i.e. my iTunes files.  My dad had burned them all onto a disk so he could delete them from his computer...only he didn't burn them all.  I've got like, 1/3.  And I still have to go through everything I downloaded on our other computer and get that on here.

Thankfully Windows 7 has this neat little folder in My Music called "Add to iTunes Automatically" so all I do is drag the files in there and it does the rest of the work.  Now if only I had the rest of the files....They're on my iPod but every program I've found that transfers them costs money...I don't know what to do about this.  I guess I will still not sync my iPod (it hasn't been sunk? since December...) until I figure out what to do.

Oh yeah and tomorrow is the Swarm Tryouts.  I'm kinda glad I had so much to do with this tonight (including 2 hours in live chat with Qwest to get my internet working) so I couldn't think about it.  You know there is a 90% chance I won't make it? There are only 10 spots and if 100 girls show up... Yeah that's pretty depressing.

I should probably go to bed now.  It is after midnight.  Of course I'm on a laptop now and I could just take it to bed with me and keep typing haha!!!

Oh yeah and I decided to name my laptop Pinkie.  I like to name things.  My car's name is Cobie.  I used to name all our cars. We had a '87 Corolla named Luke, an '87 Oldsmobile named Jessie, and an '89 Plymouth Sundance named Pat. I didn't like the car very much and I didn't like the name Pat so--bam.  I stopped naming cars however when we traded Jessie for a mini van.  I was very upset.  Jessie was my favorite car ever (a pearl red coupe with mag wheels) and the mini van was...well it was a mini van.  I was so upset I refused to name it.  And then the naming trend kind of ended.  Until I named my Cavalier Cavi and then it went on again...  Although I did name our '96 Chevy pickup "The Monster" but that was just because it was a big truck and it was stick and it was hard to drive...  Of course you know that was the first car I ever drove.  My dad is that mean :) I was 15 and he was picking me up from the mall and said "you want to drive?" and of course I said sure...and he said "all right, move over!"  I couldn't believe he was serious, but he was.  He made me drive that thing around the parking lot.

He actually tried to teach me to drive when I was 12--we had a Jeep and he wanted me to take it off roading for driving practice.  But my one condition was that I had to read the owner's manual cover to cover first and it just never happened.

It wasn't a big deal, he let me drive our boat whenever I wanted.  That was like my car until I got my license.  I started driving that when I was 9, which was good or bad, depending on how you look at it.  It did give me a terrible habit of drifting all over the road because a boat just naturally drifts while you're driving it... We almost went home with a few mailboxes implanted in our hood the first time I ever actually drove a car on the road.

Well now I really better go to bed.

Until tomorrow (or Sunday...)

It's after midnight, I should probably go to bed.

Just one of dem days...

So I was thinking about how crappy this day was and how I was going to write about it...

Then I put on my pointe shoes and all my problems went away.  And I remember why I dance.  And why I love it.  Because it makes me forget about everything else that sucks. 

The Swarm thing has kind of been making me forget that lately.  Because it's not so much about the dancing as how I look and how I act and what I'm wearing and what my skillz are and I'm freaking out about that.  It seems like I haven't had much fun lately worrying about this thing.  But then I dance and I remember why I want to do it in the first place!  Because I love the glitz and the glamour and the dancing but not so much the dieting and the being perfect at everything.

Every time I watch episodes about dieting and see girls crash dieting or starving themselves, I'm like "pfft they are so full of it, they don't have to crash diet like that it's so unhealthy, they have no idea how to properly diet..."

But now I understand.  I'm three days away from this tryout and I look like I swallowed a watermellon thanks to my eating out last week/weekend.  I was doing sooo good until that.  I can't believe my body picked this week to look like this when last week, 2 weeks ago I looked almost perfect. I was there, and then I took five giant steps backwards.  Why did I cheat this close to DDay?  I should have cheated 2 weeks ago when I had time to fix it.

And now I don't have time. I considered going on a liquid diet for the next three days.  I don't know if I can do that.  I don't know what TO do.  Today I had a Special K bar, easy mac (if Justin Moreneau can eat it every day I figured I could eat it once), and cheese crackers.

That's it.  I used to berate girls who did things like this to their bodies.

Now I'm suddenly one of them.

Don't be like me.  Please.  I am going to go home and have a big glass of V8 juice so that will help, that's an entire serving of fruits and veggies!

I won't even get into the fact that my hip has been bothering me for over a week now and it's made it nearly impossible for me to get into my splits.  Oh yeah, I lost my ablity to get down into the splits in one week.  And that would be a requirement for a dance team.  I've decided I'm just going to go Joe Mauer on this and play through the pain, so to speak.

Also today it rained all day.  I can usually handle that, but so many other things kept happening...  My mom called and now we have no church.  They got in another fight with the pastor (a family friend) and now they're "not friends" anymore and we're leaving the church. Again. (Yes this is not the first time it's happened with them)  You're probably wondering (pairing this with my blog post about the wedding we were excluded from) how my parents manage to lose all their friends?  Honestly I think they'll be friends again.  They just need to get past this.  Like I said, it's happened before.  But they just have really crappy timing.  I mean, it's my dad's birthday on Saturday and they have to pull this crap now? We had to cancel his party because of this.  That really makes me mad.  I didn't realize it until now...

Then I found out that no one seems to want to come to my Halloween party next Friday.  I haven't had any RSVPs (except a few maybes) and then today my best friend (who always co-throws the party with me, this has been going on for years!) tells me she doesn't really feel like coming.  She doesn't have a Halloween costume and she doesn't know what she wants to be or spend the money on something so she doesn't really want to go.

Have I mentioned Halloween is one of my favorite holidays? And the only holiday where I get to throw a party?  If we didn't already have plans for Saturday, I'd be devistated right now.  As it is, I'm pissed.  Why bother throwing this party if no one is going to bother to show up?  And I doubt that I can force people to give me a yes or no answer by next week.  It makes me think of back in the day, when if someone invited you somewhere you said yes right away and were damn grateful and if other plans came up you had to turn them down.  Now days everyone says "maybe" just in case something better comes along.  And I can't be too angry about that because I've done it myself.  I just hate that this is where this culture has gone to.  Where is our comittment, people?

Then I found out my gift cards arrived so I can get my laptop from Best Buy.  This has a couple issues-- 1. I work every night until Friday so we can't go to the store until then. 2. I can't order it online because I can't have it delivered to my apt. because UPS sucks and they won't leave any packages and they only deliver when I'm at work! 3. I have to special order it because they only hae it online.

And now 4. when I looked it up online, it was gone! In its place were a whole bunch of brand new laptops that you can't even buy--they all say "pre-order."  This is because Windows 7 comes out tomorrow and Sony decided to pull all their computers that run Vista to force you to buy Windows 7.

I don't mind buying Windows 7.  In fact, I want to.  I HATE Vista. It blows.  I've heard wonderful things about Windows 7.  However I didn't know when this was supposed to be released! 2 months from now?

So the bright spot in my day was that I called Best Buy and they explained to me that I could buy it online, with gift cards, exaclty what I wanted, have it delivered to work so I'd actually be there! And Windows 7 comes out tomorrow! So things weren't so bad at all. I'm ordering my laptop tonight. I hope that it's not already on backorder...  But I will wait patiently. It's been over a year since my old laptop died and I've waited this long to be without it, so what's a few more days or weeks?  I really hope it comes soon though. Next week would be good!

Then I found out a bunch of letters didn't get into one of my papers, and I still have to finish my Halloween costume and my extra stuff for Swarm and figure out what else I'm supposed to do for the Swarm because the communication has sucked on their end!  And Ross's work laptop died and his fish died and I can't think straight about half the things I'm supposed to do and Hope is lonely because we're never home and...my other boss wants to talk to me about something and I'm convinced I'm in trouble because at my other job "let's talk" always means you should be fired! even though I have no idea what I did wrong. And it's been driving me crazy...

The list goes on.  I can't actually remember more right now, but that's a good thing. I choose not to.

Until tomorrow...

Storm Stories 2

I know I said awhile ago I would continue the tornado stories. That was August 15.  Now it's October 18th.

Sorry.  I don't call it the Random blog for nothing. I can't stay on a train of thought.

But right now I'm watching Storm Chasers so I'm thinking about it again.  Everyone keeps asking me why we're still testing the tornado sirens when we won't have any more tornados this year.

Actually, the lastest ever tornado recorded in Minneosta was November 16, 1931 near Maple Plain.  So there :)  Not out of the woods yet, people.  But I think we've got a much better chance this year of getting a blizzard by Nov. 16 rather than a twister.

So without further aduo, I bring you...

Tornado #3 - Foster, WI, August 27, 1994 (F3 tornado) **okay I cheated and looked up the date online. But I still knew it was the summer of 1994**

This was a big, bad tornado.  It killed two people.  It did a lot of damage.  I know, you're thinking Foster?  I thought she lived in Eau Claire?  No, I lived out in the middle of nowhere outside Eau Claire. I actually lived 3 miles outside the village of Cleghorn (remember me talking about that trash town?) and Cleghorn is 7 miles northwest of the town of Foster.  And it's all farm fields in between that.

Aug. 27 we'd just gotten home from Three Lakes.  Judging by the date I'd say it was Labor Day weekend but I honestly don't remember.  Here's what I do remember--it was getting dark when we got home about three or four in the afternoon.  I unpacked my stuff and took a bath.  I put on my blue t-shirt with a big flourecent yellow circle on it with a mosquito in the center that said "Wisconsin State Bird" under it. Haha.

Back then we had a tri-level house, as my parents do now, so my room and bathroom and family room were in the lower level (but there was still one more level down in the basement.)  I could hear the storm starting up outside, so I went out into the family room to check on it.  The windows were now black.  I went upstairs into the kitchen where my mom was unpacking food from the trip.  At that point we were under a tornado watch and she was too busy unpacking to be concerned about the storm.  I grabbed a bag of Cheetos and starred out the bay window, watching the trees whip around in the oncoming storm.

My wet hair hadn't been combed out yet, so I went back downstairs.  I flipped on the t.v. to the local station and went into the bathroom.  I was brushing out my hair when I heard the dreaded warning beeps come across the t.v.  I ran into family room and sat in front of the t.v. in time to see the weather man standing in front of the doppler map (which was black with white county lines and roads and basically looked like your old Apple II display) and he was saying we were under a tornado warning and a tornado was currently in the town of Foster.  They believed it to be very large and dangerous.  He had a triangle on the map just outside Foster where the tornado was, then said the storm was headed northwest.

What's northwest of Foster?

Oh yeah, my house!

Just in case I wasn't clear on that, he drew a dotted line of the projected path of the tornado.  It cut right through Cleghorn, and literally right over my house.  I could locate my neighborhood on the map and the dotted line went right over it.  Now isn't that enough to freak you out?

I looked out the window at the black sky.  In a huge flash of lightening, I could see the medium sized jack pines in our yard.  They were nearly parallel with the ground--the wind was that strong.  The lightening flashed over and over again and I expected any minute for those trees to be ripped straight out of the ground.

It was about that time my mom realized what was happening and started screaming at me to get the animals and get in the basement.  I ran upstairs and grabbed my dog, Heidi, and pushed her downstairs.  She didn't want to go.  I shoved her down the basement stairs and slammed the door.  Then I had to run up to the second floor to grab my cat, Oreo.  I ran down two flights of stairs with him, then opened the basement door and Heidi ran out.  I threw Oreo inside the basement and ran back upstairs after Heidi. I could hear the wind escalating outside.  The noise was getting incredible.  I pushed her down the stairs again, grabbed the Cheetos from bribery, and joined her down there.  Our basement was seperated into two rooms (still is) a laundry room and the utility room which was safer and further under the house.  So Heidi and I sat in the utility room (Oreo stayed in the laundry room, there was too much trouble for a cat to get into in the utility room) and ate Cheetos manically as it sounded like the house was being torn apart over our heads.

Where are my parents?  Upstairs.  My dad never has gone into the basement once during a storm.  He stays outside or upstairs and watches the sky.  I always wanted to watch with him but my mom would never let me.  This time he was sitting in the screen porch at the back of the house, watching the storm.  My mom was in the kitchen praying and watching the storm.

Finally she called to me that the tornado had fallen apart and it was safe to come upstairs.

That didn't mean the storm was over.  Knowing what I know now, it probably wasn't safe to come upstairs yet. That tornado absoultely could have reformed right over our heads and there would have been no warning for us--no time to take shelter before it hit.

In fact, it stormed until after I went to bed.  My mom finally decided it was safer for us to stay down in the family room, just in case.  I remember we sat down there, trying to watch t.v. as the storm kept raging, this time making the power cut out every five minutes.

That was sooo creepy.  You're sitting there, all on edge because there's already been a tornado once, and suddenly there's a loud pop and all the power shuts off and you're sitting there in the dark with lightening and thunder crashing all around you.  You can't see anything but lightening.  Honestly that was one of the most frightening nights of my life.  I was pracitcally crying by the end of it because my nerves were so fried.  You don't know if another tornado is dropping on you at that very second because it's dark and your power is off.  I already mentioned we couldn't hear the sirens where we lived.  And then the power comes back on...and then off.  And then on...and then off.  Repeat that for two hours.

The town of Foster was pretty messed up.  Mostly outside of town in the farm fields.  There was a lot of damage, and my parents drove down on my dad's motorcycle to see it.  I asked my mom to go see it, but she said no because it was pretty devistating and she was worried it would give me nightmares.  She was always worried about me getting nightmares.  Honestly, I got way more nightmares from things SHE told me or showed me than anything else I saw that she was afraid of me seeing. (There's a story about cows and a barn fire I should tell here but I'll save it for another time).

Anyway, my dad and I went on a motorcycle ride shortly after that, and he asked me if I wanted to see the damage.  I said yes, of course.  So we drove out there.  He said, don't tell your mom I showed you :)

I have to say, it was creepy.  I saw lots of destroyed houses and barns, but that wasn't the creepy part.

As we drove through the countryside, there was a huge farm field to our right with a line of trees at the far side.  You could see all these trees, intact, then suddenly--no trees.  Flattened messes of trees went for about 1/4 mile, then suddenly stood right back up again.  A mess of torn up dirt extended from that empty space of no trees right down through the field, across the road where we were driving, and straight into a house at the other side of the road.  You could see exaclty where that tornado came through, exactly how wide it was (very wide!).  That was the creepiest image that won't leave my mind.

Okay, off to bed now.  Until next time (and maybe another storm story...)

Everybody wants to rule the world...

We all want to be special.  I do, you do.

No really, you do.  Admit it.  You want to be famous (however your level of fame may vary) and do important things that matter to people.  You want to be the person that little kids look up to and say "Mommy I really wish that I could meet ______, he/she is sooo cool!"

I know I do.

Unless of course you hate children.  And people.  Then I really can't help you.  I hope that you can find a nice hermit cave somewhere in the mountains.

I am on this topic because today I was at the last ever *regular season* game at the Metrodome.  Detroit won, so we did not clinch the division as I'd hoped, but we did tie and now there is a tie breaker on Tuesday.  You know I already got my tickets.  We called in the middle of the 8th inning, said that magic phrase "Season Ticket Holders" and bam.  Went down to the executive offices after the festivities and got them fresh off the printer.  Yes, the offices were very close to where the Very Important People hang out. We saw Al Newman. I was punching Ross in the arm like, "Oh my God! Oh my God!" And he's like, "what?!"  And I said "look, Al Newman!" And Ross said "So?? He's nobody."  And I said "he's more somebody than you are, or me for that matter,"  I guess I get star struck very easily.  Like, "you were an extra in a Doritos commercial and you got to shake hands with the director who is a cousin of Tom Cruise?  OH MY GOD!!!  YOU ARE SO COOL!!!" 

But it was the Goodbye Metrodome ceremony.  I was pumped after the game, but that ceremony really depressed me.

I don't like change.  I mean, I do, but I don't.  I like the new things, but I usually don't want to give up the old things to get the new things.  Inanimate objects hold serious emotional attachment for me. Like cars.  I like to get new cars.  I really, really like it or I wouldn't have had 4 cars in my car owning history.  However, I hate letting go of the old car.  I take a million pictures of it, spend time in it, remember every single stupid moment that happened in it (every guy I liked that rode in it with me) and basically wish I could keep it and the new car.  Just so I could pull it out and spend time with its memories every once and a while.

My best guy friend had this amazing '96 Mitsubishi Eclipse that he kept for most of our "dating" relationship (from 2000 until 2005--that's when we had the car, our romantic entanglement went long beyond and after that!)  I loved that car.  I loved the moments we had in it (and there were a LOT of amazing moments) even though he had a custom muffler that was so loud you could hear him coming from miles away every time he picked me up (and really pissed off my family when he dropped me off at 3am) that pretty much caused instant headache every time you got inside, and it always smelled like watermelon air freshener and pot (don't ask) and the incredible sound system is probably to blame for some of my mild hearing damage--um I loved that car.  I loved riding in it, loved driving it (yes he let me drive it and it's one of my top 10 best moments of my life) just loved it.

In 2004 he talked about getting rid of it. I was heartbroken.  I begged him not to.  I promised when he was serious about getting rid of it, I would buy it from him. I took a million pictures of it.  But he kept it for one more year.  And...I can't say what happened in that car that summer of 2005.  But he sold it a few months later (perhaps he had a guilty conscience every time he drove his girlfriend around in it afterwards????)  I was heartbroken.  I honestly would have bought that car from him.  It meant that much to me.  It still does and if I ever find it, I'm buying it (as a fun extra car).

So how does this apply to the metrodome and that whole thing about being famous?  I'm getting there.  This is the RANDOM blog, after all.

The Metrodome is kind of like that car. No, it doesn't smell like watermelon air freshener or pot.  But the noise sometimes causes hearing damage...  I have a lot of Metrodome Memories.  Not 100 by any means, but a lot.  My first time at the Dome was when I was 12, for a Twins game. I talked about it a bit in an earlier blog.  How bored I was...but I loved the Dome! I thought it was totally cool.  I spent innings 4-9 skipping through the upper concorse arm and arm with my best friend at the time RaeAnn singing songs.

The next time I was at the Dome, was after I became an offical Minnesota resident.  As a Woodbury kid, all our chamionship games were played at the game.  Football, soccer, baseball...well I guess that's about it.  But hey our soccer and football teams were good so my junior year alone we had minimally 3 games at the Dome (there were more during the playoffs).  The next year too.  This of course is the part were I remember how we nearly had 2 state championships in 2 years--until a skinny kid from Cretin Derham Hall named Joe Mauer became the best quarterback EVER and robbed us in '99.  This led me to have a deep, intense hatred of Cretin Derham Hall for years.  Literally every time I drove past Cretin Ave/Vandalia St exit on I-94, I would growl and curse the school, shaking my fist.  Not kidding.  Now my love for Joe Mauer has made me appreciate CDH so I no longer curse it every time I drive by.

After high school I thought my Dome days were over.  But I was wrong!  Since I stayed in St. Paul for college, going to Northwestern, we had this thing called "The Dome Game" in football where all the schools in our conference (UMAC) got together and had "playoffs."  They didn't actually mean anything.  If you won the #1 seed game at night you got a trophy and that was about it.  You were the best in the conference (however it had nothing to do with the actual conference championship. It just mean you were the best on Dome Day.)

So I got to go back to the Dome.  And since I was just as obessed with our football team and the players as I am with the Twins and their players, it was a BIG DEAL.  I was there early.  Takin' pictures.

After college (and the fallout with those same people that came after it) I thought I was done with the Dome again.  Then I became a Twins fan.

So the Dome holds a lot of memories.  And after the ceremony today, Ross nearly had to drag me out of the place by the hair.  I did not want to leave.  He was getting anxious, saying "it's not really the last game we'll be back Tuesday, stop starring at Joe Mauer, you'll see him Tuesday, LET'S LEAVE!!"

I didn't want to leave.  As we left, I kept looking back grudgingly, draging my feet.  I felt horribly depressed.  There was magic on the field, in the air, and I wanted more of it.  And I'm not just talking about Joe Mauer.  It was everyone; all the former and current players interacting with each other, the joy, the photo shoots, the press interviews, the excitement...I wanted it.  I wanted to be apart of it.  Watching it was the closest I could get.  And since I wasn't the only one draging my feet about leaving, I know I can't be alone in that.

As I hung my head and was dragged against my will out of the Dome (though getting blown out did put a smile on my face, it always does) I realized I had felt exactly this same way before.

In college.

See, the Dome football game was usually the last game of the season (unless we got to the playoffs) so the circumstances are virtually identical to the game today.  We always won the Dome game, so everyone was excited and taking photos and doing interviews...and yet I knew that it was the last time I'd see this group of boys play and wouldn't have any more football until next season.

Super depressing, right?  I remember dragging my feet and hanging my head all the way out of the Dome those times, too. 

Now stay with me here, I'm going to try to tie all this together.

I love to be important. I love lights and cameras and action and the spotlight.  I think a lot of people out there feel the same way.  Maybe it's because I am an only child and used to having all the attention focused on me.  When I was little I threw a fit if I wasn't the center of attention.  I was a total attention whore.  Sometimes, I still am.  I like to stand in the middle of the room and scream "PAY ATTENTION TO ME!!!!"  Of course that's not all the time.  Lots of times I like to be left alone.  I HATE negative attention.  I don't handle it well.  I have a drive to do everything perfectly, all the time.  I hate screwing up.  I hate people mad at me.  I hate doing things wrong--even if it's something I've never done before and wouldn't know better!  As I got older I learned to be happy staying in the background.  Being a team player.  But that little monster inside still knaws at me, saying "you really want to be in that spotlight, don't you?  It should be yours!"

I guess I thrive on feeling important.  But I don't do a lot of things that make me feel important, at least not to large groups of people.  The only thing I have is dance, which is probably why I love it so much and want so badly to go professional.  Because I just don't do anything that cool right now.

Like wining a huge baseball game (or football).  So I feed off of their spotlight, wishing that somehow I was part of it.  Wishing that I was special to hundreds of strangers too :)  Thing is I always seem to be on the outside looking in. And if you were paying attention at all to the previous paragraphs, you know I HATE that feeling.  I want to be the center of it all.

I don't like to sound like I think the universe should revlove around me.  I'm not that person, because it doesn't.  It never does and it never will.  But there are times when I wish it did and probably think it should.  But yet when good things happen to me I never think I deserve them.  Hmm, hello mind f*%k.

But I think that most super fans of sports, celebrites, etc. are super fans because they wish they were that person.  They wish they were doing whatever that person/or persons were doing.  They just want to be special to.  And they want to hold onto that feeling as long as possible.  And when you're at a baseball game (this is just my example), you kinda feel like you helped, because you cheered and good willed them into winning.  Kinda like you're special to.  And you know that (usually) they appreciate the fact that you came to cheer them on.  Because you didn't have to care or pay money to watch them toss a ball around.  Oh, and you want them to think you're just as cool as you think they are. :)

Everyone is special to someone.  Usually their family or friends or what have you.  But they're your family/friends.  They have to think you're special.  What's cool is when 100,000,000 strangers think you're cool and they don't have to and you know deep down you're not really that special.

So here's to hoping that some stardust falls on us all.  Go do something great!

Until next time...

Things I imagine go on in the Mauer house

This is for my buddies who share my love of Joe Mauer.  This has been floating around in my head since it was announced last week that Joe and his brother Bill, then just Bill, then Bill and a "partner" had bought Southview Chevy from the despicable Denny Hecker.

...and I pause to watch the end of the Sox vs Twins game. This is awful to watch.  I beg Joe Nathan to stop making this so interesting.  I cannot handle this.  I do not understand how he can have such a good record but lately every game he's nearly blowing it.

Imagine the score is 8-6. Bottom of the 9th.  Sox are up. First guy grounds out. Nathan hits the second guy with a pitch. He strikes out AJ Perznksi (that was hilareous, I was hoping for a bench clearing fight on that one) but not before he throws a wild pitch and lets Beckham get to second. Then he walks the next guy. Now we have the tying runs on base and if this next batter hits a home run, they win.  Thank God the next guy popped out. We stay 2.5 games back from Detroit.

I'm all for interesting pennant races, but I don't like it when I feel sick watching Joe Nathan close up a game and almost let it slip away 18 bazillion times. The FSN guy says, "you can tell he's out of gas. He's just tryin to invent stuff now."

So back to my story.  Well, maybe one other story first.  Last year, I didn't want us to win the Division title. WHAT?  Yeah, I know.  My friend got married last fall and her husband was buddies with Joe Mauer (among others on the team-he used to work with them). The wedding was in October and I knew that if we made the post season Joe would not show up to the wedding (he was invited).  So we didn't win the Division, but Joe (too depressed I assume) did not come to the wedding. His brother Bill (who I will mention later) did rsvp yes but did not show up (I saw his name card on the table. Again, I was bummed. Maybe he was busy trying to cheer up Joe?)  Well whatever. I had fun anyway.  All they missed was us playing "Cotton Eye Joe", making a big circle and taking turns dancing like crazy in the center.  It was probably the most fun I've ever had at a wedding dance.

Back to the real story.

Last week in the Business Journal it was announced that Joe had bought Southview Chevy.  Their source was his grandfather, who's admitted in the past to having issues with "booze and women."  However correct a source grandpa Mauer is, he's freaking hilareous.  I enjoy watching them interview him because he just says whatever he's thinking, just like it is.  Well, except for this time.  I think the original story was that Joe had bought Southview Chevy FOR his brother Bill who used to be the sales manager there.  Then the story changed (by the time I saw it on t.v. that morning) to Joe and Bill had bought it together and were going to run their very own dealership.  THEN the story was quickly retracted when Bill called the media and said Joe had nothing to do with it, it was all him.  He didn't want to discuss where he got the money from so of course we're all assuming it's Joe.  Then he admits he has a partner.  I'm thinking, is it Joe? Hahaha.  Then he admits his partner was the guy who used to run the Southview Chevy dealership with him.  So the story was very interesting, then slowly got less interesting.  And Joe?  He had no comment through the whole ordeal.  Fine with me.  Maybe no one told him what was going on and Bill just handled it. All the better, let's let him focus on doing his job.

But if he did know, this is how I imagine the conversation going (over the phone):
Bill: Hey, gramps.
Grandpa: Heya Billy, how you doing?
Bill: Fine, grandpa, but did you have to tell the Biz Journal that Joe bought Southview for me?
Joe: Yeah, grandpa, I really didn't have anything to do with it. I just buy cars from Billy, I don't want to sell them.  I already have a job.
Grandpa: Joey?  That you?  I thought I was talkin to Billy...where'd Billy go?
Bill: I'm still here Grandpa, it's a 3-way-call.
Grandpa: I had one of those once, but it involved women...
Joe: No, grandpa, you can talk to two people at the same time on the phone.  It's called a 3-way-call.
Grandpa: Well if that's what they're calling it now...
Bill: No, really it's not like that.  It's kind of like a conference call.
Grandpa: A call girl in a conference room? That's a little unprofessional.
Bill: (sighs) just forget it gramps.  Why'd you tell them it was Joe? You knew it was me.
Grandpa: To be honest Billy, I knew no one would care if it was just you so I threw Joe in there to get ya some press.
Bill: I can hold my own, people care about what I do.
Joe: (laughs hysterically)
Grandpa: Well the way I see it Billy, ya got your brother Jakey down in Florida 'bout to be a manager up here, ya got Joey being the best ball player who ever lived and ya got you...a car salesman?  Think about this now Billy.
Joe: People aren't even buying cars right now Bill, we're in a recession.  You should really invest in real estate, like me.
Bill: Uh, Joe?  Real estate market bottomed out, buddy.
Joe: Crap.
Bill: So you're saying no one is going to buy a car from me, even if my last name is Mauer?
Joe: It's okay Bill really, I'll just buy 12 cars a month from you and donate them to underprivledged youth and you'll be fine.
Bill: What if I get you to make apperances at the dealership?
Joe: Billy let's be honest here. It would start a riot.  Girls would be tearing off their clothes, guys would be tearing off my clothes...
Bill: That's true.  Can I put you in a box?  A high security clear plastic box?
Joe: No.
Grandpa: Joey maybe you should go, you need to find a woman.
Joe: I don't think so grandpa.
Grandpa: Billy you find a pretty girl to put in the box with him.
Bill: Done.  Joe make sure you shower that day.
Joe: Is anyone listening? I am NOT doing this...I already offered you a contingency plan.
Bill: But this is better.  This way the girls could get right up next to you.  They could lick the box instead of you. We know how much you hate to be drooled on.
Grandpa: Better idea: if they agreed to buy a car they get to go IN the box with Joey!
Bill: Ooo, that is a good idea.
Joe: NO! NO! NO! And NO!
Bill: For ever car sold, Joe takes off an article of clothing.
Joe: I'm hanging  up now.  Do you hear me?  HANGING UP!
Grandpa: Billy you ARE a sales genius!
Joe: (click)
Grandpa: Where's Joey?
Bill: Eh, I think he hung up.  I gotta go Grandpa, I got some billboards to design!  I don't have any shirtless picturse of Joe, how do you think we could get one?
Grandpa: I don't know if that's such a good idea Billy.  You'd cause accidents.
Bill: Right.  Thanks.
Grandpa: Any time you need more press, I'll be more than happy to tell the papers Joe's running your dealership.

Robot Chicken is the best show ever

I should really be writing right now.  I just got home from my second job and I was all set to write but it's 11pm and I got lost in the blog zone...and now Robot Chicken is on and I love that show... Everyone should check out the episodes with Snuggle Bear and My Little Apocolypose Ponies.

I don't really even have anything to say.  I just felt bad I hadn't blogged in a week.

I had an interesting weekend.  But in the intrest of keeping the blog PG or at least PG13 I can't really talk about it. We went to Ross's friend's house.

Yeah, I know.  Ross has a friend.  That's not Chris.  (For those of you who don't know me, my husband has a genuine, USDA Certified Bromance.)

I like Chris, but let me repeat a Tweet that I sent on Friday when I was at the Twins game with both of them:

"My husband and his best friend are like two 12 year old girls. On acid. And uppers. With ADHA. Help!"

 It really is that bad.  You can ask people who know.  So I like the other friend because it's not so...well...junior high.


Anyway, an actual Tweet from me on Saturday night:


"Leif is naked and we playin guitar hero. Ross is not winning"


See? I told you I can't talk about it.  But it was a nice (nice as in funny, not as in family friendly) night and it didn't cost us any money which was good.  We don't have spare money to go out right now (sorry to the people we were supposed to go out with on Saturday, but that was why.)


I just want to interject right here that I really like the word "Kraken."  Like from Pirates of the Caribean.  I don't know why.  I just like how it sounds.  Maybe I'll name my first born Kraken.


OMG!!!!  THEY'RE PLAYING THE VIDEO FOR WEASEL STOMPING DAY BY WEIRD AL!!!  I LOVE IT!!!


All right, time for bed.  Or at least something productive.


Until...later....

Missing: Tap Shoes. Reward.

Tonight marked the second night of my new job, if you're wondering why I've been so quiet the last few days.  I haven't been on the Internet AT ALL thanks to that stupid mess at my first job.  There is so much to catch up on when you're not on the Internet.

I was horrified to hear that Jessica Simpson's dog Daisy was snatched by a coyote right in front of her.  That is one of the worst things I can imagine.  I've lost a good number of pets over the years and it's heart breaking.  I can't imagine how she must be feeling right now.  That dog went everywhere with her.  I would have chased down that frickin coyote and beat the snot out of it.  Maybe it's because my mom has a maltese (who I helped raise) and Daisy is half maltese.  I don't know.  The whole thing just makes me want to cry.  I know she's posted rewards for Daisy, however I don't have much hope she'll be found.  At least, not alive.

We have problems with coyotes out where my parents live.  They're awful vermin.  They carry on screetching all night long, and they eat people's pets.

Yeah, they eat them.  That's why I don't think that Daisy will be found.  I hope there was some miracle and I'm wrong.  But I know what coyotes do.

We're so paranoid about coyotes out by my parents.  The dogs never go outside alone after dark, and they are on a leash EVERY TIME.  It can be hard for a coyote to take a small dog when it's tethered to the ground. Of course they can still do a lot of damage to a small dog even if they can't carry it off.  It ever I'm watching the dogs outside when it's dark out and they start acting strange, they come inside IMMEDIATELY.  I don't care if they went to the bathroom or not. You cannot take a chance on a strange animal lurking in the shadows that you can't see--then suddenly running out and snatching your pet.  Your best bet is to start shouting loudly (even if it's midnight) and clap your hands, that ought to scare the predator away.  And get the pets in the house.  Go get a flashlight and shine it into the shadows and woods.  If something is out there, its eyes will glow back at you.  And by the time you've got a flashlight it should take off.  Wild animals do not like flashlights shined in their eyes.

You have to trust me on this.  I have ALOT of experince.

I know lots of people (most everyone who lives in the country) thinks that their pets should be allowed to run free and it's mean to tie up the dog.  This is not the case.  Tie up your dogs, people.  Trust me, it will probably save their life some day.  I will not even begin to list the evidence I have because it's long...

People should tie up their kids too....kidding!  Although I would totally tie up my kid with a leash if I took him to the State Fair or the mall.  Anyway, I've had two nights of hanging around with the children at my new job.  They are so funny!  And a lot smarter than I gave them credit for.  I guess I assumed that kids under 12 didn't really understand much as far as adult concepts, etc.  Boy was I wrong.  The four and five year olds maybe not so much, but after that they're sharp as tacks.  The nine year olds tonight were so mature I thought they were much, much older.

But the five year olds were so cute.  They were so excited to learn their dance steps-first position, plie and jump.  They were so happy when they could do it by themselves.  But then they put on their tap shoes.

It was the first week of class.  Lots of people don't have their shoes yet, or know what they should wear to dance, etc.  It's not a big deal.  A few of the little girls in that class didn't have their shoes yet because they were on order/hadn't been ordered.  Whatever.  They weren't alone.  In ballet they were fine because ballet shoes are soft and no one misses it if you're barefoot.

But when you have tap shoes on, and you're five and everyone else is making joyful loud noise and you're barefoot...so not okay.  One of the little girls who didn't have tap shoes was just devistated.  She stood in the corner and cried.  My boss even took off her tap shoes and offered to tap barefoot with her, but it still wasn't okay.  She was so sad she couldn't tap.

Now here's the really sad part--I completely understood how she felt.  I've been in that situation many times, and when I was that age I cried hysterically too.  In fact, last year I'd ordered my tap shoes before the first class, and they didn't come in time.  I was the only one in the class without tap shoes.

And I wanted to stand in the corner and cry just like that little girl.  Now I was 26 years old and had a bit of a handle on my emotions, but I still wasn't happy (then my boss realized she had a pair of taps I could fit into so I got to wear some anyway).

I left wondering why I still feel like that when everyone else has something that I want.  I wanted to sit down and cry with her tonight, which is silly.  All I can figure out is that since I was an only child, I was used to getting my way and not sharing with everyone else. I wonder if she is too?

Oh the joys of growing up without siblings...

Jail bait

(In reference to my last blog "the sixth grader in the 11th grader's body")

When I was younger, I looked much older than I really was.  Without getting into too much gorey detail, we'll just say I hit puberty in about 5th grade and "developed" rapidly from there.

Now here's the flip-side: when I graduated high school, I started aging backwards.  Or stopped aging.  Whatever you want to say.  When I was young: "(to the 13 year old) are you going to be a junior this year?" Me: No.... "(to a 15 year old) so did you pick a college?  You graduate this year, right?" Me: Noo....

But suddenly: "(to a college freshman) so which high school did you transfer to? You're still in high school, right?" Me: Noo....  "(after of college) So you're still in college, right?  Are you a sophomore?" Me: Noo....

Yeah, it got bad.  Once, when I was 24, I went to the Mall of America and actually got carded because it was after curfew...FOR SIXTEEN YEAR OLDS!!  Geez....  that mall cop was embarassed.

But, I think the most hysterical case of mistaken age happened 2 days after my sixteenth birthday.

It was the summer of 1998, and we had fairly new neighbors my parents had befriended.  At this point, they'd been friends for about 5 months.  I'd been at their house for dinner several times, they'd been over to our house, etc.

Well, that night they asked us over for dinner (he was an amazing cook) and told my parents to make sure that I came along because her youngest brother was in town and they wanted to hook us up, so to speak (of course they said something like date).

If you read my previous post even a bit carefully, you understand that I was very excited at the possibility of fresh meat.

So we went to their house.  And I met the brother.  He was cute.  Very cute.  But right away I knew something was off.

He had a beard.

And I thought, "I don't think this guy is very close to my age..."  But I waited to see.  We sat on their patio overlooking the Lowes Creek bluffs and chatted about life.  My dad asked him where he went to school and what he was up to this summer.

Well, you know he had quite a busy schedule since he had been interning in South America after graduating FROM COLLEGE!!!

That was enough for me.  I headed into the house where Jim was preparing dinner and sat across from him at the counter.

"Hey, so what do you think of Julie's brother?" he asked with a grin.

"He seems nice," I replied.  "How old is he?"

"24," Jim said casually, pushing peices of beef, garlic, onion and rosemary, all soaked in red wine onto skewers (I told you he was a good cook!! It makes my mouth water just thinking of it...)

"Oh," I said finally.  "How old do you think I am?"

"21," he shrugged.

"My birthday was on Thursday, you know,"

"Yeah, happy birthday by the way,"

"Thanks.  I turned sixteen,"

The poor man's jaw dropped and he nearly dropped the food.  He looked one inch away from cardiac arrest.

"Yeah," I shook my head, once again in disbelief that someone could so grossly mis-judge my age.  "That's just not going to happen."

Pretty sure that's illegal :)

One time I tried to join the football team

One time I joined the football team.

Okay, you got me.  I tried.  Did not succeed.

It was the end of 7th grade, and we were having our fall sports meetings for the next year.  Since this was middle school, basically each coach just picked a spot in the gym and if you wanted to join that sport, you went and stood by them and they told you what would be involved.

I'd gone through this process a year ago, at the end of 6th grade.  I picked cheerleading.  I'm sorry, I like cheering for boys and I like skirts.  Sue me.  And some of my classmates would have liked to.  I still remember I was standing at my yellow locker downstairs right after the sign-ups, and my friend Kelly called out to me.

"Hey, you're not seriously going to be a cheerleader, are you?" she asked, horrified.

"Yeah," I rolled my eyes at her.  "Why not?"

"Because it's degrading to women!  You're running around in a tiny skirt like a piece of meat for men!  You are promoting the image of women that the women's movement has worked to erase for a hundred years!" she screeched. (Yes, we were only 12.)

"So?" I grinned.  "I like skirts and I like boys and I like it when they stare at me like a piece of meat," (Says the 6th grader with the body of an 11th grader--no really, and that's a funny story too!).

Kelly took off in a huff.  She didn't know how she would ever get through to me (she never did, I still like to do it and am planning to audition for a pro-sports dance team next month).

Well anyway, I did do cheerleading and discovered that middle school cheerleading wasn't quite the glamorous world I'd imagined it to be.  Mostly because my squad captian hated my guts. (She scarred me for life-literally-she dropped me porposely in a sunt and gave me whiplash which plauged me for years).  Also, our coach was a tiny bit phsycotic.  She was supposed to be the coach the next year too, but she went insane about two weeks into the season and quit.  After that the program fell apart.

So the next year I wanted to do something different.  Actually, I had an entire sports plan written up for myself so I could play every single sport once. (However it's hard to play sports when you're on academic probation!)  I'd been planning to play volleyball the fall of my 8th grade year since 6th grade.  In fact, this was the plan of most of the girls in my class.

But not my then-best friend Olivia. She HAD to be different.

A little background: In sixth grade I had a group of 4-myself, my (still to this day) best friend Laura, Olivia, and Jenny.  We were all in the same class.  A lot of times (for partner work and such) it was me and Jenny, and Laura and Olivia.  However after the first quarter, Jenny moved in with her mom which required her to change schools.

Know how they say "three's a crowd?"  Oh hell yes.  Especially with me and Olivia, two volitale, strong willed, opinionated personalities battling for one very meek, sweet girl.  Laura would never hurt a fly.  And Olivia and I were each determined that she was going to be MY best friend-not yours!!!!  I laugh now when I think of the things we used to say and do to each other.  And Laura would be stuck in the middle, begging us to just please get along-she could be best friends with both of us!  But Olivia and I would not have it.  It had to be our way or the highway.  Every other week Olivia and I were officially NOT FRIENDS and then we were great friends the next week.

We made some other friends after sixth grade and none of us were in the same classes in seventh grade so that really helped our friendship stay intact.  So Olivia and I were on good terms when we marched down to the gym that sunny May afternoon, with several other of our girl friends. (Laura didn't go, she never had an interest in playing sports, she was a musician, thru and thru.)

And as we're walking down to the gym, Olivia announces her big plan.

She's going to join the football team.  And we're going with her.

Of course I objected immediately, I already had my 2 year sports plan set up and I was going to be cool and play volleyball.  You would think given our history this would have caused a huge blow-out.

Actually, I was the first one whose mind Olivia changed.  She knew just how to get to me.  Boys.  All she had to do was tell me that I could not only spend extra time after school with my crushes on the football team, BUT have an excuse to stare at them AND throw myself on top of them! (And possibly even go in their locker room).

That was all she had to say.  I was ready to be suited up right then and there.  A little boy crazy was I?  Just a little... (Yeah right, I had a sixth sense for testosterone and went running towards it screaming like those Axe commericals any time it was detected.)

Our other friends weren't convinced so easily.  I think Olivia gave them some kind of speech about women's rights (you are probably wondering what kind of liberal school I went to!) and progress and how if we were all equal then we should forage the way for other women to play any kind of sport regardless of sex... (At which point Lara went, "Sex?  Did you say Sex? Where?? When??!!!)

She got them convinced enough to go to the meeting.  So it was a parade of 3 hesitant girls, 1 very confident and stubbron girl and 1 very excited, rabid, boy-crazy nut case that seated themselves in the front row of the football meeting.

The boys, naturally, did not like this at all.  They booed.  The 3 wafflers waffled.  Lara drooled.  The football coach said, "what are you doing here?  You can't join the football team!"  To which Olivia snapped my jaw closed, marched up to the coach, and gave him a firey speech about how women had equal rights and if we wanted to play football then he damned well couldn't stop us.  He shrugged and said okay.

The 200+ boys behind us booed louder and shouted insults. Lara fought the urge to dive into the middle of them.  Our 3 wafflers nearly got up and ran to the volleyball meeting.

But we stayed for the whole meeting.  And afterwards I grabbed volleyball permission slips for us all in addition to the football ones, in case our parents didn't go for this whole idea.

I was right.  They didn't.  My mother nearly chopped her hand off when I asked her if I could join the football team.  So then I handed her the volleyball permission slip and asked if I could do that instead.  She signed immediately.  "Anything but football," she muttered.  "My Lord what is wrong with you?" 

I figure Olivia helped me out a lot, because if I would have just asked to play volleyball right off I would have had a long battle about my terrible grades and if I should play or not.  But our other friends parents, for fear of their daughters being killed, had also said no.

Except for Olivia's.  They said yes.

Now most girls would have said, if my friends aren't doing it with me, then I won't do it.  Especially girls in middle school.  But I think by now you know, Olivia is not most girls.

So while the rest of us marched onto the volleyball courts in the fall of 8th grade, Olivia suited up in the boys locker room (after the boys were gone of course) and played football with the boys.

How was it, you ask?  Did she win a huge battle for women-kind everywhere?

Um...no.  The coach rarely played her, and when he did, the boys refused to tackle her or give her the ball.  Even the boys from the other middle schools.  Wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole.  Personally I think this was because they were afraid she'd kick their ass.

And they were right-she would have.  :)

Sometimes the Internet is Not my Friend

Sometimes the internet is too hard for me. I've been messing with this blog for hours, trying to figure out how to get my twitter on here because my good friend Emily's twitter is on her blog and I was jealous.

And so I asked her how to do and she told me--but I didn't read clearly what she wrote, thinking I knew what she was talking about, and I missed a key word that made the whole process work.

Blog doesn't give you the option to just add twitter. You have to SEARCH add twitter.

Oh Lordy.  I was so frusterated finally I went back and read what she told me to do AGAIN, then caught the phrase "type in search bar."  

Sometimes I think I should go back to school for web design.  It's days like today that make me think I shouldn't bother.

I took web design in college.  God, yes, college.  That was almost five years ago.  I took it either my freshman or sophomore year, I don't remember.  Either way we're talking 2001 or 2002.  That was a long freaking time ago.  And I wasn't very good at it.  Now if it was my sophomore year (I think it was) then I really didn't have any mental energy or time to devote to it.  If I could do any year over, it would be my sophomore year.  It was horrible.  And it was completely my fault.

Anyway web design wasn't great for me.  I could write simple html code and I can still read it, but I remember none of it.  I know how to erase it.  I know its rules.  But I don't remember the commands.  I don't remember the grade I got but I don't think it was very good.  Maybe a C.  Of course, I'm the student who does the absolute bare minimum and still gets As and Bs. Don't you hate me?  Sometimes I think, "oh if only I'd applied myself in school!"

Thing is about school, I resent it.  I love school, but mostly for the social aspect (odd, considering I was a total outcast when I lived in Wisconsin).  I resented teachers telling me that I had to pay attention to them in class, and I resented them telling me how I should spend my time outside of their class. (I should do HOMEWORK when I get home?  Hell no!)  Eventually I did start doing homework, but just to get it done, not to really learn anything.

Yeah, that's right.  I didn't do homework until my freshman year in high school.  Really.  Not unless my parents sat down with me and forced me to do it and that was only after they'd gotten threatening phone calls from my teachers saying I was failing.

I had a lot of issues as a child.  If I'd been in school a few years later, I'm sure they would have diagnosed me with ADD and put me on drugs.  My Sunday School teacher used to call me the Devil Child (I was the pastor's daughter!).  And my personal issues...I don't know if this website has enough MB to let me list all my personal issues from growing up...

So now you're realizing that maybe the reason I'm so random is not just because I'm a random person but because it's the ADD.... (LOOK! SHINY OBJECTS!!!!! OMG A CAT!! I NEED TO PAINT THE HOUSE!!!)

That's a taste of my inner monolouge...  and I have to do things with my hands or I go insane.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, 9th grade.  I started doing homework in 9th grade.  After I almost had to repeat 8th grade (or at least summer school) I decided that NOT doing homeowork might be harder than actually doing homework.

So the first day of school, I sat in class, tried real hard to pay attention, wrote down my assignments and took them home and did them (actually I did most of it in homeroom, cleverly evading HOMEwork).  And it was EASY.  A lot easier than NOT doing homework.

By now, my parents had given up on me.  They probably didn't think I was going to make it through high school.  Probably though I'd get a job at McDonalds asking "do you want fries with that?"

So after the first week of school, I made my mom a deal.

We were sitting in the kitchen, and I said, "Mom, if I get straight A's this quarter, can I do cheerleading again?" (I'd been banned from sports because of my grades)

She laughed hysterically.  I think she said something like I could play football if I got straight A's (that's not far fetched, I asked her if I could play football once. My best friend did, she was the only girl on the team because the rest of us girls had parents who said no. more on that later.)

I'll never forget the look on her face when I handed her my first quarter report card.  It was all A's and one B+.  She almost fell over on the floor.  And I went to cheerleading tryouts!

Okay I should go eat dinner right now. Maybe I'll write again later, at least about the time we all tried to join the boys football team.

Until....later....

When it rains, it pours

My title is ironic. Because it was supposed to rain all day here and we haven't seen a drop.

It's my life that is too much right now. This is what happens when I come out from behind my computer and come out of my writer's bubble.

It seems like everything is happening lately. Ross has been doing good at his job, which is great because mine sucks. If you don't know when then read a few blogs ago. I found another email today between the bad boys. One said to the other "slap the girls for me." WTF??!!! Slap the girls? That is so wrong on so many levels. I cannot even tell you what I'd like to do to them. There are more emails that I found today, but I can't even think about them. My head hurts too much. It's like as soon as I think I'm done with all this, more drama comes to the surface.

I just had a vacation and I already need another one. At least from this job. I have another job. I love my new job, it's just a little hard with this stupid other one.

So I have 2 jobs now. My kitty wants attention. Ross wants attention. My first job is horrible. We got a new camera I want to play with. I would love to write... My sister has lots of issues (job, child, boy, college) and needs help. My car is a disaster area. My house needs me to finish touch-up painting it. It also needs to be cleaned. The litter box stinks, I can smell it from here. Thanks a lot Ross, that was your job. My best friend is getting married and that comes with all kinds of events and parties. I have lots of things I need the internet to take care of and can no longer go on the internet at work because of dumb asses. Now I have to do it all at home and I'm not getting home until 9-10pm. Everyone needs something.

I swear, I do not understand how I just had 3 days off and feel like they never even happened. My stress level is just as bad as it was before I left. How is that possible?

I'm watching the Real World "Sh*t they should have shown" right now. It is sooo funny. I'd rather watch this than the whole stupid season.

Seriously though, when I think about it, it's been a ridiculous end to this summer. All kinds of crazy stuff has been happening. Work, incidents with former coworkers, life in general.

Maybe I'll go into this later. Right now I'm having trouble stringing thoughts together.

I'm going to see Joe Mauer on Tuesday! I'm excited. 3 Twins games left at the dome that I will be attending. And I am dissapointed about my seats but I'll get into that later.

Until tomorrow....

My Fan Friday Debut...

So tonight I thought I'd post my Twins blog for Fan Friday here. Just because. It was my first attempt at sports blogging. I hope it's okay. I'm more of a creative writer. I had Ross read it, but I had to wake him up to do it (Yeah it was only 8pm and he was sleeping, he's sleeping again now and it's only 8:50) anyway he said it was good and since my cat can't read I'll have to take his word for it. It's too late now, it's been emailed.
Enjoy! Until tomorrow...maybe. Depends on what time I get off work. It's Labor Day weekend and of course we're headed to Three Lakes. Duh.

One More Month…
Today marks one month left of baseball in the Dome. I feel like this season has flown by, and I can’t believe we’re almost out of the Dome forever (okay except for Vikings games…)

Like our hero #7, who is my age, I’ve never known baseball without the Dome. I’ve never known sports without the Dome - silly me, a few years ago I thought that most baseball and football teams shared stadiums. That’s normal, right?

My first Twins game was May 18, 1995. Not our best stuff. It was a tough year for baseball in general. I was disappointed, because not only we lost to the Angels (I think it ended up being something like 0-12), but because everyone who knew I was going (I was living in Wisconsin at this time so driving to the Cities was a big deal) told me I was so lucky because I was going to get to watch Kirby Puckett, and he was really fun to watch.

Now they’re talking to a 12-year-old girl who knows nothing about baseball. I guess I expected him to do magic tricks out there or something (of course now I know about the World Series and all that). He came to he plate, swung the bat a few times, and I thought, “this is what everyone was raving about?”

Sadly I was turned off to baseball for quite awhile after that very long and hideous game. A few years ago I picked it up again, realizing the man who cost my high school football team our State Championship title in the 1999 season was playing front and center. (Yes, I did get out of Wisconsin and move to the good state!)

Okay, I was a little bitter, but he was cute. And good. Really good. The more I learned about the Twins the more I realized how different they were from the other teams. How special. The more I learned about baseball I realized what an anomaly Joe is. And what it truly means for someone to be “fun to watch.” I had a lot of help with learning about baseball. I read “Clearing the Bases” by Mike Schmidt, “Odd Man Out” by Matt McCarthy (I realize not the most popular book to a lot of people) and right now I’m getting through “The Yankee Years” by Joe Torre and Tom Verducci.

But “The Yankee Years” has made me think about the Twins a lot this season. Yeah, we hate the Yankees but we can learn from them. In 1998 when they had the best season and won the World Series, they are described as having “a desperation to win.” Granted, they had one of the most perfect parings of teams. But they were desperate to win. Which makes me wonder, are we desperate to win? We could have the most perfect team in the world, but if we don’t really want it and every single person isn’t willing to pull their weight, we won’t get it.

A few weeks ago, I would have said, “I know for sure that Joe Mauer, Justin Morneau, Joe Nathan, Michael Cuddyer and Jason Kubel want to win a World Series. They’re desperate.” But they also seemed to be carrying the team by themselves. Now things have shifted and suddenly the bottom of the lineup is engaged, too. And things really turned around. (We will forget about Wednesday and White Sox).

But what does it take for us to get to that point where suddenly everyone is contributing? Was it seeing the Sox and the Tigers suddenly slip, and realizing that it wasn’t over for us? Did someone give a really moving speech in the clubhouse? Was is the acquisition of all our new players?

We might never know. I hope that we can keep it up. I hope our guys can stay hungry and desperate for a victory. We’re not as bad as the Cubs by any stretch of the imagination, but we’re certainly due. We have too many talented players to not take it into the post season. And of course I’ve been told the AL Central is the worst division in baseball and even if we won it, someone else would immediately knock us out. But why can’t we be the underdogs? The Yankees did it in ’96. No one thought they would either.

So stay desperate boys! Keep playing small ball, and remember that every single person plays an important role. Joe Mauer has some really big shoulders, but not big enough to carry you all into the post-season.