SUCCESS!!!!
'International Arms Smuggler'
Heck yesssssssssssssssssssss.
Now the next time I fly, I'll probably be detained for a 'random' passenger search that lasts for hours.
...but it was totally worth it.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Conversations about the weather.
I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night. I realized this fact while reading the AccuWeather report for the hotel.
Monday: Cloudy.
Tuesday: Patchy Clouds.
Wednesday: Rather Cloudy.
Thursday: Mostly Cloudy.
Friday: Considerable Cloudiness.
My coworker informed me, as I was hysterically laughing, that this wasn’t all that funny. Their deadpan soberness in the face of my punch-drunkenness prompted me to inquire as to whether or not they were a hall monitor back in school. They didn’t find that funny *either*...
Some things I learned over the weekend:
- There are some people you can tell absolutely anything.
- There are some people who won’t listen to anything you have to say.
- There are *other* people who would listen but you just can’t tell.
- Norman hates me, my mother’s house, and pretty much life in general. This sentiment, I believe, is directly proportionate to the size of my mom’s (still) growing puppy dog.
- Nothing in my old neighborhood looked the slightest bit familiar.
*and*
- You can’t mail a stun gun to Canada. I tried anyways so pretty soon border patrol is going to come down here looking for an American terrorist.
Shoot.
AACH! No no! I didn’t mean like shoot shoot! No really! I’m sweet! Innocent! AHHHHHHHHHHH :(
Whoops. How do I explain these things always happen to me?
Monday: Cloudy.
Tuesday: Patchy Clouds.
Wednesday: Rather Cloudy.
Thursday: Mostly Cloudy.
Friday: Considerable Cloudiness.
My coworker informed me, as I was hysterically laughing, that this wasn’t all that funny. Their deadpan soberness in the face of my punch-drunkenness prompted me to inquire as to whether or not they were a hall monitor back in school. They didn’t find that funny *either*...
Some things I learned over the weekend:
- There are some people you can tell absolutely anything.
- There are some people who won’t listen to anything you have to say.
- There are *other* people who would listen but you just can’t tell.
- Norman hates me, my mother’s house, and pretty much life in general. This sentiment, I believe, is directly proportionate to the size of my mom’s (still) growing puppy dog.
- Nothing in my old neighborhood looked the slightest bit familiar.
*and*
- You can’t mail a stun gun to Canada. I tried anyways so pretty soon border patrol is going to come down here looking for an American terrorist.
Shoot.
AACH! No no! I didn’t mean like shoot shoot! No really! I’m sweet! Innocent! AHHHHHHHHHHH :(
Whoops. How do I explain these things always happen to me?
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Piecing together my past
I used to have this friend named Sky. I met Sky when I tried to pick him up at a bowling alley and was embarrassingly shotdown. This was a long time ago when I was a rosy cheeked teenager and the height of sophistication was having a fake ID and not being afraid to use it. Years later, when we had both gotten over ourselves, we became friends and later still- ran into each other when we were out barhopping one night. Unfortunately that night ended with the pair of us sitting in Babette, chain-smoking cigarettes trying to figure out what to do after my idiot sobercab dropped us off at my car in the middle of *nowhere*. The next thing I remember is my platonic friend bellowing- ‘Oh my GOD Kell! Your crotch is on FIRE!!!’ Then to my disbelief, he leaned over and with the flat of his hand- proceeded to beat the offending area until the last of the embers went out. See- wha’ha’happened was: in my drunken stupor I tried to flick a butt out the closed window and it ricocheted off and landed between my legs. I assumed the warmth was just the car's heater starting to work. I am convinced I will never be able to have children because of this event.
About a week ago, I was sitting in my car at the airport- unabashedly sobbing. I suppose the short-term parking ramp, with its own rumble underfoot and the roar of planes overhead is probably one of the best places to do this. Having Babette back is most fortunate for someone of my affliction- the inability to say goodbye. I can’t tell you how many times (it seems) I’ve sat in this particular car with nowhere to go. Sometimes you know there isn’t going to be a particularly brilliant flash of insight to redeem a situation, sometimes you know no one is coming to save you- to make everything ok, sometimes you just know this is how it feels when something *ends*. And your mind goes dumb with that knowing and you just sit there- waiting for nothing.
As I was waiting, tracing my finger along the circular burn in the driver’s seat- I realized that I had no idea how I had become this person. I didn’t much like her- especially after the past week. I tried to remember when I had last felt like myself and thought... Amanda. She saved me that night, you know- the pants-on-fire night. She knew something was up and managed to convince some casual acquaintances of hers to drive her all the way across the state line to come look for me. She didn’t complain when she had to drive me back to my car in the morning... or when I realized I locked my keys in the car and we had to go back for a spare... or after that when I unlocked the door and found the battery dead and the beast out of gas because I had left it *running*. She just laughed. She was my best friend. Her daughter Kyrie is my goddaughter and I haven’t spoken to either of them in well over a year.
I had a reason for this but even at the time- I knew it wasn’t a very good one. Sitting at the airport, thinking back over the years- many people have sat next to me in that very passenger seat. It’s all very symbolic and in that spirit, I wonder who I’d have co-piloting my next destination. Quick, before I can talk myself out of this, I hastily wipe my hand across my eyes as I reach for my phone. I dial Bobby’s number and listen to it ring. In my head a mantra repeats over and over: Answer the phone, please answer the phone. I don’t know what I’ll say if she does. I’m beginning to doubt she will when all of a sudden I can hear Manda’s smile in an equally doubtful ‘Hello?’ Ha! I laugh or mumble and stumble over broken greetings but she doesn’t mind. She simply says (when I finally give her the chance), ‘It’s about time you came home.’
And I think- yeah, it is.
About a week ago, I was sitting in my car at the airport- unabashedly sobbing. I suppose the short-term parking ramp, with its own rumble underfoot and the roar of planes overhead is probably one of the best places to do this. Having Babette back is most fortunate for someone of my affliction- the inability to say goodbye. I can’t tell you how many times (it seems) I’ve sat in this particular car with nowhere to go. Sometimes you know there isn’t going to be a particularly brilliant flash of insight to redeem a situation, sometimes you know no one is coming to save you- to make everything ok, sometimes you just know this is how it feels when something *ends*. And your mind goes dumb with that knowing and you just sit there- waiting for nothing.
As I was waiting, tracing my finger along the circular burn in the driver’s seat- I realized that I had no idea how I had become this person. I didn’t much like her- especially after the past week. I tried to remember when I had last felt like myself and thought... Amanda. She saved me that night, you know- the pants-on-fire night. She knew something was up and managed to convince some casual acquaintances of hers to drive her all the way across the state line to come look for me. She didn’t complain when she had to drive me back to my car in the morning... or when I realized I locked my keys in the car and we had to go back for a spare... or after that when I unlocked the door and found the battery dead and the beast out of gas because I had left it *running*. She just laughed. She was my best friend. Her daughter Kyrie is my goddaughter and I haven’t spoken to either of them in well over a year.
I had a reason for this but even at the time- I knew it wasn’t a very good one. Sitting at the airport, thinking back over the years- many people have sat next to me in that very passenger seat. It’s all very symbolic and in that spirit, I wonder who I’d have co-piloting my next destination. Quick, before I can talk myself out of this, I hastily wipe my hand across my eyes as I reach for my phone. I dial Bobby’s number and listen to it ring. In my head a mantra repeats over and over: Answer the phone, please answer the phone. I don’t know what I’ll say if she does. I’m beginning to doubt she will when all of a sudden I can hear Manda’s smile in an equally doubtful ‘Hello?’ Ha! I laugh or mumble and stumble over broken greetings but she doesn’t mind. She simply says (when I finally give her the chance), ‘It’s about time you came home.’
And I think- yeah, it is.
Monday, February 16, 2009
A moment for the hearing impaired
*or*
One of the most terrifying feelings of my young life!
(Regardless of my thoughts about the ‘most’ and ‘-est’ moments, I feel fairly confident in saying the most terrifying feeling was that one false positive. Yeah.)
Stan put my car back together... sort of. On my way to work one day, I tipped over my own feet and threw my chai frappe on it and re-christened the beast Frankencougar. It’s a fitting name as its new collection of parts is moooshed together with duck tape, WD-40, hopes, and prayers. I only drive it to work- as it may in fact, be a death trap.
When it idles it does this really embarrassing thing were it makes the car rock back and forth REALLYHARD. I have to keep my foot stomped on the brake to hold it in place. Naturally, I don’t like to stop at many intersections. So I speed- sometimes quite a bit to make it through all the lights. My route brings me down Portland Ave from downtown and then I turn onto Lake St. I figure if I don’t slow down until the last possible second I can make the light just as it’s turning red. Ok. Good plan, I start to implement it when:
***beepbuhbeepbeepbeepbuhbuhbeep***
This just in Kell! Guess what! You don't possess any brakes!!:D
Supposedly under pressure some of us rise to the occasion- remaining cool and calm, the better to alleviate the situation. I am not one of those people. I have to admit, first I said a word that most definitely should not come out of a lady’s mouth... then I screamed my fool head off until I heard something in my ear crack. I’m alive, obviously so that’s good. And I shouldn’t even bitch about this... *but*!
I had to walk home... in my spring clothes. I was so cold by the time I got home that I felt like if I fell I would shatter into a hundred pieces- much like that terminator dude from the second movie. (Which, in my humble opinion, is where they should have stopped. To this day, I deny knowledge of any other aspect of that particular franchise.)
Ummmm... I think I’m done.
Bye!
<3
One of the most terrifying feelings of my young life!
(Regardless of my thoughts about the ‘most’ and ‘-est’ moments, I feel fairly confident in saying the most terrifying feeling was that one false positive. Yeah.)
Stan put my car back together... sort of. On my way to work one day, I tipped over my own feet and threw my chai frappe on it and re-christened the beast Frankencougar. It’s a fitting name as its new collection of parts is moooshed together with duck tape, WD-40, hopes, and prayers. I only drive it to work- as it may in fact, be a death trap.
When it idles it does this really embarrassing thing were it makes the car rock back and forth REALLYHARD. I have to keep my foot stomped on the brake to hold it in place. Naturally, I don’t like to stop at many intersections. So I speed- sometimes quite a bit to make it through all the lights. My route brings me down Portland Ave from downtown and then I turn onto Lake St. I figure if I don’t slow down until the last possible second I can make the light just as it’s turning red. Ok. Good plan, I start to implement it when:
***beepbuhbeepbeepbeepbuhbuhbeep***
This just in Kell! Guess what! You don't possess any brakes!!:D
Supposedly under pressure some of us rise to the occasion- remaining cool and calm, the better to alleviate the situation. I am not one of those people. I have to admit, first I said a word that most definitely should not come out of a lady’s mouth... then I screamed my fool head off until I heard something in my ear crack. I’m alive, obviously so that’s good. And I shouldn’t even bitch about this... *but*!
I had to walk home... in my spring clothes. I was so cold by the time I got home that I felt like if I fell I would shatter into a hundred pieces- much like that terminator dude from the second movie. (Which, in my humble opinion, is where they should have stopped. To this day, I deny knowledge of any other aspect of that particular franchise.)
Ummmm... I think I’m done.
Bye!
<3
Thursday, January 29, 2009
I love this city but it makes me uncomfortable just the same...
I had to pick Marie up at the airport last night. I readily agreed because:
1. I love the airport and will think of any excuse to go there and
2. I get to drive through my old Loring Park neighborhood on the way home from Marie's.
I think I'm supposed to be the person I am when I'm driving on the highways late at night...
Concentrating on the road just enough to let the deliberate part of my mind go.
Streetlights blinking on and off, no one on the road, radio up-
I find myself calm and cool and collected...
And thinking.
1. I love the airport and will think of any excuse to go there and
2. I get to drive through my old Loring Park neighborhood on the way home from Marie's.
I think I'm supposed to be the person I am when I'm driving on the highways late at night...
Concentrating on the road just enough to let the deliberate part of my mind go.
Streetlights blinking on and off, no one on the road, radio up-
I find myself calm and cool and collected...
And thinking.
Monday, January 26, 2009
An exercise in futility?
*or*
I really, really wish I could do something.
Yesterday I discovered my ex’s sister is dying of cancer. She’s my age and she’s dying of cancer. I don’t expect this statement to mean the same thing to you as it does to me. I mean, young people die everyday from these things, yes? I know I’ve read about people who weren’t very different from me- getting sick, adjusting... dying.
There’s that sad place in your heart that holds these things for you and I wonder if people have always had that place- or if we’ve had to develop it recently to combat all the accumulated heartache. This place- it holds grief like a bowl and stares at the contents wishing it had something to say.
Sometimes you find yourself sinking into those emotions- reaching towards something you want to fix and save. On arm steadies you on the lip of the bowl, the other stretches far in and you can end up overturning the entire thing if you’re not careful. This is what happened to me when I heard about Hannah.
I found myself on my knees, bawling my head off. Stephanie was on her way over and when she arrived, she rocked me like a child and told me I was going to be alright. Well, duh- I knew *I* was going to be okay but what about Hannah. But was I really crying for her or my dad or myself?
I told myself on my 27th birthday that I wasn’t going to be living in Mpls when I turned 28. I’ve spent a huge chunk of the time since traveling- trying to figure out where to be. I’ve narrowed it down considerably... but what other steps have I taken? Am I just waiting? For what? We all have a limited amount of time here. Hannah might not make it to the end of the year. What would you do if you knew you only had a moment in time left? I think my answers surprised me.
I really, really wish I could do something.
Yesterday I discovered my ex’s sister is dying of cancer. She’s my age and she’s dying of cancer. I don’t expect this statement to mean the same thing to you as it does to me. I mean, young people die everyday from these things, yes? I know I’ve read about people who weren’t very different from me- getting sick, adjusting... dying.
There’s that sad place in your heart that holds these things for you and I wonder if people have always had that place- or if we’ve had to develop it recently to combat all the accumulated heartache. This place- it holds grief like a bowl and stares at the contents wishing it had something to say.
Sometimes you find yourself sinking into those emotions- reaching towards something you want to fix and save. On arm steadies you on the lip of the bowl, the other stretches far in and you can end up overturning the entire thing if you’re not careful. This is what happened to me when I heard about Hannah.
I found myself on my knees, bawling my head off. Stephanie was on her way over and when she arrived, she rocked me like a child and told me I was going to be alright. Well, duh- I knew *I* was going to be okay but what about Hannah. But was I really crying for her or my dad or myself?
I told myself on my 27th birthday that I wasn’t going to be living in Mpls when I turned 28. I’ve spent a huge chunk of the time since traveling- trying to figure out where to be. I’ve narrowed it down considerably... but what other steps have I taken? Am I just waiting? For what? We all have a limited amount of time here. Hannah might not make it to the end of the year. What would you do if you knew you only had a moment in time left? I think my answers surprised me.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
How disturbing is this?
I had been looking forward to sleeping in on Sunday all week. Imagine my surprise this morning when, after stretching with a refreshing (glorious) laziness- I looked at the clock and discovered it was 8:30am.
I made the bed and strolled into the living room expecting to see a warzone- wine glasses and snack plates aggressively defending their territory from beer bottles and ashtrays. But there was no mad disarray. Apparently I took care of this last night- even going so far as to have grounds already measured out in the press.
Instead of books of bar matches with 'theLiMNS wed@Cabooze' or 'moarVODKA!' written crazily on them, littering the floor- I have apps reminding me to 'pick Marie up, wed@airport' and 'buy more cilantro and garlic.' Good god, my taxes are even already done.
What's happened to me!?
I made the bed and strolled into the living room expecting to see a warzone- wine glasses and snack plates aggressively defending their territory from beer bottles and ashtrays. But there was no mad disarray. Apparently I took care of this last night- even going so far as to have grounds already measured out in the press.
Instead of books of bar matches with 'theLiMNS wed@Cabooze' or 'moarVODKA!' written crazily on them, littering the floor- I have apps reminding me to 'pick Marie up, wed@airport' and 'buy more cilantro and garlic.' Good god, my taxes are even already done.
What's happened to me!?
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