Friday, July 31, 2009

Funny People

Indie-flicks have massive appeal to me. They always have. I was telling some friends about one the other day, and the entire time, my friend thought I was talking about loving movies from India. Yeah. You know me and my Bollywood obsession!

'Funny People' comes out today, and I know very little about it. I actually listened to my morning radio station on my drive to work, they completely ripped on it for not being funny. Uh, yeah, it doesn't seem like "funny" is what they were going for. At any rate, their description (and utter mockery) of the movie made me want to see it.

So, my weekend is packed, but I'm cramming that puppy in tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow night, Milwaukee.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Hold That Thought

In December of 2007, or maybe 2006, I began writing a book. As with anything, life got a little hectic. With computers crashing, moving houses, moving houses again, and other various hurdles, my manuscript was put on hold. And there it has sat ever since.

My mind is an odd thing. Maybe it's normal. More than likely, it's not. Often times I narrate things in my head. Whether it's life, conversations, commentary, random thoughts, or random songs; my mind runs through them in entirety.

Today, the opening for a book about my life breezed through my mind. If I don't write it down, it surely will be forgotten. But Folks, for the time being, I'm back in action! Halt on the other book...

...I'm on a different course now!

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Challenge Me

We all face various challenges in our life. Sometimes they're long drawn out seasons of hardship, sometimes they are relational, sometimes financial...the list is endless. Truth is, I like challenges. Not that I'm saying that I enjoy hard times or anything. After all, sometimes a challenging person can become your best friend! That's how my good friend Olivia and I grew so close.

I was up until after 3 o'clock this morning (when I totally just fell asleep!) talking to someone that I barely even know. I was trying to encourage this person to make the wise choices that I know that they want to make. At some point, the conversation turned, and in the end I felt completely attacked for my beliefs. Not my belief in God or anything - just my standards, or reasons for why I've lived my life the way that I have. Why I believe the things that I do...

It's weird. I had the things to say to this person, and I meant them. But there is something about pulling out an old box and dusting it off. Sometimes it's not as clear when you open it up, why the heck you put the items in there that you did. At the time it made perfect sense, but now does it?

I'm challenged today. Challenged to ask myself some deep questions and to then do some soul-searching for the answers.

I'm also craving salad like nobody's business.

Four more hours till I meet the girls and head to IL to see RENT. I don't remember who's doing it, but I just freakin' love that musical. Even if it's horrible, I'll have fun!

Well, I'm off to run some errands and hopefully hit up Lake Michigan for some sunshine and music before dinner and a show.

♪♫♪ Take me for what I am. Who I was meant to be. And if you give a damn, take me baby, or leave me. ♪♫♪

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Sweet Home, Chicago....or....Kenosha...

After a month of traveling, house-sitting in "the hood", and just plain seeing bits of America, I have returned "home". I put that in quotations because I've discovered that 'home' is such a relative term. It's something we use to label the places where we reside, isn't it? I mean, even when I lived in the wonderful "Shagbark Apartments", I still called it home. However, now I'm not so sure that I have a home to speak of. Therefore, the quotation marks appear.

The months of me living in my parents house are coming to an end, and not nearly as quickly as I'd like. My sister threw a complete freak-out when she was 29 and we shared a one bedroom apartment. The fear of 30 caused her to NOT want to become a 30 year old who shared a bedroom, with twin beds, with her baby sister. So, before her 30th birthday we moved in to a 2 bedroom apt. and she tossed out her twin bed and purchased a queen.

Here I am, months from 30, living in my old bedroom at home. No Mom. No space to even unpack. Half of my life is in one cousin's basement. Half in another cousin's basement. I don't know what I have. I don't know what I own. I don't know where anything is, and my room is a freaking mound of mess that I cannot even begin to deal with because there is nowhere to put it anyway. After over a decade of living outside my parents home, family forced me back (situationally, for a season)and now I'm knocking on the door of my 30s and sickly reminded, daily, that I have nothing to show for it.

When I was little, I was facinated by the smells of people and of their houses. You realize at a young age that different homes have different scents to them. Were you to smell that fragrance elsewhere, you'd immediately be reminded of so-and-so person's home. But for some reason, you're immune to the scent of your own home.

My best friend's house smelled like cat pee. My other best friend's house smelled of a certain sweetness, later recognized as pot, and cigarrettes. I remember talking about the smell of homes. I always wondered what mine smelled like. At the time, the cat-pee-house friend told me that my house always smelled good. It smelled like a combination of cigarette smoke and popcorn. For years that bothered me, even after my Mom quit smoking and my Dad had to smoke outside. I've always been conscious of the way I smell, and the way my home smells, to people.

When I lived with Laura (my sister) in the apartments, we always were told that our house smelled amazing. Everyone that came over commented on how warm and welcoming our apt. was. Lived in and comfortable. And it smelled of baking scents...cinnimon, cookies etc. I loved that. I loved that our friend Annie wished our apartment smell could be contained and sold as an air freshener.

As I started my wash the other night, I had an epiphone. The cold and warm waters crashed over my clothes. I poured detergent over them and I hesitated. I could smell my parents house. My Mom and her touch are gone. It smells like an old man's house. Not mothballs or anything, just old man. Dirty. Musty. Stale smoke from his endless smoking on the porch. The windows are open, the Summer heat warms the house and draws out the old scents that have for years bed masked by my Mother's touch. It's not home for me, I can tell it in my nose...

In closing, don't worry - you'll get your update on my crazy month of July. I know you're all dying to hear about it! ;)

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Keep Your Words to Yourself, I've Got Plenty of My Own

It’s interesting that as children we were taught that the world is ours to own; all we needed to do was make a choice to become (or do) whatever we wanted, and it would be ours. If we wanted to be a firefighter, we would be. If we desired to become the President of the United States of America, more power to us! In my case I wanted to be a choreographer. Fat chance. Now I’m almost thirty and get sweaty and winded carrying the stupid laundry basket from the basement up to the second floor. My actual heart and soul plan was to get married, have 8 children, and just be a Mom. My dream job, seriously. Lies. I was fed lies.

I can’t escape the knowledge, however, that if I really set my mind to change my life, I could. I’m not saying for the better, but I could do it. I could up and move in a second. Leave my job. Forget about family and friends. Pack up and move away and start over. Write. Paint. Draw. Find a guy. Get married. Buy a nice little fixer-upper that’s completely telling of the type of people we are, full of odds and ends (useless things) which have been converted, contorted and restored into beautiful masterpieces – or at least eclectic wall hangings.

Crap. No one prepared me for THIS life, the one I ACTUALLY have. In and of itself, I like it. I live it. It’s fine. But whenever that magnifying glass of circumstances highlights the bare bones reality of it for a little too long (or SOMEONE steps in from the periphery and asks what the heck am I doing with my life) …I feel like Tommy Boy and I want to scream: “Forget it, I quit, I can't do this anymore, man. My head's about to explode. My whole life sucks. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know where I'm going. My dad just died. We just killed Bambi. I'm out here getting my @$$ kicked and every time I drive down the road I wanna jerk the wheel INTO A BRIDGE ABUTMENT.”

Only in my case, my Mom just died.
Oh, and my Uncle.

I’ve also become incredibly irresponsible lately. Or perhaps, lazy, is a better term for it. Lazy as in, I don’t care about certain things, I don’t care about answering you. I don’t particularly care to R.S.V.P. to anything at the moment because odds are that I am not going to write it down anyway, so what’s the point?

I was chatting with the lovely “Literary Lily Cate” in her beautiful cottage in the woods last night, when she brought up a lovely point. We’re old…or….almost. We’ll both turn 30 soon. It doesn’t FEEL old, yet life around us reminds us of the true fact that time continues to move forward. Most people my age are watching their children do the things that it seems like we were doing yesterday… And how is it that we have passed that season of life where everyone is falling in love, getting engaged, getting married and having babies. Somehow we’ve fast-forwarded to the time where the news is very regularly about someone getting hurt, getting sick, and/or dying. Really?

For a moment yesterday I imaged myself living the life that I would have pictured for myself as a child. I saw 3 scenarios:

1.) A choreographer and an actress. Living in Hollywood and running my own studio that was vibrantly coloured and filtered in the warm glow of the setting sun…

2.) An improv actress living in New York City. Of course a regular, perhaps a writer, on Saturday Nite Live…

3.) A Mother. This one overlapped them all. I wasn’t a girl that planned many specifics…but by now I’d have been married and have at least 3 kids, pregnant with number 4.

My life is what it is. I made choices because I felt that they were right. In reality, if I hadn’t have made the decisions that I did, the odds are very highly that any of those 3 options would be my life today. But when faced with turning points and major life decisions, I made them, and here I sit. Not regretfully, mind you. In some cases I actually know the downfall my life would have had, had I have dove in head first, without a thought or concern. I’ve been spared from a lot.

Even so, it’s others my age or younger that make it difficult. A friend of mine ALWAYS hated even the IDEA of children. I cannot say that I ever saw her hold or even talk to a child. She was quite like “The Witches” who could smell a child across the room, and the odor was repugnant. Her focus was corporate life, and that is all she wanted. Even into her first year of marriage she felt the same. That was years ago. Now, with a few kids under her belt, she is an at-home Mother. Her comment to me, in passing; “Isn’t it funny how you’ve loved and wanted children your whole life – and I NEVER did? And now I have kids and am learning to love it? Isn’t God funny?”

Funny? Not the word I’d use in that scenario, Sunshine, but thanks. Also, if you’re walking barefoot, there are some tacks over there that you can go ahead and step on. Thanks.

I’m not complaining. Just being cynical. I’ve always learned to laugh at my life, because if I don’t…well, then I’ll probably lose my mind! You’d find me working at a thrift store, manically sorting all the clothes by color. Or, lining up everything on the shelf JUST right and pacing around, fretting, as germy people stroll in and then begin moving my perfectly place items around, or turning them just slightly enough that I want to rip my hair out, or punt a kitten. DO THEY NOT KNOW THAT THEY ALL HAVE THERE PLACE ON THAT SHELF??

Man, I’d be an awesome case study on OCD if I ever went loony. Not that I’m planning on it. I’ve got better things to do.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Colorado or Bust!

I have arrived.

I am in love with Colorado.
I could definitely live here.
I've spent the day in downtown, falling in love.
The 16th street mall is fabulous. Everything you need is so close - granted, we are staying in a hotel that is located central to the downtown area, but still. I love it!

Thursday, July 9, 2009


Six months away from turning 30 and I am going to a Jonas Brothers concert tonight. Sad thing is, I'm not bringing one of my kids. I don't even have kids. The closest thing I have is my teenage cat, who will be 17 next month. Even she wouldn't be caught dead at a concert with hundreds of 'tweens', pining after boys that are too old to entertain them, yet too young and Disney to hit Rolling Stones. Oh. Wait. They've done that, haven't they? Crap.

So, tonight I hitch a ride on the happy train and head for Milwaukee to see pre-teens with stars in their eyes; daydreaming of marrying one of the brothers...and maybe their best friend will marry another...and they'll live next door to each other and have kids at the same time. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Double crap. That was me!

I was going to marry Jordan Knight.
Amie was going to marry Jonathan Knight.

I suppose the world does go around in one big fat circle. These fans weren't even BORN yet when I was acting the same way that they are - annoyingly, optimistic... dreaming of actually MEETING and SEEING a boy band. Sick.

I'm such a loser.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

The 'Eyes' Have It

Dude. I like my new banner. I blurred everything (pretty much) but my eyes. Its kind-of hauntingly, freakishly, cool. At least, that's my opinion, anyway.

I was just thinking about the late River Pheonix. I thought he was such a hottie when I was in Elementary School. He was definitely a big celebrity. It was as if he and "The Corey's" ruled it all. For the record, I was a Feldmen lover. All that to say; why did I never realize, until tonight, that River Pheonix's name - which is ALWAYS said like that...FULL - was "River"? Really? What the heck? River??

Just my thought for the night.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Coppers - Part 2 of 4

The saga continues...

The 1st time that I was ever pulled over was by the DQ on 75th street in Kenosha. I was probably 17 at the time and completely scared. So scared in fact, that I pulled over by the median, a.k.a. the left hand side of the road. The PoPo, probably convinced that I was out of it, got on the loud speaker and broadcasted to the nations an order for me to slowly move my car to the right-hand-side of the street. All of this was because I did not yet have a license plate on my. I had mailed in for it, displayed the papers (which he checked)and I was on my way.

A week or so later, I was moving my car out of the driveway so my Mom could get hers out, I drove around the block and was pulled over AGAIN for the license plate thing. This one took far less time, however, because Shanon Bergendahl was working the dispatch when the call came in.

Amie (you may remember her from Part 1) and I were kicking the rock wall by St. Joe’s, unknowingly being watched the entire time by police in a parked car. They came out in full glory to accused us of intentionally damaging the whole wall (which was bologne - we were probably 10 at the time and didn't do ANY damage to the already deteriorating wall). Luckily my dad was bartending directly across the street and saw the whole thing. Can you imagine the terror of your 6-foot-8 Father storming across the street towards you're standing there being repremanded by police?? He talked to the cops and worked out a deal for us to pay for the repairs the wall, which his buddy did for free.

In 2000, I was sitting on the rocks by the lake right by Eikelman Park. I was writing in my journal, when suddenly a squad car races through the park behind me. He flies through the playground area, passes the benches, and pulls up only a few feet away from me. The guy then gets out of his car and starts asking me how I am…if I’m upset…blah blah blah. Did he think I was suicidal? I DON’T KNOW! I definitely didn’t look the part! I was really sarcastic to him too, like, “hi, I’m trying to write here buddy.” Weird. He sat with me on the rocks for a good 10 minutes before riding away on his silver steed of justice.

A few years ago, at my parent’s house for my mom’s birthday, Laura and I were sitting on the bench in the front yard (facing busy 75th street). We watched as a car ran a completely red light RIGHT IN FRONT of a cop car that did NOTHING. So of coarse we did what anyone would do. We yeled “Get em”. Eventually, the police took off after the car. A minute later another squad car drove past, so we yelled “get em”! A minute after THAT, yet ANOTHER car passed (which I didn’t realize was actually the same one) so I yelled “get em”. The officer immediately turned his lights on, did a u-turn and pulled up in the front yard. Of my PARENT'S house. Did I mention that my Mom was sitting on the neighbors porch rolling her eyes at me, the magnet for police, the WHOLE time? The cop proceeded to calls me over to the car. Basically, I suppose he taught me a lesson, which I was forced to repeat back to him (which I did - extremely sarcastically) “um, I guess I shouldn’t yell ‘get em’?” Funny. Mostly because it happened right in front of my parents and the neighbors! And also because was he seriously going to write me a ticket? What would it say? “She yelled get’em?”

When we were kids, me, Bekah and Naomi Omdahl were throwing pennies at cars that were driving past. I rocked at this game. Best timing in the world. That wasn't enough for me though, I had to show off....I dead-on hit a motorcycle as it passed. He pulled over half a block down. We ran like bandits and hid. About 10 minutes passed and an officer came knocking on Louise Omdahl's door. Thank God she wasn't home! The motorcycle man had called them, I got lectured and think I had to apologize to the guy. I’m sure I cried that time. We were all soo scared.

Enough for today. Stay tuned for Part 3....someday...

Thursday, July 2, 2009

I'm Immature

In 172 days, I will be 30 years old. THIRTY! Could someone please explain to me why some things STILL make me laugh like a 12 year old girl?

For example:

I cannot stop myself from saying, "That's what she said!" when it's appropriate...or not. Even when I don't physically say it out loud...I'm thinking it. And I'm laughing. Completely immature.

It's tough.

I work at a Trucking Company were weekly we haul loads of paper, wound like this:

Typical newsprint-type of an idea. Anyway, do you know what they call them - what the ACTUAL term is?


It's "butt-roll".

I have to look at Proof Of Deliveries, almost daily, that say "BUTT ROLLS" on them.

These are the things that keep me immature.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Wha'cha Gonna Do When They Come For You?

I'm going old-school. A few years back, I posted a four-part-series on my xanga page - dedicated to the hard working men and women of Police Departments, especially the Kenosha P.D. Some will have read or heard these tales before...others are in for a treat. A peek into just what it's like to be me. My Mom urged me (back in the day) not to share my stories, as people may think less of me. I've found, however, that some people find some of these recounts rather hilarious. So, without further adu...

Part 1 of 4

My childhood best friend, Amie, and I were sledding in Lincoln Park. As I was stood at the bottom of the hill I looked up to see Amie, walking halfway up the hill in her pink snowsuit. Her classmate, Michael Kilbourn, walked down to meet her. As he did, for no apparent reason, he picked up his snowboard and slammed it into her face. Breaking her glasses, chipping her tooth, and causing blood to go everywhere. In a fit of absolute rage I took off up the hill and tackled the kid and began punching him in the face. I turned and instructed Amie to start walking home, as I then took off running to her house, where I told her dad everything that had happened. He bolted out the front door, with me at his heals, and we found Amie walking up the block…followed shortly behind by an officer in his squad car who had seen the whole thing. The WHOLE thing. Including me. And was on my side about it! He said that I gave the kid what he deserved and that he’d leave that part out of the report. That was the was the day that began it all - the first time I had to sit in the back of a police car. Locked in the back seat, giving a report.

Naomi Omdahl and I (back in the days when wearing big puffy Starter jackets made you "cool" - in the early 90's?) went to SEARS to get our pictures taken. We set our appointment and then stopped by the bathroom to "freshen up". AFTER all of that, we were told that we need an adult with us to get pictures taken. We had no other choice but to leave. On our way out we were stopped by an off duty undercover Pleasant Prairie police officer at the entrance of the store. We were scared half-to-death, as he explained to us that they KNEW we were stealing jeans and they had a witness to prove it. Mind you, I have never stolen anything from a store before. In the end, they (Sears) basically broke a million laws (seriously) and more or less strip-searched us in front of the whole store before letting us leave. And no, they never called our parents. My Dad did, however, drive over there to "have a talk" with them after we returned home!

Amie saw a drug deal in Lincoln Park(a more high-end one then if it were just teenagers or something) when we were in Elementary School. The man that she saw and had described to the police, started stalking her/us after he came across us playing in the park - shortly after the whole ordeal. He ended up chasing us back to Amie’s house. (After my valient self-sacrificing move to save her!) Her dad called the cops and we (again) had to give a description of the guy.

After that drug dealer chased us, there were several times we had to call the cops to have them patrol the area because we’d see him around. On one occasion Amie and I were home alone and we noticed that he was in the alley behind her house. Pacing… and watching. We were home alone and completely scared, so we called Amie’s grandma. Why call 911? I mean, it makes total sense to call your Grandma who lives across town. She instructed us to hide. (Hey, we obviously were not brain surgeons – what the heck was her grandma going to do?) We hid behind the couch. Her grandma called the police who came and searched in and around the house - only to find that one of the basement windows had been smashed in and there was a knife by it. I think it was just a small kitchen knife or something…but still, it was freaky. Again, we were questioned endlessly by the officers trying to get info on the guy.

I witnessed a car radio getting stolen from Chuck Jackson’s car one night. I called the police and they came to my parent’s house and I had to give descriptions of the boys who did it. Later that week, at school, I found out who did it. I never told anyone who it was. I wouldn't tell the police because I knew they were in a gang - not the police, the boys who stole the radio. Ha! My Dad was furious with me. Funny thing, I ran in to one of the guys at Kwik Trip this afternoon.

(NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THE INNOCENT...OR GUILTY, IN THIS CASE!) After leaving Teens one night, Myrtle, Harry and I dropped Rick Jones off and were on our way home. Myrtle (who was maybe 14 at the time) convinced Harry to let her drive…in the rain. Yeah, we crashed in a ditch. Myrtle and I tried to walk to the Jones' to get Rick's older brother Joey to tow us out. We got lost. Knocked on some lady’s door trying to get directions to Lance Jr. High. She was crazy. She peeped the 5-0 because we looked “suspicious”, the cop’s pull up, lights blazin' and threw us in the back seat and drove us to the scene where there were several other squads waiting. They then tossed Harry in back with us because they thought that he was drunk driving…so, they tore his car apart. That was a fun one. Don’t try lying to your parents when you get home...the grapevine travels fast. "Judy" and my mom knew the whole thing before Myrtle or I walked in the door. But maybe they didn’t know Myrtle was driving…so please keep that on the DL.

That's all that you get for now, folks. Stay tuned for part 2....whenever I decide to search the archives to update and post it.