I Do?

People my age who are from my area of the country but no longer live there generally agree: It’s crazy how many people our age are getting married.  That’s not the worst of it, though.  We also are guilty of committing an awful double standard: We grumble about how we ourselves haven’t yet found someone to marry and how unlikely it is that it will happen anytime soon.

I won’t lie to you (and this may be the first time I’ve actually “said” this aloud): I act like I’m grossed out by the prospect of marriage, but in reality, I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t be terribly disappointed or disgusted if it actually happened to me sometime within the next 10 years. 

The fact is that people from the Midwest tend to get married way younger than people on the coasts.  I’m not going to pretend like I know why, or even make any guesses as to why that is.  But it’s true.  And citing that statistic makes me feel at least a little bit better about myself. 

In all actuality, though, there really are a lot of people who are my age who are (*gasp*) from North Dakota who aren’t married yet.  And even more who aren’t from North Dakota and who aren’t married.  We unmarried 25-year olds are not as unique as we would like to think. But recently, I’ve had many opportunities to hang out with a lot of really awesome people from all over who are my age and aren’t married.

When we hung out, did we talk about the crazy people who are getting married?  Yes.  Did we say how glad we were that we weren’t married?  Of course.  Did we, in the very next breath, lament our singleness with lack of any promising prospects?  Like we wouldn’t.

And even though the conversation can be intense and frustrating, it’s mostly just comforting.  I’m pleased to be part of the group of people my age who are wonderful people and simply haven’t found another wonderful person to ruin share their lives with.  Because really, the people I have in mind are great, wonderful, and, at the very least, on their way to being successful.  

I’m happy to include myself in that group, too.

Home for the Holidays II

So, do you remember a few months ago when I promised that I would try to write a blog a week?

Yeah, that didn't happen. And it probably still won't. And I didn't make it one of my new year's resolutions, because everyone knows that no one keeps their new year's resolutions, anyway. Instead, I'm just going to keep on going with writing when I have time/a topic comes to mind.

Do you remember about 5 weeks ago, when I was home for Thanksgiving and wrote this blog about my time there? And how I promised a second half and told you all to "look for another installment and the point of the blog sometime soon."? Yeah, well, there are two problems. The first is that I don't remember a lot of what happened when I was home after that, and the second is that I don't remember what I actually had in mind for the point of the blog. My bad.

I did, however, make a list of serious topics that came from that trip home, so you'll see those in the coming weeks....

HOLY COW!!!

I just looked at the list, and guess what's on it! The point of the previous blog!!! Sometimes I do things like that, that are intended to make my life easier, but I don't pay attention or forget, and then my good intentions go out the window. Not this time, kids. Not this time.

Okay, so. On to the point of the previous Thanksgiving blog, which again, you can find here. I really recommend that you read at least the first two paragraphs.

-----

I'm very fortunate in that I have a very great group of friends and a fantastic family that has been super-supportive of me and my life decisions. I'm also very fortunate because even though I live 3-ish states away, they still keep in touch.

I'm not the best at calling people. Just ask my mom. (Sorry, Mom. I think maybe I'm getting better??) Apparently, many of my friends also aren't the best at calling, because they don't call me, either. (Yes, I just called you all out.) But we're all busy and have stuff going on, and it's easy not to call people. I used to use driving as a good excuse to call people, but I rarely drive anymore. I mostly take the bus, and I refuse to be that girl who keeps talking and talking and talking on a long bus ride.

Ugh. I'm straying from the point.

Even though I don't necessarily stay in the best of touch with my friends, when I'm home in ND, I try to make a point of seeing as many people as possible. This is not always easy. For example, many of my friends live 5-6 hours from Gwinner. Some (okay, most) have significant others, jobs, etc. that don't allot much time to Gwinner while I'm there. But we try. And it's great.

And I'm straying again.

I'm going to stop beating around the bush and get to the point. The point is this: If I spend too long within the boundaries of Gwinner, I start to go crazy. I get super crabby and really mean and get a really, really awful attitude. And I know that people notice. And I do apologize, but being there for too long makes me nutso. I know that it's the place that I grew up, and I know that everyone there is super supportive, but it's really hard for me to spend extended periods of time there. I love having a place to call home, and I'm more than happy to take short visits. And I love my family and I love visiting my friends who are around. But I just. get. miserable. And I feel bad, but it's true.

After my grandma died in the summer of 2008, I thought a lot about the small-town atmosphere. I thought to myself, "How could I ever live anywhere but a small town?" Everyone was more than willing to help with anything that anyone could possibly think of. It was so refreshing to see people come together and everyone knew and everyone cared. It was touching.

What I've learned from living in a bigger place, though, is that the same thing happens here, it's just with a smaller group of people. The people who know you and care about you are the ones who help and do what needs to be done. Sure, the entire city of Boulder isn't going to come together for me when my dog dies (I don't actually have a dog), but my closest friends and maybe even people one or two branches out from that circle would be willing to do whatever is needed. The city atmosphere just helps me to be more anonymous, which I totally appreciate.

This past summer, I spent my fourth summer in Medora. You can read about it here. Basically what it says is that I was miserable all summer. And I attributed a lot of my misery to crazy tourists. I still won't deny that. But now that there's more distance from the experience, I also attribute it to Medora's size and the traits that follow from it being a small town. Not the people, just the situation.

Here's what I'm trying to say. I appreciate the small-town life and am glad that I grew up in it and have experienced it. I love visiting it. There are some aspects of it that I seriously miss (see the blog about booze cruising to come soon). I'm really, really proud of a lot of things that my home state does. I brag about ND all the time. I'm glad to have a place to call home. I'm just mostly uncomfortable there. And I'm sorry for that.

But most of all, I'm sorry that when I'm there I get awful. Feel free to call me out. It's a serious problem. I can take it... Probably.

Home for the Holiday

I can't count the number of times that I have heard my parents say, "Stacey is the first one to want to leave home and the first one who wants to get back home."  When we were little, it was probably the most truthful saying in the history of the world.  I don't want to embarrass her terribly, but suffice it to say that she lived up to her reputation and could make herself physically sick to get out of any situation in which she wasn't comfortable. 

Last year when I was home for Christmas, I completely understood what Stacey felt when she was a child.  I was altogether too excited to get home to North Dakota for the holidays, but the excitement quickly wore off.  There is a list of reasons why, and I considered writing a blog about all of those reasons last year, but chose not to based on the number of people that I would have offended by writing it.  And that's coming from the girl who has told people, "If you don't like it, don't read it."  Yes, the potential sources were that offensive.  So I never wrote the blog, but let's just say that last year's trip home got to be pretty rough for a number of reasons that won't be discussed in this medium.  

Anyway, my trip home for Thanksgiving this year is significantly shorter than the trip home for Christmas last year.  Actually, I'm not *supposed* to be home at all.  In... June...? July...?  ish...?  my family decided that because both Stacey and I get a whole week off from school for Thanksgiving, they would come down to CO and we would spend Thanksgiving in Boulder.  I had it all figured out and a constructed list of things that I wanted us to do and acquired serving platters and had been checking grocery fliers for appropriate coupons and had told everyone about how excited I was for my family to come and hang out.  And then Mom called and listed off a number of very convincing reasons why it would make more sense for me to come home than for them to come to Colorado..  She then offered to buy me a plane ticket to make that happen.  You don't say no to Dorenda.  Or at least I don't.  You also don't say no to a free flight and a delicious, home-cooked Thanksgiving meal.

So after staying up too late on Monday night at game night in my house with my Boulder people, I woke up early on Tuesday morning and hoofed it to the bus station to head to the airport to head home to North Dakota to spend Thanksgiving with the fam.  I just want to say how struck I was by the contrast in everything between take-off and landing.  It was about 40 degrees when I left the airport, and when I looked out my window after take-off, all I could see for miles and miles were the ever-gorgeous Rocky Mountains. 

Because I'm me, I slept for the whole flight.  When I woke up and looked out my window, all I could see were snow-covered plains and... well... nothing for miles and miles.  I swear to you that I could see all the way to the Montana border.  North Dakota is freaking flat.  Also, it was like... ZERO DEGREES.  It's so cold here.  I've become a whiny Coloradan when it comes to weather.  And it's actually not that cold here right now, so I shouldn't complain at all.  I'm just spoiled.

There have been lots of adventures here, and I've only been home for 2 days.  Unfortunately, this blog is already so long that most people won't read the whole thing, so look for another installment and the point of the blog sometime soon.  I can't say when, but it will be soon.

All Along the Colorado Trail...

In recent years, I've moved a lot.  Let me give you a run-down:

• August 2004: Gwinner to Jamestown for my freshman year of college.
• May 2005: Jamestown to Gwinner to work at Bobcat.
• August 2005: Back to Jamestown for sophomore year.
• May 2006: Back to Gwinner for summer #2 at Bobcat.
• August 2006: To Jamestown for junior year.
• May 2007: To Medora to work for the summer (plus a carload of stuff to home first!)
• August 2007: Back to Jamestown for my last year of college (or so I thought)
• May 2008: Summer #2 in Medora
• October 2008: Back to Jamestown for a year to live with Tab
• April 2009: Back to Medora for summer #3
• August 2009: To Boulder, CO for freshman year #2
• December 2009: From Boulder to Broomfield after I was kicked out of my apartment
• May 2010: Back to Medora for summer #4.

That's 13 times since August of 2004.  That's an average of 2.6 times per year.

Now, one would think that with all of my practice at packing and moving that I would be good at it.  I'm not.  I'm pretty bad at it, actually.  More than one carload is too much stuff, and I have about 2 carloads worth.  Thank goodness Kenny and I decided to rent a storage unit to get us through the summer.

What I have improved at is knowing where I put stuff away when I unpack.  When it comes time to re-pack, I know exactly where everything is.  And I know exactly which box everything is in, because it's been in and out of the same box multiple times throughout the past years.  But the problem remains that it's just too much.

When I pack, I like to take my time.  I'll pack a box, then sit down and write for a while.  Then I'll pack a box and eat supper.  Then I'll pack a box and call some friends.  It's a process.  A time-consuming one, but it helps me keep my sanity.  And even though I hate it, there are good things about packing. It's a chance to reorganize things and to get rid of the stuff you just haven't used in forever.  And it means you're going somewhere, which is always exciting.

Usually, when I'm moving to Medora, I'm nothing but excited.  Medora is like a second, maybe even first home for me, as my trailer house is the place I've lived longest in recent years.  This year, I'm very excited, and there's lots of hype surrounding this summer in Medora, but it's also a little bittersweet to be leaving.

CO is quickly turning into a home for me. I'm really comfortable here, and am settling into routines.  I'd like to stay to experience summer on the Front Range.  I'm leaving my boyfriend, and will likely never see him again.  There are lots of things that I'm really going to miss, in no particular order:

• The mountains.  I see them every day on my commute, and they are so, so, so beautiful.  Really.  It's worth a trip through CO just to see the mountains.  I get sad on foggy days when I can't see them.  They're gorgeous.
• Chipotle.  I know this is silly, but there isn't one in the whole state of ND.  Especially not in Medora.
• Recitals.  I'm in the habit of seeing about a recital a week around here, and that really isn't an option in Medora.
• Recycling.  No one recycles in Medora, even though we really, really should.  Especially the bars.  Maybe I'll work on that this summer.
• King Soopers.  King Soopers is my favoritest grocery store ever.  I love having a King Soopers card.
• Kenny.  Because he's Kenny.
• Slacker and Steve.  When I don't get to listen to Slacker and Steve on the radio, my life is incomplete for a day.  This is going to be a whole summer.  I'm going to have to stream them online.  Seriously, people, they are hilarious.  Thanks to Kenny to introducing me to Alice 105.9.
• The hot, Hot, HOT sun.  My hypothesis is that we're closer to it here, so the heat of the sun is really a lot warmer than it is at home.  Even on chilly days, the sun is hot.
• Of course, all of my friends.  Although I don't want to miss anyone so I'm not naming names.
• The folks at the Center of the American West.  They rock.  All of them.
• Voice lessons.  I love singing.  And learning how to sing.  I need to find time to do that this summer.
• Traffic.  I love driving in traffic.

Okay, that's probably not everything that I'll miss, but it's a significant portion.  I leave this wonderful place on Sunday, so wish me safe travels.

And don't worry, the blog will continue in Medora, although the content may not be quite as exciting.

Luggage

Believe it or not, but I think that Saturday was finally the official end of the airport saga.  Of course not many of you know that it continued on that long...  If you didn't know, let me fill you in.

If you didn't already read about my day/night on Tuesday, this will be confusing to you.  In order to catch up, please read this.

I did  end up sleeping, from about 4:30 to 6:00, when I woke up by chance just in time to catch the first bus from the airport to Broomfield.  As soon as I got on the bus, I fell asleep and woke up by chance just in time to get off of the bus to hop on the other bus to my house.  

There was slush everywhere.  It was nasty and cold and gross.  The bus driver let me off just past the bus stop because there was a mountain of snow in front of the actual stop.  I stepped off into a puddle of slush.  In my ballet flats.  That are about as far from waterproof as shoes come.  It was cold and wet and gross.  And I had to walk 3 blocks in that.

By the time I got home, my jeans were wet to the knee, and my feet had hypothermia.  If that's possible.  And I was still so so so tired.  I plugged my phone into my car charger, went inside and emailed my parents to inform them what had happened, and fell into my bad.

A few hours later, I woke up and began the process of getting my luggage and $200 back from Frontier airlines.  I don't want to get into all of the gory details, but let's say this: I made probably 30 phone calls, talked to 5 different people, spent literally hours on hold, and left lots of messages and emails.  Nothing was more frustrating, though, than trying to get in touch with baggage services.

I called and called and called and called, and they would not answer their phone.  Sound familiar?  Yeah, sounds exactly like when I lost my keys and called RTD endlessly to no avail, right?  Apparently Coloradans, along with being flaky, don't answer their phones.  After trying ALL day Wednesday, and all morning Thursday, I gave up and decided to just go back to the airport to talk to the baggage people in person.

Kenny, being the smart guy that he is, suggested that we take the bus and drink on the way.  So we did.  Nothing over-the-top, mind you, but we did drink.  I was normal while I talked to the lady at baggage services, but it took a lot of fortitude not to freak out when she relayed what she knew: Despite the fact that I had canceled my flight long before then, and the fact that I wasn't even supposed to be on the flight, they sent my bag to Fargo at 11:00 Wednesday morning.  I understand that they were probably trying to save time and money by sending all bags to Fargo on one flight, but that is really not helpful to me, seeing as how I canceled my trip.  Then, after I had given her my information, she told me that they wouldn't be able to deliver my bag.  Why?  Because I was late arriving to the airport.  Never mind the fact that the bag never should have been sent or that I had called her office 30 times trying to tell them not to send it, or even just to talk to a person...

Whatever.  Finally, on Saturday morning, they called me to tell me that my bag had come back.  5 days after I was scheduled to fly.  So I took the bus to the airport one last time and got my life back. 

And I think that's the end.  I think.

The "Fun" Continues...

And by "fun," I mean not fun.  Not even a little fun.  Not fun at all, actually.  It's a good thing I like airports.

I'm not really sure why, but I decided that because I had nothing else to do for Spring Break, I would go home to the good ol' NoDak. There was no particular reason for me wanting to go, and nothing to do there, but I felt like it.  So Mom and Dad booked me a ticket that would (theoretically) arrive in Fargo on Tuesday night at 10:53 pm, and I'd leave the state on Saturday morning at 6:10.  A short trip, but worth it.  I had all sorts of plans for the time that I'd be home, and not nearly enough time to do it all in.

My flight was scheduled to leave on Tuesday night at 7:42 pm.  A Frontier flight.  Please keep in mind that Kenny warned me not to fly Frontier, because he used to work for them.  He also told me not to buy a cheap ticket, because that only exacerbates the problem.

Suffice it to say I went completely against his advice and did both.  Yes, both. Kenny,  you can freely say, "I told you so."

I wanted to be adventurous and to save a little cash on the trip, so I chose to take the Skyride Bus to DIA.  Usually not a problem.  The forecast for here had snow in it, but it didn't sound like anything toooo major.  Pasha planned to come and pick me up at my house and drop me at the bus stop as soon as his piano test was done.  Great plan, except that at a little after 3:00, it started snowing.  Hard.  And his bus coming from Boulder was late. Very late. 

I thought everything would still be fine, though. After all, my bus wasn't scheduled to leave the park and ride until 4:51 pm.  I still had plenty of time.  Except that I didn't, because that's how late everything was running.  Along with the snow, traffic was wretched, and no one was getting anywhere quickly.  I began to run my options over in my head.  I could drive to the park and ride, but I'm not allowed to park there for free because I still have ND plates.  I had already missed the bus that came before 4:51, because it only comes once an hour.  I could take the toll road to the airport, but then I'd have to park my car at the airport and pay a daily fee.  Or I could wait.  After all, Pasha shouldn't be that much longer.

Well, he arrived at my house at 4:45.  Because that's how bad the traffic was in the weather.  He said, "There's no way your bus is making it on time, either."  I called RTD to double-check that theory, and he was right.  We had plenty of time.  Except that it took us 15 minutes to go 4 blocks in town.  Not even kidding.  It was wretched.  I called once again, and still had time.  Too much time.

The bus that was supposed to have arrived at 4:51 arrived at 5:41.  No lies.  I knew that there was no way I was making it to the airport, but remained optimistic.  Maybe, just maybe.  No.  The highway was awful.  Traffic was killer, the weather was killer, life was killer.  I had no hope.  When I arrived at the airport at a little after 8:00, more than 2 hours after my scheduled arrival time, I went to the ticket counter and said, "I was supposed to be on the 7:42 flight to Fargo, but my bus just arrived 2 hours late."  The lady made a phone call and said, "Okay, well, get going.  They haven't left yet."  

I half-ran to my gate, only to find out that we still didn't have a plane or a crew.  Whew.  Made it in plenty of time.  After about an hour, they began boarding us.  Yaaaaaayyyy!  Mom and Dad had been in Fargo for hours already, waiting for me, keeping in contact to see if/when I'd be leaving.  They were probably just as excited as I was, if not more.  

So after boarding, we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And then when they tried to start the engines, one wouldn't because of too much ice built up.  So they knocked it free with brooms (high-quality maintenance there), but it wouldn't hold, so they called a de-icer over.  But before the de-icer made it over, they decided to cancel our flight.  After we had sat on the plane for about an hour, give or take a few minutes.  

Awesome.  So I called everyone and told them, and went to stand in line to talk to a gate agent.  Let me tell you how long that line was.  I can't even tell you, except that it took over 3 hours to get to the front.  And the rumor mill was grinding the whole time.  And during that period of time in my life, my cell phone died.  And my charger was in my checked baggage.  That was a problem.  A big one.  Now, I had nothing.  No way of contacting people.  

When I finally made it to the front of the line, I found my options.  I could get on a flight at 7:42 pm on Wednesday instead of Tuesday, or I could call and try to get a refund.  I decided to do both.  I'm officially checked in to leave DIA tomorrow night, one day later than I was originally scheduled for.  Which isn't so bad, except that no one knows that, because I can't call them and tell them.  And I went to go and get my checked bag to get my phone charger, but they wouldn't let me until tomorrow because there are just too many bags.  

So here I am, hanging out in DIA.  It's almost 4:00 in the morning, and I'm waiting for the first bus out of here, which leaves at 6:15 so that I can go home, charge my phone, and call my mom and the refund people.  The problem is that because my phone is dead, I have no alarm clock.  I'm afraid to fall asleep because I don't want to miss the bus.  And I have some decisions to make.  See, I'm scheduled to leave ND so early on Saturday morning that a trip my not be worth my time, unless I can't get a refund at all.  Then, I may as well go, just so as not to lose out on my $220.  Except that then Mom and Dad have to pick me up.  Again.  

What a mess. 

Someday soon, I'll tell you why I really like airports.  Just not today.  I don't like airports today.

Lusk - Part 1

When Jettie came to Boulder in October, we made preliminary plans to meet somewhere between Boulder and Medora sometime before summertime.  When Jettie plans something, it happens.  She's not one of those people who says, "Oh, hey, we should go to Las Vegas for a weekend once!" and then forgets about it.  If she says it, she likely means it's going to happen.  It therefore follows that her plan to meet somewhere between Boulder and Medora happened.
 

The meeting place turned out to be Lusk, WY, population somewhere around 1300.  We picked it because it's small (we like small town, trashy bars), approximately halfway between Boulder and Medora, and we thought it would have cowboys (that was much more important when both she and I were single).  I had been warned by a co-worker who had taken a similar trip once that the townfolk would either love us or hate us.  We were hoping they would love us, but expected they would hate us.
 

The drive took around four and a half hours, and I arrived about an hour before Jettie and Shauna.  I had a drink while I was waiting, and as soon as they arrived, we commenced drinking.  Keep in mind here that none of us had eaten supper yet.  After finishing our drinks, we left our motel and headed downtown, toward the Silver Dollar Bar, which turned out to be populated by an older crowd, in their 40's (?), 50's (?), and 60's (?), and they were happy to see us.  They were asking our names, why we were in Lusk, what we do, etc., etc., etc., while we had a drink and a shot.  When it was our turn to ask questions, we asked where we could get supper, and everyone's reply was "Fresh Start."  Fresh Start is the 24-hour convenience store.  Classy.
 

As we left to head to Fresh Start, already a little tipsy, a man came out of the bar after us and said, "Hey!  Where you ladies going?"  To which we replied, "We'll be back!"  At Fresh start, we had a wonderful "supper" of cold sandwiches, gas station nachos, and a jumbo cookie, all of which we ate while sitting on the curb outside of the place, watching at least 4 cops drive by 3 times each.  Literally.
 

Having eaten, we went to what the locals had called the bar for the young crowd, The Pub. We were not nearly as welcomed at The Pub.  People were staring, glaring, and the bartender was not nearly as friendly as the other two had been at the Silver Dollar.  We had our two drinks and high-tailed it out of there, back to the Silver Dollar, where our new-found friends were.
 

Much like what happened on my birthday, which is the last time that I drank with Shauna and Jettie, I don't remember much of the rest of the time at the bar.  I know that I sang a lot of karaoke, there was much dancing, much drinking, and lots of older men.  (And no cowboys.  Boo.)  I fell on my face on the dance floor when I tripped over the microphone cord.  But they loved us.  Even the bartenders thought we were a riot, and kept our drinks full for us.
 

At some point, the younger men that we had seen at The Pub came over, and now that both us and they were drunk, they decided they could talk to us.  I was pretty angry about the fact that they had been too good for us earlier, but suddenly wanted to be our friends.  They seemed nice enough, but not as nice as our older friends and dance partners.
 

They bought us drinks, Shauna got one of their numbers, and we inquired about an after-party.  This part of the night is very blurry in my memory.  Jettie tells me we were going to walk to these boys' house to play beer pong, when they drove by and decided to pick us up.  We shoved ourselves into their car, making a total of 7 of us in it.  I don't remember much, except that I couldn't close the door.  Even though the door was open, they kept driving.  I was freaking out.  Freaking out.  Why?  Well, my line of reasoning went something like this:
 

"Oh my gooooodneeeesss!!!  The car door is going to slam closed on my foot!  I'm going to lose my toes!  If I lose my toes, then I can't walk!  If I can't walk, I can't be a famous opera singer!  Stop the caaaaaar!"
 

They didn't stop the car, despite my screaming and bawling.  Yes, bawling.  Full-out crying.  When we arrived at the dude's place, Jettie and I stood outside so that she could console me.  Once she finally calmed me down, we went inside.
 

I was done.  I just wanted to sleep.  I couldn't sleep because I had the spins.  Bad.  I spent some time in the bathroom, wishing that I had a gag reflex so that I could get rid of the alcohol in my system, but alas, that strategy doesn't work for me.  After about an hour of mostly failed attempts, I laid on the couch and fell asleep, until Jettie woke me at nearly 4:00 am.
 

I apparently missed a lot of exciting stuff while I was sleeping.  Curtis, one of the boys, punched the wall.  Shane?  Shawn?  was mad because Shauna wasn't paying attention to him.  Some random girls were so angry that we were at the party that they said to the boys, "Don't you want real women?  Not some girls from North Dakota?"  (One was from SD, so I doubt that she was any better than the three of us.)  I slept through it all.
 

We had to walk back to our motel.  Jettie kept us going by continually telling us, "It's just a few more blocks."  Yeah, it was a bit farther than a few more blocks, but we eventually made it.  And we passed out until noon the next day...

Remember This?

Okay, in case you doubted when I said it before (in this blog), you cannot doubt anymore.  It's a statistical FACT.  North Dakotans are nice.

During my 14-hour trip back to CO from ND, a few important things happened to me.  Not life-altering, but important.

• I had a lot of time to think.
• I was carrying 60 pounds of beef in my trunk.

The first one is obvious, right?  I mean, 14 hours, in a car, by myself, in the middle of nowhere.  What else is there to do, aside from lots of texting, phone calls to people one hasn't talked to in a long time, and jamming out to any radio station one can possibly find (because there aren't many out there).

I had a lot to think about.  As you probably read here, I had a lot going on over Christmas break, and was so torn over how to write blogs about my experiences that I even considered not writing the blog anymore at all.  I kept trying to come up with topics to write about and how to phrase them, but no matter what I thought, nothing sounded appropriate. 

Then, I had to stop near Fort Collins to drop off 30 pounds of beef to someone I'd never even met.

Now, you're all asking yourselves, "What in the world?  Why is 60 pounds of beef important?"  My first reply would be, "Well, everyone needs to eat to survive."  My second reply would be, "Because it allowed me to have a very interesting conversation with a man who, like me, values the niceties of North Dakotans.

The man who received half of the beef in my trunk is the nephew of my next-door neighbor.  He grew up in ND and stayed there until he was in his mid-20's.  We had a short discussion (over beef) concerning living in ND vs. CO, and swapped stories of nice North Dakotans and mean Coloradans.  I shouldn't say mean, but let's face it: they aren't as friendly as us North Dakotans.

The conversation was significant enough at the time that I planned on writing a whole blog strictly about it.  I didn't have time, and have lost a lot of the details since, so nothing came of it, obviously.  But that conversation was a topic I could finally find the words for, and it helped me to keep writing.

Then, nearly a week later, a Coloradan surprised me in the simplest manner.  He made my day, actually.  I was walking from my car to campus (I still park off-campus to save money), and passed a construction site.  As I passed this random construction man on the sidewalk, he said good morning.  I returned the greeting and haven't seen him since.

Anyway...  I tell you all that in order to get back to the point of the blog.  If you had doubts about my gross generalization about the character of North Dakotans before, you can't anymore, for this reason: On my way to school this morning, I was listening to a radio station that I don't typically listen to.  One of the female broadcasters had just come back from a cruise to Jamaica.  She said something with what is stereotypically called a "North Dakotan accent."  Her fellow broadcasters made fun of her incessantly for it, and they were making jokes about Fargo.  You know, the usual... 

Then, the lady said something like this, "Well, you know there is something else that makes the Jamaicans and North Dakotans similar."  Her coworkers said, "Oh, yeah?  What's that?"  She replied, "Well, they're just so darn friendly."

So there you have it, folks.  Undeniable proof that North Dakotans are friendly.  In case you didn't already know.

I'll be Home for Christmas...

After my Saturday night birthday debacle, my entire body needed to recover.  Sunday was spent doing nothing productive, and it rocked.  But Monday brought the prospect of bad weather, and I decided to complete the second half of my journey to Gwinner.  The trip from Bowman to Gwinner went mostly wonderful.  It was snowing when I left, and the roads weren't amazing, but weren't horrible, either.  The driving life was good, until I got to Mandan. 

I'm a good, blinker-using driver.  It makes me quite angry when people don't use their blinkers, no matter the circumstances, but especially when there are pedestrians involved.  I always use mine.  Until, when just outside of Mandan, I passed someone on the interstate.  Before I re-entered the right lane, I, like the good, blinker-using citizen that I am, turned on my blinker.  

Bad idea.  The blinker blinked, but the blinker knob fell right off.

So there I was, still passing people (to the left) with my blinker on (to the right).  I'm sure people thought I was crazy, and I was so so so embarrassed.  I finally exited the interstate and made a left-hand turn, which turned the blinker off, but my knob is still out of commission.

Next, I stopped in Jamestown to visit my lil' sis.  After having dinner, I went to put gas in my car and to wash my windshield.  With the snow and meltiness on the roads, people had been spraying nasty onto my windshield almost the whole way from Bismarck to Jamestown.  Unfortunately, my windshield wiper fluid pump is broken (do you see a trend with my car here?), so it had to stay dirty during my travels.  I was looking forward it to cleaning it with those lovely squeegees that all gas stations have.

I had forgotten about the cold in ND.  None of the gas stations had windshield cleaner in the gas bays because it gets too cold and freezes, so I had to wash my windshield with a dry paper towel.

I was honestly surprised about how excited I was when I saw the bright lights of Gwinner through my newly-cleaned windshield.  I couldn't quite understand it.  My excitement has waned since, for a number of reasons that shall be discussed in later blogs.

Since I've been home, exactly what I had feared would happen has happened.  See, my parents have jobs and therefore money, and therefore keep food in the cupboards.  Plus, it's Christmas, so there is a large variety of sweets and other such nonsense readily available.  Aside from that, my friends from high school were only home for a few days, so I quickly ran out of things to entertain me.  In short, I've done a lot of sitting around at home, bored.  And alcohol is just far too prevalent. 

But I'm home, with family, experiencing a full-out ND blizzard.  Both of the interstates are closed from one end of the state to the other.  No travel is advised.  The wind is howling, the snow is drifting, and people are stuck in their houses IN TOWN.  Many families have been split up for this Christmas, and are scrambling to make plans with whoever can get together, while mine is here, playing cards, watching basketball, and (mostly) enjoying each other's company.

Oh, ND...

North Dakotans: Nice

Let's face it: It happens. 

You know what it is.

It happens to some more than others. 

When it comes to car batteries dying, it happens to me the most.  Or at least that's how it seems. 

I know exactly why it happens to me: I tend to be careless.  Not just in leaving my car lights on, but in life.  When I cook, one might think that a bomb has gone off in the kitchen.  When I paint, my clothes and hair get just as much paint on them as the thing I'm painting does.  I drop electronics in the toilet and put them through cycles in the washing machine.  I've locked my keys in my car so many times that I have a spare in my purse and one on the body of my car in case I lock my purse in my car, too (which has happened.  several times). 

I'd like to think that these things going wrong by my own fault is because I'm such a genius that I don't have time to consider those "little" things.  But 1) I'm not that conceited, and 2) I know it's just carelessness.

Thank goodness for kind North Dakotans who have come to my rescue in innumerable situations (I'm generalizing a bit, because usually these "kind" NoDak-ers are also my friends).  We are infamously nice people.  We come from the conservative Heartland of America, where people go to church every Sunday, everyone works hard, and we are all down-to-earth.

In October, when Jettie was here (read all about her visit here and here), we went to Denver for a day of sightseeing.  We had spent all day on our feet after an early morning and needed a nap, so we headed back to the parking garage to take a nap in my car.  We turned on the radio for some tunes and fell asleep.  Wouldn't you know... when we woke up, my battery was dead.  It was getting dark in the garage, and after some running around, we located a portable jumper thingy.  Just as the two of us and a (female) security guard were hooking the thing up, a car with a whole family pulled into the space next to mine.   Don't get me wrong, because we knew what we were doing, and we weren't struggling, but did any of those 5 or 6 people even ask if they could help in any way?  Did they leave their lights on so we could see better?  Did they even look our direction?  No.  They just walked away.

Things went just fine without their help; we had no problems.  But had this happened in ND, half the city of Gwinner would have come to help without even being asked.  It happens at the Medora Musical all the time: someone leaves their lights on, and an employee drives their personal car over to jump them.  It's not a big deal, and takes maybe 5 minutes of our time.

This summer, I jumped someone's car, and they offered to pay me.  OF COURSE I refused payment.  And I'm pretty positive that had I accepted the money, the man would have bitched about it the whole way home to Fargo.  It's general knowledge that it's polite to offer money with the knowledge that the one who has helped you won't accept payment.  It's just how it works.  We do it because we're nice, and because if we were in the same situation, we would expect a free jump.

Apparently, people around here don't get that.  That won't stop me from helping whenever I can.  In fact, I helped someone jump their car today.  Did I have to?  No.  I did it because I'm a nice person.  Did I get anything out of it?  Aside from this blog topic, no.  Is it even worth blogging about?  Maybe not.  But I did anyway.  Live with it.

Keep being nice, kids.  Keep being nice.

Life's a Drag, but not for them!

Tonight was an interesting night for me: CU's Gay-Straight Alliance held its fourth annual drag show and I was there to take it all in.

Let me begin by saying that one of the many significant differences between CO and ND is that here, people are much more open-minded when it comes to sexual orientation.  One of the first people I met and made friends with when I moved to CO is gay.  We hang out all the time now.  In fact, many of my closest friends here in CO are gay.  According to these gay friends of mine, this makes me a "fag hag" (which I find to be rather negative), so I'll say "fruit fly." 

I'd never heard the term before, so I did what any good child of my generation does upon encountering something unfamiliar: I googled it.  What I found wasn't really all that suprising, I guess.  Basically, there are just some girls who, for a variety of reasons, get along well with gay men.  Some are proud to be called "fag hags," and they actively pursue gay friends.

That's not how it was with me.  One day, I had zero gay friends, and the next day, I was being told that gay guys would want to hang out with me because of my personality.  Then, without changing my behavior at all, I had lots of gay friends.  It wasn't one of my goals when I moved to CO by any means, but I enjoy it.  I hate to say it because it's so stereotypical of the relationship between straight women and gay guys, but it's safe, in more ways than one.

So when I saw in the student newsletter that there would a drag show tonight, and because I knew that at least one of my gay friends has at least had an inkling of a desire to be a drag queen, I suggested we go. 

The theme was "Drop Dead Gorgeous," and all I can say about it is: "Whoa."  Guys dressed as girls, girls dressed as guys, people dressed in such a way that we couldn't tell their gender, and random costumes filled the ballroom.  There were straight people, gay people, lesbians, bisexual people, androgynous people...  You name it, we were there. 

The entertainment featured Nsync, Michael Jackson, a French man (woman?), and too many others to be counted.  Props to those who performed, and thanks to those in the audience.  It was really an interesting night for me.

If you ever have the opportunity to take one of these in, do it.  It's worth your time, if for no other reason than the experience.  And go with your gay friends.  It's way better that way.

(S)no, not here!

It snowed in parts of ND last night.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Wow, that was mean, but I love it.
-----------------------
Still no time to blog.  Look for one tomorrow.

Potential ND Visitor

My. theory. teacher. is. hilarious. 

I'm not sure what it is about him, exactly, but he's just cooky.  And hilarious.  I can't even explain it, so you can't really understand it.  Maybe someday I'll tape a class and post something funny so that you can try to understand...

-------------------------------------------

I have too many shirts that say "Medora Musical," "Badlands Entertainment," "North Dakota," "The Greatest Show in the West," etc., etc., etc.  You get the point.

I chose to wear one such shirt to my 8:00 am Theory class last week.  We were going around the small auditorium, taking turns answering Professor Miller's questions.  When it came to me, he stopped class and said, "What does your shirt say?  Musical what?"

I smiled and said, "Medora Musical."

"What's that?"  He innocently asked.

I replied, "Medora is the number one tourist destination in North Dakota.  It features a musical review nightly at 8:30 pm June through September."

He got this really happy look on his face and exclaimed, "Are you from North Dakota?" 

"Yes..."

"Oh, good!" he exclaimed.  "Now I can say I know someone from North Dakota!  Will you take me there sometime?  What is there to do there?"

"Umm... nothing, but sure I'll take you there."

-------------------------------------------

The whole class was simply enthralled by this conversation, and it took up about 5 minutes of class time.  Totally worth it to advertise for my favorite place and to get more people to come to ND.

For the record, he's not the first person who's told me he wants to visit ND... WOOT!