A letter to Minneapolis

Disclaimer: I do like Minneapolis, or parts of it anyway, when its not subzero temperatures outside and there's stuff going on. Its a lovely city that can be quite entertaining. I just get frustrated at things like this. Anyway.... to continue. Eh-hem..

Dear Minneapolis,

What kind of city are you?! All I had to do was run into my office downtown for a half hour meeting with Boss. I didn't want to waste my money on your ever-so-expensive-during-the-weekdays and super-sketchy parking ramps, so I do what any normal, money conscious person would do - park at a meter. I gave your damn meter ALL the quarters I had left so I wouldn't have to worry about time, and guess what I found when I came back out? Three minutes left on the meter and A FUCKING TOWED CAR!

So I call your silly 311 number, and in as calm of a voice that I could have possibly mustered at the time, tell the lady that my car was towed with time still on the meter.

"Is it a red meter?" she asks.

"No, its gray, just like every other meter," I replied, trying to think of ever seeing a red meter. "There's a big sign that says no parking from 10pm to 6am [[it was 4:20 a this point, roughly]] and nothing else."

"Well we don't tow cars with time left on the meter."

Clearly, you do. There was also three or four other cars when I parked, which was at about 3:45pm, all of which were now gone.

"Well you can go to the impound lot and see if its there," she replies.

Where is the impound lot? Oh, 1.5 miles from where I was standing at that moment in God-knows-what direction.

And, as a side note, Minneapolis, you are the worst labeled city EVER. Last summer when I worked in your downtown, I could wander around for blocks before I saw a street sign that could tell me remotely where I was. And you don't have mountains like Denver so I don't even know if I'm facing east south northwest up down or what!

Anyway, going back to my story. I go back to the meter and examine it, and find, hidden on the bottom of the meter a tiny 2x1 inch sticker that reads "No parking 4pm-6pm."

WHAT THE FUCK! WHY would you overshadow such important information with a gigantic shiny sign that says you can't park there overnight!!! And remember, I'm ADD, I get distracted by shiny things and therefore I was staring at the shiny dont-park-here-overnight sign and NOT the little, faded, difficult-to-notice sticker that was hidden in its shadow.

Since I wasn't exactly sure I had the money to bail myself out in my checking account, I call Mommy, cursing and crying over the phone at your inability to properly label your parking meters as a passive-aggressive means to swindle money out of me because Pawlenty took all yours with his failing economic policies. (Different tale...)

She laughs at me, puts on the whole loving mother act and tells me to wait downtown and she'll come get my car for me, take me out to dinner, give me a bandaid for the mental boo-boo this has made on me and that everything will be okaaaay.

Fine. Welp, Mommy couldn't leave work for another hour and doesn't work downtown, so I am currently sitting outside a Panera, hacking their wireless without purchasing any of their food because I can't afford it, pouting over my cancelled plans with friends because I won't get home in time to meet up with them because my car is in your fucking impound lot, and waiting impatiently for Mommy.

Oh, and I think there's splinters in my butt from this bench.

So, Minneapolis, yet another reason I'm excited to leave you for Denver. I'm sorry it had to be this way, but I just can't be with a city that swindles me for money so passive-aggresively and poorly labels everything within its boundaries.

NO love,

Adrienne

Update: Mommy informed me she laughed because when I called her all hysterical and crying and telling her I had a problem, she thought I'd gotten in an accident or got a DUI or something and was actually relieved it was only a car towing.

Second update: They gave me a fucking parking ticket! Now my absolutely PERFECT driving record is dented by this SMUT! AAAAHHH!!!!!!! (perfect insurance record I mean, so that accident from 5 1/2 years ago doesn't count anymore)

Story of my Life

Crazy Lesbian Hobo Lady

Last fall, I spent a semester in Berlin. The first couple weeks I was there, when the schooling was easy and everything was a new, fascinating adventure, I spent a lot of time getting to know other Americans on my program. One afternoon, I made friends with this chick named Ivona.

That's me and Ivona. Anyway, one afternoon after our language intensive courses, we decided to wander the streets of Berlin, stopping at various hole-in-the-wall bars to have a cocktail or three before moving on to another bar, and eventually we were meandering in and out of stores drunk as fish and having a good ole time. (Warning: drunk shopping? Not such a good idea. But that's a different story).

After some drunk shopping, we got a cheap bottle of vodka from a street kiosk, sat ourselves in a park and drank it pirate style while the sun went down. That's because in Europe, you can do things like that, drink on the streets without being judged before its even dark out.

After the vodka was about gone, we got dinner which Dönerkepbabs for dinner, which are basically the Turkish burrito and sold for 2-3 Euros on every corner in every major city in Europe. So basically like T-bell. Döner shops are also open all night, so they're the perfect 3 a.m. snack (even though this particular night we were drunk by 8 p.m.).

We ate our döners on a short wall built on the ledge of a pond in a park near my apartment in Mitte. The pond was man made, and built more for the ducks and eye candy rather than for anything to live or swim in it. We got in a conversation about how deep the pond was and I began to get curious, and declared that it would be a good idea to test it out. Before I knew it, I was swimming in my bra and underware and my new friend Ivona thought I was crazy.

I only waded out into the dirty, cigarette-butt infested waste-deep water for a few seconds before I realized what a dumbass I looked like and jumped out. As I was pulling my clothes back on (as quickly as my drunken self would let me), a woman came up to us and began speaking German. At first, I didn't really notice that she looked like this:

Her raggity clothes suggested she was homeless, her hair hadn't been brushed in so long she looked like she had a sloppy dread job done, and she had a rather flirtatious demeanor. Now I am a very oblivious person. I didn't notice she was hitting on me. Finally, Ivona tells her that we had to get up early the next morning and therefore had to go home.


I hastily agreed, leaving Ivona and the crazy-lesbian-hobo-lady standing by the pond as fast as she had suggested I leave.

The next day, Ivona and I were chatting about this incident and she informed me that she had suggested we leave because the lady was really starting to creep on me. Like one of those old crazy men who sit in the corner of notorious underage bars and drool over the slutty underage drunk girls and occasionally try to unsuccessfully pick one up. Only I was being friendly, so this crazy-lesbian-hobo-lady probably thought she was succeeding.


Ivona also told me that the crazy-lesbian-hobo-lady tried to follow me home as I was leaving, but Ivona followed shortly behind to ensure that I got home safely and rape-free.


Oh the things that happen when you drink in Europe.

Going to college but don't want a roommate? I have your solution!

If you're like me and grew up an only child, you may be nervous about co-habitating with a stranger placed with you by unveristy employees who really don't know you either. If you want a single but 1) singles are hard to come by at your school or 2) none are available, I have the perfect solution. Use this roommate survey to scare anyone out of wanting to ever live with you! [Disclaimer: This will go in one of two directions, either you will succeed in getting a single, or you will end up with one fucked up roommate].

Name: [Insert Name Here]

Male/Female: Female [if you're male - editing may be needed]

Hometown: [Insert Hometown Here]

High School: [Insert High School Here]

Intended Major: I’m currently undeclared. I plan to have it figured out hopefully by senior or super-senior year.

Morning/Night Person: It really depends. I like to stay out partying until 5 am on weekends, then sleep until about 3 or 4 in the afternoon. Sometimes I do that on weekdays too. If I don’t feel like going out, I will go to bed at 9 pm and expect nothing but silence because I’m a very light sleeper and get VERY cranky when I’m woken up. Don’t be surprised if I throw things. I will then wake up at 6 am to take a bunch of Adderall and be productive. I’m in a band so I’ll probably be practicing during that time. I’m the drummer by the way, so I’ll be bringing my whole drumkit to school with me and we'll need to make room for it.

Partier: Rager (I party harder)

Smoker: On occasion. I like to smoke on my bed with all the windows closed. Ashtrays are also overrated, so I’ll probably just use the floor and expect you to vacuum it up since vacuuming is overrated too.

Interested in (Boys/Girls): Boys. I’m not monogamous though. You’ll probably see with me a different boy each weekend. Don’t judge me and I won’t judge you! :)

Describe Yourself in One Word: ADHDbipolarbossycontrollingbitchnymph

Interests: Depends on the week. I change my mind about things frequently. Sometimes I like politics and protests and smoking pot and other weeks I overindulge in literature and will go to a couple book club meetings and spend my nights with a glass of wine and something good to read in absolute silence. Most every weekend though I like to rage. Hard. I also never give up my band.

How do you study?: With loud music blaring though my speakers. And alone. Unless I invite my boy-of-the-week over to “study” with me, but in that case I really don’t mean study.

Hobbies: Sex, Drugs, Rock-n-Roll! RAGE ON! I also like abstract painting. My favorite technique is when you fill the balloons with paint and throw darts at them as they’re hung to a giant canvas. I’ll probably do that often. I also like graffiti art.

Goal in Life: I’m not interested in pursuing life goals at the moment.

Odd Living Habits: I tend to leave everything I own on the floor, that way, it’s more easily accessible. Clothes just get buried in drawers, then I forget what I have and I don’t like that. I also have a lot of clothes, so I’ll probably take up 7/8ths of empty floor space with this habit of mine.

Talkative (Y/N): Sometimes. If I have a great story to tell, or had a particularly crazy night, I like to share it with everybody and make them listen. I’ll throw a fit if people don’t listen so being my roommate, you’d better listen! But other times I just like to sit in silence, and I don’t like any noise whatsoever, and I’ll probably get pissed if you try to talk to me while I am in one of these moods.

Outgoing (Y/N): Yes and no

Clubs / intramurals you may be interested in: I don’t participate in clubs and activities. I’m a nonconformist and prefer to veer away from anything that would succumb me to that “group effect” that really fucks people up. I also will never show school pride, so don’t ask me to go to a football game or anything. Also please don’t hang up school memorabilia or anything that labels our room as having an inhabitant who is a part of a “group”

Music: Loud. Often. My band will probably practice in our room sometimes, and I definitely need at least 3 hours of practice a day so I’m ready for our sets on the weekends. Did I mention I am the drummer?

Level of organization: Zero.

Political preference: Anarchist

Religion? How serious? I’m a devout atheist. Unless you’re an atheist too, in that case I am Catholic and will be hanging my 7-foot crucifix on the front of our door.

Other Interesting Facts: I have lived by myself my whole life, I was an only child and my parents let me do whatever I want. I’d like to think I live by myself, so if you could please stay out of my way and respect my space as much as possible, we will get along just great!

Cops are the nicest guys

I've only had two cop run ins in my 21 years of living.

One of them I won't talk about.

The second one happened one night freshman year. My friends and I were out at the notorious underage bar called the Border and, close to last call, began chatting with a buddy of ours, a super-senior-frat-boy who still lived in the fraternity house, which happened to be close to the bar and had a huge kitchen of endless 2 a.m. possibilities.

(I’m notorious for many things, one of them being drunk-munchies).

We schmoozed and schmoozed and finally convinced him we could make a delectable dish if he gave us access to the fraternity’s kitchen. So the four of us went back to the house and he let us in.

We made an assortment of delicious food, everything from nachos with half-melted cheese to chicken, tuna and refried bean casserole. (Disclaimer: we were inebriated).

After dinner, one of my friends disappeared upstairs and the other one meandered to her boyfriend’s room, who also happened to live in the fraternity. With both of my friends off on sexual escapades, I was left with super-senior and a messy kitchen.

Ignoring the messy kitchen like a great house guest, we went into the living room where he drunkenly offered me the sofa to sleep. I was too tired to treck all the way back to my freshman dorm, so I took him up on the offer.

I was about to fall asleep when super-senior boy crawled on top of me. Freaking out, I shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Thank goodness he was so drunk that it only took seconds before he began loudly snoring in my ear.

Once I was sure he was good and asleep, I crawled out from under him and snuck out the front door.

It was about 2:50 a.m., and I was halfway home when a cop rolled up next to me.

“Where are you going?!” he yelled.

Umm…home!!!

Now I was not that menacing looking, for the record. I recall wearing a cute girly dress with leggings and Uggs and I was carrying a small purse, not a duffel bag of coke.

“I’ll give you a ride, a girl your age shouldn’t be wandering out here alone at this hour,” said the cop. Eager to not have to finish the journey home by foot, I accepted the nice police officer’s offer and got in the front seat.

Before I could buckle up, he gunned it down the street, ran a red light to turn onto University and went from 0 to 60 in a matter of half a block.

I slid back and forth on the slippery, leather seat, trying hard not to slide into the officer or go flying through the windshield. As I tried to stabilize myself, the officer (who wasn’t noticing my struggle), lectured me on what a dangerous neighborhood we lived in and how people get raped and molested and murdered in dark alleyways 100% of the time and how mobsters are waiting around every corner to kidnap me and sell me into the sex slave.

I nodded and agreed as I held on for dear life until Officer Drives-Worse-than-a-Woman dropped me off in front of my freshman dorm.

I never willingly accepted a ride from a police officer again.

Disclaimer: the last line was sarcasm.

Another disclaimer: I’m a woman, so I’m allowed to make fun of woman drivers. Which I do often.

how the best drinking game ever was put to shame

My friend Liza moved into an apartment that sits right on University Avenue (the main road that runs past campus) a couple months ago. In the process of moving in, another friend of hers made a colorful, pretty sign that read “You Honk, We Drink.”

Every day during rush hour (which is very bad on University Avenue and tends to last most of the afternoon) the sign would go up in the window and anyone who happened to be at her apartment holding some sort of alcoholic beverage would be required to consume part of it every time someone honked from the road. Between the well-spirited and supportive college students who drove by and the angry drivers honking to show off their incessant road rage, it was a drinking game that could get you quite inebriated before rush hour ended. (i.e. a fun and successful drinking game).

One day, Liza tells me that she received a letter from her landlady telling her that she must cease and decist "You Honk, We Drink." I never personally saw the letter, but I certainly am sad and angry that it was sent. Seriously, I think a little part of me died inside.

I mean, she lives in a small apartment building right off a college campus that has decent rent rates for students. I don’t know everyone in the building, but from what I see and hear, it’s mostly all college students who probably have seen the sign in the window but are too shy to ask to join in, even though Liza and her friends are super friendly people and would probably let anyone who just wants to relax and unwind at the end of the day join in.

Besides, highly doubt putting such a sign would encourage any more honking. Before you call me a dumbass, think about this: As a classic road-rage infested individual drives by, instead of honking angrily at the person in front of them who can’t drive for the love of everything holy, they probably see the sign and think, “Oh, what a lovely afternoon for those hooligans. Oh boy do I wish I was in college again. This reminds me of that one time back in the day when….blah blah blah.”

As they continue home, they think fondly back to their days in college and remember all the happy times they had drinking with their friends in the middle of the afternoon.

Not only that, but its great advertising for the building. Since it’s mostly college students who live there anyway, they can see the sign and realize what a good time living in that complex must be. They’ll sign a lease on the spot just for a chance to hang out with whoever lives in that unit!

So you see, Liza’s landlord? You don’t have to be a fun sucker. You Honk We Drink is actually a benefit to your building, and makes old people happy and nostalgic and college students want to live there, therefore increasing your profits and karma.

I'm a celebrity duckface!!

This is hilarious. And girls, I know we're ALL guilty of it! Can you guess which one is me? I'll give you five bucks if you can ;)

http://whenredmeansgo.blogspot.com/2010/07/duck-face.html

Prince Troy

Troy basically runs our household. He definitely acts like he does too. If it weren't for Troy and Troy's routine, my family would be like a bunch of stoned lab rats running through a maze in search of cheese that doesn't exist.

Here's a picture of Prince Troy in all his royal glory:

Troy also has many weird obsessions and habits. Don't get me wrong, he's a very good dog. He begs for food and often sticks his big nose right next to your plate, but he won't ever take anything. Even if you drop a scrap of food on the floor, he'll wait for you to pick it up and hand it to him before he takes it like a good boy.

But of all the food my family eats, which is a wide variety, he's got two favorites: ice cubes and pop corn.

If you are standing at the freezer filling a glass with ice, or holding a bowl of popcorn, he will immediately sit down, puff out his chest and stare at you with his big brown eyes. Sometimes, he drops his head a bit and gives you a sad-puppy look. For any of you who have ever owned a dog, you'll probably agree with me when I say those are very difficult to say no to.

If the sad-puppy big brown eyes techniques don't work, he'll begin frantically barking. A 100-pound goldendoodle has a BIG bark, and for a dog that doesn't bark often, it's annoying when he does. And he WON'T STOP until he gets his way.

I rarely ever say no to the guy, so if that's what it resorts to, I end up giving him whatever he wants.

Oh Prince Troy, you're such a piece of work. But I love you anyway!

Sex Sells! Shameless promotion

I learned in my marketing classes that sex sells, so I decided to make a sexual ad for my blog. I don't know about you all, but if I saw this ad, I would totally read the blog!

Date from hell

When I came back to Minnesota over Easter weekend, I went to this bar called Cowboy Jacks with a buddy of mine from high school. He told me its where all our fellow graduates hang out. It was ridiculous how many people I saw that I hadn't seen in years! About 90% of the people in the bar were people I had went to high school with (the other 10% were cougars).

I began taking shots like it was nobody's business and having a grand ole time. After I was good and schwaysted, I ran into this guy who was on my high school ski team. He was a year older than I am, and friends with the Swiss exchange student who lived at my house when I was a sophomore, so I knew him quite well. He used to be super chill and kind of cute back in the day, so when I heard the next day that he and I had made out in the middle of the bar at one point, it only kind of bothered me.

I found a text conversation the next morning in which I told him I would go out with him the next time I was in town.

A month later, I was back in town for Mother's day and agreed to let him take me out. We went to this sports bar where we could watch the Twins game, have a couple drinks and, if need be, it was a 10 minute walk from my house, so I didn't have to worry about how much I drank.

We began chatting about outdoors-ey things. He had gone to school on Bozeman, Montana so we bonded over skiing, kayaking, rock climbing, camping and all that fun stuff we both enjoyed. They also had liter-and-a-half Long Islands for five bucks, so we sipped on those and I felt myself get tipsier by the second (especially after round two).

It was going well until about halfway through dinner, he asks, "Do you want to go back to my house and have sex?"

Umm, no, I want to finish my chicken fingers...douchebag.

That's what I wanted to say, but I was so thrown off guard I giggled awkwardly and changed the subject.

I dismissed myself to the bathroom after dinner and on my way back, he scoots over on his side of the booth and pats the seat next to him. "Sit here," he tells me.

"I gotta check my phone," I said, and slid into my side of the booth and fiddled with my phone, hoping I'd missed some urgent call. But nope. Not even a text.

A few minutes later, he got up to go get another round of drinks (the two liter and a half of long islands had already got to me, and it was only 8:30, so I really didn't need another drink).

When he came back, he forced himself into my side of the booth and wrapped his arms around me. "Hey," was all he said before he started groping me and sticking his tongue down my throat.

Being inebriated, I tried to get my hazy mind to focus on finding a way to get out of this situation. For Pete's sake, people were still there just eating dinner, and those pour souls had to watch Mr. Desperate grope the fuck out of my boobs and chew on my face. (Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if he was a good kisser, which he was definitely not).

"I don't like PDA," I managed to say.

"Me neither," he said. "PDA isn't really my thing." Then he continued to make out with me.

Uhh...take a HINT.

This is how a rendering of what the situation looked like:

Pretty, isn't it? NOT.

I tend to be very self conscious about PDA, especially before last call. I also despise watching other people do PDA before last call, and I'm no hypocrite.

After several minutes of trying to escape, I finally told him I had to get up early so I needed to go home and go to sleep.

We walked into the parking lot where he began walking towards his car. He'd had 2 jumbo-long islands, plus another cocktail, so there was no way I was going to get in a car with him behind the wheel.

"No, you're walking me," I said, and proceeded to make him walk me back to my house.

At several points in the super short walk, he stopped to grope me again, but I managed to keep the journey going. He also asked me about three times if he could see me again before I left for Denver, which was the next morning (why I was legitimately waking up early).

Roughly a month later when I returned back to Minnesota for summer, I blatantly ignored his texts, phone calls and Facebook IMs, which began like the second I got home from the airport.

He eventually got the point.

Shameless Distractions

I discovered the game "words with friends" recently, and ever since then, haven't been able to put my ITouch down for a second.

I start up 17-18 games at once, many of them with actual real-life friends from college, and shamelessly hide my ITouch around my desk and play during work in between assignments. (Typically I don't have enough work to fill up 8-hours a day anyway, but since I'm the intern, I must sit here for 8-hours a day).

I found the perfect hiding spot for it in my planner. It's not as thick as an IPhone so it slips discreetly between pages.

Here's a picture of its hiding spot:

If anyone wants to start a game with me, my screen name is Adrienne0711.

Despite my constant scrabbling, I still suck. I think I've lost 94.293% games I've completed.

It all makes so much sense, but I guess not to everyone. Fuckers.

Letter to my A.D.D.

Dear my severely-incurable and most-of-the-time-unmedicated ADD,

I hate you very much. Don’t you realize I now have a real persons’ internship that requires me to sit at a desk and be productive for 8-9 hours a day? And that, in roughly 10 months, it will be a real-world JOB that I must have? I’m almost done with school, I can’t deal with you for much longer!

You make me like shiny things, get distracted by pretty colors and zone out staring at things I probably shouldn’t zone out staring at (i.e. my co-workers shiny necklace).

Although Adderall does wonders to squander you, I can’t be addicted to speed. Old boyfriend took 20 mgs of XR every morning and, well, let’s just say it took its toll by the end of the day, in the ….uh … performance area.

I’d really appreciate it if you would just go away. I have work to do and I can’t afford to be distracted by your presence in my head. This way, I will never get anything done as long as I live and I will constantly be running after things that are shiny and pretty and colorful and…..

[disappears to God-knows-where]

[30 minutes later]

Fuck you, ADD.

Love,
Me.

First Post

Here’s the deal.

I’m a bonafide Colorado girl. I love Colorado, the Rocky Mountains, the Mile High City and there is absolutely nothing that could ever possibly be wrong with Colorado. Ever. It’s perfect.

However, I am stuck in a dilemma for the next 8 weeks – I was forced against my will to spend the summer in Suburbia, Minnesota, where I went to high school and basically resented every second of it, until I ran away to Denver for college and have resided most of the years ever since. Even though I was pretty much offered a really cool internship in New York City for the summer but unfortunately my parents will not pay for me to live anywhere else during school holidays, and I am too broke to pay for myself to live elsewhere.

But seriously, there’s nothing fascinating about Plymouth. Except maybe moments like these:

Pretty, isn’t it? Yes, most small towns are beautiful, but they suck balls to live in.
Aside from working 60-hours a week at an internship I love and that pays bank, I’m counting down the minutes until I can go back to the Mile High and be reunited with my friends and start loving life again. (If only I could transfer this company to Denver, I’ll take it up with the CEO next week).

Anyway, due to my severe, unmedicated ADD, I just forgot where I was going with this…

[Half hour later, comes back to computer, wondering what the hell is open on screen]

Oh right, I’m starting a blog.

Well, I don’t remember what exactly I was going to write to tie this blog post up...I swear it was witty and brilliant.

Want to hear a story?

I don't feel like telling one at the moment. But I swear I'll have plenty of entertaining stories coming.

But here's a picture of my doggy to hold you over:

Peace.