I'll never be one of those high-heeled, classy ladies

This morning I woke up to a throbbing pain on the right side of my body.
Realizing quickly that this was clearly a case of "drunken-injury," I scanned my memory trying to find the source of all my pain.

This situation was similar in nature to the time I woke up with a bloody foot that required medical attention and no one could remember me hurting myself. It was reminiscent of countless table-height bruises on my legs and hips caused by nothing other than gracefully walking into things. It was kind of like that night I was trying to run through my old kitchen and slipped on some beer, wiping out and hitting my head on the cabinets.

Thinking through all past scenarios, it suddenly came to me - I fell down a flight of stairs last night. No wonder I'm in pain. The sad thing is, I made it hours after falling without even noticing I was hurt and this morning I can barely move and/or breathe.

Grace and poise will never be used to describe me and I'm completely okay with that.

If I ever go crazy, the first thing I will do is burn down Water Street

Brothers is a bar full of frat guys and their brain-dead lady friends. I absolutely despise Brothers. That being said, I went there on Thursday, against all my principles, because it was the birthday of a dear friend of mine. Following is my pathetic experience:

Upon attempting to enter the bar, we first waited in line for 15 minutes. Rarely ever in Milwaukee do we wait in lines, especially for something so lackluster. Naively we forgot about the dress code designed to do something - keep out the riff raff. Finally reaching the power-tripping bouncers, we were told that my friend Mark could not get in because he was wearing camouflage, khaki shorts. There is no camouflage allowed at Brothers. When asked why not, the doorman informed us that camouflage gives off that Unabomber look that does not reflect the clientele of such an upscale establishment. This was particularly ridiculous because there was a girl in the bar ten feet from us wearing a camouflage skirt that revealed everything short of her cooter. I was in the mood for an argument so I belligerently pointed this out to the bouncer who seriously asked me, "So, you're trying to tell me you want the dress code to apply to girls?????" Yes, yes I do. That sort of attitude only propagates the idea that girls should be let into the bar regardless of the rules simply because we have vaginas.

Later, this bouncer would ask me to provide my middle name, my zip code, my eye color as listed, demand that I replicate the signature on my driver's license, and “needed” to see two alternate forms of ID before letting me into the bar. A bar that I did not even want to be at.

Stupid bouncer-man: "Have a nice night then."
Me: "Yeah, fuck you too."


*I have to admit that not everyone on the street is an awful person but I will stand by the statement that MOST of them are.

Lies. All Lies!

Today my sister called and accused me of killing her hamster. Over ten years ago. Before admitting to any wrongdoing, I asked which hamster she was talking about. She had had four hamsters over the course of our childhood all named Mocha with varying Roman numerals following the replacement pet's name. She couldn't be certain.

I told Lisa I was certain that I had never killed her beloved pet at which point she admitted that the cat actually killed it (a cat that mysteriously "ran away" according to my parents who hated her - I believe they're at fault here). Apparently however, I had played with her precious baby earlier in the day and had either not put the animal back in the cage or failed to close the cage, leading ultimately to the death of one of the many Mochas.

This alleged murder has been eating away at her for years and she finally had the courage to blatantly accuse me of causing the demise of her animal.

The sad thing is that I do not remember any of this. Until she brought it up, I had forgotten we ever even had hamsters. Yet, she has been ruminating these thoughts since age seven. I feel bad. I really wish I knew whether I caused the death of that spotted rodent. I would apologize but quickly counter her argument with, "What about that time you broke my nose?" in true sibling fashion.

At the end of the night, we dropped the subject and decided to reminisce on the holes we used to dig in the backyard.

We were certain we could dig to China.

Huh?

Today was a typical day for me. The kind where I wake up in the middle of some bizarre dream, groggily stumble out of bed and spend the rest of my day in a complete haze.

It makes sense then, that when I see things that seem out of place I usually do not even notice. When I do observe something strange, the most common assumption that sometimes makes its way into my mind is that some sort of crime has been committed. Ask anyone I know - there are potentially dead bodies everywhere (this stands in sharp contrast to my friend Kyle who sees the potential to discover Little Debbies everywhere).

Anyway....

Today I was walking from my internship to my honors seminar when I saw something strange. Across the street from Murphy's, at around 17th and Wells, there was a man doing some awkward, repetitive motion against the wall of that little brick archway. Earlier in the day, my kids and I played with sidewalk chalk on the playground. This being the case, the situation made perfect sense to me; this man was probably drawing on the bricks (or committing some sort of drug offense).

That was not the case. The man was, in fact, attempting to sharpen a pencil against the brick. And not just one pencil, no, because in some extreme situation that would be even remotely understandable. This college student was trying to do this with a handful of pencils.

What was he thinking? Had he done this before? Was there no better way to sharpen his pencils? Was this an urgent matter, one that required a crude writing instrument? Several writing instruments?

I just don't get other people.

Nate Franklin's selfish agenda

My friend, Nathan Franklin, has an agenda. It is not your typical selfish agenda, but is as follows:

Nate desires to be related to his friend, a certain Vinnie Bergl. This is not easily accomplished, but could be provided the following conditions came about.

1) Firstly, my younger sister will become Nathan's beautiful and loving wife. This is likely to happen anyway and would make Nathan my brother-in-law. At times in the past, without my sister's knowledge, Nate and I have planned what an awesome open bar they will have.
2a) I will meet, and come to enjoy the company of the aforementioned Vincent Bergl (it is assumed he will enjoy my company as well).
2b) Mr. Bergl will wait around for forever and a day and then maybe stir up the courage to ask me on a date (provided requirement 2a is fulfilled). When previously confided that perhaps this gentleman was not interested in hanging around with me and maybe it is not something that would work out, I was threatened with being shot in the face. It is quite obvious that Nathan means business.
2c) Ultimately, this already planned relationship will lead to an already planned (by Nate) wedding.
3) Vinnie will become the brother-in-law of Nathan and thus, they will be related.

When asked, this plan must come to fruition for one reason only - Nate wants to "go on a lot of trips."
I'm assuming these trips will be of a certain nature. They will be the sort of trips you could not embark on with only your future spouse. But, they are also not typical of trips one might take with his best friend. Rather, these special trips require a future spouse and a best friend. No one wants to be a third wheel though, so the best friend must have a companion as well.

Exactly what sort of trip has such requirements? I'm not certain.

Want to know who you might marry in the future? Ask Nathan Franklin because if he can find a way to make it work for him, he can find a way to make it work for you.

There's a reason I listen to so much Bright Eyes

My highlight of the day came from an unlikely source.
Dr. Wanda Zemler-Cizewski, in stark contrast to my violence in America professor, accepted me for who I am, faults and all as a bright student with a problem being awake. She even offered to help me with future assignments, papers, etc. This woman is my new hero - she has a compassion for people like no other.

"Why don't you just go to class?" they'll all say.

As if it were so easy.


"I have cried so hard for hours and not known why, I never do
I've been knocked down flat by joy that makes my face pulse like a sugar high
I've been cornered by the screams of a body as it freed itself of its mind
I've been lost in a cold white space as an arrogant dream storms in from another life
I have felt the snaps of lines that bind us all to this world
I have felt such unreal pain and not known what to do, it isn't mine
I have stayed awake for weeks and slept for days... not one dream
under low grey skies
and a razored wind that tears at the walls"