My sister just called me laughing her head off.
Over Thanksgiving, I changed the message on my folks' answering machine.
Here is what I recorded:
"Hello, you have reached the Obach farm, no one is around right now, but THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU CAN STEAL OUR GAS! Please leave a message."
(We have a gas tank on our farm, and my dad always thinks someone is going to syphon all our gas away. He has recently put a huge linked chain around the tank).
And then it was time to go back to Vermillion. I never changed the message.
My mother just called my sister to ask her how to change the message and my dad's yelling in the background, "No one will leave a message now because of you two idiots!"
If you do not know how to change the message on the answering machine you own, then you should not purchase said machine.
I bet that message will be on there until I go home for Christmas.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Monday, November 27, 2006
Play Me Some Mountain Music ...
... like Grandma and Grandpa used to play!
I went home for Thanksgiving, home to the southwestern corner of North Dakota. Right on the edge of the Badlands, and right on the edge of normalcy. Pick your poison, people.
Thanksgiving with my family is always fun. We eat a lot. And drink a lot. And play highly competitive games of "Trivial Pursuit" or "Catchphrase." My team got smoked this year. Not cool.
On Thursday evening, after we had eaten (and gone back for round two and three), one of my aunts was talking about the real estate business (she's a realtor), and she said the phrase "jew me down." SMACK. That was me slapping my forehead.
I brought my friend Alex home for Thanksgiving. She's from New York. She's an Americorp volunteer. She was in the living room listening to my aunt. She's Jewish. SMACK.
Then Alex and I tried to watch "Grey's Anatomy" while my retarded cousins jumped on our backs and threw footballs at us (in my grandmother's house, by the way). After the show, my brother-in-law decided announced he was going to the kitchen to mix a new drink. He called it the "McDreamy." The McDreamy consisted of apple cider, peach-flavored Sunny D, Mountain Dew, and Karkov vodka. The McDreamy is fabulous. My grandma bought a 16 gallon jug of vodka especially for Thanksgiving (though she's usually a whiskey/coke gal). We drank lots of McDreamies. Yum ...
So, that was Thanksgiving. On Friday night, my sister and I called up another friend who was home and we all hit the hip town of Dickinson. Army's West bar has the hottest (and only) dance floor in town, so of course, we were there.
Here is a sampling of t-shirts worn by men and women at Army's:
"Life is hard. Hump harder."
"Hi. You'll do."
"Chocolate, coffee, and cowboys. Somethings are just better rich."
You can take the girl out of the country ...
I went home for Thanksgiving, home to the southwestern corner of North Dakota. Right on the edge of the Badlands, and right on the edge of normalcy. Pick your poison, people.
Thanksgiving with my family is always fun. We eat a lot. And drink a lot. And play highly competitive games of "Trivial Pursuit" or "Catchphrase." My team got smoked this year. Not cool.
On Thursday evening, after we had eaten (and gone back for round two and three), one of my aunts was talking about the real estate business (she's a realtor), and she said the phrase "jew me down." SMACK. That was me slapping my forehead.
I brought my friend Alex home for Thanksgiving. She's from New York. She's an Americorp volunteer. She was in the living room listening to my aunt. She's Jewish. SMACK.
Then Alex and I tried to watch "Grey's Anatomy" while my retarded cousins jumped on our backs and threw footballs at us (in my grandmother's house, by the way). After the show, my brother-in-law decided announced he was going to the kitchen to mix a new drink. He called it the "McDreamy." The McDreamy consisted of apple cider, peach-flavored Sunny D, Mountain Dew, and Karkov vodka. The McDreamy is fabulous. My grandma bought a 16 gallon jug of vodka especially for Thanksgiving (though she's usually a whiskey/coke gal). We drank lots of McDreamies. Yum ...
So, that was Thanksgiving. On Friday night, my sister and I called up another friend who was home and we all hit the hip town of Dickinson. Army's West bar has the hottest (and only) dance floor in town, so of course, we were there.
Here is a sampling of t-shirts worn by men and women at Army's:
"Life is hard. Hump harder."
"Hi. You'll do."
"Chocolate, coffee, and cowboys. Somethings are just better rich."
You can take the girl out of the country ...
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Nate
Cpl. Nathan Goodiron, a North Dakota Army National Guard member, was killed on Thanksgiving.
Nate was serving his country in Afghanistan when a grenade hit his vehicle. He took the full impact of the weapon and was killed instantly. Nate was 25.
I knew Nate when he was 18, when we were both freshmen at Minot State. He let me say "enit" when I talked to him. He gave me my Indian name, "yellow spot in the snow." I protested and thought "swift as the stars" sounded better, but he was sure his name for me was the one. We would spend hours on MSN Instant Messenger laughing at each other's written accents.
Nate was everything wrapped into one--smart, funny, easy-going, sarcastic, loving, handsome, silly. He wore big diamond stud earrings and wire-rimmed glasses. One November, when we were both 20 and drunk, we spent the night kissing in my bedroom. All of our friends thought we'd be perfect together, but we never thought so. He was my friend. One of my most favorite people I have ever met.
When I first met Nate, I lived on the 4th floor of Cook Hall in Minot, North Dakota. He would come to our dorm to visit his cousin, one of my best friends, and we spent hours together.
When Nate died, he had a wife and a son.
War has taken so much from us.
Nate was serving his country in Afghanistan when a grenade hit his vehicle. He took the full impact of the weapon and was killed instantly. Nate was 25.
I knew Nate when he was 18, when we were both freshmen at Minot State. He let me say "enit" when I talked to him. He gave me my Indian name, "yellow spot in the snow." I protested and thought "swift as the stars" sounded better, but he was sure his name for me was the one. We would spend hours on MSN Instant Messenger laughing at each other's written accents.
Nate was everything wrapped into one--smart, funny, easy-going, sarcastic, loving, handsome, silly. He wore big diamond stud earrings and wire-rimmed glasses. One November, when we were both 20 and drunk, we spent the night kissing in my bedroom. All of our friends thought we'd be perfect together, but we never thought so. He was my friend. One of my most favorite people I have ever met.
When I first met Nate, I lived on the 4th floor of Cook Hall in Minot, North Dakota. He would come to our dorm to visit his cousin, one of my best friends, and we spent hours together.
When Nate died, he had a wife and a son.
War has taken so much from us.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Freewrite
My Dear,
Hanging pictures of coffee mugs up in the new kitchen.
I know the one who painted these.
It's almost complete now, and Bobby Darin sings
In the background, smooth voice warms
Through the scratches of the needle.
It's a balmy night, almost.
I watched you all evening, thinking of this new life
we might get to have.
Rooms full of books and music and palm trees
and it's almost complete now.
I went out and bought plants tonight; I couldn't help it.
The green makes the house look like home.
From the unraked backyard, I can see into the kitchen,
and I can tell it's a good kitchen.
Soft glow, glass bottles, a wine rack half full.
An entire cupboard dedicated to baking.
The refrigerator is stuck full of pictures and postcards and magnets
from all over this country.
I wrote silly things on the grocery list and waited
until you noticed and laughed.
It's late now.
Close to midnight and I am still not used
to staying up this late, though it's been nearly two years.
The brick leading to the front door is being thrust up
by earth and moss, but I do not want to fix it.
It feels a little wild, a little untamed, beneath my shoes.
Will the tulips come up in the Spring?
I'm afraid I did not plant them deep enough.
The way you brush my face as you pass may be deep
enough to coax the bulbs into long slivers of green leaf
and bright vases of red, of purple, of deep blue.
It's late. Come give me your hand, the night is warm.
Though I am ready for the first night and the first snow,
I would like to press my lips to the white hollow
of your wrist and think that I still taste summer.
Hanging pictures of coffee mugs up in the new kitchen.
I know the one who painted these.
It's almost complete now, and Bobby Darin sings
In the background, smooth voice warms
Through the scratches of the needle.
It's a balmy night, almost.
I watched you all evening, thinking of this new life
we might get to have.
Rooms full of books and music and palm trees
and it's almost complete now.
I went out and bought plants tonight; I couldn't help it.
The green makes the house look like home.
From the unraked backyard, I can see into the kitchen,
and I can tell it's a good kitchen.
Soft glow, glass bottles, a wine rack half full.
An entire cupboard dedicated to baking.
The refrigerator is stuck full of pictures and postcards and magnets
from all over this country.
I wrote silly things on the grocery list and waited
until you noticed and laughed.
It's late now.
Close to midnight and I am still not used
to staying up this late, though it's been nearly two years.
The brick leading to the front door is being thrust up
by earth and moss, but I do not want to fix it.
It feels a little wild, a little untamed, beneath my shoes.
Will the tulips come up in the Spring?
I'm afraid I did not plant them deep enough.
The way you brush my face as you pass may be deep
enough to coax the bulbs into long slivers of green leaf
and bright vases of red, of purple, of deep blue.
It's late. Come give me your hand, the night is warm.
Though I am ready for the first night and the first snow,
I would like to press my lips to the white hollow
of your wrist and think that I still taste summer.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Smack dat ...
I have that song in my head. "Smack that ____ all on the floor" Smack dat _____ (something) wantin more" Love it! (I'm not 100%, but I think they are saying ass. Naughty).
I constantly have a song in my head. If it's not Kelly Clarkson (what? why?) then it's Britney Spears (I don't even understand). If it ain't those two lovely songbirds, it's freakin' Nickelback for God's sake. Ugh. Shoot me. And, sometimes, if I am lucky, it's "Fancy." You know you love it.
I just ate (ate, not chewed) seven pieces of double bubble. I don't know what came over me.
Anyone who is reading this, what song are you singing in your head right now?
I constantly have a song in my head. If it's not Kelly Clarkson (what? why?) then it's Britney Spears (I don't even understand). If it ain't those two lovely songbirds, it's freakin' Nickelback for God's sake. Ugh. Shoot me. And, sometimes, if I am lucky, it's "Fancy." You know you love it.
I just ate (ate, not chewed) seven pieces of double bubble. I don't know what came over me.
Anyone who is reading this, what song are you singing in your head right now?
Monday, November 13, 2006
Hair
OK, so I'm a little over-confident about my hair. I simply assume that any Joe Blow off the street can do whatever they want to it, and it'll look fab! Never went to stylist school? No prob. Never even held a scissors before? Allow me to be your first.
I used to let my drunk college roommates hack away at my hair. I had two girls on either side of me, chopping away and never checking in with each other to see if it was even. So I looked like I let two blind toddlers cut my hair with a Swiss Army knife for a few weeks. Eh, it was college. I'm sure the cut went super well with my sweatpants and flip-flops.
My sister (no formal training) has cut my hair a ton. My mother (God help me) gave my totally rockin' bangs a monthly trim before many school picture days. OK, even I would sit in front of the mirror, chop off about 3 inches, and then scream.
I was looking pretty shaggy lately, so this weekend, I went to a "salon" to get my hair cut. I called all over town and the only place that had an opening was a quaint little shop that looked a little like the entryway to our old trailer house. Old jean jackets hanging on hooks, industrial carpet, a bin of dog food in the corner. (OK, I made up that last part). But, hey, that's fine. I figured if they were actually open, that means they were financially stable, which means they have customers.
I walked in and was the youngest person there by at least 60 years. Three elderly woman were lined up and sitting underneath those massive dryers, reading "The Catholic Digest."
Soooo ... I stayed. And sat down. I was a little nervous about what would happen to my hair in here. I had these visions of a tight poodle perm, which totally does not go with my face shape.
I just played it safe. Went with a trim. I'm still not sure if I got a bad haircut. On the awesome side, a haircut and an eyebrow wax only cost 20 bucks!
Score!
I used to let my drunk college roommates hack away at my hair. I had two girls on either side of me, chopping away and never checking in with each other to see if it was even. So I looked like I let two blind toddlers cut my hair with a Swiss Army knife for a few weeks. Eh, it was college. I'm sure the cut went super well with my sweatpants and flip-flops.
My sister (no formal training) has cut my hair a ton. My mother (God help me) gave my totally rockin' bangs a monthly trim before many school picture days. OK, even I would sit in front of the mirror, chop off about 3 inches, and then scream.
I was looking pretty shaggy lately, so this weekend, I went to a "salon" to get my hair cut. I called all over town and the only place that had an opening was a quaint little shop that looked a little like the entryway to our old trailer house. Old jean jackets hanging on hooks, industrial carpet, a bin of dog food in the corner. (OK, I made up that last part). But, hey, that's fine. I figured if they were actually open, that means they were financially stable, which means they have customers.
I walked in and was the youngest person there by at least 60 years. Three elderly woman were lined up and sitting underneath those massive dryers, reading "The Catholic Digest."
Soooo ... I stayed. And sat down. I was a little nervous about what would happen to my hair in here. I had these visions of a tight poodle perm, which totally does not go with my face shape.
I just played it safe. Went with a trim. I'm still not sure if I got a bad haircut. On the awesome side, a haircut and an eyebrow wax only cost 20 bucks!
Score!
Sunday, November 12, 2006
This Blog's for Bridge
I heart Ukeleles.
They are wonderful because not only are the cute and conjure up images of white pants, smiley eyes, and palm trees, they also provide a much-needed plinkety plink plink sound to any song. Don't believe me? Until you've listened to Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" with the ukelele playing softly in the background, you ain't a-listened to good music.
Can you think of a better way to spend a late Thursday night than to sit in a circle of musicians, with a sleepy dog in the middle under the coffee table, swaying to the acoustic, gentle strumming of guitars and ukeleles? And if you're lucky, AF will sing his Christy McNichol song. And if you're really lucky, these musicians will take requests and play "River Deep, Mountain High" while you sing your warmed heart out.
The ukelele is for the guitarist who writes haiku in the sand. It's for people who dig the sun, the trees, the way the light bounces off the water. For those who wear leather-thonged sandals, eat foccacia bread dipped in oil, and drink Sunshine beer.
The ukelele is the thinking man's stringed instrument. It's subtle. It's easily hidden. It's certainly not showy and never salutes itself. The ukelele is without fanfare, yet without it, you feel longing tug at your amazed heart. Without it, a little wistful.
Quiet. Contemplative. Lovely.
They are wonderful because not only are the cute and conjure up images of white pants, smiley eyes, and palm trees, they also provide a much-needed plinkety plink plink sound to any song. Don't believe me? Until you've listened to Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" with the ukelele playing softly in the background, you ain't a-listened to good music.
Can you think of a better way to spend a late Thursday night than to sit in a circle of musicians, with a sleepy dog in the middle under the coffee table, swaying to the acoustic, gentle strumming of guitars and ukeleles? And if you're lucky, AF will sing his Christy McNichol song. And if you're really lucky, these musicians will take requests and play "River Deep, Mountain High" while you sing your warmed heart out.
The ukelele is for the guitarist who writes haiku in the sand. It's for people who dig the sun, the trees, the way the light bounces off the water. For those who wear leather-thonged sandals, eat foccacia bread dipped in oil, and drink Sunshine beer.
The ukelele is the thinking man's stringed instrument. It's subtle. It's easily hidden. It's certainly not showy and never salutes itself. The ukelele is without fanfare, yet without it, you feel longing tug at your amazed heart. Without it, a little wistful.
Quiet. Contemplative. Lovely.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Favorite Things in the World
I have been a little down today because of one of the election results here in South Dakota, but I do realize there are a lot of good things in my life. Here are some of what makes me very happy.
When it's dark out and I'm biking home and these lovely people in this lovely town leave their drapes pulled back and, from out on the street, I can see the glow of their family rooms.
Dryer sheets.
Chicken nuggets.
Croutons.
Pouring about an inch of Clamato Juice into a tall, frosted glass. Then adding Miller Lite nearly to the brim. Finally, a drop or two (or three) of green olive. Perfection.
Making people older than me laugh.
Kissing.
Eating too much at Thanksgiving with my completly crazy and wonderful family.
Used bookstores.
Making people younger than me laugh.
"Tu con todas esas curvas, y yo sin frenos."
"You with all those curves, and me with no brakes."
The crick that runs through my farm.
Green Vespas.
Little blondies and brownies and redheads who only come up to my hipbone.
Dancing like a fool.
Q-tips.
Flexin' my flow.
Looking at the pictures clinging to people's fridges.
Playing "All I Have To Do is Dream" on the piano.
Bidding at auction sales.
Blaring the "Jesus Christ, Superstar" soundtrack in my car on long, solitary roadtrips.
Readin', writin', and 'rithmetic.
Being tall.
Getting my eyebrows waxed. It is so worth the pain.
Rice.
Mowing the lawn.
Goodwill t-shirts.
You.
When it's dark out and I'm biking home and these lovely people in this lovely town leave their drapes pulled back and, from out on the street, I can see the glow of their family rooms.
Dryer sheets.
Chicken nuggets.
Croutons.
Pouring about an inch of Clamato Juice into a tall, frosted glass. Then adding Miller Lite nearly to the brim. Finally, a drop or two (or three) of green olive. Perfection.
Making people older than me laugh.
Kissing.
Eating too much at Thanksgiving with my completly crazy and wonderful family.
Used bookstores.
Making people younger than me laugh.
"Tu con todas esas curvas, y yo sin frenos."
"You with all those curves, and me with no brakes."
The crick that runs through my farm.
Green Vespas.
Little blondies and brownies and redheads who only come up to my hipbone.
Dancing like a fool.
Q-tips.
Flexin' my flow.
Looking at the pictures clinging to people's fridges.
Playing "All I Have To Do is Dream" on the piano.
Bidding at auction sales.
Blaring the "Jesus Christ, Superstar" soundtrack in my car on long, solitary roadtrips.
Readin', writin', and 'rithmetic.
Being tall.
Getting my eyebrows waxed. It is so worth the pain.
Rice.
Mowing the lawn.
Goodwill t-shirts.
You.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
To South Dakota on Election Day,
Today is a very big day for you. You have the chance to not follow the sterotype that plagues us in the Midwest. You have the chance to look past differences, extend respect and support to all people, and show the rest of the country that we are rational citizens who take responsbility for those living here. Let's show the world that we do not let blind faith, party lines, or patriarchal thinking rule us.
All eyes are on us today. What are we going to do about it?
Today, you have the opportunity to protect women, their healths', their livelihood, their families.
Today, you have the oportunity to give all people, gay or straight and who have made a commitment to each other, the protection, respect, and legal rights that we give so freely to others.
This should make you ecstatic!
This is what we have been waiting for, to truly embrace our neighbors as family. We are so proud here in the Dakotas of our hospitality, of the way we are quick to help each other out. Today, we can finally have a tangible reason for this pride.
I have done my part to help you today, South Dakota. I know others are doing the same.
All eyes are on us today. What are we going to do about it?
Today, you have the opportunity to protect women, their healths', their livelihood, their families.
Today, you have the oportunity to give all people, gay or straight and who have made a commitment to each other, the protection, respect, and legal rights that we give so freely to others.
This should make you ecstatic!
This is what we have been waiting for, to truly embrace our neighbors as family. We are so proud here in the Dakotas of our hospitality, of the way we are quick to help each other out. Today, we can finally have a tangible reason for this pride.
I have done my part to help you today, South Dakota. I know others are doing the same.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Totally Awesome Weekend
Totally Awesome Things I Did This Weekend:
Came in 2nd at Scrabble!
Planted tulips!
Tried to engage in a fairly illegal activity!
Did NOT break a glass object and Kelsey and Royce's!
Had the Dance Party to End All Dance Parties at Kelsey and Royce's!
Biked around town! (all weekend was just absolutely gorgeous)
Wore my orange vest!
Ripped up carpet!
Ate at Chae's!
Drank darjeeling iced tea at the Coffee Shop!
Bought a book with homosexual tendencies at library used book sale!
Renewed my car insurance! (yeah, that's pretty boring)
Funniest things said/heard over the weekend:
"In academic papers, we typically don't end a sentence with 'bizzo.'"
"The old couple was pretty much dry-humping it up at the Eagles."
"Nicole Kidman is devastated." (My friend C. just bought the latest issue of In Touch magazine)
"I ate at the Olive Garden in Time Square." (A., who said this, is a New Yorker and I told her that her fellow Olive Garden patrons were probably from South Dakota)
Came in 2nd at Scrabble!
Planted tulips!
Tried to engage in a fairly illegal activity!
Did NOT break a glass object and Kelsey and Royce's!
Had the Dance Party to End All Dance Parties at Kelsey and Royce's!
Biked around town! (all weekend was just absolutely gorgeous)
Wore my orange vest!
Ripped up carpet!
Ate at Chae's!
Drank darjeeling iced tea at the Coffee Shop!
Bought a book with homosexual tendencies at library used book sale!
Renewed my car insurance! (yeah, that's pretty boring)
Funniest things said/heard over the weekend:
"In academic papers, we typically don't end a sentence with 'bizzo.'"
"The old couple was pretty much dry-humping it up at the Eagles."
"Nicole Kidman is devastated." (My friend C. just bought the latest issue of In Touch magazine)
"I ate at the Olive Garden in Time Square." (A., who said this, is a New Yorker and I told her that her fellow Olive Garden patrons were probably from South Dakota)
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
The Working Man Blues
I was a little bummed earlier this week. I walked around like a mopey loser. I caught some sort of flu bug and was sick for the weekend, and on top of that, I found out I was not eligible for health insurance for the "Extraordinary" U.niversity I work for. Nice. I feel like I should be in the "Borat" movie:
Human Resources: "You are eligible for health insurance. Not!"
Eastern European Me: "You are NOT eligible for health insurance."
I'm over it. Here's hopin' my appendix doesn't burst. Hold up, already did, sucka. Here's my rant: I am one of the 45 million Americans without health insurance. Someone please insure me or marry me.
I'm such an activist.
Yesterday, I was handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters and this sweet, little dude came up dressed as a pirate and I said, "What are you, a pirate?" And his little voice said, "I'm Jack Sparrow!" Except he couldn't say his "r"'s and it was basically the cutest thing I ever heard. Happy Halloween, brother!
It was about a vermillion degrees below zero today. My sleeveless orange vest ain't cutting it so well anymore. What am I saying? I'll just get me some long johns.
You know that scene in "Dead Poet's Society" where they throw a blanket over that kid's head and make him say a poem and he's all turning in circles? Sometimes, (or all the time) I want to re-enact that. I just want to close my eyes and start spinning around while saying things like, "reaching, burning, wandering ... from the day we enter this world ... spitting, shunning ... leave this world ..." I just think this is the only way I can truly be a poet. It would also be helpful to my life if Robin Williams would show up once in awhile. Sheesh.
I once held hands with a boy in the dark at a college house party. We were alone in a bedroom, and the cops were on the other side of the hallway thumping their way in, and we stayed in that room, holding hands and whispering. I saw him later in the cafeteria and he called me "trouble" and I couldn't remember his name.
I'd remember yours, though.
Human Resources: "You are eligible for health insurance. Not!"
Eastern European Me: "You are NOT eligible for health insurance."
I'm over it. Here's hopin' my appendix doesn't burst. Hold up, already did, sucka. Here's my rant: I am one of the 45 million Americans without health insurance. Someone please insure me or marry me.
I'm such an activist.
Yesterday, I was handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters and this sweet, little dude came up dressed as a pirate and I said, "What are you, a pirate?" And his little voice said, "I'm Jack Sparrow!" Except he couldn't say his "r"'s and it was basically the cutest thing I ever heard. Happy Halloween, brother!
It was about a vermillion degrees below zero today. My sleeveless orange vest ain't cutting it so well anymore. What am I saying? I'll just get me some long johns.
You know that scene in "Dead Poet's Society" where they throw a blanket over that kid's head and make him say a poem and he's all turning in circles? Sometimes, (or all the time) I want to re-enact that. I just want to close my eyes and start spinning around while saying things like, "reaching, burning, wandering ... from the day we enter this world ... spitting, shunning ... leave this world ..." I just think this is the only way I can truly be a poet. It would also be helpful to my life if Robin Williams would show up once in awhile. Sheesh.
I once held hands with a boy in the dark at a college house party. We were alone in a bedroom, and the cops were on the other side of the hallway thumping their way in, and we stayed in that room, holding hands and whispering. I saw him later in the cafeteria and he called me "trouble" and I couldn't remember his name.
I'd remember yours, though.
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