it takes two to tango.

Somehow during the hubbub of 4th of July and moving and whatnot, it completely slipped my mind that this little blog had its 2 year anniversary.

Over the past couple months I have left this little guy feeling rather neglected. My apologies. With any luck, Argentina will remedy that.

So a toast. Here, here to the terrible twos. May the upcoming year bring you something mildly inspiring, comical and/or interesting. Or at the very least something on a regular basis.

music: Fake Tales Of San Francisco – Arctic Monkeys

eat me.

Maybe this being at home thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Some things are likely to be major problems, such as the overabundance of food.

With my strange sleep/eating habits, I’m usually due for a snack around midnight. Well, usually that’s not a problem back in Madison. My tiny fridge and bare cupboards tend to provide me with something meager, like an orange, or if I’m lucky some wheat thins.

Well not in this casa. My salivating mouth was assaulted left and right by a literal smörgåsbord — cheetos, leftover fried chicken and ice cream bars, oh my! Somehow I mustered up what strength I have and resisted these indulgences. Instead, I settled for a simple turkey sandwich (on whole grain bread, of course).

However, the adventure doesn’t end there. Out of deep-seeded curiosity, I did my own little taste test, and you know what? I prefer the taste of mayonnaise (lite, obviously) over Miracle Whip. Case closed. Until I looked at the nutrition label.

Wow. This entire just proves how bored I am. Someone save me.

music: Afraid – Nelly Furtado f. Attitude

three day lay-over.

So I’m back at home for the time being. (That means until Wednesday.) Not a whole lot on the agenda. Some unpacking, re-packing for Argentina, working out, haircut, dentist — then the rest of the time will be spent reading or watching TV (already got the TiVo set up).

Thrilling? No. But life does seem to be looking up. For instance, I actually am able to use my cell phone whenever I want. Goodbye black-hole of reception that was my former apartment. Not that I have anyone to call really.

But there is pie. How can I not be happy? Mmm, pie.

music: Chasing Cars – Snow Patrol

guess who, the mystery face game.

And by a couple hours, I obviously meant a couple minutes. I thought of an amusing anecdote that I could share.

So last night, Natalie and I were just chilling in my room watching some “Entourage” on DVD. My laptop was on my desk, and after the standard 5 minute idle time, my picture slideshow screensaver came on.

After a little bit of time passed, I glanced at my computer and I literally did a double take. A picture had caught me off guard. Was something humorous? No. Was it something obscene? No, it was quite normal. A shot of three people posed and smiling, at presumably a party or bar (the plastic cups in their hands seemed to point in that direction).

One problem. I didn’t know a single one of them. Three random girls, that I took a picture of, that they were aware of (they are indeed smiling straight at the camera), and I was still unaware that it was even on my computer. How the hell did that happen?

Now since I first received my digital camera the Christmas before last, I have managed to accumulate a couple thousand different photos. (No lie. 2,023 to be exact; I’m bored enough to do the math.) So the task of filing through each folder was daunting, but I deemed it quite necessary.

Turns out it was taken in February, at Sue and Kirk’s birthday bash. Sometime after this:

And before this:

(My tongue is orange because we were munching on cheesy popcorn.) I have yet to contact either of them and get to the bottom of this exactly, but I’m hoping they will shine some light on the situation. I don’t recall ever meeting anyone in the photograph, and I know I was not that intoxicated that night. (I swear. At least not at that point anyway. But then again, there was that wop…)

But what’s funny is that after I thought about it, even after I show Sue/Kirk the photo and discover who these mystery maidens are, I feel obligated to keep the photo in lieu of deleting, because of just how random it is.

I’ll keep you posted.

music: Love & Communication – Cat Power

move bitch, get out the way.

I’m not really writing this because I want to, I’m writing this because I really don’t have much else to do.

You see, I moved out today. Well kinda. My parents left a little bit ago and now I’m left in my bare room with what little I will take with me when I head home tomorrow. Praises be I still have my laptop. So here I am. Bored. With a computer. So enjoy.

Sad? Not really. I really like my apartment, but I’m all for change. Freaked out? Most definitely, but I think I got most of that outta my system earlier this week. Each day that comes I think I’m edging more and more toward excited. I am of sound enough mind to realize that not only will I have the time of my life (no matter how scary it may be at first), but also that 5 months will fly by. Hell it’s been almost a year since I moved in here and that feels like yesterday. Piece of cake.

What else is new? Monday was my last day at Steve & Barry’s. Also not sad. I think the entire town of Madison knew it was my farewell shift and decided to come in and be bitches. Thanks guys, made me not the least bit sentimental, rather overjoyed. Goodbye stupid customers, goodbye folding, goodbye retail.

Never again.

That’s all I got for now. Don’t be surprised if I’m back in a couple hours babbling about something unimportant.

music: Casimir Pulaski Day – Sufjan Stevens

the sin cities (a.k.a. minneapolis / st. paul).

And I quote:

The road trip to Minnesota planned for this weekend could not come any sooner.

Man I wasn’t even half right. A literal 48 hours straight of good times. A run down:

Drive there: Even after working during the day, the 4 hour drive went quick. Mostly because of great mixed CDs (made by yours truly) and some even better fellow singers, I mean passengers — Heather, Sue and Chris.

Friday night: Of course the minute we stepped into the Colaizy household we were mowing down some tasty shish kabob — only the beginning of the endless amount of amazing food we devoured all weekend.

Heather: What’s going on with this chicken? It tastes… I don’t know.
Amy: Well that’s because it’s pork.

The rest of the night was spent out with Melissa and Brett and company, our friends in uptown who definitely know how to show visitors a good time. The 90s was a hit. When your vodka cranberry isn’t even recognizable as a shade of pink, you know you’re good to go. We may have lost Eric on the way home (or more accurately he just wondered off on his own), but all in all a success.

Saturday: Mall of America. Need I say more? Oh yes, Nordstrom’s semi-annual sale for men. Yes, men. The girls were bitter. I was out of control. Two new denim purchases makes Bryan a happy boy. Throw in some argyle from J. Crew and you can just imagine how necessary this shopping splurge was.

Saturday afternoon: Siesta. Shopping takes it out of a crew.

Saturday night: Back to uptown to meet up with Jared and friends to enjoy some Wondrous Punch at the Red Dragon. Like a tasty mini-fish bowl. Wondrous indeed. Then it was back out with the Friday night crew. This time we headed to the Saloon which was outta control crowded (as we were warned it was going to be). But alas, we made the best of it. But the best was really when we got back to Amy’s. Her mom (mad props to Michelle) had called Amy at the bar to remind her that there was left over chicken from dinner in the fridge for us. We went barbaric on that shit. Amazing. Greasy fingers and euphoric smiles. Praises be no one took pictures because they’d be rough. (Or should I say ruff?)

Sunday: Slept in. More good food. Then a road-rage filled drive home. But it’s fine. We made it. Highlight of the ride home though was the stop for gas. A) There was no pay at the pump option. I was literally confused for a moment. Yet another sign that technology can be crippling. But B) the incredibly pleasant gas station attendant made up for it. Nice people really make me remember how good small town people (like Peshtigo, for example) can be, despite some shortcomings that I tend to focus on.

Overall lesson learned: Keep my jealousy of Twin Cities fun in check (only slightly) with the enjoyment of not having to pay cab fare and covers to get in places. We are so spoiled in Madison, and I’m gonna enjoy every last drop of it.

how to waste a summer in 10 easy steps.

My summer:

1. Wake up too early. (8ish, maybe 10 if I’m lucky.)
2. Start horrendously boring day shift at the store.
3. Watch World Cup matches while at work. (Highlight of my day — go Argentina!)
4. Mentally envision myself slaughtering countless shoppers. (Mostly camp kids, or the occasional SOAR coastie.)
5. Punch out at 5ish.
6. Take a nap. (Anywhere from one hour to 3.)
7. Get “ready” to go out. (The heat/humidity usually deems anything I want to wear off-limits so I’m forced to settle — a polo, shorts and flip-flops again? Oh my, that’ll be fun and new!)
8. Go out to a bar with peeps. (And by bar, I mean Church Key, Red Shed, Plaza, and/or Amy’s because apparently I’ve forgotten where the rest of them are, but not that I care.)
9. Come home and pass out way past my bedtime.
10. And repeat.

Throw in working out, meals and hygiene in there every so often and that’s about it. The road trip to Minnesota planned for this weekend could not come any sooner.

music: Technologic – Daft Punk

papa can you hear me?

So being the doting son I am, I voyaged home to Peshtigo for this Father’s Day weekend. Well part of it — Saturday through Monday. It’s like I aimed and missed just a little. Whatever works.

However, it’s missing one crucial ingredient — a father. Yeah, that’s right, I came home to an empty house. After I informed my folks that I would be gracing them with my presence, they informed they would be in Eau Claire for a wedding until tomorrow.

Oh well, the perks are already starting to pile up:
– free laundry

– central air
– peace and quiet
– darts and pool with Danae
– non-cheap toilet paper

music: Easier To Lie – Aqualung

forget me not.

First, I’m going to preface with some backstory.

I pride myself on my memory. It is a good reason why I have done well in school my entire life, i.e. my apt for memorizing in combination with my god-given luck have made multiple-choice tests my bitch. But it goes much further than that. I’m great with names, faces, birthdays, exact conversations, useless trivia, etc. I’m about two steps away from Rain Man status. (Okay, I may not have a photographic memory, but it is freakish nonetheless.)

Was I born this way or is it a skill that I’ve honed? I’m not sure, but it sure is damn handy.

Except when it fails at the most basic of levels. No matter how hard I try, I truly am the most absent minded when it comes to stupid day to day stuff. It’s like my mind is on auto-pilot and I wake up hours later pondering, “Where the hell are my keys? Glasses? Wallet? iPod? Other miscellaneous item?”

After spending my entire lifetime misplacing said items, I’ve devised a rather simple remedy: put everything on your desk or in the top drawer. Then when it comes time to search, my scope is in focus.

Well I’m still perfecting the system, but it usually works 9 out of 10 times. A blessing really, to my chaotic and bumbling life.

But what about that tenth time? Yeah, that one’s a bitch. The most recent debacle occurred a couple of months ago when I misplaced my DV tape that had my final film project footage on it. After an hour of searching my entire room it was indeed found, but not without sufficient trauma, mainly in the form of continuously droning, “What the fuck am I going to do? What the fuck am I going to do?”

Well I’ve managed to outdo myself. What was it this time? My passport. Yeah, not okay.

Never have I felt so disparaged. I went to my desk drawer so that I could assemble all the stuff I need to send to the consulate in Chicago to receive my visa. Nowhere to be found. The most extreme freak out of my life commenced.

Where the hell did I put it? When was the last time I saw it? I’m not going to get a visa. I’m not going to be able to go to Argentina. There’s just no time to get a new one. My life is over.

After an hour of searching everywhere imaginable, a call to the parents was in order — in vain hope that they would have it for some reason or another and I had just conveniently forgot. Not the case. And not a good idea, since a lecture on responsibility is about the last thing one would want at a time like this.

A deep breath. A nap. A fresh mind. The search resumed and it only took 20 minutes to completely tear apart my desk, the most likely, if anywhere, place it would still be hiding. Sure enough, amid the piles of random crap I had accumulated throughout the year was my shining ticket to a life once again filled with joy and freedom. Once again my passport was in my clutches.

Now I’m going to dive head first into a gallon of coconut joy ice cream. Stress makes me weak.

music: Set The Fire To The Third Bar – Snow Patrol f. Martha Wainwright