There's nothing we can do...but complain

In general, I believe complaining about gas prices is a fruitless activity. There's nothing we can do about it, so we might as well just deal with it. I usually try to buy my gas out near work, where it can be as much as 20 cents cheaper. Unfortunately, I found myself in the city with my gas light on this weekend. I was forced to buy it down town for a the bargain price of $3.97 a gallon! When all was said and done, I pumped a little less than 11.5 gallons for a grand total of $45.50. Yowzers!!

Here are a few things I would have rather spent $45.50 on (in no particular order):
1. Going out to dinner
2. Going to a bar
3. New jeans
4. Groceries
5. 2 haircuts
6. 45 really awesome things from the Dollar Store
7. New CDs
8. New shoes
9. Books
10. Going to a few movies

Three days in the Milwaukee County Courthouse

The following account is almost as good as my night at the Plank Road Walk-in Clinic.

The notice came about two weeks ago; I had been summoned for jury duty. Milwaukee County had finally caught up with all my moving around. I was only summoned as a reserve, so it was possible I wouldn't have to ever step foot in the courthouse. Call Friday, Feb. 22 after 5:30 p.m. the instructions said.

"Reserve jurors with last names starting with M through Z report to the children's court in Wauwatosa at 8:15 a.m. on Monday, Feb. 25. Jurors with lasts names starting with A through L call back at noon on Monday, Feb. 25."

So far I'm in the clear, but the fact that work is an hour away means I still can't go in. I call at exactly noon.

"All jurors report at 1 p.m. at the County Courthouse downtown."

Well, at least I don't have to go all the way out to Tosa, I think. Plus, it's moderately warm out (read: not booger freezing cold) so the walk down there won't be too horrendous. I walk into the juror assembly area, get my "juror" sticker and take a seat amongst the other cattle waiting for their name to be called. I get comfortable, well as comfortable as one can get in a plastic chair with people surrounding them. If nothing else, I'll be able to finish my book finally. I struggle to concentrate on what I'm reading as multiple people see it necessary to call everyone they know and carry on extensive conversations at louder than necessary volumes. The snoring from the woman behind me and the two guys slouched down to my left doesn't help the situation easier. Talk about good people watching though. I'd say a fairly accurate cross section of Milwaukee was represented: the best of us and the worst of us all together in one room where we could get all the free beverages our pallets desired.

An hour after settling in I hear my name. I grab my things and go stand on my number: 21. We are then led to Judge Timothy Dugan's courtroom. The group of 31 settles in, the last 10 of us filling the seats in the audience. Jury selection has begun. We answer all the questions, none of which lend themselves to pretending to be a homophobic racist who hates immigrants and women. Damn. Again a list of names are called and once again Kimberly Kaiser is in the bunch. Fourteen of us, the 12 plus two alternates, remain in the room while the rest of the heard heads back to the assembly area to wait for another round. At this point it is already about 3 p.m. The opening statements are given and that is it for the day. We are told to return at 9:30 a.m. the following morning.

The next day quite possibly the most non diverse jury to ever rule gathers in the jury room. The courthouse is probably the best looking building in Milwaukee. The outside is amazing, and the inside is equally as impressive. Once you enter the jury room, a flight of stairs above the courtroom, this is no longer the case. The walls are bare. There is a cumbersome table with 12 chairs around it. Two additional chairs sit in the corners. There is a coat rack on one wall. Atop the coat rack sits a mountain of old magazines, two spare rolls of toilet paper, old water bottles and some random papers. A few of us make small talk, but for the most part we stare off into space or flip through magazines in which we have no interest. Finally, about half an hour late, we are called into the courtroom. For about the next two hours we listen to the testimony of the plaintiff and her sister. We hear them both flat out say the driver (the plaintiff) was not paying attention. The story, complete with tears, has holes and frankly is not overly believable. Although there is truth to it, I'm skeptical at best. We break for lunch. Most of us go down to the cafeteria and eat together. Strangers become, in a sense, friends. We will spend a total of 14 hours together so we might as well get comfortable.

We return to the courtroom to watch a video deposition for the plaintiff's doctor. It is boring. It is pointless. It takes a long time. We break. Fifteen minutes later we return for the defendants testimony, which will require the use of a translator. Awesome. The translator is less than impressive and a very broken down version of the defendant's side of the accident given. This story has even more holes than the plaintiff and her sister's. The stories don't match up. The only consistency is that both agree they didn't see each other, which is highly unlikely given all other circumstances. After cross-examination we break again. Finally, the lawyers both give their closing arguments. Neither is very convincing, both are bad speakers, both irritate me.

The plaintiff's lawyer is asking for $12,000-18,000 in compensation for the girl's pain and suffering. At this point, I nearly fall off my chair. You want $18,000 because your neck was sore from a little whiplash for (so you claim) six weeks. I don't think so. The defense lawyer isn't much better, although he suggests a much more reasonable $1,000 for pain and suffering.

Six questions must be answered:
1. Prior to or at the time of the accident was (whatever the defendant's name was) negligent?
2. Did this negligence cause the accident?
3. Prior to or at the time of the accident was the plaintiff negligent?
4. Did the negligence cause the accident?
5. If you answered yes to both 2 and 4, what percentage (adding up to 100) was each responsible for?
6. What amount if any should be awarded for:
a. medical costs
b. damage to vehicle (decided by court)
c. pain and suffering

We quickly and easily answer the first four questions in full agreement; yeses across the board. Question 5 we eventually come to a 5/6 agreement on as 60-40. We all agree all medical costs incurred were legitimate and should be paid in full (approximately $5k). Pain and suffering is another story. Some say as high as $10k and some say as low as zero. I compromise my true belief and say $1k, as the defense saw this as a fair amount. As 5 p.m. is nearly, the court clerk comes up to ask us what time we want to return the following day. We won't be wrapping this up in a day like we all anticipated.

At 9 a.m. the next morning we all file into our jury room. The barren white walls envelope us for what will be another 2 and a half hours. We revisit question five. Some of us, myself included, have had a change of heart. Good arguments are made. Bad arguments are made. Down right ridiculous and unfounded arguments are made. We still have two dissenting jurors, but because I agree to some one's half joking compromise of 55-45, I am able to convince the other 8 to come down from 60. Now on to the money question. No one has really budged on this one. And no one is able to make a strong case for why it should be one amount over the other. Finally, we agree to average all the numbers together and come up with $3,300. Although not happy with the result, I acknowledge that we are never going to agree on an amount and accept it.

Overall the experience was good I suppose. However, it took a lot of will power not to throw things at certain jurors heads or swear a lot. Among some of those most irritating aspects was the tendency among many of the other jurors to keep going back to insurance companies and how they just want money. Ironically, when we had our little follow up question and answer session with the judge, he told us the insurance company had nothing to do with the lawsuit and the plaintiff was behind it not them. Interesting. I think insurance companies are difficult to deal with as much as the next person, but it was clear they had nothing to do with the case so why dwell on it? I'm pretty sure I walked out of the room with most of the people thinking I was cold and heartless, but I guess I'm OK with that.

I believed it when I walked into the room and I believe it now: money doesn't make the pain go away.

The $41 check for my civic duty is in the mail, I got two free bus passes and walked 9 miles this week (far more exercise than a normal week sadly), so it looks like I came out on top despite not being overly pleased with the results.

You are the salt of the earth

Salt. Can't live with it; can't live without it. During the course of a normal winter I would be cursing the salt on the streets, on the sidewalks and half way up every pair of pants I own. During the course of a normal winter, I would be thinking the city could calm down a little with the salt and maybe try getting rid of some of the snow with a plow instead of relying so heavily on salt. But this isn't a normal winter.

There was a story in the Journal-Sentinel this week about rising salt prices. Rising salt prices, can you even believe it? The story took the shape of the stories we see on a semi-daily basis in the summer months about rising gas prices. Cities and counties are running out of salt left and right. It's making it for a very treacherous city/state to walk and drive around in. I nearly wipe out on ice walking at least twice a day, without fail. The only benefit from all of it is how good I've gotten at catching my balance and walking off the near fall as if nothing had happened.

Who would ever think anyone would ever care about the rising cost of rock salt? Again, this isn't a normal winter. Rising salt prices is actually something to be concerned about this winter. Cities can barely afford to keep crews on the road to keep the roads clean, and I use the word clean extremely loosely. Garbage pickup has been canceled on more than one occasion in Milwaukee this year so that more workers can be working on taking care of the snow. Basically, a civics nightmare. People are giving city hall a lot of flack for how they are dealing with this season's snow fall. Maybe they haven't noticed that we've gotten nearly 80 inches of snow this winter compared to the norm of 33 inches and last winters mere 22 inches. There's only so much you can do with that snow.

What I find the most interesting of all of this is that earlier in the winter I read a story in the Journal-Sentinel about the top items that are unloaded off of ships at the Port of Milwaukee. What's No. 1 you ask? Why, it's rock salt! You can't plan irony like that.

Snow, snow go away...but don't come again some other day

Today in the Journal-Sentinel there was a story about the exceptionally snowy winter we've experienced this season. Having not lived under a rock for the past two and a half months, I was aware of the fact that we had gotten a lot, A LOT, of snow. However, I was really surprised when I read this. Milwaukee has been bombed with 65.7 inches of snow this winter. That's twice as much as the average of 33 inches, and last year at this time we had only gotten a measly 22 inches. Let's put this into perspective. If we hadn't been blessed with a few unseasonably warm days, the occasional sunshine and some spots of rain, the snow would be an inch above my head. And that's if it wasn't plowed at all. I can only imagine what the height of snow hills would be.

If the latest pounding of an unbearable amount of snow wasn't hard enough, temperatures are about to plummet. Tomorrow it's back to the frigid single digits we experienced a few weeks ago, and once again with wind chills falling into double digit subzero numbers. That's a lot of stress on the human body. Snow, blizzard conditions, rain, sleet, hail, tornadoes, sunshine and temps in the 50s: we've seen it all this winter.

I've never been more ready for winter to be over in my entire life. Maybe I sound like I'm being over dramatic, but you know what? I don't really care. I'm ready to replace the shovel in my trunk with a cooler. I'm ready for it to be unbearably hot in the apartment instead of unbearably cold. I am ready for summer.

Mother Nature, you're a cruel cruel woman.

We haven't been hit hard with a bad winter for awhile. Despite having a negative winter experience nice and early last winter to turn me off from the season forever, overall the winter of 2006-07 wasn't too bad. This winter, however, hit us hard. Right now I can't see out my window as a result of either blowing snow, a snowblower or a combination of the two. The entire city is more or less shut down. When it finally ends, we're expected to have upward of 16 inches...and that's not the first big snow of the season. Last week, I walked out my front door into snow that went almost up to my knee. Every time the snow comes, it comes heavy and it comes fast.

Now that is is February, I've had plenty of time to reflect on my feelings toward winter. The conclusion I have come to is this: I only need one month of winter. I like that there is snow for a little while. I like that it gets cold. I do not like a grand total of 50+ inches of snow; I do not like sub-zero temperatures (and that is without the wind chill my friends). Why do I stick around then you ask? Well I guess all of you people I call my family and friends are why I stick around. What I can't get my head around is why for the how ever many years our families have resided in this area of the country they decided to stay. Do we just like the pain that much? I for one am over it completely. Send me somewhere that gets a little hint of winter and that's it. I'm done getting stuck in the snow. I'm done with having my boogers freeze the minute I walk outside. I'm done with near accidents because the roads are slick and my tires are crap. I'm done with winter.

Thank God for the few "heat waves" we've experienced this winter that have miraculously always melted most of the snow before the next big storm hits us.

Mother Nature, you can stop this cruel joke now.

Do I detect an accent?

You never really think you are the one with the accent. Everyone else is talking funny. You sound totally normal. On my trip to Europe I was one of few people from the Midwest or to be even more general, "The North." On the last day of the trip we all signed each others T-shirts. On the back of my shirt it it states: "I love to hear you talk." What's so interesting about the way I talk, I thought to myself. Then I realized the man who wrote it was from Georgia. So I did talk "funny." The group seemed to, in general, agree. I was baffled. So then I innocently ask, "Where do I sound like I'm from." Wrong question my friend. They all know you live in Wisconsin. So naturally, they say Wisconsin. Then I almost fell over. "I do not talk like I'm from Wisconsin!" I protested. I tried to explain what a person from Wisconsin would sound like in comparison to the way I talked, unsuccessfully. For instance, Wisconsinites would pronounce the word bag as if it had a long a, so "bage." They also call a drinking fountain a bubbler, but that is a rant for a later date. Unfortunately, those were the only solid examples I could muster up.

There have been other times where I've actually caught myself saying something like a person from Wisconsin. An "Oh sure" here and there that is a little too drawn out. It's times like these that I make the effort to get back to the Land of Lincoln. The Windy City is calling me home before it loses me forever. I like to think my Chicago accent is still well in tact, but things like this make me nervous. They make me long for home. I have grown to identify with Milwaukee, but I will never identify with this state. I'm just a Chicago girl living in Milwaukee; a FIB at heart. It's a good thing in a few weeks I'll be home for five straight days over Thanksgiving and then just a few more weeks and it's home for over a week for Christmas and New Years.

In the mean time, it looks like I'll be watching a lot of Super Fans sketches and will put Blues Brothers on loop.

Traveling girl

During the last week of September I spent 10 days traveling around Western Europe. The trip took me to Belgium, Germany and a brief stop in the Netherlands. Although the work was business in purpose, it was still some of the most fun I've ever had with a bus full of strangers. The work part of the trip was extremely interesting, and I learned a great deal about the industry. The fun part was even better. We were able to do a little bit of sight seeing and spent the last day at Volksfest, Stuttgart's Oktoberfest celebration. It was an experience that can't really be described. You really have to be there. The liters of beer were flowing, the music was loud, and everyone was up on the benches.

It always amazes me on trips like this how a group of complete strangers can go home being best friends. I made a number of friends of all ages (27 to somewhere in the 50s or 60s I would guess).

Ten years in the making

For approximately the last 1o years I have wanted to go to Germany. I was close to going when I was 15, but someone backed out of the trip and it was cancled. Now, nearly 10 years later I have let him know I've dropped the grudge because this Madchen (girl) is headed to Germany in two days! I'll be gone for 10 days all together, with the first part of the trip in Belgium and the remainder in Germany. Since I am going for work, most of my time will be spent touring manufacturing facilities and learning about European wood manufacturing. However, they do have a few fun days planned for us. A night at Oktoberfest will round out the trip.

Ich spreche nicht gut Deutsch, aber ich bin sehr aufgeregt!! (I don't speak German well, but I am very excited!)

Auf Wiedersehen!

City girl

Despite being ecstatic about moving downtown, I was a little nervous about what it would do to my commute to work. So far it hasn't been too bad at all. There was a week where there was a ton of traffic getting into the city, but for the most part it hasn't been all that bad. I only have to leave a little earlier in the morning, and best of all I discovered they opened a Dunkin' Donuts not too far from me. The crowd in Dunkin' Donuts at 6 a.m. is an interesting one. They're not just stopping in quickly on their way to work like I am; they've been there for awhile sitting and chatting when I show up.

Living in the city has been great. I've done more in the month and a half I've been living downtown than I probably did the whole rest of the summer. It's worth the extra money and the extra time in the car in the morning. Every Saturday morning there is a farmers market in Cathedral Square. I've gone and walked through a few times. Every Thursday in the summer there's Jazz in the Park right outside my door. On Sunday's I journey over to the East Side and study for the GRE at Altera. The lake is only a short four block walk away. I can basically walk anywhere I could possibly need to go, other than work of course. Concerts, drinks, dinners, I've done it all since moving down here. This girl belongs in the city.

We have nothing to discuss here

There is a time and a place for everything. That's nothing new. The bathroom is neither the time nor the place for most things. Yet people seem to think it's the opportune time and place for chit chat. When I am taking care of business I don't want to hear about your weekend or discuss the weather. Nor do I want to linger awkwardly after I'm done washing my hands because there you are sitting behind a closed door jabbering away. Go in do your thing, wash your hands and get out. Please don't skip that middle step though. That's a topic for another day.

It's bad enough everyone in the bathroom has to listen to each other pee or do whatever. Sure we all know what goes on in there and it's nothing to be ashamed of. Going to the bathroom is, after all, a necessity. However, there is no need to draw attention to it. A simple hello or smile as we pass (no pun intended) is sufficient. Long drawn out conversations should be reserved for places a little less private, even if it is called a "public" restroom. Truth be told, most likely I don't even care about what you are saying. It seems the people most prone to this bathroom behavior are people you'd otherwise have little conversational contact with.

The bathroom is a private place. Let's try and keep it that way.

Home is where the heart is

Ed. Note: More often than not, I think of great things to write about when I am either lying in bed or driving home from work. Neither are exactly optimal opportunities to write. Tonight, I am sacrificing sleep to get this down. I've left you hanging long enough, after all. ~Kim

They say home is where the heart is, but what happens when the heart is in two places? I think the phenomenon starts in college. You are regularly traveling back and forth between your childhood home (or in some cases the brand new house your parents move into while you are away) and the city that would become your home for four years. You catch yourself talking about when you need to "go home," meaning your college dorm/apartment, while you are "at home." Usually then, your words get all jumbled together as you try to backtrack and reword what you just said, afraid your mom heard. And although you do truly think of the place where your family is as "home," you can't help but feel a connection and some security in returning to your college home.

The same goes for post-college life, away from "home." You are a functioning member of society now, living in some cases cities or states away from where you first came. You go to work, you come home and check the mail, which for the first time will all be for you, you make yourself dinner. You are home. You travel and can't wait to just be home again. Between visiting people, traveling for work and making trips "home," you find yourself in need of a weekend at home.

Once again, you are faced with the conundrum of where home truly is. Is home the place you sleep every night, keep most of your belongings, and pay too much a month to occupy? Or, is home where the heart, or more specifically the past and your family ties are? Is home not a tangible destination at all? Isn't that, after all, exactly what the phrase "home is where the heart is" means? That is exactly the problem, though; can you heart really be in two places?

My answer is yes. I always thought it was ridiculous on T.V. shows how people would say their friends were their family. However, when you live away from "home," you fill that void with close friends. You haven't replaced your family, and probably never really could. You have just filled the space. You've made connections to the people and places around you to make it feel like home, and somewhere along the way it actually becomes home. So why not have two homes? It really is the best of both worlds. You are happy to go back home, but when you leave you are happy to come home again.

That twinge of guilt about calling the other place home in front of your mom will never go away though, I'm sure of it.

Baby it's cold outside

Current temperature in Milwaukee: -3 degrees F

Current "feels like" temperature in Milwaukee: -23 degrees F

Winds are blowing at 13 mph

Brrrr. Having lived my entire life in Chicago and Milwaukee, both cities notorious for chilly winter weather, you would think I was well adjusted and could handle it. Yet winter after winter once the real deep freeze finally sets in you would think I had lived most my life in Texas. I think back in high school sometime during all that running outside in January my big toe on my left foot got frost bite. Now every time it's even remotely cold I loose feeling in it. It's really a weird sensation.

Last night some friends and I ventured downtown to see "Sonic Vision" (though we chose to call it the Laser Light Show) at the Planetarium/IMAX. Sure, the temperature was in single digits, if not negative digits, but the cold was not going to keep us away from lasers! Before I picked my friends up I had to buy some gas. My little car struggled to start with a quarter of a tank, so I saw it in all of our best interest to fill her up. My fingers were uncovered for about one minute. That was one minute too long. As I stood outside next to my car I tried to turn my back to the wind to take some of the cold away. It really didn't work. Finally! The numbers on the pump said 9.5 gallons. We were back in business. I closed the the tank up and made my way back into the "warmth" of my car.

My fingers hurt they were so cold. Only a few more blocks and I would be at my friends' apartment. It was my lucky day. There was actually a parking spot in the lot! I hurried to the door: my arms full Dairy Queen (I can't believe they all really wanted ice cream on a night like this!) and a bowl they had left at my place a few weeks before. We ate the treats and I tried to warm up before heading back out. We left the apartment bundled up and pretty much ran to my car.

After navigating through the horrendous road construction in downtown Milwaukee, I managed to find a parking spot a block from the museum. We hurried inside, bought our tickets. For the next hour and a half we were warm and enjoyed the show. Unfortunately, there were no lasers. Then it was back to the cold. I'm pretty sure that in the hour we were inside it got colder. It was that boogers in your nose freeze sort of cold.

It's a good thing that groundhog didn't see his shadow.

The Blizzard of 2006

"The Blizzard of '79, two small children, no morning kindergarten, endless games
of Candyland and short supply of chocolate. All of these things and events
led up to me writing my first book."
~Nora Roberts

There were no small children, no games of Candlyland and not only just no short supply of chocolate, but no supply at all, during my experience in the Blizzard of '06.

Around 5:45 I finally dragged myself out of bed, surprised to see my heat was actually on high enough that it was warm outside of the covers. I tried to check how much snow had fallen, but my windows fog up in my bedroom. I walk to the living room to look out the balcony doors. My car is covered, but it doesn't look so bad. My morning continues as usual, the only difference being that i bundled up before heading out the door.

I clear off my car and I'm on my way. The roads are by no means good, but they're not too bad. I'm not surprised though. In my experience Milwaukee County doesn't understand what a plow is. I slowly make it to I-94. It's all down hill from here.

I slowly merged onto the highway, sort of getting in a lane. Traffic is moving slowly, but it doesn't seem so bad. I can definitely make it to work. The cars in front of my are slowly trudging along. Everyone seems to be merging to the left, so I follow suit. Well, I tried to follow suit, but my car didn't agree with the plan. Instead, I drifted to the right. Then I stopped. No, the car stopped. (Ed. note: It's stories like this that make me wish I was one of those people who named their car. This would be so much more entertaining then.) I had driven no more than 8 miles. It took me 1 hour.

After trying to get the car to move for a few minutes, I switch on my hazards and start to think about what I can possible do. With no real solutions come to mind, it was time to call home. What they were going to be able to do 90 miles away, I'm not sure, but it seemed like a good idea. After deciding that my best bet was to maybe try and dig out around my tires, I carefully get out of my car and face the snow. That, was not the solution. So it was back to my car. After making about more attempts I sit back in my car feeling dejected, with tears on their way any minute. Just then, a white car is next to me with the window down. "Do you need a push?" the kind stranger says. "Yes, thank you!" I eagerly reply.

After about five minutes of pushing, he gets me out! I slowly roll back along with the traffic. The exit to turn around is just a mile away. I finally get off the highway and start my voyage along the side streets. Nearly an hour later, I am almost home. Less than 50 yards from the driveway to my building, the car in front of me gets stuck. She turns it around and calls back to me that I need to just turn around because I'll just slide back. Well, I need to go forward in order to turn around, and I do it with no problem so I figure I can make it the short distance to my place. Wrong again Kim. A bus was stuck in the snow - right in front of the drive. Next plan of action: Drive to the hardware store a few blocks up and leave my car there. I get to the hardware store and it is clear I'm not making it into the lot. It's time to head back. After making a circle that took me a few miles, I make it back to my intersection. I can see the bus is still there. Looks like I'll be parking in the Sentry parking lot. Seems simple enough.

Once again, my car is stuck. Luckily there aren't many cars around so I am able to go in reverse to get myself out of the mess. I some how manage to pull into what could be considered a parking spot, and begin my walk up the big hill to my apartment. The bus is gone.

Two hours after leaving for work, I was back in my apartment. My jeans were soaked. My hair, which had been straight two hours earlier, was now curly in random chucks from getting wet in the snow. My gloves were dirty and wet. But I was home. I was warm, sort of. And most importantly, I was not in my car any more.

But now what? I was too worked up and stressed out to just go back to bed. I couldn't go anywhere. I was too restless to just sit and watch TV. Well after talking about it for a week, I put up my Christmas tree. I also cleaned the place a bit. Looks quite festive now. Around lunch time the snow had pretty much stopped so I decided I'd head over to get my car. The parking lot had been plowed, so I figured this would be a breeze. Well, the area around my car wasn't. Stuck again. I manage to rock myself out of the snow and head to the road. About 20 feet later I was turning into the drive to my building. You guessed it, stuck again. A woman walking by stops and tries pushing me. No luck. Another nice stranger stops his car and gets out to help push. Nothing. He offers to drive it up, as he's very good at maneuvering through the snow, if I'm OK with it. I say sure. He gets my car in and up to the visitor lot. We can't get it into a spot all the way, but I figure that's better than nothing. My car is at least safe in a parking lot.

Finally around 2:00 they start plowing our drive and sidewalks. I go outside once or twice to see if I'll be able to get my car into a spot. No luck. Eventually around 4, the lot I'm parked in is cleared and I can try and move my car. I manage to unwedge it a little bit, but I can't back it out enough to move it to a spot. As luck would have it another car pulls into the lot. Two guys get out and ask if I need some help. They get a shovel and we dig my car out. My original plan was to drive back to my actual parking spot, but I decided not to push my luck and settled for the spot I could easily pull into. Nearly 12 hours after starting my day and 10 inches of snow later, my car was finally safely back and I was done dealing with the snow.

I was forced to use a vacation day and missed the office Christmas party. Getting stuck in a blizzard is not exactly my idea of a vacation. I have decided one of three things is necessary: 1. I find a job that is actually in Milwaukee County; 2. I move to the West Coast where it doesn't snow; or 3. I marry someone that is really rich so I don't have to work and can choose to stay home and go no where without feeling guilty.

This whole experience could lead me to write my first book too, but I'm pretty sure it would be a much more negative story than Nora Roberts (not that I've ever actually read hers).

Sweater weather and pumpkin flavored everything

Today's entry comes to live from my balcony. Thankfully in the amount of time it took for this page to load a cloud came by and I can see the screen again.

It's a beautiful fall day. Unfortunately, because of all the wind the last couple days the tree outside my apartment is missing most of its leaves -- thus explaining the trouble viewing the screen of my laptop. It's about 45 degrees out (or at least that's what the weather channel tells me). I walked over to Walgreen's today to drop off some film and then headed to "downtown" Tosa. I finally went into the little book store. It was very quaint. It's the kind of place that has regulars, or at least that is the feel I got when I walked in. It sort of seemed like the woman at the counter was thinking, 'and who do we have here.' I didn't get anything, but found all kinds of interesting things. After that I walked over to Starbucks. We're half way through October and I still hadn't had a Pumpkin Spice Latte. I'm not sure how that happened. Needless to say, I ordered a grande Pumpkin Spice Latte and made my way back to my apartment. My love for pumpkin spice coffee is about equal to that of trisketts. I wait all year for this time of year just for the coffee. Don't get me wrong, there is plenty to love about fall, but my favorite part is pumpkin flavored everything. I often think its a flavor that should be offered year round, but then I stop and think: would it loose its appeal then? Until that dilemma is solved, I'll just have to drink up and eat up as much pumpkin flavored treats as I can.

Lately, I've been thinking about the book I want to write someday. I still have no idea what it is I would write about, but the idea remains on my mind. I have an internal problem though. The thought of the masses reading something I wrote scares me to death. Ironic, I know. I can write this with no worries because I really don't know how many of you are reading. For all I know it's just my mom and sister. I have no problem with the pieces I write for work because for the most part I don't know who, if anyone, is actually reading the pieces I write. In college when I took creative writing I would get major anxiety on the days we would workshop my stories. I felt like such a poser in that class. Here I was with 11 other students who could write, could really write. They were descriptive and creative and passionate. I came out of the class with a B or A/B I think, so I couldn't have been that bad. It's not even that I handle criticism poorly, the build up to it though is enough to kill a person.

Something about the fall just makes me want to read and write. I can't explain it, but I do really like it. Maybe it's just too hot and uncomfortable to be creative in the summer. I don't know.

Happy pumpkin season!

Silence is overrated

"People have to talk about something just to keep their good voice boxes in working order, so they'll have good voice boxes in case there's ever anything really meaningful to say."
~Kurt Vonnegut

It's funny how you never notice how friendly the people you spend your day with are until you can't do something as simple as saying hello back to them.

I was talking to a friend the other night and she made a comment about how she had always wanted to loose her voice. Something about it always just seemed "fun" to her. I can see where she's coming from. It’s a bit mysterious in ways. However, the novelty of that mystery wears off faster than the novelty of the "Cows on Parade." I had always thought that I would rather not be able to speak than not be able to see. I think I'm changing my mind. Although the thought of not being able to see all the beauty, and at times horror, in this world is hard to grasp, I really don't think it is even comparable to lacking the ability to communicate. It would be hard to not be able to see it all, and I admit I think I would feel like I was missing out on something. But seeing isn't believing.

The ability to speak is something we take for granted. Plus, not being able to talk is just plain boring. I know that come next week when my voice is completely back I'll have forgotten all about my struggles with communicating, but for right now I am ridiculously thankful for the sense of speech. Sure if you permanently couldn't speak you would no doubt learn sign language and would find ways to communicate. But just like the whole world doesn't speak English, the whole world certainly does not know sign language.

So much rests on our ability to communicate. All week long I have felt like all the people who I don't work with on a regular basis have been thinking I'm a jerk because I haven't been saying hi back to them in passing. Well, I try to say hi but either just some weird noise comes out or it’s so quiet they can't hear. Maybe they thought nothing of it or maybe they think I'm a horrible human being. The thing is, either way one of us is getting the message wrong. Nonverbal communication can only take you so far.

Sure a smile is worth a million words, but then you're just that weird girl who is always smiling but never saying a word.

One year later

Well, as of this weekend I've officially lived in Wisconsin for one year (not counting the four years at Marquette). It's really hard to believe it has been a year already. I really think this truly was the fast year of my life. I didn't think I was ever going to adjust to living alone. Now, I don't know that I could ever live with a roommate again. Actually, one roommate would still be nice, but I definitely could never do the five roommate thing again. Hell, I couldn't do that when I was! There is something very nice about living alone though. The mess is all yours so you can't be mad about it. Well, you can be mad about it, but it's not getting cleaned unless you do it yourself. When you just want to be left alone, you don't have to worry about someone coming in the room and insisting on talking. Ok, well that's really all I have. I know it's not much, but I figured I should write something to celebrate this big day.

Thunderstorms and car alarms...These are the things that dreams are made of

While sitting at the picnic tables between the office and the cemetery and eating lunch yesterday it was clear a storm was brewing. There was an almost too calm breeze. The sun was no were to be seen, yet it was still bright out. That annoying kind of brightness where you don't take sunglasses because it is a cloudy day. I only hoped the storm would hold off until I go home since the weekend before I had what seemed like a near death experience driving north on I-94 in Racine. That day, I was sure I was driving into the end of the world, but I digress.

Five hours later I walked out of the office. No storm yet. I successfully make it home without getting stuck in a storm. It still seemed like it was coming though. The night went on and still nothing. There are storms in St. Louis, but Milwaukee is safe still. The news warns of the pending storms. I go to bed. Still nothing.

3:30 a.m. I am woken suddenly. The lightening is illuminating the entire sky. The wind is howling. The thunder sounds nothing like the angels bowling. Instead it is more like hundreds of bowling balls being dropped simultaneously all around you. The water gushes out of the gutter outside my window. The storm is here. This is no storm that you fall right back asleep during. Not only am I awake now, but I am starving. There is no way I am about to fall asleep. Then, another deafening crash of thunder. This time alarms are set off on at least three of the cars out in the parking lot. Clearly, this night was not meant for sleeping.

At some point I finally fall back asleep. However, 5 a.m. comes a lot sooner when you are woken up at 3:30. Like always, I hit the snooze button until the alarm on my cell phone goes off at 5:40. There's no dragging myself out of bed yet on this dark and rainy morning. It is still raining out, though it has let up significantly. Finally, a little after 6 a.m. I get myself up. It's going to be a long day.

You look like a monkey, and you smell like one too

After five years of having to fess up to Uncle Jerry that I still have not been to the Milwaukee County Zoo, I finally made it there. I was a bit skeptical of the quality, having grown up just miles from one of the finest zoos in the country, but I went in with an open mind. The zoo is a very nice area to walk around, but as far as quality goes Brookfield is far superior. There really were not very many animals out, which was a little disappointing. It was a beautiful day for it though. It was only about 70 today -- perfect zoo weather.

There were a lot of peacocks though. Like this one.

There was also a baby peacock. (It kind of blends into the background, sorry.)

Well, that's about it for my adventure to the zoo. Oh, I also had the worst Chicago style hot dog of my life.

Last Friday I spent my free afternoon walking around near the lake front. This is the Milwaukee Art Museum. My batteries died almost immediately, so I didn't get as many pictures as I would have liked.

A Parallel to Bob Dylan's life??

"I'd seen and heard trains from my earliest childhood days and the sight and sound of them always made me feel secure. The boxcars, the iron ore cars, freight cars, passenger trains, Pullman cars. There was no place you could go in my hometown without at least some part of the day have to stop at intersections and wait for the long trains to pass...The sound of trains off in the distance more or less made me feel at home, like nothing was missing, like I was at some level place, never in any significant danger and that everything was fitting together."

~Bob Dylan, Chronicles: Volume One

My thoughts exactly. I could not agree more. Although the train whistles are almost annoyingly loud here some days, I would miss them if they were gone. I need that noise. I can't sleep if it's too quiet. I need to know life is going on still outside my windows. There's some sort of strange comfort in the whole thing. At the real root of it though, as Dylan points out, is that it makes me feel at home. It makes me feel safe because it makes me think of LaGrange, my family, my childhood. I can connect so many memories to trains or railroad tracks. Very few of them actually have to do specifically with the trains, but since they were such a presence it all connects back. I suppose it is sort of like the whole idea of how a smell can stimulate a memory. What makes a sound any different?

Bittersweet transitions

Well, it's official. It may have taken me eight months to go through with it, but I am a Wisconsin resident. The man no longer thinks I'm living in Illinois. About a week ago I made my way to the Department of Motor Vehicle in South Milwaukee. The people you'll find at the South Milwaukee DMV are almost as entertaining as the people at the Plank Road Walk in Clinic. Of course, by entertaining I mean totally annoying. Luckily, the time I spent there was probably the shortest amount of time an individual has ever spent in an DMV. A major plus in the whole experience of changing my drivers license and plates.

Unfortunately, Wisconsin passed a law in the last few months that prohibits individuals who are getting a Wisconsin ID for the first time to take it home with them that day. Something about fraud. I blame Illinois good ol' governor George Ryan for this pain in my neck. Apparently some of those truck drivers involved in that scandal then started coming up here to get their licenses. Super. So, I had to wait almost a week for my ID to arrive. This wasn't such a big deal during the week, but it sure did put a damper on any weekend fun.

The whole transition is very bittersweet. It's weird to look at my car every morning and not see Illinois plates, and every time I open my wallet it freaks me out that the ID says Wisconsin. At the same time, to a certain extent it makes me feel like I belong here. I'm not just a college student spending some time here. It also means that I've committed myself to living here for awhile, because I'm not about to go through all that changing stuff again any time soon. That part is a little sad. I love Illinois, and Illinois will always be home. Sometimes, though, you need to just make a commitment and let yourself grow. Living in Wisconsin on my own is letting me grow. As cliche as it sounds, I don't think I'd be who I am if I hadn't been living here for the last eight months. Though, it will be hard to face everyone back home with an Wisconsin driver's license and plates.

I may have made the plunge into life in Wisconsin, but hear me, I am no cheesehead.