Oh golly, I was still shaking off the sting of a blue eyed no-show when the lights strobed lilac 'til the stage went black like my memory at Posty’s party.
Cheers, girl. Let it all out, girl.
If I had known this swashing sea of sweaty bodies would soon vanish into thin air like a bat out of hell, I would have texted you all to come out with the doodle froodlers that Sunday night, too. It was a great time. I felt cool wearing one of those oversized, overpriced concert t-shirts while waving to everyone out of the back seat window on our way home. All the head-bopping and knee-slapping jigs sent me straight to the bathroom floor, which had nothing to do with the Bud Light tall boys in each hand and everything to do with a loud, unsolicited knock on my door that I was so afraid to answer.
I blame Austin for the contagious rockstar hangover just as much as I blame the naive calmness I had about the junior looking rollercoaster that I was about to buckle myself into.
I don’t think I could have laughed any louder or sighed any deeper when I found out Shutterfly was relocating their headquarters from San Francisco to Minneapolis— which meant my position was no longer available for remote privileges, which meant the last trace of a cowgirl named Stunna in the wild, wild West was starting to really sizzle up for good this time. Thank God I wasn’t still spending all my time on the Caltrain while paying the big bucks to live in my hoity-toity neighborhood when I endured this news. (It’s funny how I’d give anything for a commute right now, though.)
And that was that. I bravely answered the loud knock on my door, had my sigh of relief and immediately signed up for the local job boards. There really was no question about it; I was finally home and I was here to stay.
Haha.
A couple days after I dodged all that corporate, irrelevant-to-me drama (because stop, don’t look at me like that, I definitely dodged it— it’s a thing of the past), I was as lit as a neon sign under the palm trees in New Orleans. What in the world was that girl doing on feathery floats all covered in powdered sugar?
There was a moment during an afternoon where I caught myself in that post drag brunch altered state of mind in this blingy purple bathroom. As I leaned into my reflection, all I could hear was the faint hullabaloo of a parade outside and crashing beads everywhere. I definitely jumped when the mirror started talking to me.
“Bachelorette number two is a fine freckled lady from the heart of the nation. She likes strong vodka sodas and showing up to any party late. Just stroke her long luscious locks and her giggles will have you googling about what a live wire she is. Yours for loving, give it up for Kate Joy McD!!!”
Hahahaha.
I bought some weed from a friendly little ghost on the corner and laughed for hours glued to an old rusty barstool as the smooth jazzy blues entered my whole being. From the Gulf to the Delta, not even the vampires could catch this super soul girly. It was the Hail Mary adventure I squeezed in before my ticket to anywhere was taken away for a very long time. It was the road trip I took along the banks of the Mississippi. Where the backroads led me to the Minnesota wilderness and the awakening realization that my Poppy had the slow-cooker on this whole time. (I saw him in a dream once where he spoke from heaven’s counter saying that he could whip me up something good - but that it’s not very microwavable.)
It was cold then and really all too intertwined to find it so funny (haha). Although, the humor of the situation just made me cry as I stumbled my way on up to the bright Northern Star. Maybe it’s comical because I still vividly remember the day I quit it all for a hunch to head home that is still stirring so well in my gut.
There’s no doubt it’s been a long, exhausting, lucky, crazy, winding road since the day I gave my two-weeks notice, packed my bags and took a one-way flight out of California last summer. One of the best days ever was walking off that plane at the Indianapolis airport to my crew of prematurely graying, bear hug giving people. God love them, they just don’t give hugs like that anywhere else.
It’s the “life is a highway” story I never thought my homegirl persona would still be telling right now. It’s the confusing saga that my sweet mom has mastered to tell in just three minutes or less when one of you sweet peas ask her how I’m doing in the bread aisle at Kroger.
Depending on the day or how caught up you were with Lor, there was a good chance I was in one of five states, at a tattoo shop (I don’t have any tats), living in her basement (she doesn’t have a basement) or sometimes I wonder if you ever wondered if maybe I became one of those free spirited hobos?
“Yes, she’s home now! We are all beyond thrilled to have her back! Basically, she quit her job at Shutterfly and was like, ‘see ya never!’ but the awesome part is that they just ended up allowing her to work from home so she can land on her feet while she finds something else here — I know, so amazing, right!?”
“Well, so, last week they laid off two hundred employees and announced that her entire department is being relocated to Minnesota of all places. She knew the whole work-from-home thing wasn’t going to be permanent so I think she’s just wanting to get a place in downtown Indy and stay put— but we’ll see!”
“So, they flew her up to see the new office. She asked if she could bring me (ha!) and so we made a whole girls trip out of it. We had a ball with her best friend who lives there. Those two are so fun. I think she really liked it and could see herself living there, which was a surprise to all of us. She has to give them an answer by the end of this week! Eeeeeeks.”
“Yup, she’s still here. Sill working for Shutterfly and moving to Minnesota in May!”
As you can see, my mother is an angel.
Normalcy slowly faded into the yesteryear as I simultaneously waited around for the hot water to boil while my plans froze over the sunny side up of a delicate dimension.
Last I remember, I was rounding up that “business trip” with my mom to “check out the office” while watering a mustard seed of a thought of a wish of a girl so lost. But after schmoozing my way through the tour of cubicles and cafeterias, I walked out of those front doors and point blank said, “Haha! I’m so good at faking it.” I seriously just wanted to be there to see my friends and order fancy room service. That was all.
Mark my words, I was so not moving there.
Later on, I was snacking on a jar of Nutella with a long sleeve of saltine crackers in my best friend’s kitchen. I think we were on the topic of something outlandish for the time yet typical and endearing like how we are gonna scheme to get pregnant on the same day (on a day that is not today nor tomorrow nor the day way after tomorrow) so we can baby moon at the same time in Hawaii like all the famous best friend bloggers and so on and so on. I mean, that’s honestly where my head was at when I nonchalantly boarded the final flight out of the twin cities and jetted off into what would soon be the weirdest year of my life.
I had just written "Move To Minneapolis” in hot-pink Sharpie on the month of May, but by afternoon, the germs had already taken over as we headed straight for the bunkers.
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I can’t stop thinking about how crazy things got right before that incoming wave of invisible pause caught me in this real-life mannequin challenge. Perhaps you're assuming that I’m talking about the crazy toilet paper wars that went down at Costco, but no. That’s so cute though, sweetie. Like a frickin’ tumbleweed, I landed on the doorstep at Graceland on Wednesday and by Friday eve, I was bumping to the beat under a cloud of purple rain inside Paisley Park. It seemed like another one of those weird dreams about my grandfather microwaving me good fortune from above. But nevertheless, I actually did visit the spirit of Elvis and felt the warmth of Prince as Tom Hanks took away everyone’s breath and the whole world went fjdksa;hgd;s!!??!!!!
(For reference of timing, that was the week I put in my YES at work.)
You could barely see that dark-haired girl in the snow globe when a March madness cyclone rushed in and lingered. A big gust of sparkles and iridescent swirls circled around me like the hazy band of light I’ve seen when I point my nose to heaven. That gatecrashing glitter bomb got all over my stuff and I still sometimes catch a shiny spec or two clinging to my cheekbone in this wicked, wicked aftermath.
And when I look back in real time, I occasionally get one of those out of body experiences. I see it as this wildly transformative time in my life like that magical scene in the movie, Pocahontas, where she dances around with the colors of the wind. I hang on to an old picture of me dressed up like her when I was two or three and smile. Oh, little girl, the wind will pick you up one day and spin you around and around.
Ok, so I don’t actually live in an animated tale with my pet raccoon and there was never a visible trace of lavender swirly dreaminess going on around me. In reality, I felt more stuck, shaken up and torn apart like Nemo in a plastic bag when that little brat Darla was around. But somewhere between this figure-eight roundabout and the call of the wild, I still managed to follow a lead to the hotspot sensation. And somewhere down in the depths of the bunker, I learned how to not underestimate the seismic power of the tiniest mental shift. And that’s where I turned my potentially (but not very) inspirational, magnificently ugly situation into pure art.
Again and again and again, that’s where the homebodies came to life— at the calm down party they threw from the woods of White Oak. Turns out, a girl from earth can boogie to the down home blues by swaying to the crowd of a quadrillion tiny microbes and the ripple of fear. Oh, honey sweetie dear. It’s gonna be okay. Well, I guess that's still a maybe but the main thing is that worry’s just a bully when the going gets tough. I can still hear The Chicks singing, “Katie, I guess this is the time to remind you sometimes what’s going through your head is just a temporary situation.”
pictures from the calm down party (wish u coulda been there)
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That grumpy old dude, Toby, died a couple weeks into the big shut down, and for the whole year we knew each other, we never became friends. He would hunt me down with a gnarly raspy growl when the toilet flushed upstairs or the floor creaked under my toes. I was an intruder in my own damn house, but I’ll admit, I still weeped the day he left.
May fifth arrived so sweetly like the crispy fudge center of my favorite ice cream cake. There was a funny looking family dancing around through the far left window that night. Yes, they wore fake mustaches and guzzled spicy margaritas as the checkered flags waved me through lap twenty-six. It’ll go down as that one birthday we belted every word to “Scenes From An Italian Restaurant” and my favorite last memory we ever had just us five.
That whole spring season was the farewell tour I never knew I’d get to properly send off my childhood. As fate would have it, I wasn’t heading to Minnesota in May after all and everyone was under the same roof when the doc said stay the frick home. So like the year two thousand four, my brothers and I asked my mom to buy Poptarts and caused a ruckus in the bathroom when we brushed our teeth before bed. We poured bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch with sleepy faces in the mornings and asked if we could play a game or something after. Did you know the McDonough’s turn to Rummikub rats when the clock strikes twelve? All it took was a sip of cold bourbon to turn “just one game” into a rowdy table of Irish-Italians at two o’clock in the morning.
Summer rolled around in time to bust a move at my brother’s backyard wedding. I wish you could have seen the beautiful way they celebrated that day, as if it were more about them—- and not about any of you. Those two families did the electric slide for the back door neighbors while that burning orb in our cotton candy sky set into a lifetime of happiness.
Then there was the day I wandered aimlessly through a sunflower field and bought my first car named Bruce. I drove that bad boy off the lot with the swagger of a cooler girl from Saturn. And I swear the very next day, I was calling my dad from the Home Depot parking lot in a panic about a big ass dent I found in my front bumper. Haha, it reminded me of the time I was twelve on vacation and wore my new psychedelic platform flip-flops straight out of Souvenir City only to realize that I bought them in two different sizes by the time I had walked all the way back to the condo. I can’t believe I never noticed the dent before I whipped out my wallet but if I knew then what I know now I probably would have still bought it.
Bruce and I, we accidentally killed a bunny and we’ve already put on a couple thousand miles since I moved at the end of August. We’ve done the drive from Indy to Sota and back a couple times and not too long ago we even saved a dude who got his car stolen somewhere out in Wisconsin. I’ve still been throwing some calm down parties since it became chili season and the sun sets before dinner over here in the land of ten thousand lakes. I’m still eating the same peanut butter banana toast for breakfast but not much has changed except the new view of the raging Mississippi out of my bedroom window and a new crop of coworkers on Zoom. Someone please explain to me how the girl who tried to quit ended up being the last one standing.
God, you are so funny. Haha.
Now I’m a K living with three M’s and an A. They’re the kind of starshines who will crawl in your bed with a cup of hot tea and good advice and they almost always pee with the door wide open haha. It’s amazing how fast they transform into a flock of chirping birdies when a Victoria’s Secret package arrives or you’re talking to a mystery. They’ll know if your location is somewhere in St. Paul or if you get the shits on the treadmills downtown. One of them always sings into the hanging light fixture in our kitchen. And when the virus showed up at our door, we all put on lipstick and broke out in quarantined karaoke.
Haha, and I guess that’s just a little bloop about a girl from earth during this big ol’ blob.
I hope my artful situation could make you laugh or at least make you realize your life could use a paint brush and some romanticizing, too. Not because you need to make it seem like something it isn’t, but because it is fascinatingly blobby and glistens way better in the light.
What kind of party will you be throwing while the crock pot is bubbling? …and can I come?
wish u love, wish u heaven,
- girl from earth ♡