Son of a professional published author and former newspaper editor. Journalism runs in the family. My mother is currently the editor for two papers in Iowa.
1 year professional experience writing grants for a major non-profit.
2 years of experience taking photographs for various publications for non-profits.
Interested in developing a stronger skill set in comedy/comic writing. Developed personal blog about the perils (often comic) of twentysomethings with over 1000 reads.
Samples from blog:
Part of the reason is that I’m a texter. And I’m sure a lot of you are texters too. I didn’t think I ever would be, but then you know, it just happens. I would still prefer face-to-face over anything else, but we live in a world where texting has all the power. And it’s hard to find joy in our textual relationships.
Singlehandedly, texting has become the most casual and accessible form of intimacy without really accomplishing anything, because in a way it gives us a false sense of security. We have the feeling we have a right to talk to anybody, anywhere, anytime. A single text can have so much power it could be the most invasive, annoying, conveniently pragmatic, casually or progressively intimate, undeniably lazy, regrettable form of communication out there.
2:The Night I Almost Could Have Got Roofied
New Year’s Eve started off with a mojito and not one of those mojitos a conservative housewife drinks once a month — a Thursday after bridge club. This was a fierce, Latin force. I was laughing extra hard over a conversation about the recent movie Pitch Perfect. I was excited over the promise of a New Year. I was hoping to see the mysterious yellow shirt (MYS) out there. MYS and I talked about the tasty popcorn at Bucks the Saturday before. My bladder was already prepping itself for game time. And I was planning out my night as spontaneously as I could. I wasn’t driving tonight, feeling like my share had already been put into the sober pallet twice this previous weekend. This was my night!
I headed to a friend’s house after supper. I played a round of darts, had a couple of shots, played a drinking game, and some Mario Kart on the N64. I learned the hard way that you can’t text and drive a car on Rainbow Highway without hitting a few bombs. I literally woofed down some of the best caramel mix I’ve ever had. I had made a few phone calls to my friend Liesl. She was coming over to the house as well. I was doing the best job trying to navigate her. Liesl had previously mentioned to me how happy she was on her recent glittery, ******-heel purchase. She even sent me a text earlier that weekend with a photo. They looked good. She told me she was wearing these heels when she arrived. I stepped outside to scream at her from the steps to make it easier for her to pinpoint the exact house I was partying at. I saw that a car pulled over as she stood at the corner. I thought to myself “Oh dear God! The shoes actually worked!” Frankly I was just a bit frightened so I shouted for her to hurry up. It turned out she was just asked by a “nice” lady if she needed a ride. That’s generally how your story ends up on Investigation Discovery, there Liesl.
After playing Categories for a while, Liesl and I got a ride to Wiley’s in downtown Sioux Falls. We were meeting some of my other friends. Immediately when we got of the car we saw my other friend Lauren standing in the shockingly long line to get into the bar. We were so overjoyed at not having to stand in the back that we went and met her. Of course we became the most hated people around us, as we were labeled, fittingly, “budgers” by a girl on her phone. If had to use to the phone at that point I could think of few other labels to call her if I described who we were standing by.
We got into the bar and both Liesl and I had to go to the bathroom. This was the first time for me in almost in an hour. My bladder was really playing in the big leagues tonight. The place was packed. I have record time for going to the bathroom, [not quite clear] so I figured I had at least fifteen minutes to **** before Liesl was back into the bar. I spotted my friend Leiah and her friends on the dance floor. I made a round of heartfelt “hellos” but then was approached by a friend of my friends who was a having a little more fun than I was at that point. She decided to pull me up to the dance stage. I have been to Wiley’s plenty of times to know that guys aren’t allowed up there. I expressed this to her over and over again. She had a scary grip on my arms, like the arms of an Amazon woman. She wasn’t going to let me leave. All I could think of was poor Liesl trying to find her way back out of the bathroom. I begged and pleaded with this girl to please let me go, and to please let me find Liesl. She slurred with a mad glaze, “I know your type! I know you! You’ll leave and never come back! Never!” I promised her over and over again I would, sacrificing my dance floor life to rescue Liesl, until finally she released me and I saw Liesl’s wise eyes searching for me!
After all that Wiley’s got pretty boring, and we were having difficulty getting a drink. There was no sight of MYS and Liesl and I made the impulsive decision to leave. We were finding nobody to kiss. We were searching for cab numbers to call. We randomly, and probably more stupidly, decided to go outside to make a call (Liesl would say it was more my decision).
I felt like I was stranded on a desert island and I saw the first ship when I spotted a big white van loaded people inside of it on Main Street! I screamed, “Do you take people?”
A man replied, “Where are you going?”
I shouted back, “Tinner’s!” This was where some of my other friends were, but more than likely not MYS.
He replied, “Hop on In.”
And we were on what I eventually found out but had a major hunch was a cab. I mean I coulda been headed to Serbia for all I know. We felt a bit safer when we saw the guy we had met in the bathroom hallway earlier debating what to do. He said to Liesl and me, “If we wanted to screw (but with a harsher term) there was utility closet nearby.”
As it turned out Logan knew some people from our hometown and we chatted while his “special” friend growled at him to “shut up” all the way down to Tinner’s. When we got there Liesl and her minor league bladder headed to the bathroom and I found my other friends. G asked me, “How did you get here?”
I replied, “I don’t know. We hopped in a van and I gave some guys five dollars and they took us here.”
G replied, “That’s called a taxi.”
I answered, “Oh.”
Liesl and I ended up sitting in three different spots at the bar not quite recalling how or why we did. I was having a heart-to-heart with our next ride, when I realized something I did earlier.
I remembered how for so long my Dad told me never to drink a drink that was set down and something that wasn’t yours, as he was afraid of all the things that could have been put in there these days. Well, Dad, tonight was the night that I did just that.
I “sampled” a drink that was left at the booth we sat at. I wasn’t sure if was a beer or mixed drink, And while I’m not proud of this on many counts, including several sanitary. I realized that if somebody really wanted to roofie me, little old me, with this drink, they would have had to know that I was going to sit down at the booth, be gross enough to sample something that wasn’t mine, and to still be in the bar. That person would have really wanted to be with me, but then again all stalkers do, and usually don’t have that much going on so they could have come up with an elaborate plan and know that I become a hot mess sometimes, and that they wouldn’t be completely out of the ball park. Or I could have the bad luck of finding a table where somebody was trying to date **** somebody. In that case Liesl could have an after party at my apartment similar to “Weekend at Bernies!” I so I would certainly hope to be haphazardly arranged to dance to the Cupid Shuffle. So I’m sorry, Dad, yes this was the night I could have gotten roofied by doing everything you said I shouldn’t do!
And no I never saw MYS. But I did cop a feel accidently with a pole at Perkins!
3:Still Single Under the Mistletoe
This Christmas was pretty normal. Nobody started on fire. Nobody went into the ditch. Nobody was trying to chase a gallant heard of elk. Nobody was flying six feet through he air off a sled pulled by a four-wheeler over a snowbank. Nobody got drunk. And nobody almost had his or her heads cut off by a snowplow. Nobody got proposed to. All of which has happened in the past.
Yes. Pretty normal. Even after Christmas was over I decided to extend the success of it all and do a bit of shopping the day after it ended. It also worked out since you know I have nothing else going on being unemployed or underemployed. I’ve dared out on many Black Fridays but I don’t recall celebrating Capitalism’s second biggest holiday in the past. There were more than few fellow shoppers out and about this morning. Things turned out decently enough except for one little thing: Valentine’s Day.
For God’s sake I haven’t even finished digesting the last of my Christmas cookies, and they already have Valentine’s cards and decorations in the store. And just when I thought, “Gee, this was really a great Christmas,” I am reminded that, “no, I didn’t celebrate with anybody ‘spcheial’ and obviously I won’t have anybody for Valentine’s Day more than a freakin month a way!” I think of Christmas as a family holiday, but when you begin to harass it with Valentine’s Day I wonder if it would’ve been nice to have somebody.
I mean on one hand being single has made be fairly flexible (get your mind out of the gutter). I went from car to car this weekend like I was transporting drugs out of Mexico. I spent last Friday night with old friends in Minnesota. This included a spectacular supper at Applebee’s. Like any great relationship Applebee’s likes to change itself, in its case the menu, every so often, making it more appealing to me and making me more willing to go back. (Maybe that’s my problem right there) Saturday I spent Christmas with my parents and my dad’s family. Sunday I played games and did some outdoor activities at the ski lodge. Monday I played piano at the nursing home’s Christmas Eve services. And Tuesday was spent with my mom’s side in Iowa in a recreation room of the hospital where my Grandma, who had just broken her arm, is staying. But through all of it, I still remained single.