Things are happening!

I know I have been lack in my blogging! That is what happens when I am blogging on my favorite holiday, FIBERUARY at www.fiberuary.com

But as Fiberuary winds down, my next favorite, not made up holdiay is gearing up, Women's History Month which this year I am celebrating with a show: Women's History Month: The Historical Comedybration (with fabulous prizes) check it out at www.comedybration.com

Celebrate!

Open Letter to The Fancy Grocery Store

Dear Grocery Store Employee Who Bagged My Purchases Today,

Hello sir, I'm sure you recognize me. I am the woman who purchases grocery store sushi from your establishment about once a week or so. You, of course, being a competent and valued part of the Lund's Grocery Store experience certainly strive to exemplify the class, expertise and helpfulness that Lund's prides itself on.

I always enjoy a trip to Lund's. I am aware that the extra money I pay on the inflated prices on all things is paying for the artfully merchandised produce section, the constant samples of free cheese and the absence of a self-check out lane. Your store has an olive bar, Himalayan rock salt and of course, my favorite place, the ready to go sushi.

I always enjoy standing over the selections of rolls and nigri that your sushi chefs make each day. I appreciate the care in which the chef drizzles spicy sauce in a clever zigzag and each roll dotted with the perfect amount of fish row or crushed wasabi peas.

Thank you for understanding that my addition to grocery store sushi saves me time and money every time I jones for raw fish, helping me to dash in to your store rather than belly up by myself to the closest sushi bar. You provide me a quick, easy, portable fix.

With all of this convenience and knowledge that you provide the public, why is it then upon check out you make a metaphorical "You can suck it!" to my patronage of your store? I understand that packing groceries is an art, but I wonder if there is a special masters certificate in the proper way to place a container of delicately prepared sushi into a paper bag? I would think that the sushi must lay flat in the bag, not on the side nor on it's end to prevent the nicely lined up rolls from falling into each other and creating a sushi slush party. That is just what I would assume would be the correct way. But the style you displayed today was that you filled the bag full of bananas first and then slide my delightful sushi container standing on it's end. Which of course meant that zigzags of eel sauce and spicy mayo became a graffiti of condiments as the rice and cucumbers joined a mosh pit of particles. It no longer looked like beautiful sushi, but instead, it was that scene in Trainspotting, you know the one don't make me describe it, but it involves a toilet.

Please correct me if this is the proper way to present sushi. I feel like I do have experience the matter, due to my uncontrollable addiction to all sushi, hence my constant need to a quick hit from the Lund's grocery store.

So stop putting the sushi in the bag on it's end. You wouldn't do that with a cake, would you? Sushi is the same principle. I am more than willing to come in and teach a class on the proper way to pack sushi in a grocery bag, you can pay me in grocery store sushi.

Sincerely,

Heather Meyer

Something in Memphis

It's Monday! I've missed two blog posts this weekend.

Because I am in Memphis and Memphis becomes a time warp. I forget the days, I have limited access to internet and I am bombarded with 30 sec snippets of all the broadway songs professional actors have to offer.

Plus I ate gater chili nachos and a fired baloney sandwich yesterday. Things are pretty something.

I will return to MN tomorrow. Then things will be something

Historical Donuts: sidebar

Remember my donut essays? Well this isn't an essay just a sidebar on the donut if my life.

Today I stood over free donuts and debating. Why? There was only one filled donut. That is the one I was going to get. But instead if selecting that pastry, I went through the trouble of opening the other box as if it held better surprises. In fact the other box contained fewer and no filled donuts. I wasted time doing that and risked other people taking the last filled donut.

But don't worry I pushed aside the dude eyeing my mystery filled donut( man, I wish that was a euphemism) and grabbed it. The lemon goodness was mine.

Lesson learned: don't waste donut time.

Airport smells!

The Memphis airport smells like barbeque. It is the best smelling airport in the world. All airports should smell like the cuisine of the area. Minneapolis would smell like.....Jucy Lucys........knephla soup.....that rotten lye fish dish all the Scandavians talk about at holiday time....maybe this isn't such a good idea.

Post title.

Blog post! Blog post. Blog post.
Read between the lines.
Blog post. Blog post. Blog post.
There is nothing between the lines.
Blog post. Blog post. Blog post.
Lazy lazy type
Blog post. Blog post. Blog post.

FRINGE 2013

I now know what I will be working on until August.

Last night the ping pong ball with my number on it was pulled from it's cage at the right time to give me a spot in the festival. I had never been so surprise. Sure, I've been in the fringe before, but I have never been in the room when the balls are drawn. For being a totaly random lottery, there is a lot of suspense and hoping and willing the balls to say your and your pals numbers. I was actually looking at my phone when I heard 2  9  6  it took a split second and I reacted "I think that's me!" And it was!

I am so excited. I've really wanted to do this project since it laid an egg in my brain a while ago and I knew the MN fringe was the perfect place for it.

My MN Fringe 2013 show RT + MPLS: The Legend of RT Rybak. It's about our Mayor, it's going to be amazing and so much fun!

I know this because I have already had a blast not working on it but just pretending it exists.

Adventures in Criminalogy: Part 1

It would be pretty dramatic if I could start this blog post with "The last 24 hours have been the something, something of my life."

That would be super impressive, right?

But I can't start it with that.

Because it is more like the last 30 hours have been the something, something of my life.

Why? You ask.

Well yesterday, I had a simple plan to not watch the Super Bowl and instead have a photo shoot for Women's History Month: The Historical Comedybration (with fabulous prizes) and the go see Theatre Pro Rata's current scary, video gamey play, Neighborhood 3: Requisition of Doom.

However, plans changed. As they do.

Especially when the pal that was the model for the photo shoot and your date to the play gets mugged at gunpoint on the way to my apartment!

Yeah, take a moment. Read that again. One more time. Alright, now you can keep reading.

So that happened. She arrived at my place and called the police. From the 911 operator, we quickly learned there was a string of similar muggings last night as well. The police were on these dickheads tail.

However, this blog post is not going to be about that. I am going to make it about my cat. (I'll write about my adventures as a amater CSI agent tomorrow [maybe]).

But first, a cop had to come over to my apartment to interview my friend. I met the officer at the door and led him to my apartment where my friend awaited.

For a moment full of tension and urgency, the first thing the police officer said as he was frozen in the doorway of my apartment was "Whoa, that is a big cat."

Which is right. I know my cat is large. But this is a Minneapolis Police Officer, he must have seen scary things than a 16 lb tabby cat.

Unless that tabby cat looks like a kick ass kingpin like mine does. Look at that photo, am I right or am I right?

But the thing is, the officer's first response was to comment on my cat, not address the mugging victim that was standing in my apartment. Granted, my apartment is currently strewen about with seven hula hoops, a rubber chicken and a scary clown painting, so sure comment on my giant feline maybe was the only thing he could do when faced with some sort of Uptown circus apartment that Minneapolis's latest mugging victim had found herself in.

But once again, my charming feline roommate has found a way to make someone else's mugging be about him. As the interview between police o and victim, my large cat wound his way between there feet mewing with approval or diapproval at the retelling of a crime by punk as kids.

What really got us was, when the officer confided that these little jerks were robbing people all over the city and every minute counted when they were just one step behind catching this little pricks. That even the fact that my pal had left THE LOCATION WHERE SHE WAS THREATENED WITH A GUN, and came three block over to my place added minutes to the search. Then why did the officer take the extra seconds to comment on my cat's size? That is wasting precious crime-fighting time. Batman never takes a moment to share his opinions on stranger's pets. You know why? BECAUSE CRIME DOESN'T LAY (down to sleep that is.)

So there we have it. I have a large enough cat that will cost police officers pause and therefore cost them time in solving crimes. It's CSI fat cat.

Yes!

Women's History Month: The Historical Comedybration (with fabulous prizes) now has website!

www.comedybration.com

Check it!

Don't Tell My Mom: Part 2

I called AAA today. They are the best investment of my life. However, they also thought my car just needed a jump so they came out with a 'light duty' truck, not a tow truck. So now I am waiting for the tow to come to pull my car to the doctor. Because, I sometimes am thoughtful, I called the car doctor in advance to let them know my car will be coming to them within the hour (or at least that is what AAA says will happen.)

The waiting is continuing......

Don't tell my mom: Part 1

I grew up in the frozen plains of North Dakota.

I know how to do winter.

It's in my DNA.

It has been hammered in to my bones.

My mother is a constant stream of helpful winter tips.

But I failed her.

I am so embarrassed. Last night, my gas light in my car came on. I forgot to fill my car. This morning, no car movement. Of course, winterwoodswoman that I am, I thought it needed a jump. Forutnatlye, as things are with jumpstarts, my neighbor offered a hand. I had the cables she had the car. But electricity was not what my car needed, as evidenced by the radio blasting 'Call Me Maybe" during the non-start. Then it hit my head like an some sort of simile that is both funny and thematicly appropriate: my fuel lines were frozen.

Now all you non-winterers will think this "Gas doesn't freeze, genius. At least not at -14 below." I tell you what, gas doesn't freeze but fuel lines do, that's why you are supposed to put Heet or other fuel anti-freezing fuel supplements in your car. I know this because every Christmas my mom puts two bottles in my stocking.

But I hadn't put the Heet in my car. And I was on E. My car is cold and it does not want to wake up. So after hitching a ride to far away work and back, I still don't have a running car. Because it is still cold! I wanted to check on my car during the warmest part of the day, you know, with the sun shining on it and all, but since the warmest part of the day today was 5 degrees, it probably wasn't going to work. I am holding out hope for tomorrow when the high is supposed to be 19.

I have failed my winter genome. Don't tell my mom.