Biking flamingos spotted outside MN State Fair.

Additionally...

Our organization has a Republican National Convention detailed preparedness plan in case of the following:

(I'm not kidding)

• Gridlock
• Security breach
• High-profile guest in building
• Blocked traffic
• Overnight attack
• Broken glass
• Arrested employees
• No parking
• Stalkers
• Medical emergencies
• Bad behavior
• Loss of power
• Loss of Internet
• Technical breakdown
• Loss of cell phone service
• Loss of water service
• Out of control protesting
• Bomb threat
• Fire
• Tear gas
• Terrorist attack

It's going to be an interesting few days...

Good to know, boss.

I'm one of eight videographers on a "street team" for my news organization during next week's Republican National Convention. Two of our managing editors gathered us together for a meeting this week, and here's how they started it.

"We just wanted to let you know... you will likely get arrested."

They quickly assured us it's not necessarily because we'll be doing something wrong, but rather because police often mass arrest people on the streets during times of protest and riot.

"Whatever you do, cooperate," they said. "And don't worry, we have a budget for bail."

Giddy up!

Blind dates are for two.

The thing about setting your friends up on a blind date is…you probably shouldn’t go with.

I have this newly-single, wonderful guy friend. I also have a single and fabulously awesome girl friend. They are both starting to peek their heads into the dating world, but aren’t the type of people that are going to try to pick someone up in a bar. So I decided to throw a pizza party.

And by pizza party I mean the three of us went on a date. Those two, some pizza, a restaurant, and me. Looking back, I shudder at the awkwardness.

The guy and I got there first and I was disappointed to find that the only open table inside of the place shot high-powered beams of sunlight straight into the faces of those facing the window. Unfortunately, the guy decided to sit with his back facing the sun, so that left the poor girl with the decision of whether to wear sunglasses during the dinner, or sweat and squint profusely. She chose the latter.

I sat next to her and started the date off talking about a hilariously entertaining scavenger hunt I had gone on that weekend. We laughed, we ate, there were smiles all around.

But after a few conversation misunderstandings and a clear divide over favored parts of the country, it began to be pretty apparent that the pizza and I had more chemistry than the two of them did. Man was that good pizza.

Many people told me not to go along. But I though it would be less pressure on both of them if it was more of a friend thing. I didn’t realize that my presence there would turn me more into a talk show host than anything else. “So, did you know that Suzie is really into [blank]?” “Well, that’s so funny because Mark was just telling me [blank] the other day…”

It doesn’t help. It does not help to have you there. In no way does it help. I repeat…It did not help to have me there. Don’t do it! Don’t! Resist! Leave them be! Leave the awkward to them!

They can handle it.

It wasn't my tarp!

The three days I went to work last week (as I had Monday and Tuesday off), I chose to ride my bike. In that time, I happened to forget how incredibly treacherous driving to work can be.

Today I was gingerly driving down I-94 in Minneapolis in the kind of traffic I would describe as "manageable", when all of a sudden a large, gray tarp barreled toward my car. I was only about 10 feet behind a car, there was another car right behind me and the lanes to my right and left were not open, so I had no choice but to steer the car directly over the tarp. So I took a deep breath and rolled right over the thing. I felt it underneath my car but when I looked in my rear view mirror, there was NO TARP BEHIND ME. Where was it?!

Soon after, cars behind me started changing lanes. Were they possibly avoiding me? I didn't know how a huge tarp could attach itself to the underside of my car, but when I changed lanes to go in front of a car and then it immediately changed lanes to avoid being behind me, I knew it was unmistakable. Something was going on here.

A couple minutes later this guy drives up next to me and starts yelling something out of his car window. I look backward, and the tarp went flying off the back of my car toward another car. "THERE IS A TARP ATTACHED TO YOUR CAR!!" he was yelling at me. "ARE YOU SURE?!" I said. I motioned for him to look at the back of my car as I drove forward. He gave me the thumbs up, noting that it was gone. "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT WAS!" I screamed at him. "IT WAS A TARP!!" he yelled.

Slowly, people attempted to drive behind me again. Mortified and worried that people would think it was MY tarp, I slunk over to the right lane where I stayed until I sheepishly exited at my stop.

Though on my bike I've been yelled at, hit on, sprayed, rained on, hurled over the handlebars onto rough pavement (twice) and pelted with a swarm of gnats flying directly into my eyeballs, I have to tell you...this would have never happened on my bike.

Coworker email exchange gone wild.

I'm going to be out of town for the next couple of days. So instead of sending the normal "blah blah out of town" email to my coworkers, I decided to spice it up a little. Then this email exchange ensued.

Anna email:
I am off to the cabin I say
To reunite with family and play
I'll come back on tues
Then take a short snooze
Then come to work on wednesday

Coworker email:
The meter's a little bit off...

Anna email:
YOUR METER IS A LOT A BIT OFF!

Other coworker email:
And to all a good night!!

I almost died of Lyme Disease tonight.

My name is Anna. I have a red, itchy, uncharacteristically warm arm that houses something akin to a bull's-eye rash. The rash has produced one large streak that travels from my elbow up to my shoulder. The pain isn't just topical; it has infiltrated my ligaments as well.

After talking with my mom (a nurse) and dad (a doc) about the condition of my arm I called the nurse's hot line of my old student health services. A nurse advised me to go to urgent care tomorrow, and here's what she said when I told her I couldn't go in tomorrow because of a work conflict: "Fine. Then you absolutely have to go tonight." So I did.

As it turns out, my rash that exactly resembles the rash of those suffering from Lyme Disease, is likely not from an insect bite but rather from some bacteria that mysteriously entered my arm. And the streak leading up to my shoulder is the bacteria trying as hard as it can to reach the lymph nodes, which fight off the bacteria.

So don't worry. Although I almost became Irene* from Real World Seattle, I dodged the bullet in the end. Stephen will not be slapping me!**



*Irene's experiences a relapse of Lyme Disease. She eventually moved out of the house, ostensibly over health concerns over the disease, but years later, during a reunion show for the various casts of The Real World, she appeared in a video in which she aired her criticisms of the show and her bitterness regarding her time on it.

**In one of the most dramatic and controversial moments in Real World history, Irene McGee's housemate, Stephen Williams, having been insulted by McGee as she was moving out, stopped her car as she was leaving, opened the passenger side door, and slapped her. Williams was ordered by producers to attend a series of anger management classes, which he is then shown to complete successfully.

Owie.

I fell off my bike.

And by fell off, I mean I was hurled many feet in the air when my back brake graciously decided to stick against the wheel, forcing me over the handlebars and onto the pavement where I proceeded to roll and skid with my bike somehow on top of me, bruising the frick out of my legs.

Here is a gross visual.

Regardless of what it looks like, Wolverine did not in fact have his way with my leg. I'm guessing those four scratches were somehow from the pedal?

I wish I could tell you this was the first time I fell off my bike. But I guess when your pimp ride is a 12-year-old Diamondback Outback, aka The Steel Behemoth, aka piece of crap bike, this kind of stuff happens more often than the average biker would like.
I need a new bike.

I could kill T-mobile.

My phone hasn't rung for months. But you know what? I loved my little pebl. He was cuter than most phones. And you could hold him so easily in your palm. He also snapped open on a hinge, and he would occasionally attract my metal earnings because he had magnets in him. It would be so cute when I had to yank my earring away from his powerful magnetic skills.

But phones need to ring. Vibration doesn’t always cut it. For example, if you’re dead asleep and your fan is on high, you aren’t going to hear that little fricker vibrate, oh no. So it was time for me to get a new one.

I sauntered into my local T-mobile store yesterday to procure my next lil’ buddy. I picked the Motorola W490. The employee who was helping me was excited to get to his golf game, though I secretly rolled my eyes because I had felt the 99 degree weather outside and I knew he would suffer. Little did I realize, I was the one that would soon be suffering.

“Here, let me make sure all of your numbers are on your SIM card,” he said. I told him all the ones that were supposed to be on the card were on there. “Let me just make sure,” he said.

What happened? Well, I’ll tell you. He deleted ALL OF MY PHONE NUMBERS. Gone. No discount. No apology. He just awkwardly told me the (obscene) amount that I owed him for the new phone.

Then I was forced to make a Facebook event inviting everyone I’ve ever known to re-give me their digits, like I’m some sort of incompetent telephone basket case. Let me tell you this. Not having phone numbers that you have always, always had makes you feel completely cut off from the world. And what’s worse…not knowing who is calling you and being forced to say “who is this?” and then endure your callers giggling and saying “guess whoooooo?” all day long.

I burned my butt.

Look. I am in sunny California, and it is beautiful. I went to the waterpark, the ocean, the pool, etc. and enjoyed every moment of it. What has this trip given me, however, besides a slightly worse cold (from all the vino intake) and triple the amount of freckles I started out with?

Answer. One massively defined bikini butt line. We're talking white on red contrast here. As soon as the suit sides end, the red starts. Does anyone have any recommendations for ways to travel via airplane that do not involve sitting?