condenastytraveler-blog

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As a bonus, here is a video CJ took of me living my truest life, dancing to Beyoncé at the aforementioned Pourman's in Milwaukee.

[condenastytraveler-blog]

Did you know its Danny Masterson, not Ashton Kutcher, that yells “Hello Wisconsin!” in That 70′s show?

 Literally, about a half hour after writing my first post, a good friend of mine (who I’ll refer to as CJ for the sake of anonymity) texted me saying “I have my mom’s car and I just want to like drive around…” “I’m fully warning you, we can’t smoke in this car.”

CJ had just been unexpectedly broken up with (ghosted and blocked, to be exact. On International Women’s day, of all days.) and had been driving around Chicago for round about ten hours already, because that’s exactly what you do when you’re in the face of bullshit.  So, I threw on some high waisted shorts, filled a to-go cup with Franzia, and set off for some very low budget Crossroads staring Britney Spears gal-pal adventuring.

 After sight seeing the scenic construction sites, and boat yards they film Mob movies in, that the lower side of Chicago’s downtown has to offer, I lackadaisically suggested we drive to Milwaukee, because, why not?

The drive from Chicago to Milwaukee is an hour and a half, add an extra five minutes if you avoid tolls.  I had only been to Milwaukee twice before, but it always feels like an adventure. It’s fairly different from Chicago. It’s smaller, and strangers talk to you way more. Being from the East Coast originally, this part of midwestern culture is still so strange to me, but I’ve learned to get used to it, and find myself doing it too sometimes.  Originally we had no plan. Then our plan became the luxurious Potowatomi casino (pronounced Pah-toe-wattah-me), which is a large nondescript rectangular building, that looks like it could have offices in it, except at the top left of the structure it has a comparatively small LED screen with a looping video of a flame. We would have gone, had both of us not been so broke, or if we had more self control, and could trust ourselves to go into a casino while broke. We ended up deciding to drive to the part of downtown that CJ used to blackout in when she used to drink. She had to pee like crazy, so we parked, and wandered into the closest bar. It was a cute tiny place called Pourman’s, on N Water st.  The bar has working beer taps in some of the booths, hookah and cigars are available, and if you try to go to their website, you’re directed to a very confusing page in Japanese that might be teaching you how to trap a rat ( http://pourmanspub.com/ ) CJ ran into the bathroom, I stood at the bar waiting to order the only beer I’ve ever had while in Wisconsin. Spotted Cow by New Glarus, it’s cheap, delicious, everywhere, and I’ve been called crazy if I try to order anything else. Less than five minutes in, I’m approached by a friendly group of girls asking me if I’m there alone, because if so, I’m cute and I should join them- which, I truly thought was a “Mean Girls” style trap. I told them my friend was in the bathroom- “Ooh, that’s your friend?”  (and, knowing CJ, there was no question, but I still said)  “Um, maybe? describe her”  “The one who was just broken up with” A simple interaction, that I felt was representative of the city itself. 

 Overwhelmingly, I feel positively towards Milwaukee. I’ve seen Kesha and Bruce Springsteen there, which are my two life heroes, so I literally could never dislike that city.  Unfortunately though, the few times I’ve been there, I’ve also been met with blatant, yet weirdly casual, racism with a sprinkle of sexism. I only say casual, because these men were so non-phased by the gravity of what was actually coming out of their mouths. They spoke as if they were asking you where the nearest grocery store was- but like, if that grocery store were run by the KKK, and sold bakers dozens of hate crimes and probably big guns. Once with a friend, a group of inbred-looking egg creatures followed us down the street, and called my friend the N word.  This time, I was at Ian’s Pizza (which is DELICIOUS, and not just when you’re drunk, and not just for midwestern pizza, it’s actually delicious) an aggressively drunk creature tried to insert himself into my joke about how much I love parmesan, to which I said “yep” and tried to move on with my life. He then said “Am I going to have to call immigration on you and your family?” Gee wizz, stranger, that escalated quickly. I told him that was a very serious thing to say to someone, and he made some comment about loving to offend girls, or some dumb cliché shit that just bummed me out.

We ended our night, because we had to.  Milwaukee doesn’t have four AM bars, and it was closing time. CJ and I wandered so I could have a nightcap, to the only bar that was still letting people in after one AM on a Thursday- Bar None (which we read as Barn One) a dark, closet sized place, also on Water st. blasting metal music. I believe everyone sitting at the bar had died at a Motorhead show in the early nineties, and are just around because the afterlife is way overrated. It was honestly, a perfect way to end the night.

 I attempted to fight it, but I fell asleep on the drive home, like a toddler up past bedtime, but warm and full from beer, and pizza. Driving aimlessly to another state is something my friends and I used to do a lot in high school, so the trip had a vague sense of youth and nostalgia to it. It’s one of my favorite things to do, as much as you love the place you live, I think you need to leave whenever you have the opportunity. This is probably the easiest, and cheapest way to do it.  Never lose those friends who are willing to steal their parent’s car and just drive.

[condenastytraveler-blog]

I’ve missed more flights than I’ve caught on time.

  I was sixteen, flying from New York to Missouri, I found out about the “Flat Tire Policy” most airlines have in place. It states that if you show up to the airport within two hours of your missed flight, they’ll put you on the next available one, usually free of charge. 

It’s been ten years, and I’ve had so many flat tires. 

 I’ve been wanting to start a travel blog for quite a while now. 

(Though in the last three hours since I’ve started trying to write this one short post I have

Cried

Texted two friends for pep talks

Cleaned to procrastinate on writing, which is truly a first

Gone to Walgreens

Anxiety eaten half a large bag of smoky queso popcorn

So, like catching flights on time, I have trouble starting things. )

I find a lot of travel writing fairly stiff. It’s either strictly educational, and lacking in fun, or it’s directed at rich people with straight teeth, straight hair, sun hats, and linen shirts who buy “all inclusive packages” a year in advance. I’m very fun, and very much working at two coffee shops.  I have a lot of ideas for where I’d like this blog to go:  I travel cheaply and uncomfortably, and I feel like tips from my experiences could benefit others. I’ll post receipts from my flights, hotels, and rental cars, and how I went about getting them, in hopes of being informative. I know a lot of really incredible people, in a lot of different places, that I would like to do profiles on, find out how where they live, and where they’ve traveled has impacted them as a person.  I have favorite bars, favorite bathrooms, favorite ceilings, favorite views, favorite places to smoke inside (which is my favorite thing to do) that I’d like to document, probably in list form, to share with people who are equally as enthusiastic as I am. Mostly though, I’m here to sell out. If anyone has a connect to someone who will sponsor me to travel, and write about it- let a bitch know. I’m on this earth to get lost, be whimsical, a little trashy, and live a life lit by neon.