Lost and...nope still lost

I've done my fair share of traveling, moving and adjusting in the past year or so. I spent time in Orange City, moved "home" to Lincoln, took road trips over the summer, flew to Newark, flew to Derby, day-tripped to Nottingham, flew to Barcelona, flew to La Roche Sur Yon, spent time in Oxford, got stranded in Newark, moved "home" to Lincoln, flew to St. Louis, and then remained for the most part in Lincoln.

Each time that I relocate I need to reorientate, which usually means getting lost. It doesn't matter if I'm on foot, in a car, on a bike or taking public transportation. Maps sometimes but not always make a difference. I figure out how to get from A to B by necessity, sometimes in great panic and often with much frustration. Kansas City, I find is no different.

My first week in my new neighborhood I wanted to go for a run. I had someone draw me a map with a few different routes. I studied it. It seemed simple enough. Moments later I went out and got lost. This happened for weeks. In fact, it still happens. The same is true of driving. I pull up google maps, study where I am and where I'm going, write down the directions that magically appear in the left-hand margin of my screen and proceed to attempt to follow them. And then I get lost.

I got lost going to Shakespeare on the Green and ended up pulling into a driveway where a bunch of college kids appeared to be hanging out on a Sunday night. I got lost getting back to KC from Edgerton (where we had middle school camp) and after 30 minutes of trying to navigate the rolling hills of Kansas decided to pull into a farm and ask for directions. "Where are you trying to go?" the friendly woman in the oversized red sundress asked me. "I was trying to get onto 435" I replied. "Well you're quite a ways away from there. Do you still want to get to 435?" she asked. "I just want to go home," was my rather pathetic response.

I'm continually frustrated by the signs (or lack there of) on Kansas City high ways and interstates (and the fact that they refer to the highway as "69 highway" and not "highway 69"). I never know if the sign is going to be just before, just at, or just behind the correct exit, and thus usually end up anywhere but where I want to be. I also must waste an awful lot of fuel and time. I'm not sure, because I don't yet know how long it's supposed to take me to get anywhere. I'm frustrated, but I'm learning. I've done this before. Eventually I'll know where I'm going. I'll even know the short cuts. 

I'm starting to think that my adult life it just going to follow this pattern. Finding a car, applying for jobs, locating an apartment - all of these things that I don't know how to do because I've never done them before - I'll figure it out eventually. I just wish there were an easier way. That someone could mail me detailed instructions on how and where to find a reliable and reasonably priced vehicle the way my dad mailed me a map of Kansas City this week. I'd ask for directions on how to get from where I am to a place where I'm employed and doing something I'm actually qualified to do, but I don't think that such things exist. I'm pretty sure there has to be an easier way than hopelessly scanning craigslist - some sort of short cut to getting life figured out, but until I figure out what it is I'll probably just keep wandering, meandering and hoping that eventually I'll find my way.

Her friends call her "Snot Rocket"

June 12 was my first "weekend" in Kansas City. The family I'm living with went out of town. Ellen - the only person I already knew with a residence in the area - was still in Nebraska. I had only been in town for three days and wasn't quite sure if I was up to "going out" by myself (with my luck and sense of direction I probably wouldn't have made it back).

Lucky for me, my youth director, Bill, asked if I wanted to go into the city with he and his wife for the night. Being that I was home alone I was even invited for dinner. Excellent. It's not so bad to be new, and ignorant, and completely down for whatever anyone else suggests just because it means you won't be by yourself. It led me to one cross-cultural contest I won't soon forget.

Prior to our evening outing, Bill suggested checking out the Thai noodle shop and satay bar called Lulu's - a delicious choice of which I quickly approved. There was curry and coconut milk, sticky rice, bamboo and tofu. How could I go wrong? In the time that it took to fully savour the sweet spiciness of my dinner, I was able to share the short story of what brought me to Kansas City. I realized, once again, that I don't really know what I'm doing here or what I hope to be doing once my summer gig is up, but that's starting to be a pretty standard and completely honest answer - I just don't know.

The three of us swapped stories about traveling adventures and family quirks and discovered a shared delight in good wine and exotic foods. I was informed of local vineyards and promised to guide them through an Indian meal at some point. I began to dream of other dining delights in Kansas City. But just as my cultural snobbery was about to get the better of me I remembered the main event of the evening - the roller derby.

Roller derby (for those of you who know better than to educate yourselves on such things) is "an American-invented contact sport —and historically, a form of sports entertainment— based on formation roller skating around an oval track, with points scored as two individual players (designated as "jammers") lap members of their opposing teams whilst both teams play offense and defense simultaneously." At least that's what wikipedia says. What it doesn't tell you is that going to a roller derby is akin to going to a rodeo. You walk in the arena and realize that you "aren't in Kansas anymore," or maybe you realize that you are and that Kansas is just a little strange. This picture gives you a pretty good idea of what the it looks like. Add to it long-haired rednecks, a truly dreadful "rock" band, several stands of ice cold beer, derby groupies, a number of bemused fans and a handful of tools (the human kind), and you get a better idea of the atmosphere.

Each skater goes by a sort of alias. KC examples include Tuff Noogies, Extremely Frank, Annie Maul, and Bruz-her. The Kansas City Roller Warriors, the self proclaimed "angry, mutant love child" of skaters Dirty Britches and Princess Anna Conda, have been around for six years now and are broken up into four teams - The Black-Eyed Susans, The Dreadnought Dorothys, The Knockouts and the Victory Vixen. (Click here for photos) Typically the teams skate with (or rather against) each other at home, and travel to compete against other teams. The night that I went to the derby, however, I lucked out. It was All Star Night and the KC girls were hosting Northwestern Arkansas (yep, Arkansas). 

The night started with a brief introduction to derby conduct and scoring, aided by a nifty little comic in my program. It didn't take long to get the gist of what has going on, and relatively soon into the match I was able to pick out the jammers and the pivots and figure out who was scoring. 

If I hadn't picked up on it right away, I certainly hope I would have by the time that the first half was over and the KC girls were leading by 100 points. (For those of you unfamiliar with roller derby this is an insane number of points, think volley ball scores perhaps).  And that was the B team. 

When the all stars themselves were up (following a half time in which Boulevard Pale Ale totally schooled Boulevard Wheat in a skate off and a number of uninhabited onlookers decided to race each other around the roller rink) I thought we might see a little more excitement.

Though the best of Arkansas gave a little more fight in the first few rounds, they were no match for Track Rat (formerly known as Rat Bastard) and Snot Rocket, recently returned after giving birth to her first child. These jammer favorites scored big, and the KC team as a whole out-skated Arkansas to the point that we left early. 

I was a little disappointed at the lack of competition, but completely satisfied with my derby experience. Strangest sight of the night was probably the cohort of derby husbands who walked around in hot pink hot pants, tiny tight white t-shirts and flashing bunny ears. Bill thinks they must be compensating for something.

As we were walking out of the arena a dance recital was simultaneously being let out of the music hall. I watched as well-dressed attendees paraded down the stairs and click-clacked into the warm evening. I thought about the juxtaposition of cultures and wondered which was more "authentic" - the girls in baby pink tights, crisp white tutus and satin laced toe shoes or the girls in fishnet hose, hot pants and roller skates? To some extent I suppose they're not that different in their desire to entertain, to engage their bodies, to train, to develop another "self" either on stage or in the arena. Gracefully executing an arabesque through a corp of prima ballerinas may seem the antithesis of ploughing through a pack of hefty chicks in knee pads and helmets, but I'd like to think there's some similarity.

Can't Help...

...loving that man of mine.

If you caught that musical theatre reference (a tune from the broadway production Showboat), then you'll probably understand why I've chosen to name this blog "Everything's Up to Date." If not, check out this link from the musical Oklahoma.

I attempted to come up with something else that would be catchy or clever, but every time I thought about Kansas City I couldn't help but start singing this song in my head. Thus, it became the title of this blog.

Here's the deal: I'm a post-graduate single young adult with a BA in Writing and rhetorical studies, minors in psychology and adolescent studies and youth ministry, TEFL certification, loads of interests, a passion for other cultures and no real direction in life. Basically, I graduated from college but I don't really know what I want to be when I grow up. I spent three months taking online courses to learn to teach English, four months teaching English to immigrants and refugees in the middle of England and five months working in a bakery and waitressing at an Indian restaurant while trying to find jobs elsewhere.
In a very round about way I ended up finding and taking a position as a summer youth worker at a church in Kansas City, a place I'm planning to call home for the next 11-14 months. I don't have plans beyond that point and am quite convinced that anything could happen. I might find a full-time job as a writer. I might join the Peace Corp. I might become a hired escort until I make enough money to buy a plane ticket to Italy. Who knows?

The purpose of this blog is not to divulge the day-to-day duties of a youth worker, give descriptive details of the layout of my new house, or provide character sketches of my co-workers. It exists to entertain, inspire and update. It may even amuse. If nothing else it will give you a small glimpse of my version of life in Kansas City.

Unexpected Familiarity

Last week I moved to Kansas City. I had intended to purchase and pack up a new (to me) car and come down by myself, but my plans were over ambitious. (Note to self: 10 days is not adequate time to locate, inspect, purchase and update a reliable, low-cost vehicle - especially when working over 40 hours a week). Luckily my parents had friends to visit in the KC area and agreed to hop in their van drive down with me (and the '93 Pontiac Grand Am that I drove when I was in high school).
I felt a bit like I was being dropped off at college for the first time. My dad made sure I was paying attention to the roads on which I was driving as my mom commented on house nice my new neighborhood was. They helped me move in my bins of clothing and boxes of books, remarked at the size of my new room and generally hovered about as parents tend to do in such situations.
Later on, the three of us ventured to Target and as we were driving my mom took note of stores and restaurants we passed. "Oh look there's a Macy's!" "They have a Macaroni Grille, Amanda." I think she was trying to reassure herself as much as me, that the place I had moved to would be just fine. "There's a Walgreens in case you need to get something there; and a Twister's just across the street."
And then it came - "Amanda! There's a HyVee right on the corner!"
"Oh HyVee," I thought "will you never cease to haunt me?"

Two days later I was coming home from church/work (I now work at a church in case you didn't catch that), and decided to try taking the highway. I'm still getting used to navigating Overland Park and have a pretty shoddy sense of direction as it is. I stopped at Verizon where I spent 40 minutes waiting to find out they couldn't move my old phone book to my other cell phone. I then attempted to find a place where I could pick up a few extra ingredients I needed for dinner that night. I missed the turn for Walmart. I pulled into a second strip mall, but the only grocery options were Dollar Tree and Walgreens. It was about 4 pm. My car has no air conditioning. The humidity in KC has been about 80% all week. My inability to pick up a jar of capers, two zuccini, fresh parsely and 10 ounces of mushrooms was beginning to get to me.
I maneuvered in and out of two more strip malls before finding my way back to 135th and Antioch. And there it was like a beacon in the night - HyVee. I pulled off the road and found a spot in the parking lot. I walked into the store and appreciated the familiar layout, the well-labeled aisles and trust-worthy produce. "This," I thought, "is why chain stores succeed."
I located the items I had come for, checked out and proceeded to go "home," surprisingly reassured to have HyVee close by.