Come 2020, all Minnesotans will need a MN REAL I.D. for domestic travel and entry to federal facilities. Obtaining this card is a bit more complicated than just driving to your local DMV and signing up. To simplify, here are the 10 easy steps to getting your MN Real I.D.
1. Go to the DMV two weeks before your license expires like an organized, responsible adult.
You’re so ahead of the game!
2. Realize that you don’t have the four additional documents necessary to prove your identity and obtain The Real I.D.
Shoot! Hey, you only sat down for five minutes. No biggie. Live and learn.
3. Carefully research The Real I.D. requirements.
DMV dot com, baby!
4. Return to the DMV, documentation in hand.
Like a boss.
5. Wait in line (boo) feeling pretty pleased with yourself (yay!).
You officially have your shit together, and it’s all folded up in this little ziplock bag.
6. Hold back tears as the DMV employee tells you that what you have is an F1004 form, not a W2.
“Oh, but my social security number is there at the top.”
7. Redirect anger feeling towards DMV employee to the bureaucratic state.
It’s not her fault, it’s not her fault, it’s not her fault.
8. Melt down in the DMV parking lot.
9. Give up.
10. Eventually rise from the ashes a stronger person, humbled, patient, capable of distinguishing between a W2 and an F1004. Cry, this time happily, as the DMV employee hands you your substitute I.D. You haven’t felt so accomplished since your college graduation. Leave the DMV triumphant like Will Smith at the end of Pursuit of Happyness. You did it. And in the end, you have to thank the state for everything it put you through. The highs, the lows–they all made you a better person. Thank you, Minnesota.
Grand Rapids, MI–Overcome with awe and nostalgic flashbacks to middle school dances, area woman Lizzy Banks yelled “OHHHH!” as each new song on Spotify’s “Guilty Pleasures” playlist pulsed through her friend’s car speakers while the two drove across town yesterday. Car driver and friend to Banks reported that he initially thought the yells were some indication of the song’s quality, but quickly realized that she reacted the same way to every song that started playing without exception, even to objectively bad songs like “London Bridge” by Fergie. “When she asked if she could DJ, I thought she might be taking requests,” Banks’ friend remarked. “She did not.” Sources confirmed that later that evening at the club, Banks yelled “OHHHH!” with each new song the DJ played, though when she didn’t hear her request, she drunkenly berated the DJ until he agreed to put on “Sk8er Boi.”
Families around the nation are reeling from a catastrophic weekend that claimed the lives of 1.2 million innocent boyfriends, and now victims’ loved ones are demanding that Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again answer for its crime.
“He told me before he left for the theater that he was confident enough in his masculinity to see it, so I am comforted to know that when his time came, he was not afraid, not in pain,” James Upton, who lost his brother to Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, stated at a vigil to honor the fallen yesterday in New York City. His words echoed the refrain of so many who lost loved ones in the opening weekend: they tried to dissuade their loved ones from putting their lives in danger, but they soldiered on, eager to please their girlfriends.
Experts are stating that the combination of kaleidoscopic colors and sequins, feel-good sing-along tunes, and a sentimental, fairy tale story arc proved deathly: one of these on its own could trigger minor cardiac arrest, but combined, no mortal man stood a chance. Witnesses have reported that few men made it through the opening number, in which Lily James breaks out in a rousing rendition of “When I Kissed the Teacher” during her valedictorian speech at her Oxford graduation and leads her class, singing and dancing in their regalia, away on bicycles.
“Why the public wasn’t warned about this earlier I’ll never understand,” Upton said through tears, “But I only hope and pray that not one more family has to go through the pain of losing a loved one to Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again.” Chants for Universal Studios to be brought to justice followed his speech as the crowd torched a giant disco ball.At press time, The Center for Disease Control issued a statement urging men not to view this summer flick, as it would almost certainly prove fatal.
Only choosing 8 Insta-worthy spots in Faribault was the hardest. Decision. Ever! But after much deliberation, we’ve settled on the must-see attractions sure to ignite your (and your Insta followers’) wanderlust. Rev up those engines (just like the trucks in Faribault are!) and make this adorable southern Minnesota town a destination on your summer road trip.
Throwback Thursday! Many consider video stores a thing of the past, but this real-life Family Video, located smack dab in the middle of downtown Faribault, is beating the odds and still renting out all the hottest new release DVDs. Your followers are going to be foaming at the mouth with jealousy for this one!
The Faribo Mall Merry-Go-Round
For just 75 cents, you can enjoy a one minute ride on the World’s Smallest Merry-Go-Round. And–life hack!–you can even take a photo on this jaw-dropping attraction for free. Forget your DMs–your Instagram followers will be practically hunting you down and stalking you to your place of work to find out where you found this thing.
The Pet Wash
You simply cannot pass through Faribault without stopping by the Pet Wash. Closed every day of the year, this local hot spot has inspired intrigue and curiosity, making each one of Faribault’s 23,000 residents wonder exactly which season the wash is closed for.
The Faribault Mural
This mural has been ‘grammed nearly as many times as LA’s Pink Wall, and the lines start early here, too. Be sure to arrive before 7:00 AM if you want the place to yourself!
The Signature Bar and Grill
All You Can Eat Cod Dinner Alert! The Signature Bar and Grill is the epicenter of Faribault’s nightlife, bingo, and seafood scene. Stop in Wednesday nights for bingo, Fridays for cod, and enjoy free popcorn and a rockin’ digital jukebox any night of the week. Just don’t be too disappointed if you have to endure 2 hours of heavy metal before Rock Lobster gets played!
4th Street Potholes
Oh, trust us–you’ll know when you hit these! Your car will probably break, giving you the perfect excuse to hop out and snap a pic with what has been called the Crater Lake of Minnesota. No shame in this Insta game!
River Bend Nature Center/Faribault Jail
Adventurous types can enjoy a scenic hike at River Bend Nature Center, but don’t go too far, or you’ll end up at the county jail. On second thought…Do it for the ‘Gram!
I see you standing in the corner. What, you think you’re invisible? Please. No way.
I’ve never seen you at Andy’s place before. I know; I would’ve remembered you. So what’s your story? Why are you hiding in the corner, a pretty thing like you?
A little shy? You shouldn’t be insecure. Sure, everyone here is beautiful. They practically sparkle. They’re intimidating. And yeah, I’ll be honest, you’ve got a different look. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of plain.
Hey, wait! Where are you going? I told you not to take that the wrong way! I mean–you’re simple. Simply beautiful. Beauty in your simplicity, that’s what I mean. And that’s striking. When everyone else is shiny and sparkly, simplicity is striking. And you, my dear, strike me.
Especially because when I look closer, I can see you’re really complex. There’s writing all over you, but if you don’t look carefully, you’ll miss it. I bet a lot of people do that, don’t they? You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?
God, I just want to get to know you! AHHHHhhhhhh!
You don’t talk a whole lot. That’s okay! No worries, no worries. Anyway, I just came over to say hi. And I wanted to say that you’re beautiful. The most beautiful in the room. Anyway, I can see you want to be left alone now. I’m gonna go dance. If you ever get your back up off the wall, come find me.
Ohhhhh! You wanted me to move the desk? Sorry! Got it.
Madison, WI–Exclaiming confidently that “one day she’d deal with that,” area woman Danielle Brook exited out of an email about her retirement fund and proceeded to browse Instagram’s “explore” page for 20 minutes while at work this afternoon. “I just figure that what I really need to do is sit back and let my 401K work for me,” she said. “I shouldn’t touch it too much.” Imagining that it’d be like when she’d write a paper in 10 point font and watch it magically grow when she enlarged it to 12 point font at the end, she assumed that one day decades from now she’d open her account and have plenty of money to retire comfortably. Her Instagram explore page, which featured photos of attractive women on beach vacations, tips about how to exercise the tricep, and videos of drunk college girls falling off tables, kept her blissfully entertained as her retirement fund exploded by $0.02 each month in the background, setting her up to retire by age 130.
“Okay, let’s use our magic powers. Everyone visualize the door opening and how much we’ll laugh when it pops open. Close your eyes. Ready?”
This is not something you want to hear your Airbnb host say.
“We’re doing it!”
This is not something you want to hear yourself saying in response, especially not with sincerity.
Nevertheless, it’s what my friend and I found ourselves doing one fine morning on our road trip. Our home for the night had been an Airstream trailer in our host’s backyard, and now we were stuck. And I had to pee.
Our stay in the trailer had started fabulously. We had hauled our luggage up the stairs, tossed our backpacks into the aisle, and collapsed on a daybed padded with throw pillows. (It was time for our daily siesta, after all!) Our host had explained through our email correspondence that the trailer didn’t have a functioning bathroom, but we could use the restroom in their home. We considered this nothing but a minor issue, especially taking into account how delightful our little spot was. Windows surrounded the bed, allowing the afternoon sun to warm my legs and the baby blue curtains to tickle them as they fluttered in the breeze. Pure bliss!
Unfortunately, my friends, bliss does not a story make.
The next morning, I woke up around 8:00 desperately needing to use the bathroom. I tip-toed over my friend, turned the trailer handle, and pushed.
No problem, I thought. Just push some of these levers. Surveying the locks and buttons on the trailer door, I might as well have been looking at an airplane control panel. There was one metal post sticking out, a “step on” switch (which I could only assume lowered and raised the trailer stairs), and three sliding locks scattered all over the general door region.
I messed with these as quietly as I could, my friend’s peaceful face only inches away from the chaos. I pulled a lock, turned the handle, and pushed and jiggled the door until the whole trailer shook. I walked away (as if trying to fake the door out into thinking it had a break), then ran back at the it, kicking and karate-chopping and throwing my being against it until it shook again and I thought my bladder might give out.
After a few minutes of red-faced, frustrating struggle, I resorted to waking my friend up. Half-asleep, she tried the handle and pushed. “Call our host,” she said, and turned back to sleep.
Twenty minutes later, an ethereal woman with a pile of brunette hair pulled into a giant looping bun walked into the backyard waving her arms. “What happened?” she called. “You’re locked in?”
“I don’t know what happened, but we closed the trailer door and now it won’t open. Maybe there’s some trick to un-jamming it?” I added, trying to not sound like the hysterical idiot I felt like.
“No, this has never happened before, and I don’t have a key,” she said, hands on hips, surveying the scene. She jiggled the handle and pulled, the rocking waking up my friend. That’s when she said it: those fateful words that told me we weren’t getting out anytime soon. “Okay, let’s use our magic powers. Everyone visualize the door opening, and how much we’ll laugh when it pops open. Close your eyes. Ready?”
“We’re doing it,” we responded. And we really were–with gusto. (Our swim coaches used to have our team do this while preparing for big races in high school. The idea wasn’t so different here, right?)
“Shoot,” she said. “Alright, I think there are some keys in the shelves beneath the sink. Why don’t you look there and drop them to me through the hole in the back closet.”
Twenty minutes and lots of rocking later, she surrendered. “My partner is on a bike ride, but he’ll be home in 45 minutes. He’s a man, he has keys; he’ll figure it out.” My friend and I agreed this sounded like a good enough plan and assured her that we had enough air.
Little did she know, air was not the issue. I didn’t want to come right out and admit to this perfect stranger how badly I needed to go to the bathroom, but unfortunately after another half-hour of waiting, I could bear it no longer. Next thing I knew, our hostess was attempting to shove a jar up that same tiny hole in the bottom of the trailer.
Another painful half-hour passed before her partner returned, first trying the keys, then busting out the power drill in attempts to remove the entire door. When that didn’t work, he tried lowering the trailer, but not before he popped up in the window to introduce himself. “Who am I rescuing here?” he asked. “Oh, hi! Nice to meet you.”
Down, down, down went the trailer, and my friend and I exchanged nervous glances as it pitched side to side. Is this really where we’d die? Not in a car accident or a plane crash, but in a tipped Airbnb?
Finally, our hostess decided we could USE THE EMERGENCY EXIT THAT HAD BEEN THERE THE WHOLE TIME, a process that involved nothing more than removing a piece of tape to release the back window’s screen. Whatever. We emerged triumphant but haggard like the rescued Chilean miners, tossing our backpacks out ahead of us and into the garden. Sweet freedom!
Our hostess thanked us for coming and apologized again for the inconvenience. We apologized for breaking her screen, which I suppose is just the Minnesotan in both of us, apologizing for something we really shouldn’t. Overall, I’d still consider our stay a good time, even one of my favorite places on the trip.
I do have to wonder if her guests for that night had to crawl through the back window, though.
I’m curious to hear about others’ experiences with Airbnb. Do y’all love it? Have you had a wild experience? Please, tell me!
Before I sign off, here are just some highlights of the trip, photo-style.