betsy oslund

Nostalgia has been the definition of my thoughts this summer. Even though I jumped on a plane and ran away from my past with my hands in the air the day I graduated, I am beginning to wish I could make everything go back to how it used to be. I hate to see people change, move on, and disappear. The innocent have become wild. The wild have become lame. And the lame have become forgotten. Change is inevitable. Change is bittersweet.

But at least in a small town, the rate of change tends to hesitate. Its like everyone in those places hangs on a little longer to their past. I love how I can go back to all the lame events I went to every summer of my life since I can remember and they are still exactly the same...its like they are stuck in time and have no desire to modernize with the rest of the world.

Here is your example, Mr President... Few weeks back, I was dragged to the Cambridge-Isanti parade once again this year by my sweet friend BlairZ and I swear the floats still have the same gum stuck to the bottom of the tires and the same streamers hanging from their signs. You know you have a close-knit town when you know every other person by name and birthday in the parade lineup and can remember the multiple times you walked down main-street yourself in some ridiculous outfit. Candy fights. Sweaty trumpet players. Single ballot politician soccer dads.

Isanti-county rodeo…usually the death of my summer since my overly peppy, hometown pride filled friends always convince me to go since it seems to be the event of the summer for them. Not a fan of cowboys, animal "rounding up", or country music BUT when mixed with your little friend Mr. Jack Daniels everything seems a bit "tolerable." Tolerable to the point that I danced + literally swinging around with strangers all night to yee-haw, woot-te-do music and was even sporting some random creeper's cowboy hat at one point. I make looking foolish look fun. Dirty spurs. Yelping. Hicks coming out of the woodwork for a chance in the spotlight.

Life lesson: nobody suspects any bad behavior from a girl who is sipping out of a little blue bear tippy cup...little do they know whats really in that cup hehe.

Summer here = cabins, lakes, and camping out. Screw the glitz and the glamour of the city…there's no time for that from june-september. My regained sanity was a result of summer picnics, boat-rides, laying out on the lake, etc. etc.

Oh and I met my new lover "Da Broom" at some bar in Wisconsin, he won my heart after he bought me a few (too many) shots and told me he made $60,000 a year playing Santa Claus at the mall…now that's my kind of man!

The rest of these picures are from the night in which me + a bunch of friends went to an outdoor concert and were forced to take shelter under a bridge with like a million people when a tornado came right above us. Strong winds + violent rain + people running + screaming = Betsy sitting down and huddling under a pink+blue heart umbrella in the middle of the crowd hoping she doesnt die. Lets just say we celebrating long + hard after we made it home hours later...so long+ hard that I ended up wearing the football helmet of the guys apartment we stayed at for a portion of the evening...guess I shoulda been a football star...

everybody dies famous in a small town.

everybody dies famous in a small town.

everybody dies famous in a small town.