To answer your initial questions about my relocation to the Heartland of America in Kansas City, Mo. — there is snow on the ground, the high today is 16 degrees, and yes, it feels like my nipples have fallen off.

I’ve been schlepping around this town for the last two weeks in a pair of used moon boots from Goodwill, making do with the few winter accessories I acquired in Charleston and bundling up like an Inuit soccer mom. Needless to say, my Russian-style Ushanka hat complete with fake fur and earflaps doesn’t exactly scream, “Come and get it, boys!” So to answer your final question, no I haven’t met anyone who makes me smile downstairs yet.

When I informed my favorite fellow media gal-pal about my move to the Midwest, she exclaimed, “Y’know the ratio of guys to girls there is, like, five to one. You’re so gonna get laid!” Honestly, getting “laid” in Chucktown was never a problem — finding someone who didn’t annoy or bore me after 24 hours, and vice-versa, was. Even so, it will be nice to have a fresh pool of potential candidates to choose from. Just not right now.

Learning the ins and outs of a different city and job is strange enough, but doing so as the female counterpart with my radio morning show male cohost adds a whole new layer. My old friend and current cohost (former 96 Wave personality Dick Dale) and I have been forced to experience this new wacky adventure together on an intense, almost incestuous level. We practically live together with our side-by-side hotel rooms, we work together, eat together, get drunk together, look at houses together — it’s like we’re an old married couple, which is a pretty accurate description since there’s no sex involved. I can’t even count the number of times that we’ve been mistaken for an item since we flew in on the third. So not only is he cramping my style with the opposite sex, at the rate we’re going, we’re going to end up pulling a Real World — either fightin’ or fuckin’. Of course, something tells me that his girlfriend wouldn’t really appreciate the latter.

Another unusual aspect of being introduced to a new town while at the same time introducing yourself to its citizens on a very public level is the boldness of the male listeners in their cyber-pursuit of yours truly. I haven’t been on the air one week and already I’ve received a handful of e-mails from interested men offering to take me out and show me around downtown KC. Don’t get me wrong — I’m flattered, but at the same time utterly creeped out by their vague intentions. Who has the cojones to blindly ask a random voice on the radio out? Crazy date rapists. That’s who. Thanks, but no thanks.

The unfamiliar bizarreness of the Midwest makes me long for the chummy ease of Charleston, its mild climate and fantastic locals, but at the same time I can’t help but be a little exhilarated by the leap of faith into the unknown. With my trusty confidant in the room next door, I blindly move forward with the comforting knowledge that if I ever fall backwards, I’ll always have a soft place to land.

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