Morning People. Hope you had a lovely week. Even if you didnt, it's Friday, so get excited.
3 years ago, my then boyfriend at the time, now husband and I, decided to go looking for a house. We wanted to stay in Minneapolis if at all possible to remain close to our then current jobs. We looked at 34 houses in/around the city. The ones in our price range all sucked. Most of them were built in 1927 and had pink tiled bathrooms, and wood paneled basement that made me think of a place child molesters probably live. After being repeatedly disappointed, we decided to expand our search to nearby suburbs. We ended up settling in Shoreview, and our life has never been the same. Dont get me wrong, I love being able to leave my purse and GPS unit in plain sight in my vehicle without being absolutely certain I will be returning to a smash car window. I also love all the trails and parks and things that my tax dollars go to towards making Shoreview a nice place to live. But you dont read this blog to hear me say nice things about stuff. So here we go, top 5 reasons suburbs blow:
1) If you are under 40, and answer the door, people assume you are still in high school: Every time we get solicited for new siding or a water heater, or lawn care, both my husband and I are asked "Hi there are your parents home?" Now neither of us may look our respective ages of 26, but really, 18? Do I honestly look like Im about to be a freshman in college? No. No I do not. I have wrinkles. I have a bit of tummy pudge. I have 2 silver hairs--I say silver it makes it sound cooler--that I pluck out of my head every 3 months. So does my husband. We do not look like high schoolers. Also, when I answer the door with a bottle of vodka in one hand, and a twinkie in the other, I think its a safe to assume that we are the ones running the household.
2) If your lawn isnt perfect, your neighbors will hate you: We live in a neighborhood of stay at home moms and retirees. These types of lifestyles allow for endless hours of yard grooming and pondering the difference between Scott's seed brand and Ace High Lawn Fertilizer. I dont have that kind of time. And if I did, I promise you it wouldnt be spent making sure my lawn is cut exactly 2 3/4 inches high. We mow our lawn about once every 3 weeks. Once it goes to seed, we look at each other and say, yeah, its about time to bust out the mower.
2a) If you are a carrier of the dreaded dandelion spore you are the devil: And we have dandelions. Sorry, we do. We sprayed like 4 times, but the asshole to the right of us doesnt give a shit about his yard either and his spores keep blowing into our yard, making us look bad, so we said fuck it, we will just be 'that guy' and bring down the value of the neighborhood exponentially by the number of yellow blossoms visible within our property line.
3) Loud Music, and Fun in general is looked down upon: Unless you are listening to Cool 108, or Radio Disney, your neighbors will think you are trash. My husband and I consistently blare very ghetto rap and hip hop music over our speakers--we even have one of those ridiculous bass amps--at all hours of the day. This usually occurs most frequently on Saturday mornings. Look, sometimes "My Chick Bad" is the only thing I want to hear at that point in time. And I want to hear it loud, and I want the bass to be so sick that it knocks pictures off my wall. Get over it. We bought this house, we do what we want.
4) There aren't any fast food restaurants within an 8 mile radius of our neighborhood: Why is this? To be frank, because fast food and public transportation bring in the riff raff and suburbs dont want that. So by forcing me to drive 25 minutes to get to a damn cheese burger, they can ensure that the undesirables aka the poor, are kept safely away in their cities. Also, where can I get some good sushi, or Thai food, or genuine Mexican cuisine? Not here!! Diversity is scary, never forget it.
5) Watch your language, my kids are outside: I swear a lot. I dont know what else to say. A few of my neighbors swear too, but most dont. And in the summer, Im going to have my windows open. And inevitably, you are going to hear me saying "what the fuck?" "or "no fucking way" and "holy shit!!" when you are in your yard pulling the dandelions that are growing on your fence line after having blown over from my yard. Im sorry. I really am. If I hear your kids outside screaming and shrieking at nothing, I will make a conscience effort to choose my words more fucking carefully.
So why am I still here if I hate it so much? I dont hate suburbs themselves, I hate the idea of them. The reason the city kicks ass is because people expect you to have loud music and weird food that smells funny and not perfect lawn furniture and to hear curse words on occasion. Why? Because thats real life. The burbs are all about perfecting and presenting a certain image. But homie dont play that way. Im thinking of putting a sign in our yard: "Welcome to the Quinns: making you uncomfortable and forcing you to think outside the box since 2007. Holler"
Friday, May 21, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
My So Called B Average Lifestyle
Happy Friday Readers! This is the first time I have seen the sunshine in what feels like a month, so Ive declared it a mandatory good day for all. Carry on.
Last night I started thinking about my life and what I have accomplished in my 26.5 years of existence. I came to 2 realizations. Lets discuss the first one, shall we? We shall. **Side Note** The things Im about to share may at first appear to be boasting, but in fact, will result in self deprecation the further down you read, so hang in there, the self loathing and hearing about me crying myself to sleep at night are just around the bend!
1) In almost every aspect of my life, I am coming in at about a B average ranking. Be it work, athletic ability, home maintenance, appearance, grades, or musical ability, Im probably better than the average person when it comes to execution and results with most of these things in my life. Some real life examples: Athletic Ability-played 3 sports, year round since 5th grade. Made Varsity softball as a freshman, was voted all conference, had the most steals in the conference junior year--go ahead make a Mexican joke, your words cant bring me down you Arizonian bastards. Musical Ability: Was in choir and show choir. Had various solos throughout high school. If I tried out for American Idol, I would make it through the first 3 rounds, no doubt in my mind. Grades: Graduated with a 3.6. Was in Honors English--I know I know, you are like, so impressed right now. Appearance: as my coworker so accurately put it "Maria, you are a high 8, low 9. No way you are a 10. Thats ok, you would hate being a 10 anyways, since you would have to look gorgeous all the time." end transmission.
You can see that, like I said, I've got B written all over me. After coming to this first realization (remember I said there were 2, get ready here comes the next one) I discovered that there is a very simple reason for this. At first I thought that I was just unlucky, or that someone thinks its funny that there are people on earth better than average at a variety of things that will never find suitable employment in this Century because one-man-bands are no longer relevant and dont resonate with the youth like they used to. Then the more I thought about it, the more I realized this:
2) I live a B average lifestyle because Im too lazy to become A+ at any one particular thing. Thats really it. I dont want to put in the hours necessary to become the best for those of us not born with innate A+ talent already--damn you Lance Armstrong and your elephant heart. I dont have enough ambition to become a pro softbll player--as seksi as they all are, or a famous singer, or the first 5 foot 2 inch runway model. I simply dont care enough. Is this sad? Possibly. Do I care? You know I dont!
So I dedicate this post to all of us out there who have ever thought about becoming a professional something, but then realized that it would be way too much work. I hope you spend this Friday afternoon and evening relaxing, and not trying to improve yourself in any way. You are perfect the way you are; slightly above average.
Last night I started thinking about my life and what I have accomplished in my 26.5 years of existence. I came to 2 realizations. Lets discuss the first one, shall we? We shall. **Side Note** The things Im about to share may at first appear to be boasting, but in fact, will result in self deprecation the further down you read, so hang in there, the self loathing and hearing about me crying myself to sleep at night are just around the bend!
1) In almost every aspect of my life, I am coming in at about a B average ranking. Be it work, athletic ability, home maintenance, appearance, grades, or musical ability, Im probably better than the average person when it comes to execution and results with most of these things in my life. Some real life examples: Athletic Ability-played 3 sports, year round since 5th grade. Made Varsity softball as a freshman, was voted all conference, had the most steals in the conference junior year--go ahead make a Mexican joke, your words cant bring me down you Arizonian bastards. Musical Ability: Was in choir and show choir. Had various solos throughout high school. If I tried out for American Idol, I would make it through the first 3 rounds, no doubt in my mind. Grades: Graduated with a 3.6. Was in Honors English--I know I know, you are like, so impressed right now. Appearance: as my coworker so accurately put it "Maria, you are a high 8, low 9. No way you are a 10. Thats ok, you would hate being a 10 anyways, since you would have to look gorgeous all the time." end transmission.
You can see that, like I said, I've got B written all over me. After coming to this first realization (remember I said there were 2, get ready here comes the next one) I discovered that there is a very simple reason for this. At first I thought that I was just unlucky, or that someone thinks its funny that there are people on earth better than average at a variety of things that will never find suitable employment in this Century because one-man-bands are no longer relevant and dont resonate with the youth like they used to. Then the more I thought about it, the more I realized this:
2) I live a B average lifestyle because Im too lazy to become A+ at any one particular thing. Thats really it. I dont want to put in the hours necessary to become the best for those of us not born with innate A+ talent already--damn you Lance Armstrong and your elephant heart. I dont have enough ambition to become a pro softbll player--as seksi as they all are, or a famous singer, or the first 5 foot 2 inch runway model. I simply dont care enough. Is this sad? Possibly. Do I care? You know I dont!
So I dedicate this post to all of us out there who have ever thought about becoming a professional something, but then realized that it would be way too much work. I hope you spend this Friday afternoon and evening relaxing, and not trying to improve yourself in any way. You are perfect the way you are; slightly above average.
Friday, May 7, 2010
But I only ordered 4 things....why is it that when I get halfway home then I realize that my order has been completely fucked?
Good Morning Readers! Its 6 am and Im awake on my day off because Im currently functioning on the sleep cycle of a lemur. If you dont know what that means, its ok, neither do I. Grasping at straws over here. I dont think that makes sense either. Fuck. Whatever just get to the next paragraph already so as not to embarrass me further.
Yesterday morning one of my coworkers came in with a bag from Burger King. He had thoughtfully purchased me a sausage mcmuffin because, as he put it, "I knew my fat little Italian friend would love some BK in the morning" He was correct. I did. As he sat down and opened the bag, I was witness to the exact moment in time when he realized that his order had indeed been fucked up. He proceeded to go into a rage, which I can relate to completely.
For some odd reason, I have severe food anxiety. Basically, I get super freaked out if the food Im about to eat is messed with in any way that is not through any fault of my own. For example: If Im at any type of buffet, and not first in line, as I watch plate after plate walk away with more food on it then necessary, I slowly begin to panic as I become more and more certain that Im going to be stuck eating gay rice pilaf again. A typical conversation that either goes on in my head, or is spoken aloud to whatever unfortunate soul happens to be standing next to me: "Shit, they are totally going to run out. No seriously, it looks like the mashed potatoes are already 3/4 of the way gone. And the dude in the hat cutting the roast beef is totally giving guys bigger slices than girls. WTF. I want a big slice of roast beef too. Hey could you ask for two, and then give me one of yours, so I can get a big slice too? That would be great, thanks. Shit. The dessert table only has lemon squares left on it. God damn it I knew I should have just run over there before we got in line and grabbed one of the good ones. Fuck. Shit. This wedding blows." This is literally what goes on in my head. Im not kidding. It sucks to be crazy.
So one can imagine, that when I patron a fast food drive thru and my order gets messed up, I tend to freak the F out. *Side Note* One thing you need to understand, as angry as I am, Im actually too nice of a person to flip out at someone for real unless they are attacking my grandma or kicking my dog. That being said, I generally scream at myself in my car, as I make a u-turn only blocks from my house, and proceed to drive the 7 miles back to Wendys to get the 20 spicy chicken nuggets I originally ordered--oh look it even says that on the little ticket taped to the bag-- in exchange for the 20 original chicken nuggets that are currently residing in my bag.
This is what I dont understand:
1) How difficult is it to get a fast food order correct when Im the only one in the drive thru line, and I can see through the window that the only other person in the restaurant is a 98 year old man who has probably been eating that same bowl of chili for 3 hours. Its not busy fast food workers!! There is nothing that should be stressing you out right now!! Im the only fricken person ordering!! What the hell?
2) Alright, so you messed up my order. After going through the 5 stages of grief on the drive back to your restaurant, Im now coming in to tell you my order was messed up, and asking you to please give me what I ordered and thought I was paying for to begin with. If I worked in fast food, and someone approached me with a mistake on our part, I would apologize profusely, give them what they actually ordered, let them keep what we fucked up at no extra charge, and apologize profusely again. That experience has never happened to me. After politely explaining why I am now in the restaurant after you watched me drive away in my car 15 minutes prior, Im usually given a crusty look and a sigh as the fast food employee takes my bag and begrudgingly goes to fetch me my correct food. Oh, Im sorry, am I bothering you? Is my presence here somehow taking away from some other more important duty, like your 15 minute smoke break behind the dumpster? How about you fucking pay attention next time you are slanging fries and ranch sauce into a brown paper bag. This isnt rocket science. Also, you smile at me damn it. Im smiling at you, even though I really want to strangle you for making me wait 20 extra minutes to eat this crap. Im sorry if you hate your job. Lots of people do. You fricken make the best of it if you ever want to work somewhere else someday.
Thats what I would say if I wasnt afraid that my outburst would cause the worker to cut themselves in the storage closet after I left. Instead I grab my new bag, and slowly leave the restaurant, sans $5.75, and what was left of my faith in humanity.
Yesterday morning one of my coworkers came in with a bag from Burger King. He had thoughtfully purchased me a sausage mcmuffin because, as he put it, "I knew my fat little Italian friend would love some BK in the morning" He was correct. I did. As he sat down and opened the bag, I was witness to the exact moment in time when he realized that his order had indeed been fucked up. He proceeded to go into a rage, which I can relate to completely.
For some odd reason, I have severe food anxiety. Basically, I get super freaked out if the food Im about to eat is messed with in any way that is not through any fault of my own. For example: If Im at any type of buffet, and not first in line, as I watch plate after plate walk away with more food on it then necessary, I slowly begin to panic as I become more and more certain that Im going to be stuck eating gay rice pilaf again. A typical conversation that either goes on in my head, or is spoken aloud to whatever unfortunate soul happens to be standing next to me: "Shit, they are totally going to run out. No seriously, it looks like the mashed potatoes are already 3/4 of the way gone. And the dude in the hat cutting the roast beef is totally giving guys bigger slices than girls. WTF. I want a big slice of roast beef too. Hey could you ask for two, and then give me one of yours, so I can get a big slice too? That would be great, thanks. Shit. The dessert table only has lemon squares left on it. God damn it I knew I should have just run over there before we got in line and grabbed one of the good ones. Fuck. Shit. This wedding blows." This is literally what goes on in my head. Im not kidding. It sucks to be crazy.
So one can imagine, that when I patron a fast food drive thru and my order gets messed up, I tend to freak the F out. *Side Note* One thing you need to understand, as angry as I am, Im actually too nice of a person to flip out at someone for real unless they are attacking my grandma or kicking my dog. That being said, I generally scream at myself in my car, as I make a u-turn only blocks from my house, and proceed to drive the 7 miles back to Wendys to get the 20 spicy chicken nuggets I originally ordered--oh look it even says that on the little ticket taped to the bag-- in exchange for the 20 original chicken nuggets that are currently residing in my bag.
This is what I dont understand:
1) How difficult is it to get a fast food order correct when Im the only one in the drive thru line, and I can see through the window that the only other person in the restaurant is a 98 year old man who has probably been eating that same bowl of chili for 3 hours. Its not busy fast food workers!! There is nothing that should be stressing you out right now!! Im the only fricken person ordering!! What the hell?
2) Alright, so you messed up my order. After going through the 5 stages of grief on the drive back to your restaurant, Im now coming in to tell you my order was messed up, and asking you to please give me what I ordered and thought I was paying for to begin with. If I worked in fast food, and someone approached me with a mistake on our part, I would apologize profusely, give them what they actually ordered, let them keep what we fucked up at no extra charge, and apologize profusely again. That experience has never happened to me. After politely explaining why I am now in the restaurant after you watched me drive away in my car 15 minutes prior, Im usually given a crusty look and a sigh as the fast food employee takes my bag and begrudgingly goes to fetch me my correct food. Oh, Im sorry, am I bothering you? Is my presence here somehow taking away from some other more important duty, like your 15 minute smoke break behind the dumpster? How about you fucking pay attention next time you are slanging fries and ranch sauce into a brown paper bag. This isnt rocket science. Also, you smile at me damn it. Im smiling at you, even though I really want to strangle you for making me wait 20 extra minutes to eat this crap. Im sorry if you hate your job. Lots of people do. You fricken make the best of it if you ever want to work somewhere else someday.
Thats what I would say if I wasnt afraid that my outburst would cause the worker to cut themselves in the storage closet after I left. Instead I grab my new bag, and slowly leave the restaurant, sans $5.75, and what was left of my faith in humanity.
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