fresh off the farm

When I left the East Coast for the Midwest, my sisters mocked and bemoaned my decision. They called it “the Godforsakenmidwest” and envisioned a future in which Friday nights would be spent looking for a cow to tip. They conveniently ignored the fact that in their nearest good-sized town of 22,000, the only non-alchoholic amusement after 9:00 is Wal-Mart, choosing instead to emphasize the fact that DC is an hour and a half away, Baltimore two, and New York only four or five, depending on traffic. So theoretically they could zip up their for a spot of shopping, but in actuality they never do.

My sisters persist in thinking that I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I guess I’d forgotten that I don’t live on a farm anymore. But in the past week, we’ve had our cars rifled, I’ve been freaked out thinking someone was following me (he wasn’t, he was just walking behind me. Really fast. For a long time), and last night? I witnessed a drunk peeing on the wall here at the library. Next to the elevator.

 I am so not in Kansas anymore.

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~ by wildeyedwonder on August 31, 2006.

One Response to “fresh off the farm”

  1. Dang it,
    Everything must center on shopping, because we can boast in their supposed mileage limit…Cleveland, Columbus, Cinnci, Detroit, Pittsburg, and Indy. I know that they may not the centers of fashion, but each one has some really cool stuff that my east coast inlaws couldn’t wrap their Sussox county minds around.

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