Friday, March 28, 2008

call me cranky

I am convinced that the Midwest is the only place in America that innocent people are forced to suffer the sound of windshield wipers running against windshields that are not quite watery enough... Causing a "WWUUUUURRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTT" sound every time they wipe against the glass. Causing ears to bleed.

I say this because I bet the Western part of the country - with the exception of Seattle - deals with rain and sleet and snow as an exception. Not a normalcy. And the Eastern part of the country? I'm sure they get even more rain.

Because the Midwest is the ass crack of the nation.

I hate the commercials. Because I know that they are geared towards specific demographics and personality assessments that are developed by newly graduated marketing interns. So what we get is the round woman with a soft voice who feeds her five kids and the entire marching band warm biscuits with butter from Walmart. And people seem to swell here. You won't see them for weeks or months but when you'd swear they didn't look quite as swollen the last time you did. It's not that they're technically overweight. They just look bloated. Like life is what bloats them. Not the carbonation from the beer they are most likely guzzling after five.

I hate that many see me as self-righteous for this. I swear, I am not...

It's not that I don't see the charm in this neck of the woods. Or that I realize I don't connect and shouldn't be here in the first place. A part of me does connect. And it's that part of me that I wish I could express, but alas, tonight I can't.

Processed foods make me sad. I'm not saying I'm not forced to put them in my cart from time to time, or that they're not an obvious fact of life - they just make me sad.

I can't wait for a break from life in the crack.

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