City Livin’

1 Feb

I grew up in a town in northern Iowa. Though growing up there I never felt I was missing out, as an adult I wonder how my parents made it through. It’s not that small town living is all that bad – seriously, there are perks. Parking is always plentiful (and free!), cost of living is cheaper, I got great public education in a school system where teachers had the time and resources to truly know me, and I was able to be involved in a lot of different activities. But that was living there as a kid. 

Our town had one movie theatre with one screen. If we wanted to see a movie or go shopping at any place that didn’t sell light wash demin with an elastic waistband (ahem…Kmart), it was an hour one way to a mall that most would scoff at. The height of fine dining was Applebee’s, and the perfect night out involved putting on a hoodie with the high school mascot logo and heading over to the high school to catch “the big game.” Or…on really big occasions you could come out once a year for Band Day and have an entire day of watching mediocre high school marching bands. A night of refined culture would include taking in a performance of the one zillionth time the local community theatre has done a production of South Pacific. And many, many people are content with this. But it’s just not for me.  

I had a conversation with Ali last night and brought up a particular acquaintance from high school who I sometimes regularly poke fun at. Every.single. Facebook status is about one or a combination of the following: food she made, food she is eating, the crochet she is working on, tv, and her “hubby”. From the way she talks about her life, clearly she is perfectly content. But if the entirety of my life revolved around the pie I made for my “hubby” I think I would rather curl up and die. Side note: people seriously need to stop thinking the word hubby makes you seem cute. It truly doesn’t.

Do I sound a little like the B from Apartment 221? Okay, if I was one of my old high school classmates who now has chosen to remain or (what the what?) move back, I would be offended. Good thing we’re probably not friends anyway.

I don’t want to mislead you – I’m no Carrie Bradshaw – my life is not one big, glamorous RSVP. I, too, generally like the combination of food, being horizontal, and watching tv. But that’s not all my life is because when you live in a city so much is right at one’s fingertips. Take for example last night. I went to a Happy Hour in the Lowry Hill neighborhood of Minneapolis. It’s near Uptown and totally adorbs. There is a unique cafe, boutique, or bar tucked away in little corners of the neighborhood. Twinkle lights abound while the rush of traffic hums in your ear. Given, driving in said traffic or finding in place to park raises my stress level considerably, but tis the price I pay. It was freezing cold. Seriously. Freezing cold. Gross confession: after work I plugged in my Garmin to find this place and licked the sticky thing to, well, make it stick, and after about a minute the Garmin slid right off the dash. Why, you ask? Oh, because my spit turned to ice. To ice! That’s why.

Despite the frigid temps, as I walked from my car to the lovely Happy Hour, I just felt glad I live the cities. This one night out, underwhelming as a lot of people would consider it, was still something I could experience that would have been a big deal, a hige effort, for someone still living in my hometown. I have a need to travel, to explore, to experience. It can’t be quelled by small town living. And that’s all I have to say about that.

Also – I held a baby last night. Someone brought their baby to Happy Hour. Whatevs… Anyway, as I held the baby with her sticky-out ears, I thought, “Hmm…I want one.” Damn you, uterus! Damn you maternal instincts!

Oh, and because my post has been picture free, and because you all care so much, here is a picture of my pot stickers from last night. It’s no picture of a puppy, but it’ll do.

potstickers

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