Apparently I’m not really cut out for small town life. Don’t get me wrong, despite all the scorpions, wasps, invading crickets, crazy neighbors, and driving for hours to get to absolutely anywhere, I do like living out in the middle of nowhere. It’s quiet here. We don’t have constant road noise (including a fire truck every 15 minutes) like we did in Temecula. We don’t have the constant hum of neighboring air conditioners year round and zero privacy that we did in Leander. It’s nice. I just wish our local little town wasn’t steeped in… honestly, I don’t know if it is the town or just me. I’m apparently not cut out for whatever it is, though.
I can’t deal with big cities because they’re too loud and crowded and big crowds make me screamy and stabby.
I really don’t like the suburbs because having people live that close to me feels crowded and it always turns into a Stepford Wives nightmare and that makes me screamy and stabby.
As it turns out, I can’t deal with small town slowness, everyone knows everyone so they don’t take the time to introduce anyone and directions are by way of Jim’s. You know Jim! Everyone knows Jim. You don’t know Jim? Oh, well, heck. Anyway, turn left at Jim’s place, but not his current one, the one he lived in before. <Sigh>
I’m a woman without a country. Apparently, I’m just not cut out for human interaction.
One of the things about living out here in the middle of nowhere that is rather irritating is the postal service. And I know, the postal service is always irritating, but our local takes it to a whole new level. Since we’re on the “rural” delivery, anytime we get anything delivered that’s bigger than a postage stamp, we have to go into town to collect it. So Friday we get one of those all too familiar orange pick up cards. It says we can pick up our item on Saturday between 10am and 12pm. Well, thanks for the ultimate convenient hours! Unfortunately, we already had plans and couldn’t get there, even with that huge window of opportunity. And of course, they’re closed on Sunday.
No biggie, I had to go into town to deal with prescriptions that got messed up, too (but that’s a different rant). So I stopped by the post office. No one there, it’s all locked up. No sign about why or when they’d be open. I stood there for a moment wondering if I should hang out for a few minutes or just go. I decided to just go. It wasn’t until I was about halfway home that I realized today is Rape, Pillage, and Murder a Native Day! Some people call it Columbus Day, but I think that’s a misnomer. I mean, why would we celebrate an asshole Italian working for Spaniards who never set foot on US soil? And it’s understandable that I would forget that it’s a Federal Holiday since all us plebs are still expected to work. Heck, I haven’t even seen a single Rape, Pillage, and Murder a Native Sale this year. I guess it wasn’t selling mattresses as effectively as it had in the past.
Ugh. But this means I have to go back into town tomorrow. I don’t want to go back into town tomorrow! Nobody seems to understand the concept of a car, and driving, and not being annoying. Actually, even worse, I have to go into Fredericksburg as well since our super market doesn’t have most of the things I need. Every time I drive through Fredericksburg, I almost die because people are just the worst and that makes me very screamy and stabby.
So on this festive Rape, Pillage, and Murder a Native Day, be a bad pleb and take the afternoon off. And when you’re out driving, use your signals, check your blindspot, and do the speed limit. And remember, if you can’t do the speed limit because driving faster than a butterfly on downers is too scary, safely pull to the side of the road and allow other vehicles to pass. It will make for a significantly less screamy stabby world.