First off, I just want to let you all know that I am shamelessly flattered that you still check this blog even though the Beastie and I haven’t posted anything for a week. SAY WHAAAAT?! You love us?! Aww, adoring fans are so adorable.
To tell you the truth, I completely forgot about the blog because I was too distraught over missing out on the ONE weekend the Beastie comes back to rural (well, rural relative to LA) Northern California. It’s bad enough that I barely get to see her, but this is twice in a row that I’ve skipped town conveniently when she comes home. You understand, right? I was heartbroken.
… although, I wasn’t heartbroken enough to not have a kick ass time in Minnesota!
Yeah, you heard that right. My family is from Minnesota, and I’m damn proud of it. I hate the Vikings, but I’m damn proud of Minnesota.
- My parents were both placed in Minnesota when the emigrated here from Viet Nam. Immigrated? I think both words work in this instance. MIGRATED. They MIGRATED here.
- They met and my dad took my mom and her siblings out to see Superman… in BLACK AND WHITE.
- They eventually got married and moved to Oklahoma.
- One day while they were watching television, a tornado came and swooped up the house, with them inside of it, and landed them in Mesquite, Texas, where they promptly helped invent the BBQ sauce.
- Every day, they threw breadcrumbs outside, until eventually, 2 separate storks brought them my brother and me.
- Disappointed with the girl child they received from the Texan flock of storks, they MIGRATED to San Jose and eventually got sent a Californian breed of human child.
- Someone turned on the Bat signal from Chicago and my dad relocated us there.
- The wind there was too strong and eventually blew us back to the bay area.
- After my sister graduated high school, my parents pretty much “fcuk this shit!” and moved back to Minnesota to be with my mom’s parents and siblings.
Growing up, I thought every one went to Minnesota to vacation for the summer, because literally, I was there EVERY summer. I eventually learned that the Midwest is NOT a tourist hot spot (probably when the obnoxious Lindsay girl would throw food at me and yell “BOOOOOO!” every time I even mention Minnesota), but I always get super giddy just thinking about flying back.
Now, I’ve lived in California for over 15 years of my life, so by no means am I saying any other state is possibly remotely close to being better than us. But here are a few reasons why you should give the midwest a chance:
- Everyone over there tends to be slightly on the larger scale, so you, by comparison, suddenly feel much skinnier/sexier/fit.
- They’re also significantly less tan, so they’ll think you’re some sort of tropical goddess and fall all over themselves to feed you string cheese (the sexiest Midwestern equivalent to grapes).
- Speaking of cheese… they have CHEESE CURDS. It’s like these tiny balls of cheese mashed up, super delicious cheese that squeak when they’re fresh. It’s like a freakin CHEESE FLAVORED CAR WASH for your MOUTH.
- Speaking of cheese curds…. FRIED CHEESE CURDS. In fact, FRIED EVERYTHING. The Midwest population is a result of a long line of practical but unimaginative people, and as a result, they pretty much fry everything, because it’s the easiest way to make everything delicious. In fact, they deep fry your toilet paper for you before you take a dump. Talk about hospitality!
- There are no fences between houses or yards, making it THAT MUCH EASIER to creep on your slutty/hot/weirdly-obsessed-with-owls neighbors.
- Gas is always a good $0.40 cents cheaper/gallon for some odd reason.
- Frozen custard. YUM.
- So many delicious tiny craft breweries. It’s like driving through an ugly Napa Valley for beer.
- Target is headquartered in Minneapolis. Meaning, not only are there Super Targets and Greatland Targets, but also pilot stores of Target where random products are “tested” to see how well they would sell if they were to be distributed to more than just 3 stores.
- My family is there. And if I could, I’d be with them every second of every day.
I had a friend on my volleyball team that was engaged to this guy in Wisconsin, and every weekend, either she would fly out to him or he would come to her. I remember thinking that I was super jealous, because for some reason, that was when I would only see my bf, WHO LIVED 15 MINUTES AWAY FROM ME, only once or twice a month. Also, I was jealous of all the mileage points she was picking up. Bust mostly, I was jealous because I would love to see my family that often. I can only afford to fly home during the summer, and maybe if I’m lucky, either Thanksgiving or Christmas, but this last weekend, I flew home because we celebrated my grandparents’ 60th anniversary. 60th! As in, SIXTY FREAKIN YEARS. I still can’t get over how incredibly long that is, but more on that later…
(The managers are both on vacation this week, so I’ve become the interim manager. Thus, I am exhausted and also out of wine, so I’m going to head to bed so I can attempt to complete Insanity Abs before going to work tomorrow. I’ll continue this story afterwards. HASTA MANANA!)