Ever since moving to Prescott, Arizona, I’ve tried to like it. The weather is excellent — the summers are cool enough that you can go outside, the winters are cold enough that you can own coats and boots, and the air is dry but there are a few smattering of days when there is rain — just enough to find it romantic without getting to the point where you HATE. RAIN. (I’m looking at you, North Carolina.)
We have a gorgeous view of these ridiculous, naturally occurring boulders off of our decks and well, frankly, it seems absurd to be complaining. On paper, life is idyllic. And yet, I just can’t seem to be comfortable here.
I hate the friends I’ve made. Are they even friends? Let’s rephrase … the grownups I’ve met that we’ve spent a few outings with sap my energy. They don’t make me feel more alive but rather they make me want to be alone. Which isn’t probably how you are supposed to feel with friends.
I think the problem is that Jeffrey and I have fallen in with hipsters and the politically correct and much of this manifests itself with their food. They eat only sustainable, organic food, are vegetarian, gluten-free, and one family doesn’t do dairy. They discussed, for nearly a half hour, how hilarious and offensive the ethnic food aisle at the grocery store was. “I mean, pasta and taco shells aren’t ethnic!”
Oh really? One, they aren’t on the ethnic aisle. In fact, the taco shells are on their own aisle and the Asian foods are on the same aisle as pasta. And two, I’d like to see you find the hoisin sauce if they didn’t label it specifically Asian.
They run around with their Trader Joe’s nutty trail mix (no chocolate — what is the fucking point of trail mix if it doesn’t have M and M’s in it?) and look all aglow watching their kids eat it happily.
I joked about how difficult it would be to have everyone over for a cookout, and the gluten-free non-dairy, not seeing the humor said, “When were you thinking? You should probably run the menu by me to make sure we can eat it.”
Oh really? I think you just got uninvited.
Where are my shoe shopping girls? My “yes, let’s take a dance class so we can wear sequins” ladies. I’m sad. I don’t like my friends.