Monday, January 27, 2014
things I hate about Minnesota
If you've been following along on our little adventure of moving to Minneapolis, you know that I don't hate it here -- in fact, I love it. But there are a few little things I'll never quite get used to about this part of the country. Maybe I don't quite hate them, but I'll do anything for a compelling blog post title.
1. Your socks matter.
You're pretty much expected to take off your shoes whenever you step into someone's house, which isn't the norm in the south. I get it - no one wants snow on their floors - but it's a little difficult for me to get used to. My entire life I've been throwing on mismatched socks, socks with holes in them, and ugly, dingy socks because I was the only one who saw them. It's been 29 years; I can't just change the level of care I give my socks. I will always lose just one, therefore, I will always show up to your party wearing one neon pink sock and one neon green sock.
Related: there's no point in finding the perfect shoe to complete an outfit when you're going to someone's house. And there's no point to having feet if you can't wear cute shoes, I've always said.
2. Talking about the weather
What I hate more than the weather (in fact, I don't even hate the weather) is how much people talk about the weather. On an especially cold day, I dread going to work because I know at least seven people will stop by my office and ask, So, what do you think about this weather? I would be happy if no one ever mentioned the temperature again (unless it sounded like this).
Also, people love to complain, no matter what it's like outside.
It's soooo cold.
That snow is going to make my drive home miserable.
Ugh, the rain is so depressing.
It's sooooo humid. (Editor's note: No. It's not humid. You're wrong.)
It's beautiful outside, too bad it'll be cold again soon.
3. Lack of respect for college football
When I first moved here, someone asked me if I like football. "Well, I really like college football," I replied. He scoffed. "College football? That's not a real sport." His phone chirped. "Excuse me," he said, "I have to go fix something on my fantasy football team."
Okay, that's a lie. I could never hate Target. But hear me out: in Shreveport, my shopping choices were limited, and I basically shopped exclusively at Target. (I can't online shop. I must touch all of the clothes.) For some reason, the rest of Shreveport didn't seem to venture into Target's clothing section, and people often stopped to ask me where I got my clothes. Somehow I was unique in my mass produced fast fashion.
Here, I wear something from Target, and three people stop me and say, " Oh, is that from the Spring '06 Target line? I actually worked on marketing for that line."