Today marks my one month anniversary in Louisiana.
This could turn out to be a blog full of profound thoughts about changing one's life and taking chances for love, but... Well, you know me.
Hey, did you know that New Orleans and the surrounding areas is kind of swampy? Did you know that in such climates a bug can grow to be the size of a small rodent?
Yeah, me either.
Until one chased me out of the garage last week.
Also, they fly.
If you need me I'll be under the bed with a can of raid and an aluminum baseball bat until Fall.
Seriously, though, I've learned a lot these past four weeks. Like how to pump gas, which is no small feat for a Jersey Girl such as myself. It isn't as complicated as the gas station attendants led me to believe. However, it does smell funky and your boyfriend tends to frown a bit when you spill some and nearly turn his Toyota into a rolling death trap. Try to keep that in mind, Jersey.
Love you, baby... You've got the patience of a saint. xoxo
Speaking of New Jersey, my new favorite show started while I've been here. The Real Housewives of New Jersey is by far the greatest multi-female train wreck to come out of Bravo's Indulgent, Narcissistic, Useless Housewife machine. A Cunt, a Psychotic, a Doormat, a Soprano-wannabe and an Old Bitch with a God complex... Sounds like Easter dinner at the old family table to me. I'd go into detail, but I'm afraid it might make me homesick.
Honestly, the fat one's my favorite, but that's probably because I've gained something like 15 pounds this past month. Seriously! I thought we knew how to eat in the Northeast, but I was wrong. See, food up there is pretty synthetic. Cheesesteaks with Cheeze Wiz, French Fries With Brown Gravy, Funnel Cake (which is really just a beignet but shaped differently) and the occasional bagel with Philadelphia Cream Cheese. It's fattening, but it's easy to get rid of (for me, anyway.). Down here? This is the kind of food that binds to your DNA and doesn't let go. And I? Can't stop cramming every delicious, buttery, bar-be-qued, creamy scrap of it in my ever-widening face.
So there you go, a somewhat amusing glance at my first month down south. Hopefully the novelty of Everything Ettoufe will wear off and I'll be able to report next month that I can wear my own jeans again without feeling like I'm being tortured.