Death to Corporate Drones (or - no pizza for the dedicated)

Everything is just a little bit harder here in Dubbakee.

I realize that being from Brooklyn, I sound incredibly NYC-centric and annoyingly snobbish, but the truth is, I think I figured out why everyone else in the world really does work 9-5 and not 7AM-to-whenever-you-drop-dead. Fact is, everywhere else in the world, you can't get your toenails painted at 8PM, your laundry done on a Sunday (that is, if you do laundry via drop-off), or, shit, get a fountain soda at 4:30 in the afternoon.

Witness:


These pieces of shit have a sandwich shop directly across the street from the Big City Office Building (1-2-3, everyone say 'oooooh'), so naturally, they close at 3PM.





These stupid fuckers have a pizza shop around the corner from a building full of Big Bad Corporate Cubicle People, so what do they do? They close at 4. On weekdays. Let me guess. They have to "pick up the kids".




And these shitbags.....I don't even know why they bother. I would THINK they would try and capitalize on the I-worked-late-honey-here's-some-Chinese-food, but nooooo.

Actually, come to think of it - I don't remember them EVER being open.


So, yeah. I figured out why everyone else in the world are lazy bastards that can't be bothered to stay late EVER. It's because if they don't leave RIGHT NOW, the fucking liquor store will close. For the weekend.

The Roof is on FIRE

In all the complaining I've done since I got here, in all the comparisons between the soul-sucking driving culture in the Midwest vs the wellness-enhancing subway riding opportunities to read books or write, in all the pontificating I've done on the more-environmentally-responsible-city (make that BIGGG city) living, there was one crucial thing that I forgot about life almost everywhere else in the country:

We get to listen to music when we drive to and from work.

We get to listen to music REALLY loud when we drive to and from work.

As a matter of fact, we can listen to music really loud, and sing really loud, and bop our heads, and play air drums...on the way to and from work.

This was a revelation to me. I had already resigned myself to being 2 years past the MTV target audience, I was resigned to my ass sagging and my apathetic notation that "smoky eyes" are really just 80's black eyeliner raccoon eyes with a more appealing description. I was ok with the fact that I hadn't listened to the radio or heard any new music in years.I didn't realize that there was an alternative to a release-from-a-bad-day-at-work that was not eating chips and drinking wine until I pass out.

Guess what.

After a bad day with almost everyone screaming at me and me checking my bank accounts a couple of times to check that I have enough emergency money to float me should I be fired for incompetence, after an utter and complete Bad Day at Work,

(here's the revelation)

(this is the thing I didn't know about the country)

after that, a really fucking loud rendition of the Ramone's Glad to See You Go followed by El Gran Combo, ELO, a little Beatles, and Donna Summers.....

I gotta tell ya..

it really does a mind good. Especially if you use the steering wheel as a faux drum set and your fist as a microphone.






Off topic, but here are, in my irrelevant opinion, the best songs of my life:

Our House, Crosby Stills & Nash

I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues, Elton John

Glory of Love, Peter Cetera

Seasons of Love, RENT

No One, Alicia Keys

My job moved to Dubuque, but I'm a Brooklyn girl!

so I'm changing this blog from
The Wife of a Bloke on the Dole

to
How a city girl fares in a job in Iowa, and life in Galena, IllyNoise