Additionally I have found that people who live in smaller areas are less accepting of people different from themselves. I personally don't see the need for driving lifted trucks with tinted windows, monster truck wheels and a set of testes hanging off of the tow hitch. Nor do I feel the need to consider anyone not driving this kind of dino-eating monstrosity a pansy ass sissy. I don't drink PBR or even own a pair of Carharts. This it seems makes me a prime target for some well misplaced and rather uneducated criticism. (I would say hate speech but that is a term that is being WOEFULLY misused these days.) I have a reputation that precedes me. I am a fashion designer who has lived the last several years in San Francisco who yes also happens to be gay. I have a multitude of hobbies, interests and thoughts to contribute, but the simple fact of my sexual orientation makes me a social pariah in this town of God fearing folk. The very thought of my company has made grown men shudder in fear. Men who are willing to sit bareback on a bull who's little bull parts have been clinched in a rope vice and try to hold on for a full 8 seconds. These same bad ass boys are afraid to come within a fifty foot radius of me and are sure to sit as far away as possible after having had my company forced upon them. I don't know why I strike fear into their hearts more than a 500 pound and very pissed of bull but I can only think that they are afraid I might exfoliate their skin or style their hair. Both of which I only do on the rare occasion that I will be anywhere other than in my work studio. It is almost humorous when on the rare occasion I do meet one of these roughnecks who has sucked up enough courage to say hello. (Most likely due to the fact that their girlfriend who is hoping to pick up some fashion tips has threatened to withhold sex if they don't play nice.) At first glance they are surprised at my lack of purse, glitter, swish or lisp. They further go into near cardiac failure when they find that yes I can change my oil, fix a flat tire and shoot the eyes out of a target with a hunting rifle.
I don't understand the mindset of suburban dwellers. For so many the whole purpose of life is to get a job (any will do) get married and have kids (though in doesn't always fall in that order). There is an apparent lack of desire to venture out and away from the comfort of home. Clearly the call of exotic places, foods and cultures doesn't reach over the mountain or beyond the desert. Instead HOA's, recreational toys and the comfort of knowing that Mom is just a few blocks away have a vice grip like hold on their hearts shielding away any possible seduction from foreign lands.
Even beyond the extraneous outside world simple things like quality materials are lacking in cities of humble population. Fabric stores for example are incapable of carrying a fabric made from a decent wool fiber or one that is not emblazoned with either John Deere or a sports team of some sort. Why is it that JoAnne's Fabarics is where fabric goes to die? I miss the simplicity of being able to walk into any art supply store and be surrounded by paints, canvases and other tools of beauty that even the Renaissance masters would approve of. Now I have to wade through piles of rex lace and latch hook kits just to find a paintbrush.
I miss my city life and pray to whomever will listen that Obama does us right and I will not be sentenced to a lifetime of small town torture. To those who love this life of rustic living and country charm, bless you. I wish you all the best in your pursuit of happiness and the best of luck in your next quilting bee. However I for one am ready to return home to 3am Indian food, overpriced shoebox apartments and never being able to find a price to park and leave my fantasies of simple of a life to be just that, a fantasy.