Mmm...Manure? Again?

When I started this blog, I never would've thunk I'd use this title twice. But it seems fitting for my topic of the day: City Mice vs Country Mice. I am a Country Mouse. I grew up in a rural area. Some experiences I never had: riding a public (non school) bus. Ordering a pizza for delivery to the house. Walking to a store. Walking to school. Riding my bike on a street with traffic. Parallel parking.

Now that I am a Country Mouse in the "big" city, I am quite comfortable walking to the store. In fact, I love walking to the store. I can also parallel park and ride my bike on a street with traffic about 90 percent of the time without fear of death. Well...maybe 85 percent of the time. I am still not all that comfortable ordering food to the apartment or riding on public transportation. Walking in the city, especially when there are many people about, is somewhat unnerving for me. I assumed this was the case with everyone.

I found out yesterday that this is not so. City Mice apparently fear large open spaces. A remark was made that "someone could die out there and there would be no one around to help." As a child, traipsing through the woods behind our house for hours on end, I never had such a thought.

People from New York City love their neighborhoods. They do not understand why anyone would want to live in New Jersey (or any other part of the country for that matter.) Many of these people have never left the metro area.

People from small rural towns love their land. They do not understand why anyone would venture to a noisy, smelly, crowded city (or any other part of the country for that matter.) Many of these people have never traveled more than 20 miles from home.

City Mouse or Country Mouse, we all fear the same thing: the unknown. Perhaps we are not so different after all.

Scene From My Life

"My Life" a one scene snippet with poor plot lines and dissatisfying conflict resolution:

The Stars: F-ing Model, Fat B*tch, and Me (Innocent Bystander)

The setting: Innocent Bystander (I) walks along the street on a blustery day last week (probably Thursday). She huddles in her coat and steps briskly against the cold. A bus pulls up to the curb in the distance. F-ing Model (FM) and Fat B*tch (FB) exit the bus, both yelling incoherently.

FM: He just using you, you Fat B*tch. Look at me! Look at ME! I'm a F-ing Model and you're a Fat B*tch. FM lifts her heavy coat and shirt beneath to reveal her presumably spectacular body.

I: Being grateful to miss the glimpse of boobies due to strategic placement of FM's large handbag draped over her elbow, begins to realize that walking between the arguers is inevitable because FM has crossed to the other side of the street and continues to yell obscenities at top volume.

FB: (Not to be outdone) He don't love you, you crack whore! You think you're so f-ing hot but you just a crack whore!

FM: You just call me fat? How can YOU call me fat, you Fat B*tch?!

FB: I didn't call you a fat whore, I said a CRACK whore!

FM: I am not fat!

FB: You are on CRACK!

I: Walks directly into the line of fire as FB correlates the similarities of one who uses crack and FM. Meanwhile, FM pontificates that nothing FB says could be valid due to her larger than average posterior. Obscenities are used freely by both parties. Being on the FB side of the street, I smiles at FB with an eye roll as if to say, "What the heck is her problem?" I avoids conflict and continues at a near run further down the street, noting a toddler with mouth agape in a nearby parking lot.