Bleached Hair and Bedazzled Bags

In order to take my mind off the lameness that is currently the Giants defense, (c'mon. It's the Eagles. Let's go.) I am going to describe to you the eerie similarities I have seen shared between North Jersey and Texas.

Note: for those of you not familiar with the state of New Jersey, the state is actually broken down into three parts. South Jersey is like... Oklahoma. Farms, pickup trucks and wide open spaces. That's right. Oh, and Atlantic City. Central Jersey (where I'm from) is home to the Boss and Bon Jovi and is cool, laid back and awesome (of course). North Jersey is the Sopranos. It's women with bleached blonde hair and fake nails, guys that actually say Fuggetaboutit and is home to those accents that everyone associated with the state (oh. my. gawd.).

A disclaimer before I continue. Mom, I know you're from North Jersey. No offense.

This Saturday, my boyfriend and I attempted to attend the Dallas Sample Sale. I think I heard sample sales discussed in Sex and the City once. They're supposed to be trendy sort of yard sales for designers and other high-end labels. How wrong I was.

Our first stop was a warehouse sale. We had parked on the wrong side of the building and walked into a big scary room where the most popular items appeared to be housecoats and dog beds. Second, we found ourselves in a giant antique sale, where everything smelled like a bowling alley or a church (or a terrible combination of both). If you missed it, I'm sorry, because you totally missed out on your chance to buy an ear horn.



The third try was the charm and we finally arrived at the Dallas Sample Sale! Let the shopping begin!

Yeah, right.

This is where the eerie similarities begin. Bedazzled bags, bleached blonde hair as far as the eye could see, jewelry that would have been tacky in the 80s. I started having flashbacks to family trips to Bayonne in the 90s. Household furnishings ranged from what looked like end tables carved out of stumps to collectors sets of colorful crosses. My vision blurred from over stimulation. The tackiness was palpable.

Still... it made this Jersey Girl a little homesick. Pink tipped nails, teased out hair, blue eyeshadow. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.

I was told this is "classic Texas"

I've been reading up on Ike and trying to figure out how much wine I'm going to have to buy to make it through the next few days. I stumbled upon this article via Fark, which had this gem of a quote:

"If the island is going to disappear it has to be a tsunami," he said, as he walked along the block where his home is located, drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette. "If it ain't your time you ain't going anywhere."

I read that aloud to my coworkers, who deemed that "classic Texas". One said that people like that drive her crazy, and I had to break it to her that almost all Jerseyans think Texans talk that way!

Traffic's like a cattle drive

Granted, I've never actually witnessed a cattle drive. But, I have seen a cow, which puts me ahead of a lot of my fellow Jerseyans. And the most recent cow I saw was at Visions on Friday night (that's right - there was a cow at a women's expo. Don't question it, this is Texas.)

Before I get too into the weirdness that is cows at a trade show, let me lasso this one back on topic. I'm a Jersey driver. I scare my Connecticut and Upstate New York friends with my constant honking, Italian one finger saluting, cursing self. I've driven to Boston in rush hour, something I will never EVER do again. I've had several near-death experiences as a passenger in New York City - in a cab, in a van and (perhaps worst of all) with my mother (just kidding, Mom!)

Therefore, I consider myself an expert on bad driving. Bennys (tourists to the Jersey Shore from Bayonne, Elizabeth, Newark and New York) are classic examples: running stop signs, turning right from the left lane, I've seen it all.

Then I moved to Dallas.

People here are out for blood. They drive crazy, they own guns and they tailgate you at 80 MPH in giant Ford pickups on monster truck wheels. Route 75, the highway that runs north/south, is so insane during rush hour (which goes from 6 AM until 4 AM as far as I've seen) that I find myself wishing for the relative sanity of the Parkway South on Fridays in the summer.

Let's review some traffic laws that Dallas drivers have decided are optional. Red lights don't really mean stop if you were anywhere in the vicinity when they were yellow. Signaling from turns, heck, even being in the correct LANE for turns is considered a sign of weakness. Nodding in the general direction of stop signs is just as good as actually stopping.

Luckily, these drivers seem to be confused by my little Vespa and me. They keep their distance (or pull up next to me and catcall), and for that I'm grateful. Nevertheless, I'm still not afraid to honk or yell - even if I am on a scooter.

I'm really in a pickle

(Note to new readers: I love bad puns)

I've noticed this odd trend in Texas. Everywhere I go, there seem to be pickles for sale. Not in jars, not on sandwiches, just a big vat of pickles for the sellin'. Movie theatres, 7-11s, they all have pickles placed in the same prominence as other big sellers like popcorn and lottery tickets.

Always eager to point out that I really don't know what's going on in Texas, I decided to ask my co-workers about this pickle fascination. The response? "What fascination? Don't you love pickles too?"

Now I'm not one to make fun of another culture's culinary decisions (and if you don't think Texas is a completely different culture from Jersey, visit both and compare). However, this pickle thing is a little too much for me. Apparently Texans have decided that popcorn + a pickle is an ideal movie snack. When lounging at home on a Saturday night, a pickle + Cheetos is a great snack, and a pickle by itself is a... treat?

I find myself, again, in this North/South pickle (I had to do it). So I ask you, dear readers, should I take the plunge and embrace my inner pickle-loving Texan, or should I stay true to my Jersey roots and save it for the sub?

It's a Touchy Subject

I went to school in upstate New York. Our hippie to non-hippie ratio was somewhere in the ballpark of 20:1. We had green home goods stores, compost sites, and initiatives to replace all our bulbs with energy-friendly alternatives. I, as a SUV driver, was not considered to be green. Here in Texas? I'm the office environmentalist. I recycle, I drive a Vespa (which wasn't really an option in the arctic north), and I turn my computer off every night.

It's actually pretty easy being green, comparatively.

Something that I got comfortable with up in the North (and, yes, I get called a Yankee all the time) was homosexuality. It really never seemed like a big deal to me. We made jokes, I talked candidly about my love (however unrequited) for Shakira, and it was, all in all, definitely NOT a "don't ask, don't tell" culture. We were open about it.

Fast forward to July. Me, the enterprising young Yankee makes a joke about loving Jodie Foster. Honestly, I just said I love her as an actress. Scandal ensues. I, a straight woman, LOVE (?!?!?!) a homosexual actress?! Gasp!

...if my friends from college had a conversation with my friends down here, much political incorrectness would ensue.

This is followed by conversations about "gay" areas, newsletters in my inbox detailing bars that most homosexuals "stick to" and a bunch of other comments that make a liberal kid like me from the north feel pretty darn awkward. I knew that perspectives would be a bit different down here, but, just like my political views, I find that censoring myself has prevented a lot of questioning looks.

I wish I had a snappy conclusion to this blog post, but I'm pretty much just confused and feeling a little out of place. Maybe we should make a movie as a modern-day version of "An American in Paris" - "A Jersey Girl in Texas". I've got plenty of material!