I live in Seattle, and I'm better than you.

Since moving to Seattle five weeks ago, I have very much enjoyed my time here. I am learning my way around the city and meeting new friends. I have a job, go to a gym, know my bus schedule, have made out with a hot guy, know which Northwestern microbrew I like the most, and have a permanent residence...finally.

But, there are still many things that have to happen before I truely settle in and become one of the crew that calls Seattle home. I am not sure if all of them will happen.

Seattle is an incredibly green city. I spend a lot of time trying to determine if the box my mac and cheese came in goes into the trash, recycling, or yard waste bin. It takes less time to eat mac and cheese. Each household is given a color coded chart that conquers images of the Bush Administration's color coded terror level scale to determine which items go in which of the three trash containers each household must maintain. Just how dangerous is the mac and cheese box for the environment?

When you come onto the bus with a take out box from a restaurant that is Styrofoam, people want to know where you got such a horrid container so they can write a letter to the editor or something. I just tell them not to worry, that I have a whole bunch saved up at home and we'll be having a bon fire with them later tonight.

So while there is not a lot of smog, there is a whole lot of smug. I am not even sure that people intend to come across this way, but it is hard to get around when you are from Texas and know how the rest of the country thinks. Getting rid of my car WAS my good deed for the environment. Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

You will also find a blossoming community of compassionate vegans here in the Northwest. I would like to take this time to extend a huge middle finger to all of them. I am so goddamn sick of you. I hope that when you die, Satan forces you to drink a big, huge glass of skim milk. I cannot tell you how many times a day people will ask me at my low responsibility job at the coffee shop if any of the pastries are vegan. I do not even know what this means or how a person would determine this fact about a pastry. They don't seem impressed with you when you tell them that there is no meat in the blueberry muffin. I really should look up the word 'vegan.' I do know that there are plenty of vegan restaurants around, that I will never set foot in one of them, and that these people should go there.

Rice and soy do not have nipples. Therefore, rice and soy milk is a misnomer. I am pretty sure that rice milk is the water that turns a milky color when you are making rice that is not quite ready yet. At least that it what is tastes like. People drink lattes made with this stuff, when they could save two dollars by drinking an Americano instead. I am pretty sure that espresso and water is as yummy as espresso and grain water. Maybe they have a rice fetish, but it is an expensive, unnecessary habit.

While I was living in my August house, I had the joy of shopping at the most elite grocery store in the city. The PCC. It was the only grocery store within walking distance of where I was living, and so it was my grocery store. Apparently people in Seattle have orgasms about these chain of stores, but I was a little less thrilled. It has a small town feel and the only products that they offer are all natural, organic, local, and expensive. A batch of groceries that should have cost fifty bucks cost twice that much. I had to reach inside my g-string to make up the difference.

One night, as is the case with all people that think too much about things, I had heartburn. Shit, I need some Tums, I thought. So, I walked two blocks at 10:30 pm in order to get some relief. The clerk had never heard of Tums. I am not kidding. I explained my dilemma to her, and she directed me to their all natural pharmacy section in order to get the kind of relief that you could only find in Amish country.

I finally explained that what I really needed was some calcium. Tablets, if they could find some, or liquid if they couldn't. I walked out with half a gallon of milk and some Parmesan cheese. Tums have a lot less fat.

One more funny thing about Seattlites before I close. Last month, while I was still living with the guys in the sublet house, one of the roommates said to me that he simply could not believe that George W. Bush had been reelected in 2004, or that John McCain even had a chance at the White House. I said to him, "Have you ever been to Texas?" Because it is not a mystery to me. In fact, I know enough about the middle of the country to know that anything is possible, and that smart people will have to live with their decision if enough of them get out there to vote.

This past week, during the Republican National Convention (which will get its own entry, by the way), I went into a bar just as Sarah Palin was giving her acceptance speech. I watched the whole thing later online, but it was fun just to sit back and watch the reaction from Joe Schmoe in the bar up here. They simply could not believe that mystery woman behind door number two was going to be the Republican VP candidate. They were not impressed. In fact, the whole convention was a mystery to them. Who ARE these people? What is wrong with them? Were they raised in a barn? All I could say was that some of them probably owned a barn, and many people up here have only seen pictures of barns. Heard about barns. Where farm animals live.

I love Seattle and I certainly belong here, like I am home. I may live here for the next twenty years. But, I am from the South. There is no denying it. Regardless of where a person relocates later in life, you cannot forsake your roots. I despise the Republican Party, but I understand them. I no longer set time out of my day to watch the NFL, but I have spent more time in my life watching football than peeing. I have fired multiple guns, ridden a horse, helped to raise a barn, been blinded by a dust storm, attended Jesus camp, and harvested cotton. Yee haw.

I look forward to the next twenty years. May they be even more full of blessing then the last twenty. But, regardless of how long I live here, I will not forget where I am from. I might learn how to recycle. I might learn to have the same righteous indignation for Styrofoam as the rest of King County. I might get a cool haircut and sit around talking about the latest electric car. But I will always chuckle at tree huggers, self righteous vegans, people that have never heard of Tums, and the politically undiversified. It's funny, and I'm just along for the ride.