Things I Miss About America
Hoodie Allen‘s new album, All American, came out last night and I realized (after I stopped jamming out to it for a second) just how much I actually miss America. I’ll be back in less than a month, so I compiled a list of what exactly I look forward to most. Onward!
This sounds silly, but I can’t get any of my sports over here. Does the UVA gametracker thing on the website help? Yes. But I miss Quint. Yeah, I said it. I miss him and his Warrior skill things and Paul Carcaterra and actually watching a game instead of seeing the highlights a day later if someone filmed their TV. It just ain’t the same.
This one is even more inexplicable, since I’m an effing terrible driver. I drive fast and furiously, and my father regrets every moment he has ever spent teaching me the error of my ways. Last Thanksgiving, running errands before dinner, I actually cut off my own grandmother. True Story. She was not pleased. And parking? Forget it. But I really do miss being on the road, behind the wheel. Which leads me to…
MY FAT DOG
It is a belabored point that I miss my family. Blah blah blah they’re awesome and I miss them to pieces, but since this city is filled with dogs that are constantly frolicking in the parks, I have realized just how much I miss my fat dog, Max. He and I hang out all the time at home, and one of my favorite things to do is just chill out in the living room with him, watching him try desperately to eat the fake doughnut my mom bought him because he thinks it’s real. He tries to hard, and one time, I actually had to take it away from him because he managed to tear it into bite-sized pieces and was trying to swallow them. Gawd, I miss him.
MY MONEY ACTUALLY BEING WORTH WHAT I THINK IT IS
This one hits especially hard. The exchange rate changes faster than my top lax crush. One day it’s Paul Rabil and $1.50 to the pound, the next day Steele Stanwick executes a flawless one-handed goal and it’s $1.75 to the pound. I just want a dollar to be a dollar and to not get a headache trying to figure out what the exorbitant price I’m paying for coffee is this week.
A weird one, but I met a guy recently who told me he used to play “hawk-ey”. He was saying hockey, but his Boston accent was even better to my ears than the Irish guy’s next to him. NOT that the accents here aren’t amzing. If I had to rate, it goes Aussie, Irish, British. But all of those are trumped by preppy Americans, believe that.
Posted on 04/10/2012, in Me and tagged all american, america, australian accent, boston accent, british accent, dollars, driving, espn, fat dog, hockey, hoodie allen, how to make it in america, irish accent, lax, maxi, paul carcaterra, pounds, quint kessenich, terrible driver, usa. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.