Hey folks, the name’s Josie. Welcome to my blog. I’m starting it as somewhat of an escape. You see, I grew up in one of the most beautiful places in the United States. Recently, I moved to, what I lovingly refer to as, a concrete hell hole. Let’s elaborate shall we…
Ahh, Cache County, Utah, born and raised.
Fresh air, even with a whiff of cow once in a while. Schools that aren’t overrun by security guards. Never once going to school was I searched or did I have to go through a metal detector. I could go for walks at night without worrying about running into drunks or gangsters. (Alright there were a few gangsters, but I knew them and they were NOT as hard as they thought they were.) The only time I was afraid to go walking at night was when the corn was high, because sometimes cougars would hide in the fields. The streets are usually clean, as long as the farmers aren’t hauling manure. I lived with my parents on 5 acres of alfalfa that we shared with my uncle. We had horses, hunting dogs, and a goat. I could sit in my great big, grassy, back yard and see all the way across the border into Idaho. Not much but fields and a few houses. Sometimes a cow or seven. I didn’t have to worry very much about my daughter running out into the street, and she could play in the grass and ride her tricycle up and down the driveway all day long.
And now I live here. San Jose, California.
The air? Eh. It’s air. I get a good nose full of weed every once in a while. Almost every school that I’ve seen is surrounded by a fence or a cement wall, and a lot of them have metal detectors. I don’t go for walks after dark. That’s when the hookers and the crazy people come out. Everything here is filthy. The gutter in front of our house is soo dirty and full of beer bottle lids, but somehow, grass is growing in it. There is GRASS growing in the dirt in the gutter. Currently we’re renting a room in a house. Me, my husband, and our 2 year old. There are two other bedrooms in the house, and 5 other people. We all share the tiny kitchen, the living room, and the ONE bathroom. We are sardines. I could go on about the living situation forever, but I’ll save that for another post. Our yard? What yard? Behind our house, there’s a cement pad and the ”garage”. Whenever my daughter plays outside, I’m about 3 feet away from her so that she won’t go in the road, because people here drive like idiots and go 45 mph through teeny tiny residential streets.
Therefore, this blog will be my escape. Or more so, my husbands, because I’m pretty sure he’s sick of my bitching. So I’ll just come here to vent instead of whining at him. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate everything about California. It’s a pretty fascinating place, and I do have an unnatural love for carne asada tacos. And it’s only a matter of time until I’m left alone long enough to interview one of the ‘paleteros’ or the crazy ass lady that sits in front of the liquor store.