I may have mentioned that my Rockstar is from South Dakota, land of…… flatness? I’m not really sure exactly what South Dakota is known for, other than that ridiculous wolf movie starring the equally ridiculous Kevin Costner. (To be clear, the movie was only high in it’s ridiculousness factor because of that silly Kevin person.)
Anyhoo, it has been some fifteen-odd years since my Rockstar decided to uproot himself from the land of buffalo and HyVees and move on over a state to the slightly-less-boring Minnesota. According to him, my great state has only gone downhill since then, though he can hardly argue his reasoning why.
‘Tis true our urban road systems are a bit tricky, what with all the one way streets in downtown Minneapolis and all, but who can argue with a Minnesotan, who possesses that certain “Minnesota nice” quality? To be fair, I think there are quite a lot of dumbshits that live here, but as I have not lived anywhere else, I cannot comment on the asshat ratios between here and there.
My Rockstar and I were watching The Big C last night, which is set in Minnesota. (though for some silly reason is filmed in Connecticut). He commented again on the supposed silliness of Minnesotans, and how the show was correctly written, since (according to him) all of us are off our rockers.
At first, I was intending on taking offense, but upon further reflection, decided I was not one to argue against him, as I myself will admit that I am not completely of the sane nature. I did, however, question him to see if he was including me in his statement.
“Do you think I am off my rocker?” I asked coquettishly, batting my eyelashes.
Since we were lying in bed in the dark, my lashes were of little concern to him. There was a manly Rockstar giggle before he responded.
“I don’t think you ever found your rocker.”
The man has never spoken truer words.
Sparklebumpsthebookwhore 