Not Another Buzzfeed Article

So, I just got back from Maui, which was fabulous: remote, relaxing and totally different from my usual scene. I’m rocking a deep Jersey Shore tan and it was an awesome experience that I would do over again in a heartbeat. But between that and living in Tuscaloosa full time, I’ve come to realize there are a few traits I really miss about home.

****** If you go to Bama, you are probably aware that my hometown is a hellhole. I have personally told you that. Still, it does have a few redeeming qualities and I’m going to summarize them here (with some fondness). It’s gonna be a little bit of a weird ride. ******

I’m not going to do a list because I feel like that’s really click-bait-y and we all know that Tad’s and Bobo’s are local treasures. You don’t need me to tell you that. The things you actually miss when you live 13 hours away are a little more subtle (though if someone wants to mail me some Tuptim Thai I won’t stop you).

The thing I miss most about my little hometown (Topeka, Kansas if you’re unaware) is its total humility. Topekans have never described anything in Topeka as “the best ever.” Topekans like to use the phrases “pretty good”, “alright”, and “not bad”. The crowning achievement for an establishment in Topeka is for people to describe it as “very nice” and then follow up with  “I’m surprised it’s in Topeka.” If the Taj Mahal was built there, people would call it tacky. There is an overwhelming belief that something can’t actually be that nice if it is located in Topeka and the pervasive pessimism eliminates any element of competition. It’s really hard to get too big for your own shoes; remember, you’re from Topeka. It’s an inside joke everyone knows, said with a shrug and a grin, because what are you going to do? Leave? Fat chance, because:

If you live in Kansas, it’s pretty much a guarantee your entire family does, too.  Topeka has roots. I know every single one of my close friends’ extended families.  I know who’s uncle is getting married for the third time and I know who’s grandma hates her retirement home (surprise: all of them). I go to family dinners and sisters’ dance recitals and these are not even my actual relatives. I am a huge weirdo because my extended family lives one state over. It runs deeper than that, though. I also know who’s a fourth-generation KU student and who’s family is actually from Junction City. It sounds like small town gossip, and some of it is, but it results in an unmistakable genuineness in almost everyone you meet. It’s really hard to pretend you’re someone you’re not, because everyone knows where you’re from and who your people are, or knows someone who does . There aren’t six degrees of seperation in Topeka: there’s two, at best. It keeps you grounded.

You’ll know your friends inside and out, and you’ll like them, for real.  There are people in this world who knew me when I wore a retainer and had to dress as Ferdinand Magellan (false beard included) and these people are still my friends (WHY). I grew up with them, shopped at Aeropostale with them, and went to prom with them. I have killed a lot of time with them, because there’s not a lot else to do. Sometimes Friday night’s entertainment was just laying on the couch, watching YouTube videos and making small talk. We spent a disgusting amount of time at Sonic. (Tangent: Sonic is only popular in Topeka, I’m convinced. Why? Sonic’s principle use is killing time. There is no other reason for a slow, gas-wasting fast food restaurant that PRIMARILY SERVES DRINKS to have become so popular. It’s not as overwhelmingly popular elsewhere.) I have done things that can in no way be misconstrued as “fun”– bell jingling for the Salvation Army, being president of science club– because it’s not like I really had anything better to do and I could con a friend into doing it with me. Having friends you’re sort of indifferent isn’t going to be a good time because there’s nothing to distract you from your mutual incompatibility. I was lucky to find friends where were sassy, silly, and incredibly loyal. I should call them more often.

I haven’t quenched my thirst to see the world– I’ll be going to Italy in May and I couldn’t be more excited– but I’m coming to terms with the fact that it’s ok to like your hometown, even if it’s sort of a (read as: my most frequently made) joke.

Anything For a Joke

I have tried to blog many times, all of them secret, and all of the unsuccessful. I think what I was going for was super famous, Hannah Montana-esque double life but a blogger? I don’t know– I’m really not funny enough for that. But I’ve seen my friends start blogs that they foster with love, and their fledgling words become purposeful and meaningful. I admire that. So on this blog I’m going to be very open, very frank, and very unguarded, something that my friends understand comes easily to me in sharing my opinions but not in sharing my feelings. That sets this blog apart from my previous endeavors, but, additionally, I have something to write about. I’m on the greatest adventure of my life to date, and it’s only getting more interesting by the day. I know I have been terrible about keeping in touch– with EVERYONE– back home but I’m hoping this blog will help me share my experiences with greater clarity and spread. That being said, let me explain the name.

“Anything for a joke” has been my personal spoken motto since sophomore year of high school, but has really been with me much longer. Some guide their lives by the principles of honor, justice, or hard work; I guide mine by the pursuit of that which is sort of funny. Countless times in high school I found myself (usually on the sideline of a basketball game if we’re being honest) smirking at my best friend Callee after the plotting of an outlandish, ridiculous, totally-a-grab-for-attention idea and saying, in evil-villian-like unison, “anything for a joke.” The cult of “anything for a joke” never spread very far, being that it requires one to abandon all personal dignity and spend much of one’s time formulating pranks that could only be successful in niche circumstances. Still, it is a phrase my mom has come to dread, because she knows it will result in

a.) awkward stand up comedy attempts in front of the church

b.) bad dancing in front of the entire crowd at football or basketball games or

c.) derailing all serious meetings by using them as my own personal captive audience.

Still, living in the spirit of “anything for a joke” exemplifies spontaneity, adventure, and joy, characteristics with which  I’m never ashamed to be associated. It’s not about the quality of the joke– it’s about the zest for life with which it is made. Welcome to my zesty life.