Welcome to the 'Burbs: We Can't Figure Out Who We Are

My neighborhood is weird. It doesn't know who it is.

During the last election, we were the district to watch because sometimes we swing a bit . . . to the left or center, that is. In fact, the district two streets away from us actually voted a Democrat into office. I think we may get there someday.

However, the cul-de-sac on our street is like a Tea Party National Convention. "Silence is Consent" and "Protect Your Second Amendment Rights" bumper stickers assault the eyes of any innocent passer-by who dares to venture that direction down the street.

But I'm not here to talk politics. Well, maybe I'm here to talk politics a little. But let's talk neighborhood stereotypes for a minute.

One evening, when my husband, Dan, and I were strolling through our neighborhood, we passed two thirty-something men with girlfriends or life partners/significant others, donning beards and beanies. One guy was dressed in flannel, and one was dressed in camouflage.

"I think his camo is ironic," I said to Dan.

"What's ironic camo?" Dan asked

"Camo without a function. He's wearing it, but it really wouldn't do him any good. Hipster camo."

We also passed a guy with a bunch of tattoos (and a girlfriend) who grinned at Dan and said, "Our chicks dig us."

On another day, I jogged by a guy skateboarding down my street, with a toddler in his arms. For a minute, I thought I was in an episode of Portlandia.

Maybe there's hope, despite the gun-toting Tea Party neighbors down the street. Maybe my neighborhood will be responsible for allowing a few more diverse ideologies to grace our state of Idaho someday.

Then again, Dan and I were walking through our neighborhood the other night and ran across an older gentleman who was wearing a red "Make America Great Again" hat.

Perhaps I spoke too soon. Yikes!

Then there's us. Basically, the cutest couple in the neighborhood.

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