Introduction to Dairy Land

I could not have asked for a better greeting than my grandparents waiting by the baggage claim flailing their arms frantically with matching “Woof” hats. Those that know my grandparents know that these hats are notorious. My uncle is a vet and a couple years back he gave my grandparents his company’s hat with their logo “Woof”; my grandparents wear these hats like it’s their pride and joy (although I secretly suspect they wear them so that they can brag about their son being a vet, Jewish people love to brag about their children’s accomplishments).
After they picked me up at the airport, we went to eat at this Mexican restaurant I like in this cool area in Milwaukee called Riverwest. It’s pretty artsy there and everyone has tattoos and piercing. I guess I like it because it reminds me of Brooklyn. So anyway we get to the restaurant and sit down and of course the first thing my grandparents ask for is water with no ice. I make eye contact with the cute bartender for a split second until my grandma starts to stroke my hair and pinch my cheeks and gush very loudly over the fact that  I am there in Wisconsin with them (note to self: if I want to meet cool, new people I should probably not be in the presence of my grandparents).
They then take me to this block near them that is supposedly “poppin”, it was not poppin. But in its defense, it was definitely not as lame as I remember. It’s hard growing up as a native New Yorker because your standards for everything are automatically really high but I’m trying not to compare the two and appreciate this city for its own, unique assets. We make our way to this frozen yogurt place called “YO MAMA” which automatically makes me chuckle. My grandparents then try 500 samples before they decide what they want and we take our yogurt and sit outside.
A couple minutes into eating, my grandpa starts hiccuping and tells my grandma and I to try scaring him. My grandma then does this ridiculous motion where she curls up her fingers like claws and hisses; I stare blankly at her. She further explains by saying it is a move she learned in yoga class (my grandma loves yoga and always tries to convince me to come along). I can’t help but smile when watching them because, even though they are beyond ridiculous, they are still in love. I hope someday I can be an old lady with my husband and grandchild and teach them weird yoga moves. This very drunk lady then walks by from the English pub next door swaying and lifting a weight above her head. My grandma does a 180 degree turn in her seat and my grandparents become so intrigued and bewildered by this drunk lady. I think it’s funny how big of a deal they made over her because, coming from New York, she didn’t even phase me. I’ve seen WAY weirder at home, everything from cross dressers to a man dressed head to toe in only McDonalds napkins.
The next morning, I decided to venture a little for myself. I walked down to the nearest Walgreens (fun fact: the granddaughter of the founder of Walgreens lives in a mansion around the block from my grandparents) and bought a couple of items.  I only had a large bill so I figured I would break it there, except they didn’t have enough change at the register so the cashier yells “CODE 5, COSTUMER WAITING FOR CHANGE FOR AN 100 DOLLAR BILL” over the loud speaker. I’m not sure why they have a code for that if they are going to announce to everyone in the freaking store that I am carrying a large bill. I felt very obnoxious making them go out of their way for that and stood there very awkwardly.
As I walked back to my grandparents house, I was thrown off by how quiet it was and how cars actually stop and wait for you to cross the street. It was also really weird to me how slow everyone walked, although I do walk abnormally fast so that’s probably not a very fair judgment. However, all in all, I’m really glad I came out to Wisconsin. It is definitely going to take some getting used to but change is good, even if it is from the big apple to the big cheese.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Introduction to Dairy Land

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s