Regional Stereotypes Ahoy!
1. Go to Google and type, "You know you're from (your city or state) when..."
2. Cut and paste the list.
3. Bold the items that apply to you.
You know you're from New Mexico when...
You relearn how to use your windshield wipers every 6 months or so.
Las Vegas refers to a small railroad town in the East plains.
You are an expert at distinguishing barbecue smoke from forest fire smoke. And you ransack every news source as soon as you see/smell the latter.
You’ve had a school day canceled because there was half an inch of snow on the ground. (Hell, I've had school start late because they thought it might snow)
You know what an Arroyo is.
Your high school’s name was a Spanish word (La Cueva, Eldorado, Sandia,Manzano…) (no, but my middle school was)
There is a kachina somewhere in your home or yard.
You can’t control your car on wet pavement.
You wish you had invested in the orange barrel business.
You or someone you know rushed to the grocery store as soon as they heard Hatch was flooding. You've gotta stock up...
When even if you don't speak Spanish, you can pronounce the words correctly.
When you have this unexplained, burning hatred for all things Texan. (joking, joking!)
Whenever you introduce yourself as being from New Mexico, you have this compulsive urge to say, "...and no, I don't speak Spanish!"
Mexican restaurants in any other state are completely repulsive to you. (I really can't stand Californian Mexican food at all, sorry)
Instead of cookies, candy, and other goodies, you ask your mom to send you a care package full of green chile and salsa. And none of this "mild" crap.
That crap with the meat and beans is not "chile," goshdarnit!
You know you lived in NM when somehow everyone you meet outside the state thinks that the Arizona and Texas borders meet, and you go, yeah I'm from the state inbetween.
When everyone in your neighborhood is related and the streets are named after them. (This is why we can't keep a street sign on our road. Oh well.)
When youre not from Albuquerque, but say you are so people know youre not from Mexico. (Trying to explain the fine distinction between Albuquerque, Rio Rancho, Bernalillo, and Corrales is just...not worth the trouble)
Candles, a pile of brown paper bags, and a yard full of sand constitute christmas decorations. (My grandparents had an electric set, but when I was in girl scouts we would volunteer to set up all the bags at the park. I can't believe we never started any fires)
You have a bumpersticker saying "if God wanted texans to ski, he would have given them a mountain"
You buy salsa by the gallon.
You are still using the paper license tag that came with your car five years ago.
Your favorite restaurant has a chile list instead of a wine list.
You do all your shopping and banking at a drive-up window.
You have license plates on your walls, but not on your car.
Most restaurants you go to begin with "El" or "Los".
You remember when Santa Fe was not like San Francisco.(There was a point that was true? It's been elitist hippie central as long as I can remember...)
You hated Texans until the Californians moved in. (I love California and my California friends, but ugh, Santa Fe)
The tires on your roof have more tread than the ones on your car.
You price-shop for tortillas.
You have an extra freezer just for green chile. (We don't, but my grandma does)
You think six tons of crushed rock makes a beautiful front lawn. (Hey, my mom gets paid to landscape that shit)
You have to sign a waiver to buy hot coffee at a drive-up window.
You ran for state legislature so you can speed legally.
You pass on the right because that's the fast-lane.
You have read a book while driving from Albuquerque to Las Vegas. (both of them)
You think Sadies was better when it was in the bowling alley.
Your swamp cooler got knocked off your roof by a dust devil.
You are afraid to drive through Mora and Espanola.
You iron your jeans to "dress up".
You don't see anything wrong with drive-up window liquor sales.
Your other vehicle is also a pick-up truck.
Two of your cousins are in Santa Fe, one in the legislature and the other in the state pen. (okay, not technically true. But my mom's ex-boyfriend was the NM rep to the 2000 Democratic National Convention, has a statue of him in downtown Albuquerque, and has been arrested for, among other things, driving under the influence and shooting at people out of his back door.)
You have driven to an Indian Casino at 3am because you were hungry. (I haven't, but I know my mom and the boyfriend have)
You're relieved when the pavement ends because the dirt road has fewer pot-holes. (I've given up on the street ever being paved out here.)
You can correctly pronounce Tesuque, Cerrillos, and Pojoaque. (and Bernalillo. Pro-tip: it's not "ber-na-lil-i-o")
You have been told by at least one out-of-state vendor that they are going to charge you extra for "international" shipping.
You expect to pay more if your house is made of mud.
You can order your Big Mac with green chile.
You see nothing odd when, in the conversations of the people in line around you at the grocery store, every other word of each sentence alternates between Spanish and English.
You associate bridges with mud, not water.
Tumbleweeds and various cacti in your yard are not weeds. They are your lawn. (We don't try to kill the weeds; they are the only thing making the yard look green)
If you travel anywhere, no matter if just to run to the gas station, you must bring along a bottle of water and some moisturizer.
Trailers are not referred to as trailers. They are houses. Double-wide trailers are "real" houses.
A package of white flour tortillas is the exact same thing as a loaf of bread. You don't need to write it on your shopping list; it's a given. (I prefer corn tortillas, though)
At any gathering, regardless of size, green chile stew, tortillas, and huge mounds of shredded cheese are mandatory.
You know the response to the question “red or green?”
A tarantula on your porch is ordinary. A scorpion in your tub is ordinary. A poisonous centipede on your ceiling? Ordinary. A black widow crawling across your bed is terribly, terribly common. A rattlesnake is an occasional hiking hazard. No need to freak out.
This entry was originally posted at http://masterofmidgets.dreamwidth.org/210552.html. You can also comment there using OpenID.
2. Cut and paste the list.
3. Bold the items that apply to you.
You know you're from New Mexico when...
You relearn how to use your windshield wipers every 6 months or so.
Las Vegas refers to a small railroad town in the East plains.
You are an expert at distinguishing barbecue smoke from forest fire smoke. And you ransack every news source as soon as you see/smell the latter.
You’ve had a school day canceled because there was half an inch of snow on the ground. (Hell, I've had school start late because they thought it might snow)
You know what an Arroyo is.
Your high school’s name was a Spanish word (La Cueva, Eldorado, Sandia,Manzano…) (no, but my middle school was)
There is a kachina somewhere in your home or yard.
You can’t control your car on wet pavement.
You wish you had invested in the orange barrel business.
You or someone you know rushed to the grocery store as soon as they heard Hatch was flooding. You've gotta stock up...
When even if you don't speak Spanish, you can pronounce the words correctly.
When you have this unexplained, burning hatred for all things Texan. (joking, joking!)
Whenever you introduce yourself as being from New Mexico, you have this compulsive urge to say, "...and no, I don't speak Spanish!"
Mexican restaurants in any other state are completely repulsive to you. (I really can't stand Californian Mexican food at all, sorry)
Instead of cookies, candy, and other goodies, you ask your mom to send you a care package full of green chile and salsa. And none of this "mild" crap.
That crap with the meat and beans is not "chile," goshdarnit!
You know you lived in NM when somehow everyone you meet outside the state thinks that the Arizona and Texas borders meet, and you go, yeah I'm from the state inbetween.
When everyone in your neighborhood is related and the streets are named after them. (This is why we can't keep a street sign on our road. Oh well.)
When youre not from Albuquerque, but say you are so people know youre not from Mexico. (Trying to explain the fine distinction between Albuquerque, Rio Rancho, Bernalillo, and Corrales is just...not worth the trouble)
Candles, a pile of brown paper bags, and a yard full of sand constitute christmas decorations. (My grandparents had an electric set, but when I was in girl scouts we would volunteer to set up all the bags at the park. I can't believe we never started any fires)
You have a bumpersticker saying "if God wanted texans to ski, he would have given them a mountain"
You buy salsa by the gallon.
You are still using the paper license tag that came with your car five years ago.
Your favorite restaurant has a chile list instead of a wine list.
You do all your shopping and banking at a drive-up window.
You have license plates on your walls, but not on your car.
Most restaurants you go to begin with "El" or "Los".
You remember when Santa Fe was not like San Francisco.(There was a point that was true? It's been elitist hippie central as long as I can remember...)
You hated Texans until the Californians moved in. (I love California and my California friends, but ugh, Santa Fe)
The tires on your roof have more tread than the ones on your car.
You price-shop for tortillas.
You have an extra freezer just for green chile. (We don't, but my grandma does)
You think six tons of crushed rock makes a beautiful front lawn. (Hey, my mom gets paid to landscape that shit)
You have to sign a waiver to buy hot coffee at a drive-up window.
You ran for state legislature so you can speed legally.
You pass on the right because that's the fast-lane.
You have read a book while driving from Albuquerque to Las Vegas. (both of them)
You think Sadies was better when it was in the bowling alley.
Your swamp cooler got knocked off your roof by a dust devil.
You are afraid to drive through Mora and Espanola.
You iron your jeans to "dress up".
You don't see anything wrong with drive-up window liquor sales.
Your other vehicle is also a pick-up truck.
Two of your cousins are in Santa Fe, one in the legislature and the other in the state pen. (okay, not technically true. But my mom's ex-boyfriend was the NM rep to the 2000 Democratic National Convention, has a statue of him in downtown Albuquerque, and has been arrested for, among other things, driving under the influence and shooting at people out of his back door.)
You have driven to an Indian Casino at 3am because you were hungry. (I haven't, but I know my mom and the boyfriend have)
You're relieved when the pavement ends because the dirt road has fewer pot-holes. (I've given up on the street ever being paved out here.)
You can correctly pronounce Tesuque, Cerrillos, and Pojoaque. (and Bernalillo. Pro-tip: it's not "ber-na-lil-i-o")
You have been told by at least one out-of-state vendor that they are going to charge you extra for "international" shipping.
You expect to pay more if your house is made of mud.
You can order your Big Mac with green chile.
You see nothing odd when, in the conversations of the people in line around you at the grocery store, every other word of each sentence alternates between Spanish and English.
You associate bridges with mud, not water.
Tumbleweeds and various cacti in your yard are not weeds. They are your lawn. (We don't try to kill the weeds; they are the only thing making the yard look green)
If you travel anywhere, no matter if just to run to the gas station, you must bring along a bottle of water and some moisturizer.
Trailers are not referred to as trailers. They are houses. Double-wide trailers are "real" houses.
A package of white flour tortillas is the exact same thing as a loaf of bread. You don't need to write it on your shopping list; it's a given. (I prefer corn tortillas, though)
At any gathering, regardless of size, green chile stew, tortillas, and huge mounds of shredded cheese are mandatory.
You know the response to the question “red or green?”
A tarantula on your porch is ordinary. A scorpion in your tub is ordinary. A poisonous centipede on your ceiling? Ordinary. A black widow crawling across your bed is terribly, terribly common. A rattlesnake is an occasional hiking hazard. No need to freak out.
This entry was originally posted at http://masterofmidgets.dreamwidth.org/210552.html. You can also comment there using OpenID.