Why I Drink: Stinking in the Suburbs Edition

Yeah, so, I'm up in Lake friggin County (land of not quite enough flooding, unfortunately), house and cat sitting for my parents while they're back east on their annual visit to see my dad's side of the family. The kittens are pestering their old cat, eating his food, playing with his toys. He's not too happy about it. I'd prefer to be elsewhere, myself. This is my least favorite part of the summer. I can't stand the suburbs. I did some grocery shopping at a "Super Wal-Mart" in Waukegan this afternoon and I wanted to break into one of the shotgun cases and Hemingway (Cobain?) myself. Hellish. Nothing's within walking distance, all the cars are gigantic, and everyone drives 900 miles an hour -- badly. The people are all super-sized, too, as if someone injected them with a huge syringe full of brine, like a cheap ham. Not just fat -- big. Necks bigger around than my waist -- and I have a pretty fat waist. Calves like beer barrels. Goddamn military crewcuts on their leathery, huge heads. And the men are even worse!