I live on a little blue island in the middle of one of the reddest states in the union. Politics aside, I sometimes forget that I live in Texas. Aside from the used cowboy boot store down the street, there are very few reminders that my neighborhood is in fact in the Lone Star State. Texas prides itself for being able to fly its flag at the same level as the United States flag, but in my neighborhood, rainbow flags are more common than anything red, white, and blue, unless you count Obama campaign signs.

Let me make this disclaimer: I love living in Texas, but what I love about it are also the same things I love about my neighborhood; namely, the rich cultural diversity and the incredible weirdness. The last couple weeks have provided plenty of incidents to remind me of these two things both in my neighborhood and the rest of the state.

A couple of weeks ago, my wife was rear-ended near our house. She called me, and I drove over right away. When I got to the gas station where she was waiting, I parked in front of a homeless woman who was not very happy with me for parking by her. She proceeded to rant at me for the next 10 minutes, but then forgave me and started serenading me with Elvis songs until the police arrived. Before I had arrived, a guy on a bike had already asked Lauran for money, oblivious to the fact that the back of her car looked like it had been struck by a meteorite.

As we waited for the next 30 minutes, we saw someone walk into the gas station barefoot. He had probably just come back from the beach. Finally, the police officer arrived. We stood next to his car and gave him our information. While we were doing so, a middle-aged woman approached us and asked us if we knew where any good bars or clubs were. I replied that I didn’t know because I was a little surprised by her question. Lucky for her, you can’t go a mile in any direction from that gas station without passing a few clubs or bars. The guy on the bike also returned, but when he saw the police officer, he pedaled away without asking anyone for money. To top it all off, we also saw a friend of ours who works at the church next door to us and is a former student of Lauran’s. Houston is the fourth largest city in the country, but it is rare that I leave the house and don’ t run into someone I know. Most of the rest of the night was uneventful, but I must say that in our neighborhood, this could have passed for a fairly quiet night.

Shortly after that night, we went to visit Lauran’s parents who live just north of Houston. The area they live in is a developing suburb, complete with Starbucks, Applebee’s, Target, and a Chick-Fil-A. However, they live right on the edge of the suburbs, where Houston ends and the East Texas forests begin. In some ways, they are straddled between two worlds — suburban America, which looks just like the rest of suburban America, only with more trees and deer, and a place best described as the heart of Texas, where people drive pickup trucks and dress like cowboys and speak with a drawl.

While we were staying with Lauran’s parents, they took us to a diner in the next town over. This place served the kind of food Texans pride themselves for: burgers, chicken fried steak, and some Tex-Mex, all served in portions that could probably feed a horse. Our neighborhood has its fair share of these of restaurants, but the coffee shop next door also serves vegan pockets. This restaurant also had a wall of fame for those who had eaten the Holy Grail of greasy burgers, composed of six beef patties totaling 1 and ½ pounds, plus 1 pound of bacon, ½ pound of cheese, and all the regular burger trimmings. Cows and pigs have nightmares about this burger. One guy managed to finish one in nine minutes. I am sure he is now a local legend and in my mind resembles Jabba the Hut. In the same weekend, we also went to an organic chuck wagon barbecue that served delicious and nutritious steaks and veggies (all covered in butter of course). While we were there, we got to listen to live country music and pet a horse.

Later that weekend, we headed home. Just as we pulled into our neighborhood, we saw a tow truck barrel through the intersection in front of us towing a pedicab behind it and being chased by a police car. Lauran said, “I am not even going to try and guess what happened there.” I just laughed, happy to be home, where my own weirdness doesn’t seem so out of place.

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