Surburbia (n):  residential areas that exist on the fringes of larger cities, usually of the quick-build by an individual developer, same style, straight-street type, with or without cul-de-sacs (extra points with them, though!); a great place to raise children, build fences from nosy neighbors you live on top of, and host Tupperware (and/or Mary Kay/Scentsy/Avon) parties; a neighborhood that can suck the life and soul out of city-dwellers; the epitome of the midwest's ideal living scenario.

 Beyond the white horizontal blinds and the white slats in the windows, you can clearly see the developer here went for a very unanimous look.  He even developed the houses four blocks over, which you can clearly see across the highway behind this row of houses in front of mine.  In front of our ornamental trees (in each and every lawn, I think by mandate in our homeowner's association), you can see each mailbox is all brick, but the true homeowner's identity and individuality is by the color of brick.  Ours (which you can't see) is dark red, which means we're the crazy lesbians.  Don't mess with our mail.  The neighbors next door have light brick, which means they're more high-class than we are.  We don't know each other.  That's Surburbia's form of prejudice.

I gave another view from my front porch, just in case the white midwesternishness of the blinds and windows was just too much to handle in the last pic.  Here you can see how the Mandate Trees are surviving the winter.  Sure, you can't see my house, but if you've seen one, you've seen them all.  The only saving grace is that blue sky, only interrupted by power lines in the day, haze at night, car noise in the day...

I desperately want to live in the city.  I thought living in Surburbia would be a nice choice to get the best of both worlds.  I get a lawn, three bedrooms, two baths, 1300 square feet of roots to maybe have kids some day and complain about the schools in the area...

...instead I got uniformity, conformity, white picket fences with more drive time to hit the traffic in the city.

It's about time I trade in my Surburban roots for an apartment in the city.  I'll trade the Mandate Trees for shorter drives to class and work, my brick mailbox for an apartment number, I'll even trade my white picket windows for a small balconette.  Just as long as I keep my city haze and powerlines in the background, I'll feel right at home.