Super Secret November Challenge Blog Post #12

Southern Women At Large

This weekend, I ate my body weight in early Thanksgiving dinner and shower food. As in, wedding shower

Although, technically, this was a "tea" and not a shower - yet another trip into unknown society wedding practices. I got a corsage. I got a sugar rush and gifts. I may have slightly enhanced my southern accent at times. Not to mock, but just to gloss over a few of my other personality quirks that are always in danger of popping up in large groups.

Does every other southern woman have some kind of secret handbook of social practices and traditions that I don't have access to? Is there a secret handshake? Is there??

I tend to assume my status as a southern lady is always in the clear every time I glance at my iron skillet hanging on the kitchen wall... but then I find myself surrounded by women who all have salon hair, jewelry and church connections, and I all I have to offer is spanx and a solid Steel Magnolias impression. Am I failing you, ladies? I do so want to lend to the overall mystique of the Southern Woman. We are a living anomaly, gals. Are we the nicest ladies you've ever met, or just the most prudent?

I have to tell you, this is blog gold, the whole Mystery of the Southern Woman thing, but - surprise surprise - I am drained. Just drained. Plus, I am cellular blogging yet again, and my battery is not quite up for this in depth exploration of character.

So, until next time? You all are too twisted for color tv.

Ode to the Alabama Redneck (or, Rednecks and Car wrecks)

Look, I try to stand up for you guys. Even with your super majority of backwoods/backwards bible beating bigots, I know that is a slightly unfair generalization, as all of you are not like that. I'm talking to You! You southern country boys with not much to do, I imagine, other than drive your pickups a little fast, do a bit of off-roadin' and call ladies "darlin' "; Should folks ask about your questionable demeanour, I say:
"Why no m'am/sir - not all our country boys are incestuous-drunken-racist-stereotypes. They're just victims of circumstance and relics of a lost culture. They'll treat you right nice and fry up your greens til you arteries will just start a-weeping at the sight of a tomato."

Well, my tune has changed. Right now, it is Taps in the key of bitter. Before last week, if I saw a thick drawl saunter up to me in a pair of wrangler jeans, I'd smile and let you hold that door open for me. But now, my message to any country boy I see is this:

"You better check yourself, before your wreck yourself.. or wreck my boyfriend's car. Again."

Then I would throw something super pretentious in their face (like a foreign criterion film or something) and slowly back away, humming Finnegan's Wake at a death march tempo.

Okay, perhaps I won't follow through with this, as I do admire a redneck's ability to guzzle whiskey and stand on a lawn and holler up at tornadoes, calling them "pissant pantywastes" and what not...

But you are on watch, rednecks. You are on watch.

The bf's car. RIP, fair Honda.