The North has coffee houses while the South has Waffle Houses.

The North has switchblade knives while the South has .45’s.

The North has double last names while the South has double first names.

The North has Cream of Wheat while the South has grits.

The North has green salads while the South has collard greens.

The North has lobsters while the South has crawfish.

For Northerners Moving South . . .

~~ If you run your car into a ditch, don’t panic. Four men in a four-wheel drive pickup truck with a tow chain will be along shortly. Don’t try to help them, just stay out of their way. This is what they live for.

~~ Don’t be surprised to find movie rentals and bait in the same store. Do NOT buy food at this store.

~~ Remember, “Y’all” is singular, “all y’all” is plural, and “all y’all’s” is plural possessive.

~~ Get used to hearing ‘You ain’t from ’round here, are ya?’

~~ Save all manner of bacon grease. You will be instructed later on how to use it.

~~ Don’t be worried at not understanding what people are saying. They can’t understand you either.

~~ The first Southern statement to creep into a transplanted Northerner’s vocabulary is the adjective “big’ol,” as in ‘big ol’ truck or big’ol boy. Most Northerners begin their Southern-influenced dialect this way. All of them are in denial about it.

~~ The proper pronunciation you learned in school is no longer proper.

~~ Be advised that “He needed killin’.” is a valid defense in the South.

~~ If you hear a Southerner exclaim, “Hey, y’all watch this,” you should stay out of the way. These are likely to be the last words he’ll ever say.

~~ If there is the prediction of the slightest chance of even the smallest accumulation of snow, your presence is required at the local grocery store. It doesn’t matter whether you need anything or not. You just have to go there.

~~ Do not be surprised to find that 10-year olds own their own shotguns, they are proficient marksmen, and their mammas’ taught them how to aim.

~~ AND REMEMBER: If you do settle in the South and bear children, don’t think we will accept them as Southerners. After all, if the cat had kittens in the oven, we ain’t gonna call ‘em biscuits.

For my birthday (my 50th birthday), my sister tried to think of something special to give me that would be like nothing I’d ever had/experienced before. I sat there nervously as I opened the birthday card and was thinking how I’d never been on a cruise before – wheee. That would be a cool surprise. I thought my Kitchen Aid standup mixer would never fit in this envelope. I thought, “I sure hope she’s not talking about a tattoo.” (I’d probably bleed to death) A lot of thoughts ran through my head before I got to the inside of the card.

Inside was a certificate for a Spa Day for the two of us for the next day, Christmas Eve. This Spa Day was to include an hour in their Spa Capsule with a detoxifying full body steam and exfoliating body scrub, followed by a refreshing vichy shower. Then 90 minutes relaxing with a Swedish Massage. AND that’s not all. Then a spa pedicure. And afterward, lunch would be served.

I can hear the masses, green with envy, oohing and aahing in delight at what a wonderful idea that was. I know. There are many people out there that LOVE to be pampered and froo-froo’ed (that’s my word). Me? I’m a different animal.

While I do love my sister and I DO appreciate her thoughtfulness, I have to apologize to her for being a “simple” sister. One who isn’t accustomed to anything froo-froo past straightening my hair (and I don’t even do THAT every day) and a little lipstick. And one certainly not used to being pampered. I’ve been a single mom to two boys for 20 years. There was no froo-froo in my house and certainly no one there to pamper me. I’m quite accustomed to that and quite okay with it as well. So the thought of being pampered left me sitting there a bit . . . . frightened.

Yes, I was frightened of my Spa Day. As well I should have been. You see. . . I know me. I know my comfort zone.

And this Spa Capsule (as it turns out) is not on my Comfort Zone Safety List. Not even close.

After assuring me that everything would be WONDERFUUULLL and that I would just LOOOVVVE it (said in singsong voice), I agreed to go. After all, it was Christmas Eve and I HAD been pretty stressed trying to pull together a festive holiday for the family. Plus, I didn’t want to hurt the sister’s feelings.

First off, they had us fill out a pretty standard form while sitting in this quiet, peaceful room with the zen music chinging in the background. The form asked “What do you look forward to the most in your spa experience today?” I wrote, “Putting my clothes back on.” Sister couldn’t believe that I would really write that. Does she KNOW me?

Well, off we went to get naked. **cringing** We put our little bathrobes on. **not attractive** Then they took us to separate rooms where we were each introduced to our own little capsule. I looked at it, puzzled, thinking, “HOW does this thing work?” I had envisioned the capsule to be like a mini-sauna or a mini-jacuzzi. . . . I was w.r.o.n.g.!

The girl began to explain how it worked and what I was to do. O-O!! What? I had to disrobe **cringing** while she held my robe over her eyes (thank God!) and climb into this contraption. There was a small towel to wrap over my lady bits like a diaper and another small towel to drape over “the girls”. (I was wondering if they had a bigger towel) She would then close the lid. That’s when it started to feel sauna-like, steam followed by a warm shower. Then she lifted the lid (Yikes!) and began the body scrub. (I’d already taken a bath before I left the house, and thank goodness I shaved my legs). She closed the lid and then the misty shower started up again. In the meantime, I was thinking “WHO applies for this job? Who wakes up and says I want to give strange people baths everyday?” I felt bad that the poor girl felt like she had to resort to this. [Later I found out that people actually go to school for this shit - really?]

I can’t even describe what it was like exiting said capsule all slippery and awkward. Let’s just say that this poor girl saw more of me than she signed up for. I may be getting a bill in the mail for her therapy soon.

I’m sure I’ve missed parts in describing my “experience” because I was actually too busy humming my way through it, chanting and singing “Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head” just waiting for my “experience” to be over.

I managed to live through it and I DID come out with silky soft skin, but I will NEVER EVER again go NEAR anything that remotely looks like a capsule again. My dreams of going to the moon are SHOT!

Next was the massage. Ninety minutes of massage. Although I was still naked, it was less torturous and slightly less uncomfortable. My mind was no longer humming and chanting to itself (thank goodness). When the massage was over, the sister asked me in her same singsong voice, “Well, did you relaaxxx?” I said, “No, but I DID manage to figure out how I was going to schedule getting Christmas dinner on the table.” I can’t turn this brain off. . . ever.

With that being over, I was allowed to finally reconnect with my clothes. Yay! Hello pants! Hello shirt! And off we went to get the pedicure. I was bubbly by this point purely because I finally got my clothes on.

We got a nice pedicure and I sat in a little vibrating chair because, of course, I needed MORE massage.

Then they had a nice lunch waiting for us of soup and sandwich in this little room with the funky table. Yes, it looks like a tree.

Overall, I was just glad it was over. I was glad to say that I’ve experienced a massage before. I can strike that off my bucket list. But more now than ever I know that I already have the ticket to relaxing. . . it’s called Miller Lite. And it’s a heck of a lot cheaper.

Thank you, sister, for a birthday I will never forget!!

When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious diatribes about how hard things were. When they were growing up; what with walking twenty-five miles to school every morning…. Uphill… Barefoot…. BOTH ways… yadda, yadda, yadda.

But now that I’m over the ripe old age of thirty (WAY over), I can’t help but look around and notice the youth of today. You’ve got it so easy! I mean, compared to my childhood, you live in a damn Utopia!

And I hate to say it, but you young whippersnappers kids today, you don’t know how good you’ve got it!

I mean, when I was a kid we didn’t have the Internet. If we wanted to know something, we had to go to the damn library and look it up ourselves. . . in the card catalog!!

There was no email!! We had to actually write somebody a letter – with a pen and paper! Then you had to walk all the way across the street and put it in the mailbox, and it would take like a week to get there! Stamps were 10 cents!

Child Protective Services didn’t care if our parents beat us. As a matter of fact, the parents of all my friends also had permission to kick our ass! Nowhere was safe!

There were no MP3’s or Napsters or iTunes! If you wanted to steal music, you had to hitchhike to the record store and shoplift it yourself!

Or you had to wait around all day to tape it off the radio, and the DJ would usually talk over the beginning and @#*% it all up! There were no CD players! We had tape decks in our car. We’d play our favorite tape and “eject” it when finished, and then the tape would come undone rendering it useless. Cause, hey, that’s how we rolled, Baby! Dig?

We didn’t have fancy crap like Call Waiting! If you were on the phone and somebody else called, they got a busy signal, that’s it!

There weren’t any freakin’ cell phones either. If you left the house, you just didn’t make a damn call or receive one until you got back home. You actually had to be out of touch with your “friends.” OH MY GOD !!! Think of the horror… not being in touch with someone 24/7!!! And then there’s TEXTING. Yeah, right. Please! You kids have no idea how annoying you are.

And we didn’t have fancy Caller ID either! When the phone rang, you had no idea who it was! It could be your school, your parents, your boss, your bookie, your drug dealer, the collection agent… you just didn’t know!!! You had to pick it up and take your chances, mister!

We didn’t have any fancy PlayStation or Xbox video games with high-resolution 3-D graphics! We had the Atari 2600! With games like ‘Space Invaders’ and ‘Asteroids’. Your screen guy was a little square! You actually had to use your imagination!!! And there were no multiple levels or screens, it was just one screen… Forever! And you could never win. The game just kept getting harder and harder and faster and faster until you died! Just like LIFE!

You had to use a little book called a TV Guide to find out what was on TV! You were screwed when it came to channel surfing! You had to get off your ass and walk over to the TV to change the channel!!! NO REMOTES!!! Oh, no, what’s the world coming to?!?!

There was no Cartoon Network either! You could only get cartoons on Saturday Morning. Do you hear what I’m saying? We had to wait ALL WEEK for cartoons, you spoiled little rat bastards!

And not many of us had microwaves. If we wanted to heat something up, we had to use the stove! Imagine that!

And our parents told us to stay outside and play.. all day long. Oh, no, no electronics to soothe and comfort. In fact, they usually KICKED you out, and if you came back inside… you were doing chores!

And car seats and seat belts – oh, please! Mom threw you in the back seat and you hung on. If you were lucky, you got the “safety arm” across the chest at the last moment if she had to stop suddenly, and if your head hit the dashboard, well that was your fault for calling “shot gun” in the first place!

See! That’s exactly what I’m talking about! You kids today have got it too easy. You’re spoiled rotten! You guys wouldn’t have lasted five minutes back in 1980 or any time before!

Regards,
The Over 30 Crowd

Southern women know their summer weather report:
Humidity
Humidity
Humidity

Southern women know everybody’s first name:
Honey
Darlin’
Shugah

Southern women know their religions:
Baptist
Methodist
Football

Southern girls know the 3 deadly sins:
Having bad hair
Having bad manners
Cooking bad food

Suthen-ism’s:

Only a Southerner knows the difference between a hissie fit and a conniption fit, and that you don’t “HAVE” them, you “PITCH” them.
_____

Only a Southerner knows how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc., make up “a mess.”
_____

Only a Southerner can show or point out to you the general direction of “yonder.”
_____

Only a Southerner knows exactly how long “directly” is, as in:
“Going to town, be back drekly (directly).”
_____

Even Southern babies know that “Gimme some sugar” is not a request for the white, granular, sweet substance that sits in a pretty little bowl in the middle of the table.
_____

Only a Southerner knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a neighbor who’s got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad.
If the neighbor’s trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana puddin’!
_____

Only Southerners grow up knowing the difference between “right near” and “a right far piece.” They also know that “just down the road” can be 1 mile or 20.
_____

Only a Southerner both knows and understands the difference between a redneck, a good ol’ boy, and po’ white trash.
_____

A Southerner knows that “fixin” can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adverb.
_____

Put 100 Southerners in a room and half of them will discover they’re related, even if only by marriage.
_____

In the South, y’all is singular, all y’all is plural.
_____

Southerners know grits come from corn and how to eat them.
_____

Every Southerner knows tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.
_____

When you hear someone say, “Well, I caught myself lookin’,” you know you are in the presence of a genuine Southerner!
_____

Only true Southerners say “sweet tea” and “sweet milk.” Sweet tea indicates the need for sugar and lots of it — we do not like our tea unsweetened.
“Sweet milk” means you don’t want buttermilk.
_____

And a true Southerner knows you don’t scream obscenities at little old ladies who drive 30 MPH on the freeway.
You just say, “Bless her heart”… and go your own way.
_____

To those of you who are still a little embarrassed by your Southerness: Take two tent revivals and a dose of sausage gravy and call me in the morning. Bless your heart!
_____

To those of you who are still having a hard time understanding all this Southern stuff…bless your hearts, I hear they are fixin’ to have classes on Southernness as a second language!
_____

For those that are not from the South but have lived here for a long time, all y’all need a sign to hang on y’alls front porch that reads “I’m not from the South, but I got here as fast as I could.”

And finally, Southern women know that men may come and go, but friends are fahevah!!

BWAHAHAHA!!