Tag Archives: humor

15. Shotguns: For Weddings and Whatnot

12 Jan

While the back window Confederate flag isn’t quite so prevalent these days, it seems that plenty of Southern folks’ pickup trucks are still equipped with gun racks. It’s not often you see a Dixie dweller charged with “carrying a concealed weapon.” In fact, you’ll be informed by bumper sticker which pickups are “protected by Smith & Wesson.”

Why all the shotguns? For one thing, one must be prepared at all times to bag a 10-point buck. And you never know when one will appear in the driveway. This is not hyperbole, people. I’ve seen it happen. Ok, I’ve never actually seen it happen, but I did hear it happen right outside my parent’s house.

While many Southern people enjoy shooting wildlife, many just enjoy shooting in general. Not a Christmas goes by without the men in my family outside trying out their new weaponry. Although I think my dad’s become a bit gun shy since shooting a hole in his dresser years ago.

My most unsettling run in with a shotgun took place when my sister and I were driving to our annual Christmas party. We took a wrong turn in the backwoods and were greeted by two gentlemen packing heat. They asked where we were going and we said, “Uh…Scott’s house?” They said, “Scott Williams?” (This was our first time meeting my friend Karen’s then-boyfriend, now-husband, and we had no idea what his last name was.) We said, “Uh…yeah?” Then they told us which way to go, but never did loosen their grip on said shotguns.

Every Christmas night, we go back to Karen & Scott’s place and are VERY careful not to steer off course. Something tells me those guys don’t believe in second chances.

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13. Big Ass Churches (With Comfortable Pews)

12 Jan

My sister lives in Memphis, which features the largest concentration of megachurches in the known world. All the world I’ve known, anyhow. It’s the rodeo-champ style buckle on the Bible Belt.

There’s one that’s got so many bells, whistles, and jumbotrons, my sister’s husband, Shawn, dubbed it “Six Flags Over Jesus.” Of course, after a visit to their church, I figure they ought to be pocketing those stones.

If a church has three or more of the following, you’ll know there’s too much “junk in the trunk:”

1. Parking lot attendants. Bonus points for trams.

2. Nosebleed seats in the sanctuary.

3. Coffee bar.

4. Cupholders.

5. Jumbotron.

6. Basketball court.

7. Ferris wheel.

8. Map.

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11. Perms: Not Just for the 80’s Anymore

7 Jan

While we’re on the subject of bad hair days, I might as well tackle the topic of perms. There was a time when perms were popular all across the U.S. (I believe it fell somewhere in between Bo Derek cornrows and the “Rachel” do.) Perms have generally fallen out of favor, as such things do. However, Southern women can be loathe to break a tradition, no matter how bad it may be.

I, myself, have never had a perm. Not that I think I’m above following trends. (I wore banana clips just like everybody else.) I just never needed one seeing as I have naturally curly hair. My curls and I have only been on friendly terms for the last two decades (since I discovered that growing them out saves me from being serenaded with the Monchichi song). In retrospect, I am grateful that a stray wavy hair gene saved me copious trips to the hairdresser.

From what I understand, perms are an exercise in masochism. You sit in the stylist’s chair for hours while your hair is rolled onto about 512 curlers then doused in foul-smelling chemicals. I’ve heard you have to leave in the stinky glop for at least a day or so. (At least that was the explanation I was given upon commenting on a friend’s odiferous head.)

Maybe perms have gotten more sophisticated over the years, but people still go in wanting to look like Debra Messing and come out looking like Richard Simmons.

After a lifetime of managing curly hair, I can’t understand why somebody would CHOOSE to deal with frizz. Oh, sure, curls are spunky and whatnot, but I’ve yet to meet a curly-haired person (real or fake) who didn’t suffer from the finger-in-light-socket look from time to time. Which is why I have a fairly large collection of hats. Though you will not find a baseball cap in the bunch.

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9. Snuff–Dip, Spit, Repeat

7 Jan

No, not the films. I’m talking tobacco. Snuff (also known as dip or Skoal) is a smokeless tobacco that folks lodge between their lower lip and gums. Its only redeeming factor as far as I can tell is that you can’t die from second-hand snuff. Though you might want to when you see the inside of a guy’s spit cup. Oh yeah, did I mention that snuff causes one to build up excess saliva that has to be frequently expelled? Folks either spit on the ground (hopefully only when outdoors) or into some sort of receptacle. I’ve seen everything from beer cups to coffee cans used for this purpose. Sadly, I’ve never encountered an actual spittoon. I reckon those are for fancy people.

If you grow up in the South, you most likely will at some point date someone who dips. I am loathe to admit that I, myself, did. Though oddly enough, this was long after I’d left the South. In fact, I was in Seattle where I thought I was surely safe from snuff.

Turns out the guy I dated (who was not a smoker) bummed some nicotine gum off a friend one time. He greatly enjoyed the nicotine buzz but was dismayed to discover how pricey the gum was. So he started dipping instead. By the time I met him, he was a hardcore dipper who had built up such a tolerance he was able to swallow the tobacco spit, which is why I didn’t realize he dipped until our third date. Sadly, by that point I was hooked on him. The low point was when he asked me to carry his Skoal in my purse. I became an enabler.

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8. State Fairs–Carnies and All, Y’all!

7 Jan

At the first state fair I attended outside the South, imagine my distress upon ordering a corn dog and being served something that could have come from the grocery store. Listen up fair food vendors, when I order a corn dog, I want y’all to HAND DIP that weenie. And then brush on the mustard for me. Don’t provide a giant jar of off-brand French’s and expect me to coat the thing myself.

Um, where was I? Oh yes, state fairs.

When I was a kid, we could never enjoy the good fair stuff (rides, games, food) without first trekking through the livestock exhibit. Now maybe this would be exciting for a kid from Manhattan or Los Angeles, but by the tender age of five or six, I’d already seen my fair share of cow patties. Still, we had to tromp past all manner of familiar farm animals and their assorted aromas. Whee! I’m still not sure why this was a requirement, unless it was to teach me the lesson that is still ingrained 30 something years later: “You are responsible for where you put your feet.”

I’ve been to all kinds of fairs and festivals in California and Seattle, but I am still partial to the Mississippi State Fair. Perhaps I’m peering through the rosy-hued lenses of nostalgia, but I really do think Southern state fairs are better. Why? In a word: food.

At any fair, you’ll find the same rickety rides operated by dentally challenged carnies. You’ll find the same rip-off games where you’re lucky to win a goldfish that won’t live to see next Tuesday. Livestock is livestock wherever you may be. But the food? Hoo boy, where do I begin?

First, there are the free biscuits. Let me repeat: Free! Biscuits! With cane syrup that’s made on the spot while you watch (that is, if you enjoy watching mules walk in circles for hours, but you’ve gotta do something to pass the time in the long-ass free biscuit line). You’ll find the usual collection of fried stuff on sticks, but in the South it just tastes better. We’ve perfected the art of deep frying. And, yes, it really is an art. There are the aforementioned hand-dipped corn dogs (affectionately known as “Pronto Pups” which sounds a lot better than the “Krusty Pups” you find in Puyallup, WA). If you’re lucky, you’ll happen upon some “skating rink” style pizza. Of course, you’ll encounter all kinds of barbequed delicacies. And you’ll even find Mississippi-style Chinese food. Yum!

What you most likely won’t see are: Gigantic turkey legs, fried Twinkies, or anything made of tofu. Admittedly, I’ve not been to the fair in a while, but I’ve only run across the aforementioned offerings outside the South.

And the highlight of the event? No, not the gorilla woman or two-headed cobra baby. You can’t really find a good freak show these days. The highlight is the State Fair Taffy. Beware. It is highly addictive, and you will never find any other taffy that compares. Lord knows I have tried.

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7. Sweet Tea, in the Biggest Glass You Can Find

1 Dec

A Southern friend was dining with me in Seattle and made the following observation: “If you ask for ‘sweet tea,’ they look at you like you’re retarded, but whenever you order iced tea they bring sugar.” Conversely, if you order “tea” in the South, be prepared to answer this question: “Sweet or unsweet?” (sometimes shortened to “Sweet or un”) Note that “sweet” is always the first option.

So why do Southerners prefer pre-sweetened tea? Duh!

When you add sugar to hot tea, it dissolves. Which means the sugary goodness is evenly dispersed throughout the beverage. When you add sugar to iced tea, you can stir it all day long and never get the stuff melted. This is why Southerners who would normally eschew artificial sweeteners will resort to using them in unsweetened iced tea. It’s the only way to ensure even sweetness throughout.

I should note that if you order tea in the South, expect it to arrive in a tall glass (or mason jar) filled with ice. If you prefer a hot beverage, order coffee.

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6. Hugs, The Handshake of the South

17 Nov

Try a European-style cheek kiss on a Southerner, and you’re liable to get yourself slapped. Much like the word “aloha,” hugs have dual meanings. Hug hello. Hug goodbye. And if you do something nice for a Southerner, they will jump up and “hug your neck.” Don’t worry, they don’t actually hug your neck (which could be confused with, uh, strangling). It’s just an expression.

Now in a business setting, the handshake is standard. Please don’t go hugging clients or potential employers. But if you’re meeting a relative or even a friend-of-a-friend, you may quickly find yourself in a spontaneous embrace. This does not mean they like-like you. Heck, they might not even like you at all. But they will hug you all the same.

If you’re of the frostier, non touchy-feely persuasion, don’t call attention to yourself by trying to avoid the hug. Just close your eyes and think of England. It will be over soon. Of course, you’ll want to slip away from the gathering unnoticed to avoid further friendly fondling. Then again, you might learn to like it.

Are you a hugger? How long do you have to know somebody before a hug seems appropriate?

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2. Deep Freezers: Like Closets, But Colder

15 Sep

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Everybody I know in the South has a deep freeze. Everybody. Care to guess how many deep freezers I’ve seen between here and L.A.? Yep, that would be none.

So why do Southern folks love deep freezers? Frankly, I don’t really know. I could speculate that they need the extra room to store a hunting season’s worth of venison, but more often, they’re packed with Kid’s Cuisines and Costco bags of chicken breasts. Oh, and ice. You can always use an extra bag or two of ice. Never know when the gas station up the road will run out. And then how will you make margaritas?

My sister asked me a few years back why I didn’t have a deep freezer. I believe I was living in a basement apartment at the time, so I figured the answer was obvious. Anyhow, like the Albert Brooks character in “Mother,” I am of the belief that not everything belongs in the freezer, which is why they make it smaller.

Fast forward a few years to the day I noticed our freezer was on the blink. First hint? Soft-serve ice cream. Geoff and I took a field trip to Lowes and Home Depot in search of a replacement. After great debate (well, not exactly Lincoln and Douglas, but still) we settled on a top-freezer Frigidaire with an Energy Star rating. Imagine my surprise when we got it home and I noticed that the freezer compartment was considerably smaller than our previous model. I must admit, I have begun to reconsider my position on deep freezers.

The other day, as I was attempting to wedge a Costco bag of pecans into the freezer door shelf, I made the executive decision to banish Geoff’s square egg maker (don’t ask) and stainless steel pitcher to the countertop. Upon noticing his exiled stuff, Geoff picked up the pitcher and said, “This is the foamer for my espresso machine.”

WHAT?

“You mean,” I say, “The espresso machine that’s been in the basement since we moved in? I’ve been working around this thing for FIVE YEARS?”

Indeed. And he’d been working around it in his old freezer for countless years before that.

So then I proceed to look for more dead weight in the freezer. I hold up one of those cold pack thingies and say, “What about this? Do you use this?”

“That came with the refrigerator,” he says.

I reckon once I finish tossing the useless crap, I won’t need a deep freeze after all.

What all do you keep in your deep freeze? Could you live without it or even want to?

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1. Paula Deen, The Queen of Southern Cuisine

11 Sep

51aDhvNeWLL._SL500_AA280_Paula Deen is kinda like the Martha Stewart of the South. Except that she skips all the crafty-ness and gardening hoo-ha and goes straight to what matters: snacks. Besides which, Paula’s recipes are generally easier to prepare than Martha’s, seeing as how they rely on Southern staples like cream-of-whatever soup and Cool Whip. Oh, and butter. Before you start following Paula’s recipes, you might want to go out and get yourself a cow. Eliminate the middle man.

If you go to any sort of social gathering in the South, you’re likely to encounter at least one or two of Paula’s dishes. Are women hovering over a certain casserole dish with forks in hand making noises that are not usually heard at Baptist potlucks? There’s your clue. Grab the nearest utensil and join in. Knives are handy for clearing a path.

Aside from her concoctions of buttery goodness, I think what folks appreciate about Paula is that she maintains her sense of humor whether she’s accidentally losing her pants in front of a crowd or creating mixer mayhem on Oprah. She’s downright unflappable, y’all!

What’s your favorite Paula Deen recipe? Oh, and how much butter is in your house right now? I keep a minimum of two pounds myself.

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