That Dog Won't Hunt :)

Years ago when I was a restless little baby dyke (okay, I'm not really a dyke but that's beside the point) I had this lesbian massage therapist who was a former roommate of Melissa Etheridge. Her name was Barbara and we hit it off. One day before my ex and I were fixing to move to Colorado she told me, "Y'all are both southern gals. Some day you'll come back." I was so headstrong and sick of the south, I didn't want to believe her. Now, I have no desire in hell to go back to the south anytime soon. I'm still way too weird and progressive for that part of the country but she was right about part of it. I am such a southern gal. I like saying "howdy" and "y'all." I don't call everyone honey and darling anymore but every now and then a little Dixie slips out. I appreciate the beauty of a pulled pork sandwich, the sound of crickets in the evening, the taste of honeysuckle right off the vine. I love a woman that can gnaw on a piece of fried chicken and drive a big ass truck down a long country road. I miss watching the Braves on TBS and Sunday church potlucks. I miss my grandma's cooking, watching football with PaPa and big violent thunderstorms. People in the south know how to take their time with telling a story, kissing and family reunions. Language is so colorful and vibrant there. It's a land of mystery and paradoxes. And let's not forget how beautiful it is...it's a place that inspires and breeds artists. I hang my cowboy hat in Portland these days but my boots are still rooted in that red Georgia clay.