I still remember moving to the south.

I remember moving from Virginia, which just seemed like worlds away, and making that long drive to Alabama.  I remember asking my mom several times.. "What do you think the kids there are like?"  And yes, although you could never tell by talking to me now, I worked tirelessly on perfecting a thick, southern drawl so I wouldn’t stick out. 

And then we got here. 

I was attending Williams Elementary school, which is now New Century Technology, and 95% of the kids there were arsenal kids.. meaning, specifically, that MY (affected) southern accent was the one that stuck out.  None of the other kids had any sort of accent.  I dropped my drawl the first period I spent there, and went on about my way.

But what I learned most over the next fifteen or so years had nothing to do with dialect.  It had little to do with race, or geography, or any soon-to-be-featured National Geographic Study.  It was that being southern was a way of life.

It was brought to light again this weekend, when my mother brought "Puttin’ on the Grits: A Southern Girl’s Guide to Hospitality" to my house for some light weekend reading.  And I was bored.  I was reading this manual on how to perfect a southern hootinanny, and I already knew.  There was a recipe in there for the perfect sweet tea.. and I already knew.  There was a list of "ice-breakers" so you can help your guests mingle.. and I already knew.  There was the mention of never leaving the house without lip-gloss on.. and I already knew that, too.

The book was almost a waste of paper, in my opinion, and should just be recycled when published below the Mason Dixon line.  Just by being here, by absorbing the kindess you’re bound to be showered with, by allowing yourself to be cradled in that foggy August haze, by understanding that this is a region unlike any other.. THAT’S how you pick up southern habits.  A book?  Ain’t gonna tell you nuthin, sweetheart.

In radio, you’re encouraged to have no accent.  So I didn’t.  But never once did I let my love for Bama football be taken for granted.  I never hid the fact that I know all of the words to "Sweet Home, Alabama" and "Alabama" (the state song) and the fight song for the Tide.  I was always proud to have a pitcher of sweet tea in my fridge, the makings for hor d’oveurs at any given moment, and could create a "front porch" attitude at the drop of a hat. 

I may not be Huntsville elite, but I am so damn proud to be southern.

Why do rain, orange cones, and the forecast of snow make Alabama drivers lose their ever-loving mind?  This morning was a HECTIC drive in due to stupid people.  STUPID people.

Now, I should state here that I may have a slight case of road rage.  How slight, you ask?  Just enough for me to take the wheel from Bryan on a few occasions (while in his car, while he was driving) and occasionally lean over him to honk his horn.  He just doesn’t honk his horn enough.  And when people screw up, especially in the middle of the road, isn’t it our jobs (as competent drivers) to gently let them know that they shouldn’t be allowed to procreate?

So this morning was not a fun drive.

This long weekend had some high points.. Bryan and I set a new date for the wedding, since we’ve had some unexpected surprises pop up.. Bryan and I walked down to Parkway Place mall on Sunday to get some exercise, and we ran into my stalker.  Okay, admittedly, I’m not sure if she’s stalking myself OR Bryan, but one of us is definitely being followed.  She
said she was there to exchange some shoes, but we all know that we’ve run into Lorie far too often in the last two weeks for it to be coincidental.  Just admit it, Lorie.  Just admit that you want to be us.  While at the mall, I totally annihilated some teenager for acting a fool.  I actually climbed over the back of my chair and leaned down into his ear canal to whisper a threat to him.  I felt like such a bad ass.. but later, when Bryan and I were talking about it, we came to the conclusion that we’re officially yuppies.  Just.. you know.. POOR yuppies.

Ugh.  Also, this weekend, we’ve shared a stomach virus.  I’m in the throes of mine as I type.

Oooh, and this weekend, I cleaned my house.  Like, from top to bottom.  I actually spent FIVE HOURS on Saturday cleaning.  It feels SOOO much better in there.  We bathed the dogs.. the one cat that will let us.. it’s nice.  The Boy’s room looks wonderful.  It’s my goal in life to have him come over and have a real room, not just the spare room that we use as a laundry receptacle.  It’s getting there.

That’s the superficial Sarah report there.  Something more in depth is coming.

Maybe.