Country music is so much better when listened to in the south. I mayyyy have the biggest crush on Sam Hunt and may or may not blast his song Leave the Night On as I drive down the interstate. I once had it blasting so loud that I actually found myself embarrassed when the traffic came to a stop (the Nashville traffic topic is being held for Vol. 3) until the guy in the truck next to me tipped his hat. HE TIPPED HIS HAT TO MY COUNTRY MUSIC BEING BLARED. (Did I mention it was a cowboy hat?)
Winter storms in the south are no joke. I thought the drivers here were bad on dry pavement?! That was mere child’s play! Apparently this city doesn’t own any salt. Or shovels. (No, really.) I was in a furniture store the other day, literally skated into this place, and the saleswoman says, “I’m so ready for spring, it’s so dangerous out there!” and it took everything in me to not respond, “Yes, that’s because you have to actually clear the ice from the sidewalk.” (I held the sass.)
Everyone leaves their cars parked in their driveway or on the side of the street because their garage is being used as a workshop. (Which, I think further proves my homemade whiskey theory.) It looks like a straight up used car lot when you drive through our neighborhood and I’d be lying if I said we weren’t a part of this problem. We still have 70% of our moving boxes needing to be broken down, taking up the entire right side of the garage… Christian’s car has been sitting in our driveway since January. I hang my head with shame.
Southerners introduce themselves to you by stating their first and last name. One would think this is cool, like ‘Bond, James Bond’ kinda thing but really it just comes off as very Little House on the Prairie. “My name is Paw. Paw Wilders.” (That was his first name, right? Paw?) I finally introduced myself to one of our neighbors – like, straight up walked up to this woman’s door – and began our conversation with, “Hi! I live across the street – I’m Emily.” She replied with, “My name is Bonnie. Bonnie Wellentown.*” Suddenly I felt I hadn’t given her enough, like maybe I should follow up and give her my last name. Instead, I asked her who her Bug Guy was…. because I’m a bug-a-phobe. And that’s not a weird introductory question at all.
Speaking of neighbors… Living in a neighborhood really changes things. Aside from the fact that I’m living in a house for the first time in my adult life (with a mailbox and a garage and everything!), living in a cul-de-sac has proved to be so much entertainment! Blame it on the fact that I’m a neighborhood newbie or the fact that I most likely watch way too many detective shows, but I’ve convinced myself there’s something fishy going on down the street. (Read: there is nothing fishy going on down the street.) Am I ‘that gal’ now?! Head of Neighborhood Watch, reporting any and all activity as I run errands in yoga pants with no real plans of exercising?!