It’s official. I’m in love. I’m in love with the lazy accents, the lack of humidity, the water that leaves my hair bouncy and shiny. I love the fact that everyone lets you in traffic when you want. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been using it to my advantage. Just yesterday I jumped a curb, (another perk of driving a huge four wheel drive truck) cut a stoplight by flying through a car dealership and made a U-Turn in heavy evening traffic in front of a semi truck and cut some poor chap in a huge manuel transmission truck off. He looked slightly pissed, but after we rolled the window down and sweetly apologized, he was more than alright. Ah. Those sweet southern people.

However, be warned, the cops aren’t nice. (though I have not been stopped, two people I’m driving with, have been) Do not be fooled by their charming accents, no matter how leisurely! Even if they do sound and look suspiciously like better looking versions of ex boyfriends) They also have something here they call Speed Awareness Week, which, apparently, they take “very seriously“ and “do not give warnings“. Upon hearing this, like true northerners all we could muster up was a good “Wtf, mate?’

Overzealous cops aside, it has been the most lovely week ever. Even though I was plagued with much work, I seemed to sleep better and longer even on the nights I got three hours of sleep. The nights sweem to be longer and time seems to stretch a bit more. I am a bit worried about myself, I haven’t listened to anything but country music since I got here. Even though I’m on my way home, I have no intention of quitting.

There has been, of course, the handful of southern boys who cannot understand why I have to be so mean. According to them it is “very unbecoming to an otherwise talented and gorgeous woman”. Darlings. I have news for you. Being assholes is also very unbecoming to otherwise successful and good-looking men. Something I have definitely understood is most southern men don’t quite know what to do when a pickup line is rejected, regardless of the accent and the good manners accompanying the delivery. Sorry, boys. Though you might want to chalk it up to my genetics rather than my geography. No matter where I’ll go, this is the way it is. Because my Daddy raised me right. The line from a country song I’m listening to now applies beautifully “It’s better to be hated for who you are than loved for who your not.” Ah! A scrap of country music for every situation. I have a feeling my sister is going to quickly tire of this. She is already a little worried that a week down here has corrupted me. I think it has.

Damn the south! Now I know what I’ve been missing all along. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

I go back to my little northern apartment with my northern sister and my evil northern ways. And I still live it. Because I have my family. And there is nothing in my life that matters more than that.