Right now for instance, I’m wearing South’s ratty underwear, eating cake over South’s keyboard and typing with my toes. But typing very seriously, thank you. I guess you heard about the heavy rains in Georgia yesterday. The weather here today is….hang on a sec till I drive over to the window and check it out. Hmm, at 5 a.m., it appears to be dark, with an increasing chance of light. More as the story develops. (Sorry. I’ve been watching too much CNN this morning. I’m trying to see if they mention that hurricane the gas station dude was talking about. So far, nothing. He’s such a liar.)Mr. G called me on my cell to chat right before bedtime last night. I’m like, “Honey, please, don’t call me on my cell. Do you know how expensive that is?!” (Yes, some of us have those ghetto Tracfones) “Call me on South’s landline. And call person to person, it’ll make me feel really important.”
I checked out my emails and read the news, part of my morning routine. Reading some of the other sites this morning tells me South will have plenty of drama to discuss concerning the Tampa show when he returns on Monday. Ahh, put a bunch of hot women together—and apparently one that’s not even there–and what have you got? Plenty of gossip for weeks to come! I nearly fell right out of my Hoveround when I read that one chick described the porn stars in attendance as “fat, nasty bitches…” with “titties hanging down to their ankles.” Meeeow. They’re all good looking women. Fight nice, kids.
Someone made a remark on AVN’s blog that I have to comment on. They said that porn chicks “don’t give a shit” about their fans and that “…to pornstars the fans are living, breathing ATM’s.” They were responding to Tyler Faith’s comment, “Stars come down [to Tampa] for the fun, to relax and hang out with one another w/o feeling they have to put on their public fan “face.” EVERYBODY in the public eye puts on a different face around fans. Singers do it, sports stars do it, movie actors do it. That is NOT, however, the same as saying they “don’t give a shit.” The minute you hand over your money for a CD or a DVD or a ticket to a baseball game, you become part of the “living, breathing ATM” cycle. Who among us is naïve enough to believe that, say Mick Jagger shows up at a Rolling Stones concert because he cares about YOU personally? He’s doing his job, and you’re paying to see him do it. Why are the porn chicks held to a different standard? The women are doing their job and while some fans might have a difficult time perceiving sex on camera as “a job,” that’s exactly what it is, and they have a right to be compensated financially for it, as well as enjoy time away from it.
I have to be truthful, though, I laughed and laughed when I read all this was going down in Tampa, cuz South hates it when women get their drama going. And now he’s smack dab in the middle of it. BWAHAHAHA.
Ok enough of that shit. It’s harshing my mellow. On to other things. Perusing Yahooey, I read an article that stated 9 out of 10 men and 7 out of 10 women will become overweight as they age. You know what that tells me? Don’t even try…just fat up now and be done with it. For once, an area in which I don’t have to worry about being an underachiever.
After hours of trying, I “accidentally” accessed South’s email account. I’ve been dying to change his signature. Get this—he has “Mike South said it, so I believe it,” as part of his signature. Guh. You just know those words were spoken by one of his chicky pooh friends still basking in the sexual afterglow. So I changed it to, “Mike South said it, and I can’t understand a word of it.”
The last time I was here, South’s neighbor—the one that didn’t seem crazy—promised to teach me how to speak Southern. I don’t really want to speak it—I just want to understand it. Every time I come here I leave with the feeling that they if they make English the official language of the United States there are going to be a lot of pissed off Southerners.
So I took the one non-crazy neighbor out to breakfast in exchange for a lesson. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: “I think I’ll have pancakes for breakfast. What are you having?” (For some strange reason women always have to know what people are going to order. Don’t ask. It’s a mystery.)
Joe: “Anomally git poke or hayum for muh mill.”
Me: “Now when you say, ‘anomally,’ do you mean like, “Mike South getting into the AVN Hall of Fame would be an ‘anomally’?”
Joe: “Nah, that’d be a g.d. muracule. Ah mean anomaly git poke or hayum but armageddon a owdoh of beckon and aigs.”
Muracules? Armageddon? When did we start talking about the Bible?!
And it only got worse when Joe tried to make “small talk.”
Joe: “Juicy that thar Awful Tar?”
Me: “Ummmm…nooo?’ Yes or no is generally a safe answer, as long as you don’t have to elaborate. You can pretty much tell what they want you to say by their expression, but if you can’t discern it, or if they look disgusted and insulted, go with no. I honestly think that’s how ended up in the Civil War. We said “ummmm….yes?” when we should have said, “ummm…no?”
But suddenly I was curious to see if Joe had as difficult a time understanding me, as I was having with him. So I said, “Guess what, Joe? There’s a whole bunch of porn chick drama going on in Tampa.”
Joe: “Ah red dat dis moanin’.”
Me: “Umm…yes?” Mutter mutter. “Hey, our waitress is kinda cute, don’t you think?”
Joe shrugged. “Got a nice bee-hind. But I cauterize a few times.”
Only in the South do flirtation and cauterize occur in the same thought process.
Me: “So about this Awful Tar….”
Joe: “Uh ain’t never seed it neither.”
From my previous visits, I discovered that if you keep repeating the words, trying to sound them out, eventually the meaning will come to you. If the killer migraine doesn’t get to you first. As many times as I repeated “Awful Tar,” though, it came out as “Awful Tar.’ I kept picturing a bad tar spill out on I-80.
Joe indicated the guy behind me. “Juicy him?”
Me: “Yes.”
Joe: “Uh hear tell he works for da Jawjuh poleece,” he leaned in and talked in a confidential tone, “and lives in a dubba wide.”
Finally!! Words that are recognizable to me in any language: police and double wide!
One funny thing happened during our “mill.” At one point, Joe intro’ed me to the cute waitress he cauterized and I said, “Hi.” That’s it. Hi. Joe informed her that I was “a Yankee” and she replied that she could tell by MY accent!!! In any case, I was only too happy to drive back into South’s heap and hide out for the rest of the day.
Once again I leave you with one of my favorite COPS moments:
Cop: “What kind of problems do you have? Other than being drunk and stupid?”
