Loading ...The Baptists finally came by to help us clean up the damage done in the yard by the tornady. And yes, it was very nice of them. My nephew and niece were also here, mowing the lawn and helping pick up limbs and what-not.
I, on the other hand, was not doing any of those things. I was emailing back and forth to Mojo, and making a half-hearted attempt at work. Mojo just happened to be more interesting than work. Does flashing neon and hula dancers bring anything to mind? Heehee….
Around my third email to Mojo, I heard this loud cacophony of prayer coming from the kitchen. No way was I going out there to see what was going on. When it quietened down, I left the safety of the living room and crept down the hallway. My mom, niece and nephew were sitting in the kitchen.
Me: What the hell was that?
Mom: Oh, that was the Baptists.
Me: Did they steal anything?
Everyone: Che! How could you say such a thing!
Niece: That one guy had soft hands.
Me: Where were his hands for you to know they were soft?!
Nephew: We were holding hands to pray.
Me: Pray! What the hell for!
Nephew: They came over and cleaned the yard for free - the least we could do was pray with them.
Me: Not me. I don’t need any prayer. I got it all covered. And why’ve they gotta pray so loud? Is God deaf?
Everyone looks slightly worried for me. Then mom’s rings slip off her finger and clatter to the floor.
Me: See there. While they were holding your hand, the guy was trying to slip your rings off.
Mom: Che! Cut that out! They weren’t trying to steal anything.
Me: I bet they stole something while your eyes were closed.
This conversation went on until mom finally changed the subject, then we had peach ice-cream. Which was worth coming out of hiding for.
Have I ever mentioned the Georgian obsession with peaches? Peach pie, peach cobbler, peach ice-cream, peach melba, peaches cut up and scattered on your corn-flakes. Some towns have a giant chicken. Others have a giant peach. On a pole. Which, from far away, looks like a giant butt.
Unofficially, Georgia is known as the peach-state. But officially, it is the “Empire State of the South”. And believe you me - Georgians still want an Empire. They want an Empire almost as bad as the British do.
And peaches.
Mojo once mentioned that Georgians think they’re better than all other Southerners. And this is true. When you live in the Empire State of the South, you tend to be full of it. But lets take a look at some of the other Southern States in comparison.
How about Arkansas? Yeah, the state with the MOST dry counties in the US. Color me not there, and not ever going there (yes, I was there once, but I was running from a hurricane).
Alabama. Okay, thats not even funny. Alabama is the state where Georgians drive 90 mph to get out of the state as quickly as possible.
Of course, once you’re out of Alabama, you’re in… Mississippi.
Are we laughing yet?
There might actually be some validity to the argument that Georgians are better than anyone in the south. After all, Georgians have both a giant chicken, AND a giant butt.. er… peach.
Okay, its early, and I’ve gotten way off track here. But I was awakened at 5am by the sound of Bea hacking up a hair-ball. Not a lovely way to start one’s morning. No one should have to get up before sunrise to clean up a hair-ball.
Buy me a beer!
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This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 4th, 2008 at 4:04 am and is filed under animal, fanatical, phenomenal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.
Aw, shucks. More interesting than work, am I. I’ve heard that before, but was never sure if it was a compliment or not.
Great interaction with your fam about the Baptists. I too do not trust them.
Mmmm, peach ice cream! Alright, so I don’t love peaches, but homemade peach ice cream is ok. That’s about it for me, though.
And the Baptists left 3 fuckin’ bibles here as well. And not those tiny little new testaments, but BIG fuck-off black bibles, the kind you see in the hands of a backwoods preacher-man wearing a long black coat and a black hat, with dark smoldering eyes and a dark lustful heart… oh, wait… got carried away there.
Unfortunately, none of the Baptists looked like that.
Actually, work has been kind of interesting lately, so being more interesting is a good thing.
Don’t forget Peachtree Street, West Peachtree Street, Peachtree Avenue, Peachtree Road, Peachtree Square, Peachtree Court, Peachtree Drive, Peachtree Circle, Peachtree Way, Peachtree Place, and Peachtree Walk.
All inside of Atlanta.
And Peachtree Vw if you count Dekalb Co as part of Atlanta. (which many Fulton Co. residents do not. See? We Georgians even fight about which County inside GA is the best County! It’s a sickness really.)
All those “Peachtrees” put the “Empire” named streets to shame. Atlanta only has Empire Way, Road, Blvd and Ave.
New York is the Empire State and Georgia is the Empire State of the South. Everywhere I move wants to be part of an Empire.
Except Jersey. It’s the Garden State.
Somewhere. In the Pine Barrens maybe?
And thank you for making me think of Homemade Peach Ice Cream. Delicious.
When I was living in Macon, we once had Baptist come over to our house and ask “Can we come in and talk to you about accepting the Lord in your life?” and my boyfriend at the time and I said, “Sure! Come on in. As long as we can talk to you about accepting your gayness in your life!”
It was a short conversation.
Mojo is going to have some comment about my saying “We Georgians” even though I haven’t lived in Georgia for 15 years.
Georgia is something you just can’t get out of you.
No matter how hard you try.
Everyone knows you’re Georgian, R the P. Why bother trying to hide it?
And to be honest, I’m fine with being Southern. The south is the most colorful area of the the US. The South may have its less savory elements (rednecks, baptists… pollen), but you gotta admit, it gets weird down here.
And little old southern blue-haired ladies have the BEST accents on earth.
It does indeed get weird down there. There is no denying that.
And those accents are fantastic.
Even Mary Roach (whom I now secretly love) mentioned the accent in her book Spook. She was investigating a court case from the South in the early 19th century in which a ghost told his son where he could find a new version of his will, and while she was visiting the grandson of the visited, the man mentioned a “pie safe.”
Roach said it took 4 repititions and a trip to the kitchen to understand what he was saying.
She also had no idea what a dirt dobber was. Her host took pity on her and said, “Wasps, dear.”
I do aspire to that accent. At the moment, my accent is southern, but unremarkable. But I want that grand “little old southern lady” accent. I want to be able to say “Ah do declayuh” with a straight face.
And we’re very haunted down here. Can’t swing a dead confederate without hitting a haunted house. And eeeeeevery family has a skeleton in the closet.
Even mine.
That’s what closets are made for.
And the South does seem to have a disproportionate number of hauntings, that is for certain.
I grew up on family tales of haunted rooms and shared dreams and dead hitchhiking Confederate Soldiers.
I just wondered, how did they know about cars if they were Conderate era dead?
Big fuckin’ black bibles that they probably call The Lord of Georgia’s Scriptures.
I have never in my life seen so much competition in one state over so very little. That’s not to say that Atlanta isn’t the capital city of the South. We all know it is. And of the Southern states, GA does have a remarkable blend of the weird, wonderful, and wacky that somehow works (mostly). If only we could get rid of some of the drawbacks like the weather and the rednecks and the excessive interest in religion… ONE religion in particular, that is.
The accents can be fun, Che, and around us, you can feeyul fuhree to expreyuss yoself just as propah southun as ya please, deyuh. You can declayah anathin’ ya like, dahlin’. Havin’ lived in genteel Chahlestun, I know all about that acc-cent.
The South is like a great big haunting. I’ll allow you to draw you own conclusions.
Good point about the confederate soldiers. Perhaps they think the cars are miniature, trackless locomotives. Or land-bound steamboats. Or maybe they’re thinking, “hey, if we’d had one a’them iron horseless carriages, the south would’a won the war.”
Oh lordy, speaking of the weather, I’m boiling here.
They probably think they’re something out The Revelations - oh my lordy, those damn things are like shiny bugs with funny wheels on them! And move and have people inside!!! They’re the work of Beelzebub!!!
Then, between the excitement and the heat, they would pass out.
I love the image of Confederate Ghost overwhelmed by religious fear and heat. “I do declayuh.” and then, hand to head, fainting dead away.
And speaking of hot, it is blistering all the time in my office. Everyone who comes in says, “What did you do to deserve this heat?” and when I asked about it, the facilities people say, “Eh. How ’bout that?” And nothing changes.
I have a fan blowing on me. I feel like I’m in the 1940s.
Richard, you are in the 1940s, in so many ways.
I suppose tomorrow, we’ll all be suffering as we’re engulfed in a heat wave. Damn.