late night southern ponderings.

i think there is something in your blood stream, when you're a native carolina girl. its this innate beckoning. its origin a mystery, though its screaming silence pulls us, like the tides off of Folly, it cannot be ignored.
what is it? its this barbaric type pull to take in the beach, the mountains, or the lake. and not just any of these, only the south carolina waters and mountains can quench this bottomless thirst.
my only theory is it is derived from having good ol' carolina dna coursing through our veins. its this feeling that delves deeper than the heart and soul, its this pride in knowing that you share this phenomena with the likes of every single carolina lady before you.
its looking across the lowcountry marshes and knowing that your own great great grandmother carried that steel magnolia traits. knowing she had a soft, satiny jawline, with as much dewey charm right off the honeysuckle vine, with more manners than miss o'harra herself, and fit the mold of a lady that not even the queen of england could liken to. you cannot help but to smile a secret smile, because though you have never laid eyes on here, you know her secret; behind this gentlewoman's silken posture, charm, wits, and manners, lie the profound force to be reckoned with. the lady of the mannor a true super mom; for it was she who could truly get it all accomplished in one day, and still have time to conduct her motherly and wifely duties, all with a grateful, loving smile upon her face.
these self titled super moms of today's SUV driving brigade here in south carolina haven't a clue what they are made of. they like to think themselves as a true southern lady, the debutant of the ball. what mortal fools these idiots be. just because they have picture perfect hair, a low cut black blouse, adorned by an outrageously priced string of pearls, two point five children, and live on the lowcountry marsh, most certainly and unequivocally does not constitute one's induction to being a true carolina girl, no ma'am.
a true carolina girl of today has most of her natural hair color, appreciates her native ancestral lineage, loves to be real and down to earth, thinks the "process" they are making on Folly is full of bologne, looks lovingly at her ADD laden children, and kisses her wife goodnight as she lies her head upon her pillow.
i cannot help but to wonder what julia sugarbaker, or ouiser boudreaux would have to say about that.


My sister says Southerners are like other people, only more so." --Blanche McCrary Boyd

Whenever I'm asked why Southern writers particularly have a penchant for writing about freaks, I say it is because we are still able to recognize one. --Flannery O'Connor

I'm still the little southern girl from the wrong side of the tracks who really didn't feel like she belonged. --Faye Dunaway


Julia: [reading aloud a letter from Dash Goff] Yesterday, in my mind's eye, I saw four women standing on a veranda in white, gauzy dresses and straw-colored hats. They were having a conversation. And it was hot. Their hankies tucked in cleavages where eternal trickles of perspiration run from the female breastbone to exotic vacation spots that southern men often dream about. They were sweet-smelling, coy, cunning, voluptuous, voracious, delicious, pernicious, vexing and sexing... these earth sister/rebel mothers... these arousers and carousers. And I was filled with a longing to join them. But like a whim of Scarlett's, they turned suddenly and went inside, shutting me out with a bolt of a latch. And I was left only to pick up an abandoned handkerchief and savor the perfumed shadows of these women... these southern women. This Suzanne. This Julia. This Mary Jo and Charlene. Thanks for the comfort, Dash Goff... the writer.

Julia: Yes, you can give him a message. You do take shorthand, don't you? Good, we take it in the South too. Anyway, just tell him that I have been a Southerner all my life, and I can vouch for the fact the we do eat a lot of things down here... and we've certainly all had our share of grits and biscuits and gravy, and I myself have probably eaten enough fried chicken to feed a third world country - not to mention barbecue, cornbread, watermelon, fried pies, okra, and... yes... if I were being perfectly candid, I would have to admit we have also eaten our share of crow, and for all I know - during the darkest, leanest years of the Civil War, some of us may have had a Yankee or two for breakfast. But... speaking for myself and hundreds of thousands of my Southern ancestors who have evolved through many decades of poverty, strife, and turmoil, I would like for Mr. Weaks to know that we have surely eaten many things in the past, and we will surely eat many things in the future, but - God as my witness - we have never, I repeat,
[shouts]
Julia: never eaten dirt!

JULIA: We Southerners have had to endure many things. But one thing we Southerners don't have to endure is a bunch of bored housewives turning historical homes into theme parks, not to mention ill-mannered tourists with their Big Gulps, Mysties, Slurpees, and Frosties, their dirty feet overflowing rubber thongs, and babies who sneeze fudgecicle juice! Out!! Out of my house!! As God is my witness...I will burn it down myself before I let you in again!!

Ouiser Boudreaux: Oh! Well don't you expect me to come to one of your churches or one of those tent-revivals with all those Bible-beaters doin' God-only-knows-what! They'd probably make me eat a live chicken!

Ouiser Boudreaux: He is a boil on the butt of humanity!

Ouiser Boudreaux: I'm pleasant. Damn it! I saw Drum Eatenton at the Piggly Wiggly this morning, and I smiled at the son of a bitch 'fore I could help myself.

Ouiser Boudreaux: I'm not crazy, I've just been a very bad mood for the last 40 years!

Ouiser Boudreaux: A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Ouiser Boudreaux: I'm not as sweet as I used to be.