Sounds like the start to a joke, right? It’s actually the start to a really fun night out with my Northern friends. And when I say Northern, I mean not Southern. As in anywhere outside of the Bible Belt. It’s actually more of a state of mind than a geographical location. Clearly, Mexico is South and California is to the West. Doesn’t matter. It’s the attitude that counts. If you’ve moved in the last five years or so, you are not currently looking for a church, and you don’t really give a shit what your neighbors think, you are “Northern.” Again, a state of mind.
I was totally in my element last night. A big loud group with more nationalities than a New York subway. Jumping in and out of five different conversations punctuated by rapid hand movement, references to a guy named Sal ( we all know one, whether it be Uncle, friend, or bookie), and liberal doses of the word Fuck. The only thing missing was The Smith Brothers starting a fight, which they then called their 60 year old Dad into. They don’t call them The Fighting Smith’s for nothing.
All the stories being told, got me thinking about how much I miss that. The stories, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, I can spin a yarn with the best of them. But some stories just can’t be told in the “South” without fear of someone petitioning the neighborhood board to have you removed. In the “South” you NEVER would tell a story that implied in any way whatsoever that you and your family members may be somewhat less than perfect. You just can’t do that. Whereas amongst my Northern friends it’s OK to admit that we’ve probably screwed our kids up for life, we were once totally screwed up ourselves, and really, we are STILL trying to figure the whole thing out. We may not live perfect lives, but we are having a really good time living.
The thing I have the hardest time with is the swearing….and yes, it’s a swear not a cuss. In my time, I have been known to sprinkle my stories with Fuck, Shit and even a Goddamn. That last one alone can get you jail time in more than one Southern town. I’ve tried substituting my swears with words like sugar, fluffity-fluff and gosh darn. Honestly, if I have to say fluffity-fluff, it’s just not worth saying. In the North, you can swear. You are encouraged to swear. If I said fluffity-fluff, I’d get knocked out. By my grandmother. Who is 82 and can still throw an F-Bomb with the best of them. And NO, I do not think she is going to Hell because of that. In fact, I think when she get’s to the Pearly Gates, God is going to say “Welcome to Heaven Theresa. You are going to have a great fucking time here. Oh and hey, Sal is waiting for you in the Bingo hall.”
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