In Defense of "Y'all": A Manifesto for the New South

The above is an article title I'd like to write. What a wonderful idea, to shed some light on the cool things in the South and not just racism, fried food, and bad grammar. Though, as always, my feelings are mixed.

Examples of mixed feelings:

France, i.e. leaving. It's pretty unbelievable that my classes will be over on Monday at 17h00. I still am glad every day that I switched out of my original grammar class with that bitch teacher and have been graciously rewarded with Mme. Liszka, the nicest of all of the CCF French professors. I am happy to be finished with class, happy to go home and be able to make friends speaking English, happy to see my family, my friends, to have 24-hour grocery stores, to take Advanced Poetry, to live at Sunset Drive, go to the south end of Wrightsville Beach in the middle of winter. But at the same time, what the hell happened to my time in France?!?! Yesterday I was whining about orientation week sucking and terrified to buy a baguette for fear of fucking up. Now I am two weeks from Amsterdam and going to Morocco in 9 days. What. The. Shit. I haven't even trudged down the Champs-Elysees yet! In so many ways I am happy to go home, mainly because I miss the love of my life (other than Annie): English.

But in fact, now that I have had many a successful conversation in French (after a few drinks, typically), I am feeling much better about my abilities to adapt to a foreign experience, not knowing the language, any people, any cultural facts or tips. French is really lovely and often, to my excitement, very sexy-sounding to people who don't speak it (most everyone on the planet, despite what the French would have you believe). So it will be good for the novelty of speaking French to people who don't speak it in order to #1 sound sexy & European and #2 understand pretentious French restaurant menus and #3 say whatever I want without anyone knowing what I'm talking about. So that's pretty wonderful. I will not miss the 30923 marriage proposals I have received in France, though sometimes a grocery store employee following you through the Simply Market saying "I love you. Beautiful. Beautiful." can be hilarious if a little creepy. The French take nothing truly seriously except their own culture, and I respect that in a country.

I'll have to tell y'all about Thanksgiving later since my host mother and I are getting ready to go to Normandy for the night and I am not packed at all! A little preview: vegetarian stuffed mushrooms, lots and lots of bourbon & Cointreau, stubborn sweet potatoes (NOT yams), and the most Lady Gaga ever listened to outside of a gay club.

Je vous aime. Bisous!