Something that you already knew about me: in many ways, I am still a Southerner, despite calling San Fran my home. I like my tea sweet, my chicken fried, and my bread in the form of biscuits. I have a weakness for gigantic, hot-rollered hair. My liquor of choice is bourbon (seriously), and college football season inspires in me some kind of near-religious fervor. And, if I know you well enough and trust you not to judge me, I have an accent.
And when I'm in a bad mood, there is one thing that I know, without question, will soothe the savage beast:
Southern Rock music.
Which is why, last night, I found myself in my living room, rocking out to Free Bird in my underwear. There was air guitar. There was major ass-shaking and a few high-kicks. I may or may not have twisted my ankle. And I won't even tell you how many times I played the song on repeat. Nor will I tell you how many times it was followed by both Sweet Home Alabama AND Black Water, by the Doobie Brothers.
You can take the girl out of the South, but...
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1 comment:
i love it! i find it incredibly disturbing that people over here don't know free bird. how is that possible? isn't skynyrd an essential part of life?
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