New Year, New You (I’m Doing Okay, Thanks)

5 Jan

After “roughing it” in the South for two weeks without the comforts of hand-tossed salad and overpriced, farm-fed tacos, I’d taken the opportunity to head up to Manhattan, to the city commonly viewed by Southern parents (read: my father) as a “den of sin for unmarried, unaccompanied young ladies”. I personally like to think of it more as a “retreat from a retreat”. Armed with the pepper spray that “Santa” so lovingly puts in my Christmas stocking each year and the annual lecture “’bout them Nooh Yawk City boys”, I headed “Nawth”, away from the questions about post-graduation plans, my inexplicable lack of an accent and the details of my deb-ball gown for February.

There’s something so exhilarating about being in the northeastern part of the country. As to whether it stems from my barracuda-esque attraction to the “big and shiny” or the adrenaline from my irrational fear of Hepatitis C — your guess is as good as mine. I also use my visit as the perfect opportunity to wear items my mother has deemed “a little too progressive for Montgomery”. This generally includes anything “too short, too tight, and therefore unacceptable”, a-la my sixth grade science teacher.

And so, in true den-of-sin, queenly fashion, I spent the first twelve hours of January First propped up in bed, praying for heavy cloud cover and eating leftovers from my 4AM pancake jubilee, when I insisted upon making everyone “midnight breakfast, y’all”.

On occasions when I’m Type A and driven, I make really elaborate, sub-categoried lists of my New Year’s Resolutions, 17/22 of which I’ve already broken. That’s okay. If we’re going to be honest, “Find a cure for my addiction to butter and chocolate”, “Be 85% less narcissistic” and “Stop judging you so much” were going to take lots of time, anyway. “Play with 100% more babies”, however, is going EXTREMELY well.

I’ve decided, then, to make a newer, more ESSENTIAL list of New Year’s resolutions, ones that can be practiced both in AND out of the South and that will hopefully make the world a better and safer place for all of those in a 30-mile radius of where I stand at any time:

1. Use my “Queen A” engraved silver champagne flute at least once a month. (This means throwing events worthy of doing so, which inevitably means wearing DRESSES worthy of doing so. No one puts Cocktail Dress in the corner.)

2. Help my father reconcile his dual identity of “gator-and-steer-wrestlin’, wild Louisiana swamp boy who wears innocuous gumbo-cooking outfits” and “dapper, Cambridge-class, Burberry-wearing fellow who wore a giant feather plume in public just eleven months ago”.

3. Develop a healthier and less-terror-ridden perception of New Jersey.

4. Discover a five-words-or-less explanation for my university major.

And, last but not least,

5. Wear more pearls.

As long as you had your black-eyed peas on 1/1/13, you’re going to have good luck for the year, so no need to wish for anymore of that. For y’all, and for me, both near and afar, I simply hope that 1) the Auburn Tigers have a better football season next year, 2) that Hank Williams magically comes back to life and restores faith in country music, and 3) that Channing Tatum becomes governor of the state, with Abby from NCIS as the head of the legislature. We may not be brilliant, nor are we always right, but we are, indisputably, Alabama.

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