Sex and the Southern Woman

 

How to weed out Mr. Wrong from Mr. Right without daddy’s shot gun.

Dating. It’s a term that no single woman particularly cares to hear. I hate dating, what with the sweaty palms, and awkward silences, and attempting to find that fine line between not being too quiet and talking too much, who needs it?  Personally I would rather just jump right into the relationship part of it, but that is like trying to get a Southerner to skip Sunday lunch…it ain’t gonna happen! As if dating wasn’t bad enough on its own, add the whole culture difference between Southern dating style and what seems to be the style of the rest of the country and you find yourself in my shoes…up shit creek. I know what y’all are thinking, ‘How different can it really be?’ I was also under this delusion, and then I was rudely awakened.

 

It’s not that the men of the city are bad their just different. I never thought I would miss a good pair of Wrangler jeans on a man as much as I do now. Every Southern woman can attest to the fact that there is nothing like seeing a man walking by in a perfect pair of jeans! When a man knows how to wear a pair of pants he automatically gets brownie points.  However out here these men are few and far between.Out here you basically have three extremes when it comes to men’s pants and they are as follows:

 

The sagging pants. Ok I know that this is a trend everywhere but I have never understood it. It can’t be comfortable and is completely useless in terms of utility.  Every time is see a guy walking down the street in a pair of pants like this I honestly want to go up and pull them down exposing what is sure to be some embarrassing type of underwear.  And when they got all upset I would just say, “Oh I’m sorry I just assumed that you were trying to expose yourself to the street and I wanted to lend a helping hand.” After all what are Southern belles if not helpful.

 

The surfer shorts. Now this would not bother me so bad if the men who wore them didn’t insist on wearing them all the time. I mean if you’re at the beach then, honey, by all means show off those tan surfer legs, you won’t hear me complaining, especially if they have a nice upper body to match! But the other day I was in the Target and I saw this guy wearing a wife beater and surfer shorts. My issue with this is that it was probably 50 degrees outside and it was raining, which doesn’t happen often in LA, and when it does you would think that the world was ending and it was acid falling from the sky instead just plain old water, so I guess I can forgive his confusion. But for the most part can we please keep the board shorts confined to the beach.  I swear if someone walked around the Wal-Mart in my home town dressed in their bathing suit when it was cold and raining outside then I am sure someone would be inclined to call the very nice men in white jackets from the crazy place to take them away. Sure you might be thinking if someone wants to dress like that why should anyone stand in their way? Everyone should just mind their own, right?  To that I say HA! It wouldn’t be a small Southern town if everyone wasn’t in everyone else’s business. How else would we know who to put on this week’s prayer list in the church bulletin?

 

And finally, my least favorite style, the skinny jean. Ok so on a woman the skinny jean is a great wardrobe choice. They show off our curves (well those of us in LA who still have curves, I’m beginning to think that we are an endangered species out here), and they look great with our heels, but on a man no thank you. I think more than anything else it perplexes me. If you think about it there are just certain logistical issues that are bound to come up when getting dressed. I don’t want to be crass but I imagine his “boys” are not very happy with him at the end of the day. Now obviously I’m not a man but I know that his “little soldier” is very important to him, so why would you do that to something you care so much about?

 

Of course this is just one belle’s opinion on the wardrobe of the West. I’m not saying we all feel this way, but I would if I were a betting woman I would say that most belles would choose a good pair of Wranglers that show off a man’s assets just right, over any of the three above mentioned looks.

Now the look is just the tip of the ice-burg when it comes to my man troubles. Finding a good ole boy out here is like finding a Baptist in the front row, very rare. I mean really how I am supposed to tell the good ones from the bad ones without my daddy’s shotgun? To the Yankees reading let me explain. It is a common practice in the South for the dad to have his gun or guns on display when a boy comes to take his baby girl out. Most of the time the guns are just sitting on the table so the boy knows they are there. Every now and then Daddy will be cleaning the gun so the boy knows it is in good condition. However there are the cases, and I won’t name any names, where daddy dearest will actually shoot the gun upon the young man’s arrival scaring the ever living out of him and ensuring that he won’t be back. If you’re wondering this did not happen to me, but I will say that I am very close to girl it did happen to, and her dad is like a father to me as well. Take from that what you will.

The etiquette of dating out here is different too. I have only been on one date where I wasn’t expected to open my own door. I know it’s not forward thinking and that I am perfectly capable of opening a door for myself, but I don’t remember voting to kill chivalry. It would be nice for a man to offer to open the door. I have actually sat in the car and waited for a guy to open the door and would not get out until he did. I am very happy to say that I got my point across, however he never called me again; perhaps I should rethink my tactics. 

Something else that gets me is this whole “going Dutch” thing. Again maybe I’m just a product of my raising, but I ain’t Dutch, okay? So I think a man should pay.  Not all the time, mind you, but come on, at least on the first date. Again the number of dates I have been on where the guy refused to let me pay are also very low.  The way I see it whoever does the asking out should do the paying. This is why I never ask a man out. Now that may sound selfish but I’m a struggling actress, and hey, a girl’s got to eat right? Interestingly enough one of the guys that paid was the one and only guy who willingly opened the doors. Maybe I shouldn’t have dumped him so fast, but he failed the jeans test. Who am I if I don’t have my standards?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A girl’s night out

Trading your Cowboy Boots for high heels and then trading them right back.

         

Now I have been to exactly three clubs in the city of angels and I have to say I am not impressed. Please don’t mistake my meaning; I love to have a good time. But there is a huge difference between a Southern good time, and a good time for the rest of the country.

 For one thing the dress code is apparently something out of a show on the Vegas Strip; I swear I haven’t seen that much shiny, tight spandex since my mama’s Sweating to the Oldies exercise tape starring the ever flamboyant Richard Simmons. As if the jazzercise dresses weren’t enough, the stockings these women were wearing were covered in holes, not fishnets, holes. My mama would have yanked me back in the house faster than a snowball melts in hell if I tried to leave looking like that. I mean is it really that hard to find a pair of black tights that don’t look like they lost a fight with your cat? How is it that they can spend the money to pay the valet and the cover charge but can’t seem to part with the $4.95 it would cost at the Walgreens down the street for a whole pair of tights?  I just wanted to walk up to them and say, “You know a little nail polish would have stopped that run in its tracks honey.” Now here I do have to give credit to these city women and their shoes! I love a good pair of shoes.  While I wouldn’t wear any of these shoes to dance in, they were fierce. Every single pair I saw were bona fide “come F me shoes” (if you don’t get my meaning just think on it a spell)! However the mistake these women made was wearing the sexy shoes with the skanky outfits. To put it simply it looked like a weekly gathering of women of the night! The free clinic across the street really completed the picture.

As if the clothing wasn’t enough to take in, there was also the hair.  I suppose they were going for a messy chic look, but to me it just looked like sex hair and not in a good way, in fact most of these women look like they have been rode hard and put up wet.  Down South that look would never be tolerated in a public forum. In fact hair is something we Southern woman take particular pride in. On any given night out a belle can be found in her bathroom spraying on the white rain so every curl or poof stays in place. Big hair is staple in the dirty South. I’m pretty sure that the hole in the ozone layer everyone keeps freaking out about can be traced to a haze of hair spray settled above the Bible belt. Sorry folks but when it comes to making sure our hair doesn’t fall in 98% humidity we do whatever it takes environment be damned.

Something else about these fancy nightclubs is you can’t ever just drive up in the lot and park your Chevy in any old spot. No there is always a valet, because apparently people in the city have evolved beyond parking for themselves and now have better things to do. Like standing in a line for an hour pretending to be higher than their raisin just to get into an overcrowded club where the music is so loud you feel like you’re standing in the speaker at a rockabilly concert.  And speaking of the music that is another thing I just don’t get.  We finally get into this club to see what I’m sure is a fire hazard number of people shaking their naughty bits to what seems like the same base beat over and over again. Now I’m sure that this is a remix to some popular song, in order to make it danceable, but if you can actually figure out what that song is then you are smarter than me my friend. No, down home we like our music with a bit of twang.  There is nothing like dancing to a good country song. In a honky-tonk or country bar I don’t ever have to worry about them playing some crazy remix of a song that was perfectly good on its own! Another plus about partying down South is you aren’t always confined to a bar or “club”. Just drive down a country road on Saturday night and look for the glow of the bonfire.  My point is that Southerners can have a good time just about anywhere; and there are some things you just can’t do inside the city limits. But don’t take my word for it, come on down and see for yourself. Just a word of advice to the ladies, don’t wear those stilettos because they will just get stuck in the mud.

Despite my initial impression of the club I decided to give it a shot, mainly because I refused to accept the fact that I had squeezed into a dress that was too tight, put on so much eye make-up I felt like one of the members of Kiss, and paid a 15 dollar cover charge just so I could feel like a sardine in an airtight can sitting on the shelf at Wally World. However, despite my best efforts I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy the smoke and lights of the L.A. club scene and haven’t been back since.  I would much rather relax in a bar or pub of sorts, preferably a hole in the wall type place. Now many people have asked me how I expect to meet a guy without going to the clubs. Well the way I see it the man of my dreams won’t be found jumping up and down in a glittery club to a remix of Katy Perry’s Fire Works, because if that was the case, I would have to throw myself in front of a bus either to kill myself or to inflict enough brain damage to be able to tolerate a man like that.  Not that I mind a man who dances but prefer a little more strong and sturdy, than shimmy and shake.

As far as those who actually enjoy night clubs and sipping martinis go; I say to each his own.  Who am I to spit on the recreational mating rituals of a culture that I don’t understand. I am simply a visitor in this strange land, and it’s not my place to “hate on” what others do for fun. But as for me, I think I’ll be trading my stilettos back in for my boots. Not that I mind a good set of high heels and a pretty dress that makes me look like a movie star, but if I’m gonna be dancing it’s gonna be country, and I’m just not sure those skinny little heels can handle it.