I miss northern girls in large coats. I miss them walking through the streets of center city during the winter, when it’s 10 degrees and without the wind and for the first time you kind of realize how Doestoevsky became so mentally unstable. I miss northern girls who play lacrosse, the worst sport in the world and don’t mind majoring in economics, political science or journalism.
I live in the south now. This, more than anything, is the reason for the previous paragraph. It’s not like I particularly cared about northern girls; my level of women-caring was pretty much equal to Axl’s desire to release a new album between 1993 and 2008. Eventually, it would happen. And then I moved to the South (and I guess Axl finally released the [unsurprisingly] underwhelming ‘Chinese Democracy’). And I realized that even though I’ve never cared about girls one way or the other (it’s not that I’m gay, rather that I think of girls kind of like I think of ‘The Yeah Yeah Yeah’s’; an inevitable truth one has to encounter but doesn’t have to care about), I miss ones from above the Mason-Dixon Line.
Now I know what you’re saying. But there are plenty of girls down there from above the Mason-Dixon. In fact, I’m pretty sure 1/4 of New Orleans is white girls from the north who never decided to go back home after they graduated from Tulane. Well yes, that’s true. But they don’t count. Northern girls like money. They want to be successful. They dream of one day having a husband whose balls they own and they say ‘OMG’, ‘Fabulous’ and everything else that the girls from DABA say absolutley unapologetically. And, for the record, it’s hot as shit.
But the Northern girls down here?? They all majored in “Liberal Arts”, which is a total fraud, since any self-respecting journalism, econ or poly sci major has read 3/4 of the assigned books, has understood them better and probably hated half the ones they were supposed to “love”. They’re all content to do TFA, which is the ultimate joke of a post-collegiate persuit. They debate things like, whether or not they are being good people, they dance around a lot and they smoke Camel Lights when they’re out at the bar. Which would be great, except well, they’re not Northern girls. They laugh. A lot. About anything. I don’t hate laughter or dancing. But when someone laughs- especially if it’s a female- it better be at a joke I made and if someone dances I better be encouraged to stuff a dollar bill down her G-String.
See, the girls down here are pretty much the girls every great girl in America’s foundation laughs at; the girls who every guy persues when he “wants to find himself” but realizes that ultimately, he’s a moron. If they weren’t idiots who didn’t know who Phish were, I’d swear half this city’s population wanted to take the entire summer off, find themselves and follow Phish on their road trip.
So please, Philly girls, I’m pleading with you. Come down here. Bring your confidence. Bring your swagger. Bring your desire to be my boss and then use your position to crush me. There are guys down here who worship what you are- smart, funny, sexy career-women who can drink Bourbon and talk about Hunter Thompson while causally wearing heels and a cocktail dress. Or maybe it’s just me, the ultimate Yankee in the heart of the South. I miss ya’ll.
~ESOH
New Orleans, Louisiana
