Wedding Throwdowns and Debunking Southern Stereotypes

Hello folks, let’s chat… Once again I question why we southerners are always the ones stereotyped as crazy gun-toting rednecks fond of marrying our relatives. Everybody around here marries outside of their family. On purpose.

And, may the record show that I’ve never witnessed a brawl at any of our beautiful ceremonies. maybe a few looks that could kill, but an all out riot, no ma’am. I bring this up in light of a story coming out of New Jersey with the following headline. “300 Brawl at Wedding; 2 arrested.”


The article didn’t say if this was a self-contained family feud or an us against them brawl with the new in-laws but either way, the Christmas get-together is looking sketchy.

And speaking of sketchy, the whole story left me with more questions than answers. Like that quote from the off duty cops who were working as security for the big event, do tell. Is security a common line item on the wedding plan these days? Flowers? Check. Photographer? Check. Undercover officers in case of a throw down? Check.

For what it’s worth, Bubba says it wasn’t much of a fight if only two people were arrested out of 300. He’s thinking there was probably more pushing and posing than anything. “You want some of me?” “You talking to me?!!”

But, I digress.

I sincerely hope this PoPo wedding is an isolated incident and not a trend. However, because I’m here for y’all and all that, I’ve put together a helpful list. Here are the top three ways to tell if you’re about to witness a happily ever after type ceremony or a throw down.

Number 3.  You’re still wondering why brass knuckles were listed on the couple’s gift registry.

Number 2.  You notice the family sections are roped off with police tape instead of tulle.

And the number one way to tell if you’re headed to a thrown down:  You’re fingerprinted when you go to sign the guest book.

If you can check two of the three, speak now and do not hold your peace.


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News from the Land of Fruits and Nuts

Hello folks, let’s chat… So, I read that in the very near future senior citizens in our society will be cared for by robots.  This from a professor of geriatrics living in the Land of Fruits and Nuts known as California. I’m sure that’s completely coincidental.

I have some concerns. For starters, who will be expected to program Rosie the Robot and her well-meaning friends?  It’s a fair question. I remember trying to help my late mother-in-law operate her TV remote. We did everything from duct taping the buttons Mawmaw Lucy didn’t need to push, to putting fingernail polish on the ones she did. And we still found her watching MTV at all hours, supposedly because she didn’t know how to find her favorite program, but who really knows.


Seriously, that remote was a constant source of frustration for Lucy, and by extension, an ongoing challenge for the rest of us. During one Sunday afternoon visit, my sweet husband tried to interest his mother in yet another demonstration on operating the remote and why she should pay attention to what he was saying. Mawmaw was equally determined to cut class.

“Phil,” his mother said patiently, “I understand what you’re saying. A remote is a good thing– if you can figure out how to use it.”

Mawmaw had a solid point there, and it makes my case. Having robotic ears around to alert loved ones in case of an emergency could be a good thing, but programming Rosie is likely to be an issue for all of us.  Phil and I can operate remotes, but we still high-five each other when we manage to set the DVD player.

However,  none of these concerns of mine hold a candle to my biggest problem with this idea. The Good Book tells me to honor my father and mother. Before I, Belle of All Things Southern, trust their care to a robot I will move to The Land of Fruits and Nuts and watch MTV all day. Yes, I’m that serious.

Hugs, Shellie

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Stepping on Frogs and Calling the Cat

Hello folks, let’s chat…  My southern upbringing discourages me from using certain words on the radio. While this can be tricky when one wants to opine on subjects like the topic I have in mind today, a wise belle knows how to rely on euphemisms to get the job done. Stepping on frogs, for instance. That’s how my late grandmother referred to this natural body function. A reader once told me her aunt “called the cat” when the need arose. More familiar references would be breaking wind, passing gas, and crop dusting.


Last night my girlfriends and I used all of these euphemisms– and then some. We were enjoying a rare girls night out and this subject kept resurfacing. And I mean that in every way you can imagine.

It was quite an educational evening. I was already acquainted with the combustible nature of Fiber One bars, complements of a traveling partner who consumed more than her share of those atomic bombs in the span of a single road trip. She of Fiber One Fame shall remain anonymous, but legend has it neither of us rested well that evening. One of us was even forced to fall out of the hotel bed and go to the floor in search of a life-sustaining breath of fresh air, much as one does to find oxygen during a fire.

What I didn’t know is that sugar-free candy can have similar disastrous and unholy consequences. There’s a story with that one, too, but if I told you, I’d have to shoot you.

Moving right along, we also discussed the study recently released by some so-called experts. They’re claiming that smelling another person’s Methane Moments is healthy. We decided those experts were teenage boys. We’re also worried since we all know folks who already feel free to share the love. Now they’ll be claiming that they’re doing us a favor. “This is for your own good,” they’ll say.

America, we’re better than this. Having considered the ramifications of this sort of medicinal intervention, the girls and I would like to go on record with two short words, “We pass.”

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