Confessions of a Southern-Fried Yankee

By J. C. Reese

Do dumb people get on your nerves? Have you ever been horrified by the sight of folks in pajamas running around in public? Do deer heads and stuffed turkeys decorate your condo? If so, you are in good company, especially if you happen to be a Yankee transplant living in the South. From wacky neighbors and monster bugs, to pigs and polygamy, you'll laugh out loud.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. C. Reese
• Release date: Jan 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458101600

J. C. Reese

As a mother of four and honorary mother to half of the neighborhood kids, humor is key to both my sanity and my survival. I love to laugh and make others laugh. While most of my work has been nonfiction humor and the occasional short story, my favorite reads tend to lean on the side of thrillers and anything I'm interested in learning to do - tightrope walking, snipe hunting, synchronized channel-changing. Find humor in every day and, for crying out loud, laugh til it hurts! - J

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Confessions of a Southern-Fried Yankee

J.C. Dante

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 J.C. Dante

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction by Richard Brown

Chapter 1: Southern Discomforts

Disturbing Deer Head Décor

How This Yankee Got Hitched

Please Wear Your Dignity When You Shop

Debbie Does Dallas and Darryl Does Dishwashers

Too Dumb to Live - Please Stop Sucking Up the Oxygen!

I Am The Bug Slayer

Chapter 2: Kinfolk

How To Fit a Teenage Boy With Cement Shoes

There's No Parenting in Baseball

I'm Naked, Come on Over!

I Am Too Dumb to Live

Mom Always Said Everything Comes Back in Style

Confessions of a Serial Killer

Little Red Chevette - Baby We Had a Blast

A Tale of Two Tiggers

Chapter 3: I Have ADHD, Y' All

ADHD: It's Not Just For Kids Anymore

I Am a Writer With ADHD

The High Price of My Impulsivity

Survivor: Therapy Island - How I Got Voted Off

Chapter 4: Lovin'

Pride and Prehistoric Tendencies

Russell Stover is My Valentine

How to Get a Man's Libido Revving Like a Day at NASCAR

Female Viagra? Yeah, Baby!

Top Ten Reasons Women Should Consider Polygamy

Chapter 5: Just Fessin' Up

Computer Shopping Isn't For Sissies

Hey, Medicare! Stop Writing Me Off Before My Time!

I No Longer Have a Secret at Victoria's Secret

I See Dead People From My Kitchen Window

Ladies, Do Your Ta-Tas Trigger Tremors?

Sedatives Required Before Visiting a Customer Service Desk

My Apologies to Facebook, Twitter, Apple, and Microsoft

My Near Collision With Animal Planet

A Man and His Pig - A Love Story From the 'Burbs

Jim Belushi Said it Best

Introduction

When I first came in contact with J.C.'s writing, I recognized in her sense of humor a kindred spirit, someone with the same twisted view of life as mine, so I did the only proper thing. I contacted Homeland Security. They informed me that sarcastic humor was not considered terrorism, which I consider a terrible lapse in judgment. However, I've decided to play it safe and not send copies of this book to federal officials.

Jill's tale of a woman raised in the North but now battling children, neighbors, and pets in a land where guns are more plentiful than full sets of teeth, is filled with laugh-out-loud moments, as well as cringe-inducing incidents that explain why, when she repeated them to a counselor, she was denied admission to a clinic on the grounds the you really should be drinking heavily.

However, Confessions of a Southern-Fried Yankee is more than just a rollicking piece of entertainment. It can also be used as:

A diet aid. While reading it, you will be laughing your ass off, and if you are a typical American, you have a lot of ass to laugh off.

A laxative. Reading this book may make you, pardon my French, crap your pants. Though, at my age, breathing has the same effect.

An aphrodisiac. After reading sections of J.C.'s book, I turned to my wife lovingly and whispered, Thank God I'm married to you and not that raving lunatic.

Ok, now that Jill's meds have kicked in and she's dozed off, I can tell you the real reason I want you to buy Confessions of a Southern Fried Yankee: so she'll never write again. You see, if she makes a lot of money from her book she'll be able to send her kids to private schools hundreds of miles away, buy a house on a private beach and never come into contact with the human race again, and therefore never be motivated to write. So can you do me this one favor? I'd appreciate it. After all, my head doesn't look good with antlers.

- Richard Brown, a.k.a. Cranky Cuss

Chapter 1: Southern Discomforts

Being a Yankee transplant in the southern states does not gain one much popularity. Being a Yankee who makes fun of those who are native to the southern states definitely does not win one many friends. However, my observations are all in fun and much of what I see around here can be seen elsewhere in the country. I hope.

Disturbing Deer Head Décor

Men and women have different decorating styles. Especially in the South. This became apparent to me when I moved here from the New England area. Believe me when I say we did not ever have one animal head, torso, skin, antler, or hoof displayed in our home during my childhood. I grew up in a time when moms still hosted Tupperware and crystal parties. Ceramic animals, shag carpets, and flowered wallpaper filled our home.

My father was your basic business guy. He grew up in Boston acquiring street smarts instead of trophy bucks. Things like camping and hunting did not make the list of leisure activities in his book. My husband, on the other hand, is who I want to be with when technology goes south and people get hungry enough to eat their neighbor's pet ferret. I do have to say I would fight to the death for the last scoop of Columbian roast coffee. The deer meat, however, would be plentiful, courtesy of my husband. Though I appreciate his ability to provide, I just want to buy my meat from the store without ruining the magic of how it got there. I also do not need to honor the butcher by displaying a cowhide collage in my living room.

Nowadays I find myself stepping over re-curve bows, empty gun cases, camouflage boots, hunting magazines, hats, and coveralls. I have discovered furry things in baggies in my freezer that require dental records for identification purposes. Experience taught me to ask my mother in-law what kind of beef is in the Beef Stroganoff she just cooked for dinner. After being fooled several times, my naiveté wore off, stripping her of her power.

My den/office/sewing/craft room hosted a garage in its former life. I needed a multi-purpose room to draw attention away from the décor. I am the proud owner of two deer heads (including shoulders) and an entire stuffed turkey poised on a log section atop the beautiful gun safe my husband insisted we buy. Yes, the whole bird. Okay, I can sort of see the pride thing from his side. But does he