Sometimes I really miss the South.
I love country music, old and new. I enjoy line dancing, and I used to be pretty good at it. I use the words "y'all" and "bless your heart" on a daily basis. I prefer to drink my beer from a cold longneck bottle. I could eat biscuits and gravy, collard greens, peach cobbler, and mashed sweet potatoes with every meal. I can't even count how many times I've seen Gone With The Wind, and as far as I'm concerned, the SEC is the only college football conference worth following.
I moved to D.C. last May, and I have enjoyed every minute of my time here. Unfortunately, this city does not deliver all of the things that a country girl needs to survive. There is no decent country radio station (in fact, when I made a recent stop into Victoria's Secret and my cell phone rang with Darryl Worley's "Awful Beautiful Life" as the tone, the cashier nearly jumped over the counter to ask if I knew where she could listen to country music in the area). The best place to line dance is the Capitol Hill American Legion. There are precious few places that serve true down-home southern cookin', and when I mention the SEC, people think I'm talking about corporate securities.
What does this all mean? Well, in the short term, it means that anyone who turns out for this event will hear me belt out a healthy helping of Dolly and Reba.
But most of all, it means that no matter how much I love the District and my life in the big city, the Southland will always be home.