Summary of the South

Dear Blob,
The Ukulady’s Fantasy Southern Love Vacation has concluded, leaving me plumper, well-pampered by my True Love (TR) and finally-decompressed from LA’s unnecessary and ever-present over-adrenalined, urgency, which will probably return after 24 hours in LA. Like the rest of the world, the Deep South is a place of contrasting realities, stereotypes and hypocrisy; world-class Watts Towers/Gaudi Towers-level folk art called Pasaquan (www.pasaquan.org) alongside supersize Wal-Marts and fast-food chains; authentic warmth and hospitality hand-in-hand with racism and homophobia. Most strikingly, I found the South to be a land of many sad people living unsatisfying, unhappy lives and looking to the patriarchal God for meaning, community and a sense of belonging. Amidst the sad people accepting of a common chain-restaurant life, are many truly extraordinary people, artists, thinkers, historians, and activists. The Deep South is bleakly beautiful; old brick factories, red geologically-phenomenal earth formations and millions of trees in bloom, a relieving optical distraction from Krystal Burger, NeedGod.com billboards and churches everywhere. The Bible Belt is a fitting name. Even the seemingly-millions of churches in LA cannot compare to the millions-more churches, friggin’ everywhere in the South.

Aside from religion and a-pretty-much- lack of Latino and Asian people, the cultural differences of California and the Deep South are mostly food-related; people drink soda instead of water, avocados are still uncommon and hummus hasn’t reached the masses yet. Trader Joes just opened in Atlanta, so it won’t be long until Soy Crisps and mango salsa are consumed alongside fried pickles and butter beans. I experienced Waffle House, Cracker Barrel and a Dairy Queen. Warning – the DQ’s small Blizzard is Huge – too much to finish and I’m an ice cream loving, waste-hating Heeb. I had to throw ice cream away for the first time in my life. Also, Reader, heed warning of the breakfast gravy at Cracker Barrel. I only had a tiny taste and its pig-waste, garbage-ee flavor almost made me gag. Cracker Barrel gravy tastes like food of the poor –an attempt to make something out of nothing and using what is available; in this case, it seemed to be rancid lard. The South is truly swollen with very large people. A body considered plump or chubby in CA is seen as normal to slim in the South. Fat is politely called “big boned” and I have no doubt that another week in the South would have added five pounds to my, as once described by a theater critic 10 pounds ago, “zaftig” frame. The temptation of “down-home cooking” and homemade pie everywhere, constantly taunted me: “Ukulady, you must sample All the homemade pie of the South!” The best was a Mason jar of banana pudding with Nilla Wafers and sugar-glazed meringue at a barbecue eatery in Columbus, GA, called Country’s.

My final night in the Deep South TR and I went bowling. We stumbled upon dollar Bud-pitcher night at Peachtree Lanes and I was simultaneously repulsed and fascinated to bowl alongside a clutch, fleet, murder or perhaps the appropriate word is Keg-Party of Southern Frat boys and their Abercrombie & Fitch-clad women. The drunken bowling Keg Party of Frat People were complete jackasses, as TR calls them (I call them Schmucks), loud, abrasive and identical. The women wore low-cut jean-capris, tight breast-accentuating shirts and all of their perfectly-mussed ponytail/buns had snug, low-brimmed caps shading their heavily-mascara-ed eyes. Their men, boys really, chewed tobacco, clutched cups for spitting and wore flip-flops. Kegs of Frat People are everywhere, but the South has an unfortunately high-percentage of them, my Southern-born TR revealed to me. His distaste towards them allows no room for the amusement I found in them, due to his life dealing with their constant jackassery. I felt lucky to have been raised in the uber-progressive unreality of the Bay Area, CA, where Kegs of Frat People are the minority.

My TR and I are from the same planet, thought & value-wise, but his Southern world is a place where bohemians, dorks and artists are the minority, fleeing after graduations and leaving the land to be ruled by the rednecks and jackasses. Where as I come from the land ruled by Nerds.

Five Nibblets of Note:
1. Kiss Mittens – mittens made out of kisses.
2. Lateen Wolf – see preceding vlog.
3. Sex Fort – the fort of sheets in a Getting’ Busy Bed; but you have to sing it, “Sex Fort! A Fort for Sex!”
4. Java for Jehovah – this is a real coffee bar at a mega-church in the South.
5. Turtles are called Cooters in the South – there are menus, apparently, with Cooter Soup, on them.
6.
Love The Ukulady
Ps: Jenna Bush did not show up at any of my Southern shows. Bitch.

I Heart Fat Seatmates & Gay Men!

Dear Blob,
I like sitting next to fat women. It makes me feel slim. In other news, I've discovered why gay men go out to the theater and other cultural events: besides entertainment, they also go cruising.
Love The Ukulady
ps: According to a gay man I met last night, Jamie Lyn Spears isn't pregnant by her 18 year old frat boy boyfriend, but scandalously knocked up by some 35 year old Nickelodeon exec who produces her Nickelodeon tweenager show.
pps: The gay man informant works for some entertainment news company, so I feel pretty confidant this information is thumbs upsies!

Hilarious Fan Emails

Dear Blob!
Thanks to my amazing gay bear manager (GBM), Mitch, I am receiving quite a few fan letters and emails of curiosity. GBM calls them my daily affirmations. Some of them are totally hilarious and I must share them with you, Blob and Readers:

1. FROM DINGO: I think you might be the single most kewlest dudette on the planet of earth!!! really, we love you in detroit, even though we are the murder capitol of the world. you make all the killers say "hey i really like that girl!" then they go back to killing people. hope to hear from you!

2. Hey,
My friend and I were wondering if you were a man or a woman? This isn't meant to be offensive or anything we were just wondering. Thank you.
Amanda

3. HELLO ! I..M SAM, I DONT WRITE ENGLISH VERY WELL, BUT YOU..RE SO FUNNY!!! YOU ARE AMAZING, AND YOU SING VERY WELL...HAPPY 2008, SEE YOU AND GOD LUCK!!!
SAM IRE

The gender question email kills me. Love it! Love my Killer fans and Love the adorable foreign fan. I love you all, my friendsies and fans. I'm your fan.
Love The Ukulady
ps: In other news, the LA Times reported the LARD (see archived Blobs about the LAPD www.ukulady.blogspot.com) were once again called to Brittney’s house! Upon reading this, I actually exclaimed, “Again?!” aloud. She needs me. Poor Brittney.
pps: I Love Michael Cera.
Dear Blob!
Thanks to my amazing gay bear manager (GBM), Mitch, I am receiving quite a few fan letters and emails of curiosity. GBM calls them my daily affirmations. Some of them are totally hilarious and I must share them with you, Blob and Readers:

1. FROM DINGO: I think you might be the single most kewlest dudette on the planet of earth!!! really, we love you in detroit, even though we are the murder capitol of the world. you make all the killers say "hey i really like that girl!" then they go back to killing people. hope to hear from you!

2. Hey,
My friend and I were wondering if you were a man or a woman? This isn't meant to be offensive or anything we were just wondering. Thank you.
Amanda

3. HELLO ! I..M SAM, I DONT WRITE ENGLISH VERY WELL, BUT YOU..RE SO FUNNY!!! YOU ARE AMAZING, AND YOU SING VERY WELL...HAPPY 2008, SEE YOU AND GOD LUCK!!!
SAM IRE

The gender question email kills me. Love it! Love my Killer fans and Love the adorable foreign fan. I love you all, my friendsies and fans. I'm your fan.
Love The Ukulady
ps: In other news, the LA Times reported the LARD (see archived Blobs about the LAPD www.ukulady.blogspot.com) were once again called to Brittney’s house! Upon reading this, I actually exclaimed, “Again?!” aloud. She needs me. Poor Brittney.
pps: I Love Michael Cera.

Own The Roll As You Would A Pet

Dear Blob,
Due to a busy travel schedule, I've been unable to maintain my usual Anusara yoga regime; around thrice weekly, give or take. I heart yoga (see www.TheUkuLady.com songpage song "I Heart Yoga") and now that I'm well into my "25 Again!" years, find yoga is essential to my general well-being. I've always been a "curvy" girl, described once by theater critics as "zaftig", and in the past year, thanks to yoga, was thrilled to discover I have hipbones and ab muscles! These were new bodyparts to me, having only heard about them in health class and seen them on TV and on my slim friends. How quickly these "ab"muscles disappear.... I realized today, in yoga, that my core (fancy LA word for ab muscles) has once again, become A Pet. There are ab muscles under My Pet, but The Roll has, thanks to Thanksgiving (not with Hugo Chavez's grandson) and last week's Vegas Buffet (Vegas blog coming very soon...) re-expanded, and can comfortably be described as A Pet. My Best-Gay-Friend-in-Chicago says "Own The Roll!". And I do. Like a pet.
Love The UkuLady
ps: My-Best-Straight-Guy-Friend-in-LA heard a strict mother firmly tell her child, "We're not leaving until you finish your soda! Finish your soda!" A Roll Pet in the making...

LARD #2

Dear Blog,
Again I have been misreading LAPD (Los Angeles Police Department) as LARD. There seems to be an insurgency of LAPD signs in Echo Park and maybe I'll have to get a sharpie and pen the leg onto the P, creating LARD...
Love The UkuLady
PS: It rained last night in LA! It hasn't rained here in months - it's like Dune.

LARD

Dear Blog!
Yesterday as I drove home from an especially rigourous yoga class, I found myself behind a police car and I misread it's LAPD bumper sticker as LARD. I wish the cops would plaster the word LARD to their cars all over the world! Perhaps the day that happens we will have world peace.
Love The UkuLady