I saw Sweet Home Alabama last night. Everyone at work was joking with me about it, once they got it straight that I was from Alabama, not Arkansas. Sorry, but Arkansas is just a little worse. Anyway, yes, it made me a bit homesick. They shot three homes in the movie that are in the historical district of my hometown. I saw those houses every day driving through town until I was eighteen. I used to hate those houses, too. I thought they'd make delightful firewood, because every snobby person in town depended on those homes to make themselves feel important.

Oh, and like the girl in the movie, I went home to Alabama to get married. But I didn't have some ex-husband who was making glasses and pining away for me. For you yankees out there getting the idea good ole southern boys are sweet as sweet potato pie, you're wrong. (Before you southern kids get mad, read this next part) There are a few who are that sweet, but they're married or dead or just considered nerdy. Most southern guys get drunk and enjoy chewing tobaccy, go huntin with their buddies and ignore their wives, and shoot dogs and cute animals. Okay, so I'm stereotyping a tad. Ah well.