Post by hunt4fun1 on Nov 30, 2003 18:24:01 GMT -5
You Know You are from Louisiana When.............
You think the breeze from a flying roach feels good on a hot summer night.
You shake out your shoes before putting them on.
Your sunglasses fog up when you step outside.
No matter where else you go in the world, you are always disappointed in the food.
You get up in the morning and start cooking a pot of rice before you give any thought to what you'll fix for dinner.
You ask, "How dey running?" and "Are dey fat?" but you're inquiring about seafood quality.
Nothing shocks you, period, ever. Not politics, hurricanes, red lights, parking tickets, the Saints, Mardi Gras.
Your "one martini lunch" becomes a "five Bloody Mary afternoon" and you keep your job.
You're walking with a plastic cup of beer. When it starts to rain, you cover your beer instead of your head.
Your idea of health food is a baked potato instead of fries with your fried seafood platter.
You have snow ball stains on your shoes.
You call tomato sauce "red gravy."
Your middle name is your mother's maiden name or your father's mother's maiden name or your mother's mother's maiden name or your grandmother's mother's maiden name or your grandfather's mother's maiden name.
You know you recycled too much newspaper when there isn't enough for the dinner (or crawfish) table.
Your house payment is less than your air conditioning bill.
Someone asks you, "Where you at?" and you tell them how you are.
You are left behind at an out-of-town bar searching for a "go cup."
You think of potholes as naturally occurring speed bumps.
Your grandparents are called "Maw Maw" and "Paw Paw."
You suck the heads, sing the blues and actually know where you got them shoes.
You have to reset your clocks after every thunderstorm.
You waste more time navigating back streets than you would if you just sat in traffic.
You fall asleep to the soothing sounds of four box fans.
You think the breeze from a flying roach feels good on a hot summer night.
You shake out your shoes before putting them on.
Your sunglasses fog up when you step outside.
No matter where else you go in the world, you are always disappointed in the food.
You get up in the morning and start cooking a pot of rice before you give any thought to what you'll fix for dinner.
You ask, "How dey running?" and "Are dey fat?" but you're inquiring about seafood quality.
Nothing shocks you, period, ever. Not politics, hurricanes, red lights, parking tickets, the Saints, Mardi Gras.
Your "one martini lunch" becomes a "five Bloody Mary afternoon" and you keep your job.
You're walking with a plastic cup of beer. When it starts to rain, you cover your beer instead of your head.
Your idea of health food is a baked potato instead of fries with your fried seafood platter.
You have snow ball stains on your shoes.
You call tomato sauce "red gravy."
Your middle name is your mother's maiden name or your father's mother's maiden name or your mother's mother's maiden name or your grandmother's mother's maiden name or your grandfather's mother's maiden name.
You know you recycled too much newspaper when there isn't enough for the dinner (or crawfish) table.
Your house payment is less than your air conditioning bill.
Someone asks you, "Where you at?" and you tell them how you are.
You are left behind at an out-of-town bar searching for a "go cup."
You think of potholes as naturally occurring speed bumps.
Your grandparents are called "Maw Maw" and "Paw Paw."
You suck the heads, sing the blues and actually know where you got them shoes.
You have to reset your clocks after every thunderstorm.
You waste more time navigating back streets than you would if you just sat in traffic.
You fall asleep to the soothing sounds of four box fans.
