Pseudo Coonass

After my disgruntled post earlier about how much I dislike Louis' jazz via alarm clock at 7am, I then thought of a few things that reiterated my passion for the city of New Orleans. I had to pick the few that I could easily identify with, nod my head and giggle. I think I know a lot of the inside secrets of the Crescent City for not actually being a resident myself. These are the reasons why I love that great city!

Residents have flood insurance.

Someone asks for an address by compass directions and responses are it's Uptown, downtown, backatown, riverside or lakeside.

Burial plots are six feet over rather than six feet under.

Few people can pronounce AND spell Tchoupitoulas.

People don't worry when they see ships riding higher in the river than their houses.

If someone says "Magazine," natives think street instead of periodical.

Natives get on a bus marked "cemeteries" without a second thought.

The major topics of conversation when they go out to eat are restaurant meals that they have had in the past and restaurant meals that they plan to have in the future.

They judge a restaurant by its bread.

I not only think the colors purple, green and gold look good together, but I would also consider eating something that was those colors.

I know the definition of "dressed."

I know better than to drink hurricanes or eat Lucky Dogs.

I know that a po-boy is not a guy who has no money, but a great-tasting French bread sandwich.

I definitely judge a po-boy by the number of napkins used.

Someone at a crawfish boil says, "Don't eat the dead ones," and I know what they mean.

The smell of a crawfish boil turns me on more than Chanel No. 5.

Some enjoy sucking heads more than sucking face.

I eat the poo veins.

Ya making groceries at Schwegmann's with ya mama to buy Dixie beer and crawfish so you can eat and suck heads in the French Quarter before a Mardi Gras parade.

I know my homonyms, synonyms and your "mom-n-ems."

I'm not afraid when someone wants to "ax" me.

I push little old ladies out of the way to catch Mardi Gras throws.

Little old ladies push me out of the way to catch Mardi Gras throws.

I know where you got your shoes.

I know the color purple is a drugstore and not a movie.

I have a special set of well-broken-in shoes I refer to as my "French Quarter" shoes.

Every so often, residents have waterfront property.

I know what a nutria is but I still like the baseball team.

I know that "Tipitina" is not a gratuity for a waitress named Tina.

I like my rice and politics dirty.

Natives worry about deceased family members returning in spring floods.

I can ask for lagniappe and not feel guilty.

I know what the hell langiappe means.

I reply to anything and everything about life there with, "Only in New Orleans."

I consider a VooDoo Bloody Mary a suitable breakfast.

I like my crawfish so hot, I can't distinguish between sweat, snot and crawfish juice.