I'm a Louisiana Girl

I am from Louisiana. I lived somewhere else for a while, but this will always be my home. I've lived on the Bestbank, NOLA, Lafayette and now Luling. My Mama was a Tiger, my brother is a Privateer and I'm in love with a Rajun Cajun. I wouldn't be caught dead missing Jazzfest, Gretna Fest, or the Strawberry Festival in Ponchatula. I love Harry Connick Jr., Bonerama, Pete Fountain, and of course Cowboy Mouth. I love plantation homes, stained glass and Burbon St.  I go to "the quarter" to laugh at tourists, know better than to eat a "lucky dog", but I still think beignets and cafe au lait are ambrosia. I get my king cake from Randazzo and my queen cake from Antoine. I haven't been to Mardi Gras in years. I don't care for football, but any given Saturday, Sunday or Monday night, you can find me in the Dome, Death Valley, or in front of my TV cheering on our boys in purple and gold and black and gold, cause that's how we do. I think swamps are beautiful, and I've cooked and eaten animals that most people would run from. I went to Catholic school, then promptly stopped going to mass. I cook red beans on Monday, fish on Friday and boil crawfish on Easter. I will party at your funeral and hang pictures of our cemeteries in my home. I have put an X on Marie Laveau’s grave and I own a voodoo doll, just for fun.  I get my cards read.  I have seen a ghost.  I am not Christian, but I will ask St. Anthony to help me when I’ve lost something.  I go to St. Joseph altars for the fig cookies and I carry a “lucky bean”.  I go to window shopping at Canal Place when I want to feel rich, and I have my favorite mansion on St. Charles Ave.  I miss the K&B and can still recognize the purple.  I make groceries on payday and I see who’s playing at the Rock ‘n Bowl on Saturday night.  I eat Tobasco on my eggs and syrup on my sausage.  My Paw-Paw could call alligators and my Maw-Maw drank beer.  I love the slow drawl of New Orleans, and the musical sound of the Acadians, and no matter where I go in this world, because of how I sound, people ask me if I’m from New York.  New Orleans accents in movies make me cringe.  I ask my husband if he minds if I go somewhere, and I fix his plate first, ‘cause my Mama taught me right. I put Dixie beer on the banana trees to kill them.  There are no other root beers besides Abita and Barq’s.  I will eat a ‘po boy from a gas station.  Anywhere else in the world, I am a Richard, but at home, people know I’m a Ree-chard, because only we can pronounce our last names properly.  I can pinpoint without a second’s doubt on a NOLA map Uptown, Downtown, the Marginy, Mid-City, the Quarter, the 9th ward and the Irish Channel.  I know a million shortcuts in this City, and I can damn well get you just about anywhere in this state without a GPS.  I visit my grandparents on a regular basis and I call my Mama every Sunday, don’t matter if I talked to her yesterday.  I’ve been to the Angola rodeo.  I rode the gondola at the World’s Fair and played in the “kid wash”.  I love the white tigers at the Audubon Zoo and I have spent many a day fishing and swimming in Lake Pontchartrain, don’t care that the EPA said it wasn’t safe, I never got sick. I speak the language of Louisiana, and I don’t care if the rest of the world has no idea what I’m talking about.  Does all of this make me a follower? No, it makes me damn proud and certainly lucky to be a Louisiana native, where we respect tradition and our elders. There is only one state like this in the nation, US.  If you aren't proud to be from here, go somewhere else. Until then, stop bitching.