Tara's the only thing that matters...

Admit it... Every person you've ever met that's from the South and doesn't live there anymore annoys you from time to time with his/her stories about it. Right? Their eyes get this faraway look as they recount the red clay squishing between their toes, the wind whispering through the pines and they're Grandma's chicken and dumplings.

Forgive us. We're from a foreign country. We can't help ourselves.

I grew up in the South... With a capital S... Born in downtown Atlanta, my family moved to Belvedere, South Carolina (a suburb of Augusta, GA) when I was 2 years old, then to Macon, GA when I was 8 years old and then back to Snellville (technically, Lilburn, but even Atlantans don't know Lilburn) a suburb of Atlanta when I was 11 years old. I lived in the Atlanta area until I was 27 years old after graduating from Furman University in Greenville, SC. I lived in Norcross, Midtown and then Decatur.

My extended family on my mother's side were all from Atlanta and North Georgia while my extended family on my father's side were all from Jacksonville, FL and South Georgia. I had great aunts and uncles with names like Metzger, Cunnie, C.A. and, of course, my twin great aunts, Lovella and Rosella. We had unidentifiable casseroles after family funerals, accents like The Dukes of Hazzard and vacationed at Myrtle Beach and Jekyll Island.

And until I was 27 and moved away, I hated being from the South. I was embarrassed of my accent and wanted be from a family that had what I considered heritage, a certain culture.

I used to fantasize that my family was from different ethnic backgrounds. I would imagine that we were from Brooklyn or New Jersey, Italian immigrants with my mom big and fat and cooking up a pot of tomato something or other, my (hot) brothers would be snapping each other with towels in the kitchen, tasting out of the pot while Mama smacked their hands away, laughing and yelling and loving. Too many Ragu commercials on the SuperStation.

Or I'd imagine that I was from a Jewish family, learning passages from the Torah to recite for my Bar Mitzvah instead of memorizing Bible verses for Vacation Bible School and making a crucifix out of macaroni pasted on construction paper. I wanted to attend Temple and wear one of those hats I'd seen characters on "Rhoda" wear.

Anything, but my boring Southern family who ate things smothered in Velveeta and tomato soup and okra and never said a rude word directly to anyone, but would cut her to ribbons when she left the room.

Of course, until I moved away...

Now I'm proud... I wear it like a badge of honor... In Arizona, I'm CONSTANTLY having to tell people I'm not from Texas (NOT the South, btw...), but I'm glad they recognize the hint of accent I still have left... I love the reaction I get when I say I'm from Georgia... I just do... It's like I grew up in France or Croatia. In Phoenix, if you're not from Southern California or someplace REALLY cold, you're unusual.

I think I've completely romanticized the South though, like several of my Southern ex-pats have. I have a friend who has lived in New York City for 20 years or more, but is originally from Thomasville, GA. When he starts talking about Thomasville, he turns into Scarlett O'Hara and waxes poetically about his youth in Georgia. Ummm... I've BEEN to Thomasville... It's a pit...

Nevertheless, I've done the same thing... I think about the evenings with fireflies in the yard, the REAL Krispy Kreme doughnut shop on Ponce de Leon and fall color. I kind of miss the baptist churches with the bright green astroturf on the front steps. It was only in my 30s that I learned that it was OK to take a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift. I long for mountains, not really oceans. I want a front porch, even though I never really had one growing up.

It's in my blood... and when I meet a fellow Southerner, we speak like we've known each other all our lives. We have a secret connection that only the people who grew up there have (and not just lived there, by the way, but who grew up there).

We also know that no matter how far away you are, there's a part of you that really needs to go back. That we'll never be free of it... Nor would we want to... We understand the constant heart-tug we have with the South... and home.

We also know that even though it seems so foreign now in some ways, you can still slip right back into it like an old shoe... If I were HALF as good with gay men as I am with old Southern women, I'd get more ass than a toilet seat. I speak those women's language... They're my people... I've been to the Colonnade one too many times...

I love where I'm from and I love where I am. It makes for a good combination.

Oh, and my Grandma's chicken and dumplings? They were the best.