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Southern - Blog Posts
I saw this on my professor’s door and I can’t even deal with the accuracy.
The Hewitt House - In Better Detail
Source: Austin Chandelier Service
Photographed by {I believe to be} Jake McCoy
Source: Reddit.com
The Kitchen {also} Photographed by Jake McCoy
New Orleans Master Mid-sized cottage master medium tone wood floor, brown floor and vaulted ceiling bedroom photo with white walls, a standard fireplace and a plaster fireplace
Mediterranean Bedroom Miami Large tuscan master carpeted bedroom photo with beige walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace
Kids Bathroom New Orleans
Inspiration for a large farmhouse kids' white tile and subway tile ceramic tile, black floor and single-sink bathroom remodel with a two-piece toilet, white walls, a trough sink and a floating vanity
Beach Style Powder Room - Powder Room An illustration of a powder room in the beach style
Farmhouse Living Room - Living Room Large cottage open concept medium tone wood floor, brown floor and exposed beam living room photo with white walls, a standard fireplace, a concrete fireplace and a wall-mounted tv
Transitional Dining Room - Enclosed
Should’ve been born a cowboy
Who else is southern but likes to use "big words" when your talking mixed with the normal slang? My parents find it strange I guess. Because they've mentioned it before.
I’VE GOT TO GET THIS OUT- I- AH!
I had a really gorgeous lady hit on me and I stuttered out a thank you. She complimented my accent and called me a southern belle. She got my number and I feel like I’m going to explode. 🥺🥺💖💖💖
(Background: I’m from Tennessee and I have a decent amount of accent in general but anger/nervousness makes it stronger.)
Paxton Learns His Lesson - Collab with Aardvark
Paxton is a delinquent whose mother has had enough. He’s not happy when she sends him to live with his grandparents in sleepy Hart’s Landing, but the town comes to grow on Paxton in a most dramatic way. - Written by myself and @aardvarkia.
To say Paxton Montcalm wasn’t pleased with his situation was an understatement.
It was stupid, really. All he’d done was take his teacher’s pepper spray and air it out underneath his desk. How the hell was he supposed to know that was considered poisoning other people and assault with a deadly weapon…? Or whatever the judge said - Paxton had hated his fat face, so he hadn’t paid much attention beyond “you’re in trouble now, you little fuck-up!” (Yeah, no shit. He had noticed he was in court, thanks.)
He’d done his community service, apologized, even sucked up a little, but the adults just were not satisfied. Paxton had decided fine, fuck them, he’d just do what he wanted again. No one seemed to give a shit when he tried to make amends. And then he’d snuck out after curfew and gotten caught by some roided-up cop. DeSanto or something. His mother had had enough and informed him that he was going to spend the summer in Hart’s Landing, South Carolina with his grandparents.
“That’s not fair!” Paxton had protested. Upon seeing the thunderous look his mother had shot back, he’d blanched.
“No, I’ll tell you what’s not fair, little boy!” she’d roared, jumping up from the table. “What’s not fair is that I have to continually leave work to bail your ass out, using up my hard-earned cash. I’m a waitress, Paxton. I don’t even make minimum goddamn wage! I can barely afford the rent, everyone either ignores me, thinks I’m a shitty parent, or pities me! The fact that you’ve been here as long as you have is a downright miracle and, frankly, a testament to my patience!” She’d stopped, taken a deep breath, and lit up a cigarette, walking to the sink and taking a long drag. Holding it in, she had opened the window, exhaled, then hung her head. “You’re going. That’s final. Now go to your room. You don’t have to sleep, but I don’t want to look at you.”
Before Paxton could really process this - his mother had never exploded at him before, despite all the dumb shit he’d done - he was on a bus down to South Carolina. It was a long ride from Brooklyn, but he’d managed to pass the time by chatting up some cute chicks and reading a copy of FLEX he’d nicked from one of the bus terminals.
The bus stop wasn’t far from his grandparents’ house, and they met him there. Grandma Rose and Grandpa Walker were just how he remembered them from their last visit on his 10th birthday. Old, decrepit, and kind of smelly.
“Oh, just look at you!” Rose cooed, pinching his cheek and giving him a big kiss. She left a bright red lipstick print on his cheek.
“Hi, gram,” he muttered.
“Stand up straight,” Walker ordered, “and march. I know full well what you did, and I won’t have any of that tomfoolery in my house. You hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear ya,” Paxton replied sarcastically.
And that had gotten him dragged two blocks to his grandparents’ bungalow by his ear.
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Traditional Sunroom - Compact Sunroom with a small, elegant medium-tone wood floor and a red floor
my photo of a abandoned Amtrak
