Louisiana Girl Quotes

The only way I won't be re-elected is if I were found in bed with a dead girl or a live boy.

They got another girl in Louisiana who robbed two college boys and put fish hooks in their ball sacks after stealing their car and all their money.

My favorite quote in my first book is: "We will always make mistakes, turn left when we should have gone right, but Love (God) waits patiently for us at all the wrong turns.

He sings, “I’m in Mississippi, with mud all in my shoes / My girl in Louisiana with those high water blues.” Later he says, “Listen here, you men, / one more thing I’d like to say / Ain’t no womens out here, for they all got washed away.

Don’t think they have them in New York City.” She laughed. I didn’t mind. “We get lobsters, though. They can hurt you.” “Can you keep one? I mean, you can’t keep a lobster like a pet or anything, right?” She laughed again. “No. You eat them.” “You can’t keep a crayfish either. They die. One day or maybe two, tops. I hear people eat them too, though.” “Really?” “Yeah. Some do. In Louisiana or Florida or someplace.” We looked down into the can. “I don’t know,” she said, smiling. “There’s not a whole lot to eat down there.” “Let’s get some big ones.” We lay across the Rock side by side. I took the can and slipped both arms down into the brook. The trick was to turn the stones one at a time, slowly so as not to muddy the water, then have the can there

New Orleans isn't Louisiana." Or maybe it is, I think. When you get down to it, what's the difference between some backwater asshole's advising men to marry teenage girls and a bunch of costumed drunks flinging beads to anyone who shows her tits on St. Charles Ave?

As a little girl I walked for hours alone in the silent woods behind my house in Louisiana, singing songs. Being outside gave me a sense of aliveness and danger. When I was growing up, my mother and father fought constantly. He was an alcoholic. I was usually scared in my home. Outside wasn't necessarily heaven either, but it was my world. Call it heaven or hell, it was mine.

There wasn't any place on my body I could hide a gun not with that sleazy dress I had to wear. And that shoe had a spike on it. What the hell else is it good for?'' '' Jesus, Redding.'' Harrison laughed. ''Haven't you seen a movie, a magazine ad… another woman in public? Stilettos are common among people with oestrogen.'' ''Which explains why you know what they are, and I don't. Why don't you play the girl on the next mission? You're obviously better suited

Lisa In 1977, when I was in sixth grade at Pinecrest Elementary School in my hometown of West Monroe, Louisiana, I saw the cutest boy I had ever laid eyes on. He was new to our school, and I quickly found out his name was Alan Robertson. I was popular in school and people seemed to like me, but no matter how I tried, that cute boy did not seem to know I was alive. Maybe that’s because he was in eighth grade and did not have time for younger girls like me. That did not stop me from following him around school, though--during every recess, fire drill, and class change. Sometimes when I speak publicly about this now, I say I could have been on fire and he would not have noticed. At least that’s what I thought; he says he was vaguely aware that he had a sixth-grade stalker with braces.

The last case that Higdon presents is that of Emile, who is from Louisiana and in 1983 was visiting his sick parents at the hospital. One evening while he was at the hospital, a nurse named Debra offered to perform oral sex on him, but only if he wore a condom. After the act was complete, Debra offered to get rid of the condom filled with Emile’s sperm and must have impregnated herself, because nine months later genetic testing showed that Emile was the father of her baby. “The two never had sexual intercourse, only the one instance of oral sex with a condom.”10 The commonality in these three cases was that a man or boy was forced into fatherhood against his will and was then forced by the court against his will to pay child support. Can you imagine the uproar if a fifteen-year-old girl had sex with a thirty-four-year-old man and she was obligated in any way to him by the courts? Or if a woman passed out at a party and a man had sex with her and she was then forced to have the baby? As Warren Farrell says about reproductive rights for men:

If you want anything just ask for it, old sport,” he urged me. “Excuse me. I will rejoin you later.” When he was gone I turned immediately to Jordan—constrained to assure her of my surprise. I had expected that Mr. Gatsby would be a florid and corpulent person in his middle years. “Who is he?” I demanded. “Do you know?” “He’s just a man named Gatsby.” “Where is he from, I mean? And what does he do?” “Now you’re started on the subject,” she answered with a wan smile. “Well,—he told me once he was an Oxford man.” A dim background started to take shape behind him but at her next remark it faded away. “However, I don’t believe it.” “Why not?” “I don’t know,” she insisted. “I just don’t think he went there.” Something in her tone reminded me of the other girl’s “I think he killed a man,” and had the effect of stimulating my curiosity. I would have accepted without question the information that Gatsby sprang from the swamps of Louisiana or from the lower East Side of New York. That was comprehensible. But young men didn’t—at least in my provincial inexperience I believed they didn’t—drift coolly out of nowhere and buy a palace on Long Island Sound. “Anyhow he gives large parties,” said Jordan, changing the subject with an urbane distaste for the concrete. “And I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.

Jessica I first met the man I married at a hair salon. I was going out the door; Jep was going in--for a haircut. Seriously. Nowadays, most of the Robertson men don’t get haircuts, but Jep did back then. When our paths crossed that day, we said nothing more than “hi” to each other, just one word. Jep and I both grew up in West Monroe, Louisiana, and he is two years older than I am. We went to different high schools, but because we lived in a close community, we had heard about each other. He knew who I was, and I knew who he was--and I thought he had a cool name. I had heard good things about him, including, “He’s a dream.” When our paths crossed at the hair salon and we simply said hello, I had no way of knowing the hairdresser would tell Jep all about me as she cut his hair that day. Both of us had gone to her for years, so she knew us pretty well, and she said really nice things about me to Jep. In fact, she takes credit for getting us together! After we were married I found out that when he left the hair salon that day, he went home and told his best friend, “I just met the girl I’m going to marry.” “What’s her name?” his friend asked. “Jessica,” Jep responded. He only knew this because the hairdresser had told him. “Jessica who?” his friend asked. “What’s her last name?” “I don’t know,” Jep admitted. I love the fact that Jep knew he would marry me after only seeing me once. Maybe he did not know my last name, but the next time he saw me, he made sure to find out a little more about me.

Gloria tried to think of who could have died in the house. It seemed like Alan would have mentioned that Eva had been stuck on top of a house with a dead body sloshing around inside. But, there it was, clearly noted, one dead body another horror the girl had endured. She peered at the marks on the house, confused. That wasn’t the date of the hurricane. But she couldn’t think about it now; Eva was getting too far ahead. Like it or not, the girl was her responsibility now.           

The internal slave trade became the largest enterprise in the South outside of the plantation itself, and probably the most advanced in its employment of modern transportation, finance, and publicity. It developed its own language: prime hands, bucks, breeding wenches, and fancy girls. Its routes, running counter to the freedom trails that fugitive slaves followed north, were similarly dotted by safe houses - pens, jails, and yards that provided resting places for slave traders as well as temporary warehouses for slaves. In all, the slave trade, with its hubs and regional centers, its spurs and circuits, reached into every cranny of southern society. Few southerners, white or black, were untouched. In the half century following the War of 1812, planters and traders expanded and rationalized the transcontinental transfer of slaves. During the second decade of the nineteenth century, traders and owners sent an estimated 120,000 slaves from the seaboard to the west, with the states and territories of Georgia, Tennessee, Alabama, and Louisiana being the largest recipients. That number increased substantially during the following decade and yet again during the 1830s, when slave traders and migrating planters uprooted almost 300,000 black men, women, and children. By this time, though most of the slaves still derived from the Upper South - particularly Maryland and Virginia - their destination had moved further west. Alabama and Mississippi had become the largest recipients, with each receiving nearly 100,000 slaves during the 1830s. The Panic of 1837 and the subsequent decline in cotton and sugar production deflated the price of slaves and the trade slackened for a few years. But prices soon revived and with them the demand for slaves. Nearly one quarter of a million slaves left the seaboard for the interior during the 1850s, with more than half being taken west of the Mississippi River. The 'mania for buying negroes' easily overwhelmed periodic bans against slave importation and did not cease until the arrival of Union troops.

We had finished the set when a lovely young woman wandered into our dressing room. She had bleached-blond hair and fire-engine-red lips and giant eyelashes that made her look like a reincarnated southern version of Marilyn Monroe. As I was prone to do at that time, I made my move before anyone else could even talk to her. I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the bathroom and asked her if she could keep me company while I took a shower. Once I got into the shower, she went into an impeccable rendition of Marilyn singing "Happy Birthday" to JFK. I got out of that shower ready to go. She immediately threw off her clothes and we made love on the floor. I had known the girl for five minutes, but I was certain of my affection for her. We spent the night together, and I found out more about her, including the fact that she went to Catholic school. (She would be the inspiration for a later song, "Catholic School Girls Rule.") The next day we drove to Baton Rouge, and of course, she came with us. After we got offstage, she came up to me and said, "I have something to tell you. My father's the chief of police and the entire state of Louisiana is looking for me because I've gone missing. Oh, and besides that, I'm only fourteen." I wasn't incredibly scared, because in my somewhat deluded mind, I knew that if she told the chief of police she was in love with me, he wasn't going to have me taken out to a field and shot, but I did want to get her the hell back home right away. So we had sex one more time, and she gave me an interesting compliment that I never forgot. She said, "When you make love to me, it's like you're a professional." I told her that she should give herself a little time and she'd realize that it was because she didn't have much to compare it to. And I put her on a bus and sent her back to New Orleans.

But he and Adale needed some restoration in the relationship department. Something he’d never been good at with other women. Because none of them had ever measured up to the girl he’d left in Paris.

As long as I live, when I think about Louisiana, I'll remember glistening mist on a Cajun girl's hair, and walking together under those live oak trees, and being happy.

The vamp-mobile had vanished at some point during the wee hours, replaced by a huge pickup truck I could only assume belonged to a werewolf. Or a Republican from north Louisiana—hard to tell the difference.

Gloria told Maria the whole story of her adoption by the time she was seven years old. She had adopted Maria after breaking up with a man---a fellow graduate student she would only ever refer to as H---who had wanted her to stand behind him at protests, and type up his dissertation, and serve him dinner and wash the dishes and bear him some children and write her own dissertation in between folding laundry. He'd seemed attracted to her in direct proportion to how well she disappeared into their backdrop. Gloria was in her midthirties then and just beginning her graduate program. She knew there were many black babies languishing in the system, unwanted. She put in a request for a healthy black infant girl. It was only a few months before she got a call from the agency saying they had one available. The baby was only a few weeks old and her name was Maria. She came from the Cane River in Louisiana. They didn't have much more information than that except that she was in the care of a Catholic orphanage now----the Saint Ann's Infant and Maternity Home in Maryland. Gloria dropped everything and drove eight hours to collect her child.

It wasn’t a horror movie, Mama,” said Jody adamantly. “It had zombies, didn’t it?” “Yes, ma’am, but it’s a love story.” Rick laughed. He was amused with the young girl’s defense. “Have you seen it?” asked Jody. “It’s called Warm Bodies.” Rick shook his head. “No, I haven’t. Is it good?” Jody’s eyes brightened. “Oh my gosh! You have to see it…

While Dixieland men may have struggled with a language inferiority complex, the opposite is true of Southern women. We’ve always known our accent is an asset, a special trait that makes us stand out from our Northern peers in all the best ways. For one thing, men can’t resist it. Our slow, musical speech drips with charm, and with the implied delights of a long, slow afternoon sipping home-brewed tea on the back porch. In educated circles, Southern speech is considered aristocratic, and for good reason: it is far closer linguistically to the Queen’s English than any other American accent. Scottish, Irish, and rural English formed the basis of our language years ago, and the accent has held strong ever since. In the poor hill country there haven’t been many other linguistic influences, and in Charleston you’d be hard pressed to tell a British tourist from a native. In the Delta of Mississippi and Louisiana, the mixture of French, West Indian, and Southern formed two dialects--Cajun and Creole--that in some places are far more like French than English.

Finding and keeping a lifelong partner is a common dream of all girls, everywhere. Women love men (well, most of us, anyway--Ellen DeGeneres is a Louisiana Grits, after all!), and Grits are no exceptions. We think about true love as much as the next girl--maybe more, thanks to that romantic Southern atmosphere. Finding a man is like eating a meal: it’s tasty, it’s tempting, and it keeps you alive. Sometimes it’s bad for you, sometimes it goes down wrong, but the most important thing is that you’ve tried everything on your plate. And once it’s gone, there is simply no use in worrying about it. Go ahead and try to exercise off the effects, but remember: there’s another one coming down the road, and it’s going to be better (or at least more tempting) than the last. So tie on that napkin, darlin’, and get ready to dig in!

As I was reading, I started thinking about Jessica and the idea of getting married. We could be doing this--reading our Bibles, cooking our own food, hanging out--at our own house. Suddenly, I was excited about the idea of leaving Mom and Dad’s house and starting my own family with Jessica. All my brothers had gotten married before they were twenty, and here I was twenty-two, and not married. I knew Jess was the one. I’m not going to look at any more girls, I thought, still reading through Scripture out loud. I just want to get married to the woman I love. There was a deep sense of knowing inside of me. I didn’t want to overthink it anymore; I just wanted to do it. If we knew we wanted to be married, why wait? So all of a sudden I just burst out, “We should get married.” Jessica looked up from her Bible, surprised. I wasn’t down on my knees, and I didn’t have champagne or a ring, so she wasn’t exactly expecting a marriage proposal. But that’s what it was. A random impulse of a marriage proposal. I looked in her eyes and said it again. “Let’s get married. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” There were hugs and tears, and then we ran out to tell Mom and Dad the news. More hugs, more tears. And wedding plans started right away. “We’ll just elope,” I said, “or get Dad to marry us.” We didn’t want to waste a second. Now that we knew, we wanted to get married as soon as possible and start our lives together. But Mom had a fit. “No,” she said in a loud voice. “We have to have a wedding. I’ve always dreamed about your wedding, Jep.” I didn’t want a big wedding, and I knew it would take time and cost a lot of money. “Mom, I just think it would be better this way.” “Look, just some family,” she argued back, “and maybe some of my best friends. I’ll help get everything together. It won’t be hard. You’ll see.” Then she tilted her head and smiled that big smile; how could I say no? We finally gave in because we could see how important it was for her, but we made it clear we wanted to get married as soon as possible, so we set a date for two weeks away. We don’t waste much time down here in Louisiana.

Despite indications of affection, a strong Anti-Semitic bias remained. In an 1878 campaign speech Senator John T. Morgan of Alabama referred to a candidate as a 'Jew-dog,' and the following year Senator Morgan opposed the appointment of a postmaster in Montgomery because he had been endorsed 'by a parcel of Jews.' In Nashville, Tennessee, in 1878, Christian mothers threatened to withdraw their children from a private school for girls after two Jews had been accepted. The principal yielded to the pressure and rescinded the enrollments. And in a Rome, Georgia, courtroom in 1873, the plaintiff's attorney declared that one cannot accept the word of a Jew 'even under oath.' Louisiana had anti-Semitic demonstrations in the late 1880s. Then, in 1893, farmers in the Bayou state wrecked Jewish stores in a particularly harsh outburst. That same year Mississippi night riders burned Jewish farmhouses, and a Baltimore minister preached: 'Of all the dirty creatures who have befouled this earth, the Jew is the slimiest.

the plan was a scheme to bilk money from the investors in return for selling them Louisiana. Law was given a monopoly on trade, as well. Later, when it turned out that Law’s company was merely a large confidence game, many of the settlers decided to ignore this and stay on. During the first year of Law’s operation, he decided that a town should be founded at a spot that could be reached from both Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River. In 1718, this town became La Nouvelle Orleans. Development of the city began that year, but work was slow, thanks to brutal heat and the rising and falling waters of the Mississippi. There was talk of moving the city because of the danger of flooding, so levees were constructed, which spread out as the city and the plantations of the area grew. But rising water was not the only danger that could be found at the mouth of the Mississippi. In many early documents, writers spoke of the monsters that dwelt in the murky waters, and the Indian legends told of gigantic beasts that waited to spring upon unwary travelers. “May God preserve us from the crocodiles!” wrote Father Louis Hennepin. Meanwhile, John Law was having problems holding up his end of the bargain that he made with the French. In order to get his money, he had promised his investors that he would have a colony of six thousand settlers and three thousand slaves by 1727. His problem, however, was a shortage of women. The colony’s governor, Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne, Sieur de Bienville, wrote, “The white men are running in the woods after the Indian girls.” About 1720, one solution to cure the shortage of women arrived when the jails of Paris were emptied of prostitutes. The ladies of the evening were given a choice: serve their term in prison or become a colonist in Louisiana. Those who chose the New World quickly became the wives of the men most starved for female companionship. The prisons also served as a source for male colonists. Many thieves, vagabonds, deserters and smugglers also chose to come to Louisiana to avoid prison time. They made for strange company when mixed with aristocrats, indicted for some wrongdoing or another, who also chose New Orleans over the Bastille. New Orleans also lacked education and medical care. Despairing over the conditions, Governor Bienville coaxed the sisters of Ursuline to come from France and assist the new city. The first Ursulines arrived in 1727 and set to work caring for orphans, operating

Logan shook his head. "Damn, girl, you really are the most fertile woman in Louisiana." She swatted him on the arm. "You said New Orleans before." "Changed my mind.