Written by Heather Foley

YUPPIES!!!  Okay, now that I have your attention, 200 plus comments and counting.  That’s how many “A Letter to South Boston” has gotten on Facebook so far, and as a regular CIS contributor I’m kinda jealous.  Sure a ton of those comments are asinine, but that’s a lot of buzz, and I love buzz!  Buzz is my favorite; and hype, I also love me some hype.  So if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, Mohammed will go to the mountain.  Translation: I’m chasing that buzz like a shyster lawyer after an ambulance.
 
So most of you probably know my stance on the whole yuppies vs. locals debate (I hate to even call it a debate.  It’s like it lends legitimacy to the nonsense).  I’m not exactly shy when it comes to voicing my opinions but I decided to take a step back and try to examine the situation from a different angle, and since I’m a pathetic Carrie Bradshaw wannabe, I shall take the witty single girl in the city angle, in high heels obvi.
 
As a single gal about town, I am often asked where I’m from, and because I don’t have lie-abetes, I tell the truth and say “South Boston”.  Before I even ask the lad where he is from I’ll know if he’s from Southie or not.  “How do I know?” you ask.  Simple, a non-Southie guy will normally take my word for it, and 9 times out of 10 a Southie guys says, “No, where are you from?”  Hard core emphasis on the word “from” like I didn’t understand the question. I know us girls have smaller brains are therefore a little on the dumber side (like why are even allowed to vote, LOL) but I know what the word “from” means.  Then a 10 minute or so conversation follows where I, for whatever reason, must prove I’m legit by rattling off my parents, my brother, the schools I went to, the CYO teams I played for, and what I would order at The Quiet Man.  Why do you do this to me Southie boys?  And more importantly do you seriously not know who I am?  How is that possible?  Do my blogs about Giselle, overalls, and door busting on black Friday not appeal to you?  And oh yeah, I’ve even written a couple blogs about the Bruins and the Pats. I don’t want to sound like an ass, but “Do you know who I am?”  Alright, the non-Southie men folk don’t know me either, so clearly I need to rethink my writing style, or maybe submit a blog or two to Barstool Sports, then at least the 21 year old might know who I am.
 
So as a single gal in Southie, with OFS vs. transplants (well not really, but I’m allowed to take a little artistic license for effect), whom do I prefer?  I am so glad you asked.  First of all, I don’t see people like that, really!  I was raised to see beyond the zip code someone was born in (unless that zip code is in the Appalachian mountains, that probably won’t fly with me, sorry), and to look for what’s really and truly important.  And what’s really and truly important?  Well, here’s my list:

• Body fat percentage.  You can see ab lines in the average male at around 10%, but I’m not so shallow I’m not open to someone with 12% body fat. 
• A chin dimple.  I love a chin dimple, maybe because I have one, and I’m conceited like that.
• A sense of humor.  And by that I mean someone who thinks I am hilarious.
• Roughish hands.  Not so rough that I think you may have spent your youth working in a linen mill, but rough enough to know that you can make some repairs around the house and open a jar of pickles if need be.
• Slightly short fuse.  Is there anything hotter than a guy who will punch a hole in wall over you?  Short answer, nope.  Long answer, that reminds me, I need to call my therapist.
•  A warm, caring, generous spirit.  I’m totally kidding!  I couldn’t even type that with a straight face.  Generous spirit, ha!

I really hope this little blog helps show everyone out there that not all Southie peeps are anti-yuppie.  Most of us are of the equal opportunity variety.  Of course, there are close-minded people everywhere, but they don’t speak for all of us.  There are plenty of enlightened people such as myself in the hood who know physical appearance is way more important than where someone is born.  I mean really, judging someone on where they were born is so silly, like it has anything to do with who they are a person!  Now visible abs and a willingness to knock a fool out for you, that’s how you judge someone.