Annoying statements made about area of residence

I also forget that only in Ma is it "tonic" and "jimmies" and get looked at like I have five heads when I say that.

I am from Alberta, Canada; I'm not a lumberjack, or a fur trader, and I don't live in an igloo or eat blubber, or own a dog sled, and I don't know Jimmy, Sally or Suzy from Canada, although I'm certain they're really, really nice.

Nice! Loved the commercial.

My favourite is "oh, you're Canadian, you must speak french"

I speak as much french as an American that took 10th grade Spanish. No, we don't all speak French.

I am from Alberta, Canada; I'm not a lumberjack, or a fur trader, and I don't live in an igloo or eat blubber, or own a dog sled, and I don't know Jimmy, Sally or Suzy from Canada, although I'm certain they're really, really nice.

Nice! Loved the commercial.

My favourite is "oh, you're Canadian, you must speak french"

I speak as much french as an American that took 10th grade Spanish. No, we don't all speak French.

And in Alberta only grade 4 - 6 is required French. So I speak as much French as someone who took it two years in Elementary

Being from Alberta transplanted to the US I get these inquiries A LOT.

I am from Ohio. Born and raised there. But I moved to Kentucky recently. The stereotypes about Kentucky are not all true. A lot of Kentucky people don't have a Kentucky accent or say y'all. Not all Kentucky people drive trucks, dress countryish, or like country music. But that's why they're called stereotypes.

All of the following stereotypes about New Orleans are absolutely 100% true.

You know you're from New Orleans when...

Your sunglasses fog up when you step outside

You save newspapers, not for recycling but for tablecloths at crawfish boils

When you give directions you use "lakeside” and “riverside' not north & south

Your ancestors are buried above the ground.

You get on a green trolley car to go to the park and a red one to the French Quarter

You listen to holiday songs such as "the 12 yats of Christmas" and "Santa and his reindeer used to live next door"

You walk on the "banquet" (sidewalk) and stand in the "neutral ground" (area of ground between a two sided street) "by ya mommas" (by your mother's house).

Someone asks for directions and you stop and help them with a smile

You think a lobster is a crawfish on steroids.

You think boudin, hogshead cheese, and a Bud is a bland diet.

You take a bite of five-alarm chili and reach for the Tabasco.

You have an *envie* for something instead of a craving.

You use a "#3" washtub to cover your lawn mower or your outboard motor.

You use two or more pirogues to cover your tomatoes to protect them from the late frost.

The horsepower of your outboard motor is greater than that of your car motor.

You pass up a trip abroad to go to the Crawfish Festival in Breaux Bridge.

The four basic food groups are boiled seafood, broiled seafood, fried seafood and beer

You are asked to name the holy trinity and your reply is "onions, celery, bell pepper."

You describe a link of boudin and cracklins as "breakfast."

Every once in a while, you have waterfront property.

Your mama announces each morning, "Well, I've got the rice cooking ... what will we have for dinner?"

You refer to Louisiana winters as "Gumbo Weather."

You get a disappointing look from your wife and describe it as, "She passed me a pair of eyes."

You think of gravy as a beverage.

You sit down to eat boiled crawfish and your host says, "Don't eat the dead ones," and you know what he means.

You give up Tabasco for Lent

You worry about a deceased family member returning in spring floods.

You don't learn until high school that Mardi Gras is not a national holiday.

You push little old ladies out of the way to catch Mardi Gras throws.

You leave a parade with footprints on your hands.

You believe that purple, green, and gold look good together

Your last name isn't pronounced the way it's spelled.

You know what a nutria is but you still pick it to represent your baseball team.

You like your rice and your politics dirty.

No matter where else you go in the world, you are always disappointed in the food. *****THIS*****

Your accent sounds nothing like Harry Connick, Jr's.

You can sing these jingles by heart: "Rosenberg's, Rosenberg's, 1825 Tulane;" "At the beach, at the beach, the Pontchartrain Beach..."

You ask, "How they running?" and "Are they fat?" but, you're inquiring about seafood quality and not the Cresent City Classic.

When a hurricane is imminent, you have a lot more faith in Nash Roberts than some Super Doppler 6000.

Your town is low on the education chart, high on the obesity chart and you don't care because you're No. 1 on the party chart.

Nothing shocks you. Period. Ever.

Being in a jam at Tulane and Broad isn't the same as being stuck in traffic.

Your idea of health food is a baked potato instead of fries with your seafood platter.

You have to take your coffee and favorite coffeemaker with you on a three-day trip.

You have sno-ball stains on your shoes.

You call tomato sauce "red gravy."

Your middle name is your mother's maiden name, or your father's mother's maiden name, or your mother's mother's maiden name, or your grandmother's mother's maiden name, or your grandfather's mother's maiden name.

On certain spring days, Crawfish Monica is your breakfast.

Your house payment is less than your utility bill.

You've done your laundry in a bar.

You don't show your "pretties" during Mardi Gras.

You know that Tchoupitoulas is a street and not a disease.

You "boo" the mayor on national television.

You wear sweaters because it ought to be cold.

Your grandparents are called "Maw-Maw" and "Paw-Paw."

Your Santa Claus rides an alligator and your favorite Saint is a football player.

You suck heads, eat tail, sing the blues and you actually know where you got them shoes.

You shake out your shoes before putting them on.

You don't think it inappropriate to refer to a large adult male as "Li'l Bubba."

You know why you should never, ever swim by the Lake Pontchartrain steps (for more than one reason).

You cringe every time you hear an actor with a Southern or Cajun accent in a "New Orleans-based" movie or TV show.

You have to reset your clocks after every thunderstorm.

You waste more time navigating back streets than you would if you just sat in traffic.

You still call the Fairmont Hotel, the Roosevelt.

You consider garbage cans a legal step to protecting your parking space on a public street.

You fall asleep to the soothing sounds of four box fans.

Your one-martini lunch becomes a five-bloody mary afternoon... and you keep your job.

You're walking in the French Quarter with a plastic cup of beer. When it starts to rain, you cover your beer instead of your head.

You eat dinner out and spend the entire meal talking about all the other good places you've eaten.

But all gumbo is different! you haven't found one you like? My dad makes a mean turkey gumbo with the leftovers from thanksgiving

But all gumbo is different! you haven't found one you like? My dad makes a mean turkey gumbo with the leftovers from thanksgiving

I'm just not fond of soups/stews/ and anything with that general texture. I have no desire to, either, lol. In my defense, I was born on an Air Force base in northern LA and only lived there for 5 years, so I am far from being *from* Louisiana. I get told my accent is all wrong all the time though.

I'm from CT. All anyone knows we have are expensive houses, and lyme disease. Both are true. We're prime real estate for commuting to a bigger, better city.

I've lived in Washington State for 15 years, but originally from the UK. Some of the common questions I've got in the past are:

"Does it always rain in the UK?" (yes, I knew I'd be homesick that's why I moved to Seattle )
"Do you drink lots of tea?" (Yes, when I can't get a cup of it I carry an emergency syringe so I can main-line the stuff)
"Do you like soccer and cricket?" (No, and hate cricket)
Best one I've been asked - "Have you met the queen?" (Why yes of course! After we played cricket, we sat down and drank tea together in the rain under a large umbrella)

I sense a bit of sarcasm here

Me - I'm from Barstow, CA.

Other - Sorry?

Me - I said I am from Barstow, CA.

Other - I know, sorry to hear about that.

Well be honest, Barstow is the Arm Pits arm pit of California...

That's Bakersfield. Barstow is more of a stink-hole...