White Trash or Fabulously Trashy?

White trash can be fabulously trashy.  It’s all in one’s perspective.

I picked up all kinds of trashy tips from my youth – like wrapping a can of pop (soda, Coke, whatever area of the world you live in insert word here) in aluminum foil is a poor gal’s koozie (my mom would do this to chill my beverage for field trips), keeping a wet wash cloth in a plastic baggie is just the same (and much cheaper) than a wet wipe (again, my clever mother), and ketchup between two slices of bread will make you feel like a chef (my genius shining through).

Ketchup sandwich for one, please.

Ketchup sandwich for one, please.

Any of these tips ring a bell to you? If not, you’re a classy person – in my book anyway.

To me, being white trash is knowing better (eating the piece of cheese after removing the moldy corner, blaming the broken basketball hoop on me, your cousin when I saw you break it with my own two eyes, proudly announcing that your entire family’s favorite movie is National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (hence the trashy category Grizzies on this blog), digging the bag of chips out of the garbage because you want to be sure you ate them all or wearing the mini skirt with the heels that are just a tad too high) but doing it anyway, while not giving a rat’s ass what anyone thinks.

A mini minus the heels.

An early mini minus the heels.

I grew up in a rural Iowa town where it was a big deal if Dad decided to get a Casey’s gas station pizza on Friday night, a small hog (yes hog, not dog) house served as my backyard playhouse where mud pies were served abundantly and you were never short a friend or cousin to play alongside (and Mom could care whether her child was mistaken for smoking a cigarette – OK, she might of cared but still).

Smoking deck for my cousin and me.

Good old candy cigarettes on the smoking deck after a long day of play for my cousin and me.

I was also raised in a world where it was perfectly acceptable (in my family, anyway) to come home from the pool for lunch, play a round of baseball with Dad in the yard (not opting for a wardrobe change – sticking with the classy bathing suit), then head back to swim the rest of the day away.

Quick round of batting practice while home from the pool

Quick round of batting practice while home from the pool.

Being in a small town, we made our own fun. If there were no toys around or activities for a kid to do, my parents entertained me with a brown grocery bag, which I obviously enjoyed with enthusiasm.

No toys? No problem. A paper bag will do the trick.

No toys? No problem.

Preschool graduation days were also classily creative due to my mother’s knack of using paper and plastic bowl in lieu of a real hat.

Graduation day at its finest.

Graduation day at its finest.

Oh the tricks of the trade we acquire while growing up.

White trash? Or fabulously trashy?

Fabulous in my book.

CBXB

CBXB!

Trashy Traditions

During the last decade, the younger generation of my brood has introduced a new tradition to our family – Jell-O shots (I mean, duh. What Christmas gathering is complete without this delicacy?). And my family (being the classy clan that we are) welcomed the gelatin filled vodka with open arms.

There may actually be a cat hair in your Jello with the aid of Ted.

Who put the cat hair in my Jell-O?

It all started with our love of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation – and how we watched the movie together every season. I was across between the young Ruby Sue (as my dad was deemed our family’s Eddie – yes, my sister and I are proud) and Aunt Bethany (as she was the crazy cat lady, wrapping up her cat for a Christmas gift and serving a Jell-O mold made with cat food). Therefore one family Christmas, I brought Jell-O shots decorated with cat food (really Cracklin’ Oat Bran but at first glance, looks like the real deal) and our new family legacy was born.

This cheap, easy tradition requires the following:

1 box of Jell-O

Nut cups

Vodka (flavored if you wish)

1 can whipped cream for topping

Follow the instructions on the back of the Jell-O box. Insert vodka anytime the recipe calls for water (if you’re worried too much liquor may create awkward family moments, use half vodka, half water). Refrigerate. Serve!

Making my family proud with our new tradition

Making my family proud.

Introducing new traditions isn’t always easy and ours required my very apprehensive Gma’s approval.

blah

A little Jell-O never hurt…

Some gals prefer to be ladylike (like my Gma) and use a toothpick to aid in consumption.

Stirred, not shaken

Stirred, not shaken

And the rest is history.

Go Granny Go!

Family tested, Gma approved.

Now the tradition is so engrained, Teddy even takes part.

Teddy is even paws on when it comes to making Jello.

Paws on when it comes to making Jell-O.

Why don’t you do as the classy do and introduce the Jell-O shot tradition to your family this year?
It will make for some interesting memories….
CBXB

White Trash Wednesday

White trash can be fabulously trashy.  It’s all in one’s perspective.

I picked up all kinds of trashy tips from my youth – like wrapping a can of pop (soda, Coke, whatever area of the world you live in insert word here) in aluminum foil is a poor gal’s koozie (my mom would do this to chill my beverage for field trips), keeping a wet wash cloth in a plastic baggie is just the same (and much cheaper) than a wet wipe (again, my clever mother), and ketchup between two slices of bread will make you feel like a chef (my genius shining through).

Any of these tips ring a bell to you? If not, you’re a classy person – in my book anyway.

To me, being white trash is knowing better (eating the piece of cheese after removing the moldy corner, blaming the broken basketball hoop on me, your cousin when I saw you break it with my own two eyes, proudly announcing that your entire family’s favorite movie is National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (hence the category Grizzies), going through a vacated house across the street because you knew no one lived there, digging the bag of chips out of the garbage because you want to be sure you ate them all, or wearing the mini skirt with the heels that are just a tad too high) but doing it anyway, while not giving a rat’s ass what anyone thinks.

I grew up in a rural town where it was a big deal if Dad decided to get a Casey’s gas station pizza on Friday night, a small hog (yes hog, not dog) house served as my backyard playhouse where mud pies were served abundantly and you were never short a friend or cousin to play alongside (and my mother could care whether her child was mistaken for smoking a cigarette).

Just two kids, after a long day of play, de-stressing with a good old candy cigarette and a lunch box full of food (Child Protective Services would be summoned if this picture was snapped today) that was prepared by Mom exactly six feet from my picnicking cousin Ryan and I. We just HAD to eat outside (which makes sense with us smoking and all).

I was also raised in a world where it was perfectly acceptable (in my family, anyway) to come home from the pool for lunch, play a round of baseball with Dad in the yard (not opting for a wardrobe change of shorts and a tank top – sticking with the classy bathing suit), then head back to swim the rest of the day away.

All in a day’s play for this kid.

White trash? Or fabulously trashy?

CBXB