Give Her the F’ing Nuts You SOB!

WARNING! Excessive profanity contained in the paragraphs below (spewed from a four-year-old’s mouth). Read at your own risk.

My foul mouthed sister in her earlier days. Don’t let this sweet face fool you.

My entire family (yes, I can say that proudly) has a knack for our fabulous trashiness (see White Trash Wednesday or anything in the Grizzies category).  After previous posts divulging of family classiness, I could not resist sharing “The Great McDonald’s Ice Cream Incident” once again. I first divulged this jewel a year ago when I had all of nine readers, therefore none of you who aren’t relation will be laying eyes on this for the first time (lucky you).

Growing up in a small (population 1,200) Iowa farming community, our Saturday nights were spent 20 minutes away at the nearest Pizza Hut (I thought was so fancy – I used to be easily impressed. USED to be).  Often times my grandma and grandpa would join us for our family date night and we would head to McDonald’s for ice cream afterward.

One Saturday we were on our journey through the drive thru, Dad chauffeuring us in the front seat with Grandpa.  My mom, sister, grandma and myself were all in the back and giving our orders (sounds like a dream of a Saturday night, huh?).  As Dad was receiving and passing the treats out, my sister got her sundae.

My four-year-old sibling looked my dad square in the face and said (without hesitation or skipping a beat), “You goddamn son-of-a-bitch I wanted nuts on my sundae.”

Immediate silence followed (although I was instantly delighted that I wasn’t the sister in trouble this time).

I assume my reaction was something like this one captured above (you’re loving the classy outfit with hair clips, aren’t you?).

Moments later, reactions set in. Grandpa busted out laughing. Grandma’s jaw hit the floor.  My mom leaned up over the seat to hiss in my dad’s ear,  “MICHAEL!” and my dad replied, “What? I don’t say those words,” (which I instantaneously knew was a lie because anytime he had his head under a sink being the ‘plumber,’ I never remembered him saying shoot, gosh darn it or duck).

Little did Grandpa know how his heart would burst with secret pride over my sister’s nut rant a few years after this photo was snapped.

So, my toddler sister just put the phrase together all in her own right? Well, being classy, a little trashy and quickly having my sister’s back, my grandma said, “I bet she learned it from all of those John Wayne movies.”  Um, yeah, since we had a three channel cable line up in our metropolis.

Being white trash is knowing better but doing it anyway, while not giving a rat’s ass what anyone else thinks. My sister just got a head start – you gotta love her spunkiness!

All guts and glory for this kid.

So fabulously trashy…I can’t wait to see how her kids carry on the tradition.

CBXB

CBXB!

Tennessee Truck Trash

The state of Tennessee (along with Kentucky, Alabama and Mississippi) is often referred to as “The Armpit of America,” and when I first relocated to the greenest state in the land of the free it took all of three seconds to understand the moniker.

It seems that white trash folks live above the Mason-Dixon Line, where as red necks (who are really proud to boast about being one) generally reside in the South. And to be a proper red neck, you need a truck because they come in handy for attaching larger than life tires, they are used for muddin’ (yes it’s a sport down here) and with a truck, you don’t care if your window falls out or if you need a ladder to climb into the cab.

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My buddy Chris (complete in camo) caught in mud after a day of turkey hunting. Looks devastated (more like delighted), huh?

This proud truck owner apparently needs a ladder to climb up to the driver’s seat with the oversized tires in which he opted to attach to his ride. It makes so much sense for driving around Nashville, right?

Up the ladder to the truck, where you can see heaven much better!

Up the ladder to the truck, where you can see heaven much better!

Due to the photo quality you can’t quite see the beauty in this truck’s license plate….

Sound it out...

PRKRIND. Sound it out…

On the same Nashville interstate, I found this clever driver who decided glass was too fancy for his rear window.  He opted for plastic and duct tape (my favorite), which really classes the vehicle up – don’t you agree?

Duct tape to the rescue!

Duct tape to the rescue!

This lovely SUV owner obviously takes Tennessee trash quite literally.

Taking pride in their SUV

Taking pride in garbage.

Trashed dash

Trashed dash.

Of course after seeing my fellow statesmen class up our city, I had to get in on the trashy Tennessee shenanigans.  Since my dream car is a Range Rover, I thought I’d just go ahead and own one – all it took was  a marker, packing tape and cardboard. A true dream come true – for free!

Dream come true...

Think my new vehicle can handle the car wash?

Just keepin’ it ultra classy with my fellow Tennesseeans (does this mean I’m now a red neck?!)…

CBXB

CBXB!

Ted in Times Square!

It’s true! Teddy is a gigantic star!

My furry feline is beyond famous (in our two brains) now thanks to the photo magic of one of my blogging besties, Phil Lanoue, who created this picture for our entertainment (and healthy ego bump for a cat who didn’t need any help in that department).

Teddy was so flattered at Phil’s thoughtfulness, he started to do a back flip (momentarily forgetting how truly lazy he is) when he saw himself on the big screens but decided to demand a belly rub instead. This cat’s head is now as big as a lion’s and yet he still sounds like a goat when he meows (making him all the more special, right?).

Meeeow adoring fans!

Meeeow adoring fans!

I wonder who will call first…The Today Show? The Ellen DeGeneres Show? Maybe this will bring Oprah back to daytime TV? Oh, the possibilities seem endless!  I wonder if Phil Lanoue Photography will have to take a small hiatus from shooting fantastic wildlife shots in order to keep up with the demand for fresh pics of Ted? Hopefully he won’t regret creating this madness.

Now I’m impatiently waiting for the phone to start ringing off the hook as Ted is busy beautifying each strand of fur one by one.

But wait, we both just had a thought…

How will Teddy give his pawtograph?!

CBXB

CBXB!

Pardon Me, Do You Have Any Grey Poupon?

Do you have any idea how tough it is to show up to work and be requested to ride in a Rolls Royce?

Do you?

Rough ride in the Rolls Royce...

My chariot of the morning.

And, I assume you also have no clue how to carry on the facade of wealth while inside the insanely pimp ride. You must dress the part, of course – complete with riding gloves and a sparkly skull pinkie ring.

I'm rich, Bitch.

I’m rich, Bitch.

Oh Daaahling, do you know how good your feet feel when placed upon furry, plush, cashmere floor mats?

Cashmere Dahling!

Not a feature in your Ford Focus?

Can you imagine how difficult it is steering a wheel that probably costs as much as your college education?

Wheelin' and dealin'

Could most likely steer a spaceship on the moon.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to read a proper clock in an automobile? Do you?

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Who needs digital?

Now you know the difficulties of traveling in a Rolls.  You’re welcome. (I really wished I had a bottle of Grey Poupon for shits and giggles).

Upon reaching our destination, I picked out my next car (which in this case may be when I’m 188 years old due to how much money I will have to squander away). Here it is my perfect choice…

two toned/spunky/less normal

Rolls Royce body, with a black and silver finish…

with ferrari wheels

with Ferrari wheels…

with the Bentley two toned interior...too much to ask?!

and the Bentley two toned interior…too much to ask?!

Not for this high maintenance, broke ass, dreaming she’s rich bitch.

How high maintenance can this rich bitch be?

Not smiling makes you look wealthier, right?

The drive home from work is going to be oh-so-ordinary tonight.

Probably nothing a bottle of Grey Poupon can’t fix…

CBXB

CBXB!

Redneck Roadtrip

With many Americans gearing up to travel over the river and through the woods for Thanksgiving, is it possible to make a 1,000 journey seem bearable?

Well, of course it is.  It’s all in how you approach your trip.

First, you need something to eat.

A chocolate dipped cone always starts my road trip off on the right wheel.

Filling up on cheap spirits (they have to last nine hours, so don’t get anything top shelf) will help you pass some time. If you drink just enough, you will get out of your leg of driving, (clever, yes. Well received by other passengers? Not so much. But who cares, you’re ready for karaoke in the car).

Road rot gut. Taaka vodka and a Diet Coke from Quik Trip. Keepin’ it classy while killing brains cells and miles.

Car karaoke is performed by travelers who are just drunk enough to play one CD ad nauseam and sing every word (that they don’t know –  it is a constant mumble until the chorus) so the most annoying passenger (usually me), wants to throw themselves out of the moving vehicle to prevent their brains turning to mush.  It is imperative to pack good tunes or you might turn yourself into roadkill.

My ears were bleeding at the sound of any lyric off of this Luke Bryan album that was played on repeat no less than 13 times.

Take pictures of machinery indigenous to the region of the country in which you are traveling. It will provide endless confusion as to what the object you just photographed could be…

Is it a combine? A tractor? Who knows?  It’s definitely not an International Harvester.

Make sure you bring a coat to put over your head to ensure privacy during phone conversations.

My mom in her sound proof phone booth, talking to my Gma.

Presents are a good way to distract the impatient folks who incessantly ask that dreaded question, to which you can reply, “No we’re not there yet but how ’bout a gift?”

Who cares if we have 658 more miles to go? You just scored a mini bottle of rot gut vodka AND a framed photo of you from your cheerleading days in college. Lucky!

Every time you stop to get gas, be sure to get a snack. And also NEVER wear non-elastic pants in the car (they won’t expand with all of your mindless eating out of boredom).

My fourth carton of the most delicious dip in all the land – Anderson Erickson’s French Onion. See the big sweatshirt? Expands with each dipped chip I inserted into my yapper (people who travel with me like it when I eat. I’m quiet for the 30 seconds it takes to inhale my snacks).

And hopefully, when you arrive to your final destination, Grandma is waiting just as anxiously as Teddy impatiently waits for my return home.

WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? My fur ball welcoming committee of one usually cops an attitude the second my key hits the lock.

Now you have all of the tools needed to quickly pass the nine hours it takes to get to your crazy relative’s house for the massive amounts of turkey, stuffing, yams, turkey, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, turkey, green beans, pumpkin pie and turkey.

Just don’t forget your drawstring pants for the ride home.

CBXB

Unabashedly Trashy on a Private Plane

Is it possible to act like taking a private jet is no big deal?

For some, yes. For me, hell no.

As I have stated before, white trash is doing something you know is a tad inappropriate but doing it anyway while not giving a rat’s ass. And it seems as if I fit this description every time I try to ‘be cool’ about outrageous things I get to do. So while riding in a private jet, I was my typical fabulously trashy self (hey, at least I’m consistent).

If taking a private plane is second nature to you, there is no need to take a photo of your transportation.

Hey Mom – look what I’m riding in!

But when you’re classy like me and think this may be your one and only opportunity to ever board a jet plane like a superstar (I’m the hired help), you go bananas and try to document the trip so you can prove you were actually on the plane.

Fancy folks are not impressed with the gold plated seat belt. I, on the other hand acted like it was a solid gold and felt the need to capture the moment.

Doing my very best Vanna White impersonation with the fabulous accessory. Impressive, I know.

Private planes have heavily stocked liquor cabinets that I was happy to help empty.  And, when you constantly travel via private jet, you know to sit in the seats with cup holders to hold your tasty beverages.

Not me. I had to sit on the couch because the planes I normally ride in don’t contain living room furniture.  Therefore, I had my neighbor hold my wine glass when my hands were busy.

Seat mates = cup holders on private planes.

And the glass remained in tact during landing. A classy experiment we had going on. Our traveling companions were not as amused. Go figure.

The truly fabulous jet setter knows that pilots fly the plane.  I of course had to capture the moment in the cockpit in case I forgot.

Pilots flying a plane. How outrageous.

After helping the flight attendant clean out the liquor cabinet, I had no shame in becoming her best friend. And of course I had to solidify our new found friendship with a photo.

The ever patient Chelsea who provided endless refills. You know she’s secretly thinking that this flight seems never ending with a passenger like me.

The fabulous jet setting crowd know that they can carry whatever they want onto the aircraft. I got so excited to bring the Milwaukee Public Market millionth customer gift basket aboard (over my dead body was that basket going under the plane to get banged up after the great ‘sweet potato incident’) that I spilled its contents boarding the plane, horrifically watching my loot hit the tarmac (you can breathe a sigh of relief – all of my goodies remained in mint condition.  But I don’t think the flight crew had ever seen anyone loose marbles over a cookbook the way I did as I galloped down the stairs to collect my scattered basket).

I would not let my loot leave my side. And I would not shut up about it, referring to myself as “one in a million girl.” Annoying? Yes. But not to me!

And after all that running around the runway, gathering my basket belongings, I hustled up into the plane to get a snapshot of myself acting like a lady of leisure in the talent’s seat (of course before he got on).

Oh Dahling. This old piece of metal? No biggie, I fly around in it all of the time. Where’s my glass of champs?

Oh this private jet thing is no big deal. If you’re a billionaire.

CBXB