I Prefer the Term Turquoise Debris, OK?

Yeah, and I like my women just a little on the trashy side.
When they wear their clothes too tight and their hair is dyed.
Too much lipstick and, ah, too much rouge
Gets me excited, leaves me feeling confused
And I like my women just a little on the trashy side.

You should have seen the looks on the faces of my dad and mom
When I showed up at the door with my date for the senior prom
They said, "Well, pardon us, son, she ain't no kid!
That's a cocktail waitress in a Dolly Pardon wig!"
I said, "I know it, Dad. Ain't she cool! That's the kind I dig!"

"Trashy Women" written by Chris Wall & performed by Confederate Railroad


I am not white trash! Am not, am not, am not! Just in case you were wondering. Let's settle this right here and now. Sure, I'm a Southern girl. Sure, I grew up poor. Sure, I'm as as small town as they come. But, white trash? No way, Jose! Let's do some myth debunking, shall we?

1. I do not live in a trailer....actually, there's nothing wrong with trailers. Have you seen any lately? They're BEAUTIFUL! Moreover, I just read an article about this new line of modular homes that are uber eco-friendly and solar powered. There is also a company with a line of modular like homes that were constructed from old railway cars - the more cars you buy, the bigger your home. Still, if you've ever been called a TPT (trailer park trash - which is a completely different beast than white trash) then you understand the stigma. And, ok.....I'll come clean. When Momma 'n them done brought me home from the big Baylor hospital, it was to a ding dang trailer house (a singe wide). And, ok....so even after Daddy had the old church on Buckner Blvd. moved out to acre #1 of 3 and converted it into our house, that very single wide did continue to sit on acre #2 of 3 repurposed as a storage facility (we were like, early recyclers with our country version of a PODS self-storage cube!)...still nothin' trashy 'bout that there. And, ok...maybe my first husband did live in Creekside Mobile Home Park when we started dating (it was a very nice trailer park - no trash 'tall!) You know, there are trailers in California that sell for a million dollars. Look it up! And yes, I'm 42 and I still call my daddy "Daddy" (I think that may actually be a semi-accurate line from Tanya Tucker's "Delta Dawn").

2. I am not covered in tats and piercings.....though I'm not categorically opposed to either. I really, really, really want a "Marilyn" (isn't that what the beauty mark piercing is called? Or is it a Monroe - I can never remember), but Kevin said he would definitely divorce me if walk in with a facial piercing. Not, however, for the white trash symbolism, but more for the over 40 (SHHHH!) married white girl looking ridiculous reasoning. Similarly, I ADORE the tiny diamond nose stud. I may go for that one some day soon. Lord, please let HBO decide to turn my blog into a miniseries so I can support myself after Kevin leaves me! I don't have a sleeve, a 1/2 sleeve, a tramp stamp, or any Asian letters (I am CONVINCED that those symbols everyone sports that supposedly say "Peace", "Serenity", and "Forever Love" are really a sinister plot on the part of China to overthrow our government and that they really say things like "pig farts", "I like to drink urine", and "I <3 Wayne Newton"). Now, I do have a tiny little inner ankle tat of two roses on a vine and have contemplated either a fleur-de-lis or my late daughters name or initials in a delicate script, though no definitive action has been taken thus far. To come squeaky clean in the category, I need to tell you that my adult sons have the following tattoos (cumulative total): a Celtic armband, a Victorian cross with his sister's nickname in the center, a "Z" on the bicep - both have that one, and the piec de resistance....a portrait of a brother's hand holding a sister's hand commemorating his sister's life (I was vehemently opposed to that one swearing it would look exactly like a huge dog turd.....a huge dog turd I would have eaten if I was a bettin' girl, because it is truly a work of art). So, see....no white trash tats goin' on 'round here. Ain't no shame in my tattoo game!

3. There is no one on any branch of my family tree that goes by "Bubba"....Nope, not a one! I thought this one up one side and down the other, nine ways til Sunday, and came up with nary a Bubba. True, we do tend to use the double name game. I think they're very nice, though. One of my oldest and dearest friends is Mary Kay - I have always thought that was a BEAUTIFUL name. I have a cousin named Mary Alice (I do love the Mary + names!!) Then there's her brother, Tom Bill (we just call him TB). On the other limbs, I remember hearing vaguely about Jean Norton, (though I can't recall who that is....hmmm?) Also, we have a Flossie Nell. Then, out West there's Chance Lane and Kelly Don. There was also a lady in town named Wild Bill when I was growing up, but I don't think that was really her name, nor was she a blood relative. We also do the nickname thing. I have an Aunt Hitsy though I don't know that she actually hit anyone. There was also a woman who went by Butterball. I even have an Uncle Spider on my Dad's side and a Great Uncle Goat on my Mom's! And, we can't end this category without mentioning my son's friends, Cheese and String Cheese (they're brothers) or my late daughter's BFF's, Squints and Fro. See! I told you, no Bubbas! No one shot the jukebox around here!