i’m a little bit country…

….and about 33% White Trash.

That’s the beauty of being me – I have a diverse enough background to allow me to make fun of just about any group of people (all in jest) without offending anyone.  White Trash?  Sure, I got some of that in my family.  Boricua?  Yea, I’m a little Puerto Rican.  We have con artists, connoisseurs, bikers, business men…the whole lot in my clan.  So I have a free range to say whatever the heck I want.

I’ve been having an internal battle the past few days trying to decide what my 70th post should be about.  Something funny?  Something serious?  Something about doing good for others?  A family story?  Work?  nahhhhhh lets talk about some history….

A few years ago, my old roommate and I decided to go to a party in Pennsylvania.  It was thrown by a friend of hers who wanted to create a new tradition.  Enter the First Annual “White Trash Bash”. 

We slapped on our most redneck comparable gear, loaded my mongrel into her black, three door Saturn and began our journey.  When we got to the party, it was pretty much exactly what we expected – loads of people drinking cheap beer in lawn chairs wearing cut off jeans and wife beaters, with a pig on a spit.  The host had activities planned (egg toss, nail-in-the-log, flip cup, beer pong, keg toss, blowing stuff up), and we settled right in, tying my dog to a tree and playing games.

*note* my old roommate was kick ass at the nail in the log game – which I hated – I won the female division of the keg toss (and immediately called my mother to tell her – boy was she proud), and we joined forces in Flip Cup, winning several heated games and the overall tournament until the other patrons kindly asked us to stop playing. 

As the night went on, we grew more and more tired.  I decided to retire to the car and take a nap – with my dog.  I should probably mention that it had rained, and we were both pretty dirty.  PeeWee and I meandered down the block to where my old roommate had parked the car, climbed in the back, pulled the Navaho blanket (wait, where did that come from?) over us, and settled in for a nap.

We were drifting off into a sweet, blissful slumber…when my phone started ringing.  “Brown Eyed Girl“, the song I used as  my old roommates ring.  “What the hell does she want?” I grumbled to myself, ignoring the call.

And she called again.

And again.

And again.

Finally I answer and ask her what she wants.  “Where are you?” She asks.

“I’m asleep in your car. What do you mean?”

“No you’re not”

“yes I am”

that banter continues for a few minutes, when I open the door to show her that I’m IN her car…and she starts laughing.  “oh man.  Get out of that car!”

So apparently at some time during the evening, my old roommate moved her car to the other side of the street.  And I was sleeping, with a dirty dog, in a complete strangers car.  Here’s the kicker – it was the same make and model as my old roommates car.  The only differences were the color (it was a dark red, hers was black, but it was night out and there were no street lights) and there were antlers and that bizarre blanket I had curled up in.

Needless to say, neither of us has gone back to the White Trash Bash.  We did host our own the following summer – but it wasn’t quite the same.

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what happens in Vegas….

…stays in Vegas. 

I hate that saying.  I really, really do – because its not true.  In fact, its silly.  If you go to Vegas with the intention of misbehaving or acting like a dipstick, chances are whatever you do there will follow you home.  Pictures?  Yea, people can take pictures with friggin PENS and load them to facebook, tag your wife, and send it out to the entire INTERWEB thanks to Al Gore faster than you can put your shirt back on.  Herpes?  I’m pretty sure they don’t stay on the Strip after you’ve had a tryst with a hooker, and I know for a FACT that if you get married in Vegas, when you go home, you’re still married!

Ain’t that a kick in the pants.  They’re valid across state lines!

Anyway, every so often I like to increase the balance in my Karma bank by doing good stuff, specifically with charity.  In fact, I would have a lot more money in the bank if I wasn’t addicted to giving it away to different fundraisers – or, at the very least, I’d have a few more tattoos.  But hey, I like to share.  This season I’m doing another century ride with Team in Training called “the Ride to Montauk”  (http://pages.teamintraining.org/li/montjune12/jgerold4420) and I’ve raised about 1200 dollars (so far – my goal is 1600) for the LLS.  I like to limit myself to one event a season, mainly because the training occurs on Sundays and that seriously affects my social life in the summer (hey, I live in a beach town, and I like to drink PBRs on the beach with my friends without having to worry about being dehydrated on a bicycle in the middle of a 75 mi bike ride in 98 degree weather).

That being said, the team is going to Vegas for the fall season.  That’s right, Vegas. They’re going to do a 118 mile bike ride, through the desert, in Vegas.  And they think I’m going to go with them!  The minimum is really low, which makes it really inviting, but I’ve never been to Las Vegas before.  I don’t really have much of a desire to go there, cause I don’t really like the suffocating heat and I don’t really like being hung over, and being hung over in the suffocating heat sounds like the 7th circle of Hell for me.  I also don’t gamble, but if the opportunity presented itself, and I DID happen to go to Vegas, you can bet your Lilly white behind it wouldn’t be to ride a bike.

In fact, I’d probably come home married to transvestite sailor named Bubba.  With a new tattoo.  And a lot of pictures documenting the whole, beautiful ceremony.

Now what to write about for my 70th post!  How exciting.  I’ll try to make it a good-un.

sneaky sneaky pants

Fact: When people meet me, they think I’m a bitch

Fact: I am okay with that

Fact: I’m not really that much of a bitch…if I like you.  In fact, some might argue I’m quite the friend.

Case in Point:

My old housemate and bestie has her birthday every year on Memorial Day weekend.  When we were living together, we would kind of do a “Summer Kick Off” Memorial Day weekend, and celebrate her birthday – and then close out the summer with mine, which falls on Labor Day weekend.  We like to mash it in with the holiday because neither of us really are into the whole “big birthday celebrations”

Anyways, this heifer got sick of me referring to her as my “wife” and moved back to the Dirty Dirty just in time for her 30th birthday.  A few months ago I asked her “wife, even though you’re estranged, we can still do something for your birthday, did you have anything in mind?”  I got back an emphatic “I DONT WANT TO DO ANYTHING FOR MY BIRTHDAY AND I’M SERIOUS, IF YOU TRY AND SURPRISE ME I WILL BE SO MAD AT YOU”.

yea, okay.

kick-start: Operations Rae-Rae Turns Dirty-Dirty Thirty in the Dirty-Dirty J.

We planned, and planned, and planned.  We even got some feedback from some family members warning us against surprising her.  Did we listen?  Hellmuthafuckinno! 

I am not a good secret keeper when it comes to good stuff, but the best part about the party planning?  15 of us flanking her while she napped on the beach, and the look of shock when all was said and done.  Who doesn’t like a surprise party!

Communists, thats who.