Damn, it’s been a hot minute since I have updated this blog. For a while, I had high hopes of updating once a week, but I think that’s a bit ambitious for someone who is proud she can wipe her own ass with minimal pain. Things got dark for a while and I was super depressed because of a back injury (see ass wiping statement), so I haven’t been in my normal mood to post fart jokes and self-deprecating tales slathered in midget lust.

Alas, after murdering a few cupcakes, eating a lot of tramadol pills, and dropping a shit ton of money on spinal decompression…I’m back up on dat ass like some Preparation H. I’ve been competing with Courtney Love for “Pillhead of The Year.” One discovery I have made is if I were a druggie of any type, I would so be into pills. Luckily I have absolutely dick for an addictive personality (except for stupid sweet tea, frozen yogurt, and thrift stores) so I don’t have that part of West Virginia engrained in me.  But the pill statement made me realize that there’s a lot of things I have overcome in order to be this classy bitch with a highbrow blog full of tactful humor and deep sentiments. I’ll share with you my few very lame achievements that keep me marginally ahead of the white trash demographic.

1. Paying bills on time and finally getting a credit score that didn’t make car dealerships spit on my forehead. When I was 20, I shit up my credit so bad, I couldn’t get a checking account or anything. But being a product of my parents, I had no idea how to utilize credit or what the hell a “savings account” was. My asshole dad would let the power be shut off all the time because he wanted to prove a point to us that he was the breadwinner. I didn’t even know bills showed up in something besides red envelopes! Once my parents divorced, it was not rare to call my mom or dad and hear that their phones were cut off. My brother hasn’t had his cell phone cut back on in 3+ years but had money to rent a limo to see Kiss. Priorities…anyone? Anyways, I crawled out of my bad credit hole with begging and settling; I vowed I would never end up in that situation again. Exactly 10 years later, I have successfully not fucked up my credit or my bills, thanks to the nightmare fuel that was my childhood. Moral of the story: Don’t be trashy, pay your shit and know your PRIORITIES.

2. I own a passport. It sounds totally stupid to 99% of you, but my pappy wouldn’t have even known what the hell a passport was. He had a 6th grade education and his most extensive travel was to the state of Florida-AKA: toilet of the south. I tried to get my mother to take a cruise with me (my treat) 4 years ago, and she said she was too afraid to get on a ship. The grabbiest woman I know wouldn’t even yank a cruise out of my hands! When I was 9, I would sit with my grandparents in the backyard and watch planes take off from Charlotte International Airport. You would have thought they were fucking UFOs by the way my grandfather stared in awe and acted like we were in the early 1800′s. I was convinced that I would never have money or the chance to fly anywhere, thus I developed a very extreme fear of flying. I didn’t fly until I was 29 years old when my friends forced me and I was 3 ativan pills (I really do enjoy pills) into the wind.  So I have a passport, and haven’t left the country yet. But the point is, I will and I can. Moral of the story: Don’t be afraid to leave the sad ass bubble your family festers in.

3. Actively making car repairs and performing car maintenance before the shit explodes.
My family doesn’t pay attention to check engine lights or transmission lights. They wait until their tires are Nascar bald to buy new ones and then they buy used ones from some sketchy redneck for $25 apiece. Oil changes are just whenever they have the money, and tune-ups don’t exist. My car is paid off (early) and 11 years old. I am psychotic about my car maintenance and paid for a 100k tune up last year to prevent my timing belt shitting up and other various “old car” issues. No one in the history of my family has ever paid for a massive preventative procedure before the car exploded and left them sitting. Not a single one. Why would you replace a timing belt before it flies off into the woods while you’re going 75 mph? Who does that kind of nonsense?
Moral of the story: Take care of your shit!

4. My pets all have shots and vet visits when they’re supposed to. Not when they’re dying or foaming at the mouth. Not when “I have the money” and then I go and buy tickets to see Randy Travis and Alabama’s retirement tour before Randy gets locked up for being drunk in public. When I was a kid, I swear to you, not a single animal saw a vet or was spayed/neutered. We had hundreds of animals that all inbred and died constantly; it made me quite paranoid and serious about pet ownership. Moral of the story: take care of your pets like they are your furry children, not just wild animals. Put money aside for their needs, not just yours, you douche.

5. Recycling and giving a shit about the planet. When I was growing up, do you know how we got rid of household garbage? We burned it in the middle of our yard. Do you know what it’s like to be a 10-year-old on your bike, and to hear an aerosol can explode so loudly, you almost spray fart your Carebear panties? I would watch my dad empty a can of oil into his piece of shit hoopty car, and then throw the empty oil can down into the woods…on HIS own property! What a douche. So now in my adulthood, I am crazy about recycling and being green. It’s what you do when you love nature and don’t want to retire on Mars being probed in your golden years by aliens. My dad was only green by accident. He’d use the same tobacco spit cup for a month, and once we timed his shower in which he showered for 56 seconds! That’s one gross ass hillbilly. Moral of the story: Respect your planet and nature. And take legitimate showers using shampoo on your hair and not a bar of soap like my pappy.

And there you have it, 5 ways I try desperately  to not be white trash and why I do them.  I hope you’ve learned a little something and that these tips propel you further away from your own past. Keep the positive, lose the negative, and don’t forget your roots. And dye your roots too. AIGHT NAH GAL!

Holy trucker mullet, it’s been a hot minute since I updated my blog, and I’m sorrier then Milli when Vanilli committed suicide. But when I was visiting my family over the holidays, I realized it was important for me to post about hillbillies and their “language.”

I’m a translator amongst my people. I translate all the time what things mean and what hillbillies are trying to convey to the normal, educated person. We’re going to take a stroll through a quick vocab course…these are terms I grew up with and never thought about until I moved.

“MASHED”

Why do hillbillies say the word “mashed?” Let me give you an example. In the parts of the country where we have electricity, we say things like “I pressed on this icon, but it’s not working.” No, my mother says “mashed.” Example: “I mashed the remote but I just can’t get it to work!” You don’t mash a button, you mash a fucking potato and drown that shit in gravy. You do the monster mash. You don’t mash buttons or any other form of technology! Quit saying mashed!

“RURNED”

“Rurned” is the past tense form of “ruined.” Pronounce it like burn, with an r. You can obviously [...]

It’s very rare anyone in my family buys new shit, and it’s for a good reason. My mother goes through washers and dryers like Honey Boo-Boo’s mom goes through Doritos, all because she is such a laundry-retarded hillbilly.  She actually washes rugs in the washer and other things you probably shouldn’t wash and we suspect she still does despite us having an intervention with her. So it’s no surprise that when they do purchase something new, it’s like the day they christened the Titanic leaving the pier. It’s a celebration to have nice shit, so we bust out some glitter confetti and some Boonesfarm $2.99 wine in red solo cups.

Well my sister got fancy, and bought a washer and dryer combo (Gasp! They matched) brand new a little over a year ago. She worked two jobs, probably won a few midget tossing tournaments, and some how scraped up the funds to buy this expensive set to wash the bras she never actually wears.

A couple of weeks ago, the new-ish washer quit working. So she calls the Whirlpool call center only to be told her warranty ended after [...]