Well, Tiffany’s birthday was celebrated last night by a white trash party. I was all decked out. Panties and bras were on the clothes line in the car hole bar (complete with weeks worth of beer bottles on not-quite-patio furniture.
Some other touches: had sports on the tv on mute. Sports Illustrated on the table. Tums out with the food. A framed poster of young anakin in place of the monet.
Ken objected to the latter. He said that since the poster could be a sign of geek-dom, it can’t be considered white trash. Well, my outfit could have been a sign of me being a hooker, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t also connote white trash.
Methinks Ken protests too much. (I acknowledge that many of my day-to-day decorations are signify white trash. I can defend their kitsch value or their nerd value (in case of The Simpsons), but that doesn’t mean that they wouldn’t signify trash to people who didn’t love me.)
We found out that we shouldn’t have the tv on, after we turned it to cops.
We also found out how strange it is to have this party (with us decked out as trash) was perhaps not the best time for the neighbor to come over to let us know that the sound machine used at night (to try to keep me from killing Ken since he’s in the bedroom playing video games while I’m trying to sleep) is too loud.
All in all, there was much cheese, beer, and chocolate. Hooray!