It's chilly and rainy and oh-so-windy today in East Tennessee. So, I'm mopey, because I've been watching
Sex and the City and
Pretty In Pink allday, wondering where is my Big, where is my Andrew McCarthy (though, truth be told, I'd rather have a
Duckie, cuz I love few things more than a man who ain't afraid to dance). Therefore, in lieu of embarrassing myself by posting the self-pitying poem I'm brooding over, I'll share some highlights from the White Trash Bash last night.
The riffraff I hang around with
(notice the underwear on the clothesline strung across the porch)
Rocky Top will always be home sweet home to me
("and I leave my Christmas lights on on my front porch all year long")
What's better: the doo rag, the boat paddle, or the trash 'stache?
Our only casualty of the night, but what a great photo op!
Look, if you're thinking I should not relish in such an inappropriately themed party, I say to you stop taking yourself so seriously. It's summer. We're young. And it's a hell of a lot easier being trashy.
The riffraff I hang around with
Rocky Top will always be home sweet home to me
What's better: the doo rag, the boat paddle, or the trash 'stache?
Our only casualty of the night, but what a great photo op!
