White Trash Tales

He’ll Learn to Love Me (Part 4)

Jul 30

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

Television can be evil

Television can be evil

When we got back to school on that Friday night we decided to go to a party and tell people what just happened. Naturally, no one believed us. Our other roommate knew that we went and her response was that “the show will never air.” We taped the show in April and waited impatiently for it to air. Finally, after calling the show on a weekly basis, we had a day in May that it would happen. I was a little bummed because I wanted it to air when I was in school just to see people’s reactions, but school was out for the summer.

The show aired and I watched it with some friends back home. My mom told me that she didn’t think that it was fake after she saw it. I assured her that it was. I had an ex-boyfriend call me and tell me that he had just seen me on t.v. and I was on every television set in Circuit City. People kept calling throughout the day and, to be honest, I was glad when things settled down a bit.

Fall arrived and we all headed back to school. While I was moving my things into my apartment, two guys who were moving in down the hall stopped me and said, “Were you on Jenny Jones?” I told them that I was and then had to explain to them that it was all a joke. I don’t know whether they believed me or not. Our friends who had seen the show stopped by to talk about it and congratulated us on a job well done. The first day of classes arrived sooner than we wanted and Sara and I headed to our English class. The professor walked in and began checking the roll. When he got to me he looked at me quizzically, paused and then went on to the next name…which happened to be Sara’s. He put the roster down and said, “You two were on the Jenny Jones Show a few months ago!” We told the story again.

The semester progressed as usual, but we were still being recognized almost everywhere that we went. While walking across the quad one afternoon, a girl stopped me and asked if I had ever been on the Jenny Jones show. When I told her yes, I started explaining to her the entire story. After I was finished, she looked at me and remarked, “You’re just telling me that now so that I won’t think that you’re a bitch. I think you are!” and with that, she walked away. Sara and I were eating lunch one day off-campus and these three female basketball players kept looking at us and whispering. One of them asked, “Were you guys…” and before she could finish I blurted out, “on Jenny Jones? Yes.” As much as I thought that I would enjoy this attention, it really was becoming aggravating. I was so sick of the story that whenever I’d retell it, I’d leave out a little more each time.

The following summer Sara and I went to Las Vegas to visit her mother. While we were in the bathroom of one of the casinos, a lady walked out of her stall and said, “You two were on that talk show!” then proceeded to tell us our story. How do people remember that?! I wouldn’t recognize someone from a talk show at any time, much less a year after the fact. One of the funniest things that was said was when I was at a party at Ari’s aunt’s house. Everyone had gathered on the deck and she was talking to some friends of hers. She called Ari and me over and said, “Ask them about being on Jenny Craig!” Her guests looked mortified. I’m guessing they thought it was rude to discuss our dramatic weight loss publicly. Ari corrected her and we told the story again.

Overall, the experience was wonderful. We got a free trip out of the deal and were small-time celebs for a moment. Would I do it again? I doubt it. Actually a producer from the show called me several months after it had aired and asked if I’d be willing to come back on the show. I told her that things had worked themselves out: Ari and I had split up (over the money from the show, sadly) and Sara and I were sharing a room in an apartment. There were no fights at all and we were living happily ever after. “Well, could you come on and say that you and Sara have something going on with one another now?” Are you kidding me?! I politely declined, hung up the phone, and turned on the t.v. to where it all began.

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He’ll Learn to Love Me (Part 3)

Jul 29

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

This is how they saw us

This is how they saw us

Catch up with Part 1 and Part 2 first.

“Ladies and gentlemen, before we run out of time, I’d like for you to meet Allie and her roommate Sara. They’re roommates and they live together (um, okay) and they’re fighting over the same man. Allie, tell us your story.”

“Sara started dating Ari and when he first came over to pick her up, we hit it off. I just want her to butt out of our relationship!”

I won’t go into every single thing that was said, but the story involved me stealing Sara’s “date dress,” wearing it out with Ari and “accidentally” spilling spaghetti on it. Then I sat behind them at a movie and I made snide remarks throughout about how he wanted me and not her. Sara and I yelled at each other. Ari, the paid one, was really earning his money by saying very little. He defended me a couple of times from Sara, but the hard part was still to come. The audience.

Jenny opened it up to comments from the audience and it was Allie Jo season. A large woman with a lovely t-shirt that had anchors all over it stood up and said, “Ari hasn’t made a commitment, not to you or to her. So what gives you the right to tell your friend to butt out, baby?” “Because I love him,” was my answer. “Booooooooo!” from the audience. Another girl stood up and said, “I’m here with my roommate and I would never do anything like that to her. I mean all you’re doing is acting like a little slut!” The audience cheered. WTF?! Ari got pissed off at this point and stood up to tell everyone that I wasn’t a slut (thanks for defending my honor), but they edited that out of the show. I need to point out that this young lady waited for me after the show and came at me like a pitbull. Luckily, the car had its door open so I escaped.

Our story went on, taking twists and turns. All of us were having to think on our feet, but we were hanging in there like champs. I told of a time when I invited Sara to come home with me for Easter just to get her away from him. I also mentioned that she had called Ari and told him that I was sick and couldn’t go out that night. The she came into my room and told me that he had called and something had come up. I was called “a spoiled, selfish brat” by a woman with a nasty perm. Another lady told Sara to move because she had “a real scary roommate.” A lady with one tooth who was actually picking her nose as she stood up to talk, said that it was like Single White Female” and Sara was Bridget Fonda.  I mean, no one was defending me. One person in the audience did, and that was edited out as well. So yeah, I was the villain and there was no turning back. I had my role and I had to run with it. I mean, Sara’s make-up and hair were soft and pretty. I looked like a whore. I really did. Coal black eyeliner around my eyes and streaks of blush up my cheeks. Someone could have added up all of the make-up that I’d worn in my entire life and it wouldn’t have come close to that mess!

During the commercial breaks, Jenny would get people in the audience to ask questions so she’d know who to go to when we went back on-air. A lady brought out some water for us and said, “MMMMMM, and you say you guys are friends.” I was being judged by the water lady?????!!!!  Back on air and time was running out. I had to do it. I’d been planning a line to use (possibly all my life in some situation) and the door was opened by a large woman who was wearing all red. If the audience wanted to hate me. Fine. But I wasn’t going down without upsetting the crowd even more. “He doesn’t love you like that. Why are you willing to throw away your friendship if he doesn’t love you?” The camera zoomed in within inches of my face and I said two words that would send me into bitchdom forever: “He’ll learn.”

You would have thought that I had sacrificed a puppy in front of the crowd. Actually, I think that would have garnered me some support from the folks. The place erupted. Shouts, yells, moans, screams…good lord. I had succeeded. Jenny had to ask again what I had said because even she didn’t believe it. “Did you say ‘We’ll learn’?” she asked as the crowd shushed. “Yeah, he’ll learn. He’ll come around one day!” At this point on the tape, you can see me choking back the laughter. Literally. The corners of my mouth were turning up. I shut my eyes to think of baseball or something and you could see me swallow hard. Ari went on to tell Jenny that I was a lot of fun and we had a great time together because I was outgoing. “Well, she doesn’t look like a lot of fun to me. I mean, she doesn’t look happy.” Thanks Jenny, but you know what? I just got a free trip to Chicago for my boyfriend, my best friend, and all on you. No fun, my ass…

At the conclusion of the show, Jenny told me that I needed help because of my obsession, but didn’t offer any to me. As we piled into the limo to take us back to the airport (after I had warded off Big Mama coming after me with my backpack) I couldn’t help but to laugh, along with Ari and Sara. Even though the story didn’t go off as planned, it still went over well and I was proud that I could mark another goal off of my list. When I arrived back at the airport, I called my mom to tell her that I was back. “How was your trip to Chicago?” she asked sarcastically. Before I could answer, someone was being paged in the airport and she heard it. “Oh my god, you really did it, didn’t you?” she gasped. “I told you that I was,” I replied. I thought it was over, but I hadn’t seen anything yet until the show aired…

Links:

Part 1

Part 2

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He’ll Learn To Love Me (Part 2)

Jul 27

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

This is what the audience wanted to see.

This is what the audience wanted to see.

Be sure to read Part 1 First

Our flight into Chicago was uneventful. Since we “hated” one another, we weren’t placed beside each other on the plane (the show set that up). Once we got our bags we were greeted by a limo driver holding a sign that read “The Jenny Jones Show.” I could NOT believe that this was going to happen! Our driver took us around the city, showing us points of interest. Finally, he dropped us off at our hotel which was very nice.

We decided to go to dinner together. I mean, what were we supposed to do. The most difficult part in all of this was acting like I hated Sara. There we were in Chicago and we couldn’t even enjoy it (or act like we were). All of us were scared of being outed as phonies so we didn’t talk at all in the street or at dinner. Jenny Jones picked up that tab as well. Once we got back to the hotel, we all went our separate ways since we had an early morning the next day. As I was flipping through the channels, I saw what I thought looked like porn. I flipped back and by golly it was! I quickly called Sara and Ari and asked them both if they had it too. Nope.

The next morning we were greeted by a rep from the show in the hotel’s lobby. We walked a few blocks, being blown by the wind the entire time (no wonder it’s the windy city). When we reached the studio we saw signs for Jerry Springer and Jenny Jones (they both taped in the same place). Hopping on the elevator, I could hardly contain my excitement! The assistant led us to our green rooms. I was shocked when Sara and Ari were put in the same room and I was the outcast.

In my room, there was another girl sitting there. We sat there in silence for a little while and then the small talk ensued. She was from Utah and she was in beauty school with her former friend who, I assumed, was in the other green room. I can’t do the room justice, but I’ll try. We had a very small television that only had one channel and even that had static, there were two warm, flat Cokes, and two stale sandwiches. Whatever. A new lady came in and said that she was there to do our hair and make-up. While she was working on me, she told me that she did make-up for Playboy and “those girls don’t look anything like that in real life.” While I was getting gussied up for my debut, assistants kept running in and out, asking us questions about our stories and then telling us that the other girls were saying terrible things about us. This went on for an hour. When both of us were ready, we were sitting on the couch waiting to be called onstage. The door opened and Jenny herself was standing there. I was soooo excited!!!! “So you’re the other women,” she said coolly. Ouch. She asked us some questions and, I’ve held my tongue long enough, she was a bitch. At least to us.

By the time we were standing backstage Sara and I were actually pissed off at one another. We had NEVER had a fight and I was furious with her for being so nasty about me and vice-versa. The audience erupted in cheers and we walked out on stage. The first love triangle went first and told their story for a half an hour. Audience members booed and clapped and were really going after the guy. Whew! I was safe. The original plan was for us to fight and then realize the error of our ways and leave as one big happy family. We were sitting on stage the entire time so it was a little uncomfortable sitting in front of everyone and not talking. Finally it was our turn.

Next time: Batter Up!

Links:

He’ll Learn To Love Me: Part 1

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He’ll Learn to Love Me (Part 1)

Jul 23

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

Could you lie to this woman?

Could you lie to this woman?

“Allie, when you get off drugs and come down offa your high, you can call me back and talk sensibly to me. Until then, I don’t want to hear from you!” And on that note, my mother slammed down the phone. Wow! I didn’t expect that. All I was doing was calling her to tell her that I was about to board a plane for Chicago to be on the Jenny Jones Show. Now when I say I was going to be “on” the Jenny Jones Show, I mean just that. None of this “I’m-gonna-sit-in-the-audience-and-be-on-t.v.” nonsense. That’s not my style. When I go, I go big.

It started as a prank. I love practical jokes more than anything else. It was a warm day in April 1993 and I was watching television with my roommate, Sara. While flipping through the channels I stopped just in time to hear the announcer say, “If you’re two friends fighting over the same man, give us a call. You could be a guest on our show.” Before I actually thought about what I was doing, I had the phone in my hand dialing the 800 number. I knew that I’d only be able to leave a brief message on the show’s voicemail, but it was worth a shot.

“Thanks for calling the Jenny Jones Show. What’s your story?” the female voice chirped. It wasn’t a recording. Adrenaline kicked in and I started rambling about how my roommate had been dating this guy and I’d stop at nothing to have him. I had seen enough of Basic Instinct, Single White Female, and Fatal Attraction to concoct an amazing story. “Well, I’ll pass this along to the producers and we might call you back if they’re interested.” I walked back into the common area, a little dejected. “I tried,” I told Sara. She went to work and I headed out to class.
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Fear and Loathing in Troop 25

Jul 21

Posted by Trey in White Trash Tales

Troop 25On my honor I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country
and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times; 
To keep myself physically strong,
mentally awake, and morally straight.

All Boy Scouts are required to memorize and recite the above oath.  Some of the members of Troop 25 were able to memorize it…but none of us took it to heart.  In fact, we violated every single tenet of the oath in morally reprehensible (and often criminal) ways.  Let me give you an intro to the sordid history of Troop 25 from 1981-1984 by breaking down each line of the Boy Scout Oath…

On my honor I will do my best
When you think of the Boy Scouts, you probably visualize upstanding young citizens, who are eager to learn about camping and nature.  Our troop was comprised of under-achieving miscreants…many of whom did not make it past the 9th grade.  I can’t recall a single occasion when any member of our troop showed any excitement for anything scout-related.  When we were forced to participate in activities, there was always some sort of uprising that led to one or more “scouts” being paddled and/or banished from the troop.

To do my duty to God and my country
I had never said “Goddammit” before joining the scouts.  Our scoutmaster didn’t mind us chewing tobacco or trading Hustler magazines, but he would get pretty upset when we took the Lord’s name in vain.  So naturally all you heard at our meetings was a bunch of delinquent teenagers running around saying “Goddammit” every other word.    

and to obey the Scout Law;
We didn’t even obey the real law.  For example, the whole troop was thrown in jail overnight on a beach camping trip for drinking beer in the parking lot of a grocery store.  Most of my stories about Troop 25 fall into this category.  Also, we lied and cheated to get just about every rank and merit badge that was “awarded” to us.

To help other people at all times;
If by helping people, you mean “keying” their cars and pissing on their tires…then yes, we helped people.

To keep myself physically strong,;
You had to try to be reasonably fit to protect yourself from the violent man-child rednecks that comprised our troop.  But in reality, I survived mainly due to my sense of humor, and by befriending the black guys.

mentally awake, and morally straight.
I had to be “mentally awake” to avoid having the criminal record that many of my fellow scouts carry with them to this very day.  I don’t think anyone who stayed with the troop more than 2 weeks was “morally straight”…but I never ratted anyone out, so that has to count for something.  Even in this forthcoming series of articles, I shall endeavor to protect the guilty.

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No Wonder They Were So Friendly! Part 2

Jul 20

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

Would have preferred this type of swinger

Would have preferred this type of swinger

Read Part 1 First

My husband and I left the pool area and headed down to the beach so we could swim in the ocean and laugh at what we just had witnessed. Well, who comes bounding down the beach in our direction? All three couples. We had been spotted and they were coming in for the kill.

I swam closer to Chris and looked over his left shoulder. I whispered in his ear, “Please look behind you and tell me that what you’re seeing and what I think I’m seeing are the same thing.” He casually turned around and said, “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I think it is.” The guy from Missouri was holding the girl from Missouri by her shoulders as she floated on her back…with her bathing suit bottoms off…while the girl from PA was, how should I say this delicately, pleasuring her orally. Yep, she went down south. She was eating at the Y. She was diving for muff. I think you get the idea. Chris went over to them and said, “You guys need to take that to the room. This is a public beach and there are kids around.” It was four in the afternoon. They laughed and one of them said, “We’re just trying to have a good time.”
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No Wonder They Were So Friendly! Part 1

Jul 17

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

Nope. Not this type of swingers.

Nope. Not this type of swingers.

As outgoing as I am among people that I know, if you get me around strangers I’m an instant introvert. However, if you get some alcohol in me, that changes (as evidenced in other W.T.T.). While vacationing in Cancun this past June, my husband thought it would be funny to enter me in a beer drinking contest at our resort. There were only two problems with this: 1. I don’t really drink and 2. beer isn’t my drink of choice. But like the little trooper that I am, I took one for the team and chugged. Thankfully it was how quickly one could drink the beer and not how much. I came in second to a large Mexican “woman.” I say “woman” because she had a mustache and I swear she was a man in drag. Anyway, here’s where it gets a little ugly.

After the contest, I decided to swim over to the bar and get a beer for the husband and a pina colada for myself. As I was sitting on the bar stool waiting for my bevies, a guy about my age asked if I wanted to do a shot with him and some other people. Naturally I said yes. After the group shot-taking, he asked this kid next to me how old he was (did I mention I was tailed by a youngster on my way over?) and the kid said that he was 20. “Get the fuck outta here! I’m old enough to be your daddy!” Then the guy asked how old I was and when I told him, he asked if I was alone or with someone. I pointed out my husband in the crowd and he told me to come back over because he “needed to party” with people his own age.

I was so proud of myself! I swam back over and insisted that my dear husband meet my new pals. He was reluctant at first, but I insisted. When we got back to the bar, my buddy was still there with his wife and two other couples. Couple #1 was from Arkansas. He was a K9 officer and she was an eighth grade English teacher. Couple #2 was from Missouri and I have no idea what either of them did. Couple #3 was from Pennsylvania. She was a student and he worked for the Flyers. Good people just enjoying the sun and conversation. Suddenly I looked over and saw the women in the group showing their boobs to each other. Okay, whatever. No big deal. Granted this was a family-friendly resort and we were next to the kiddie pool, but oh well.

A few minutes later, I looked over to see the woman from PA licking the nipple of the woman from AR. Whoa! But we were having a nice conversation with the gentlemen from the group so I ignored them. A few minutes more passed and then I saw the woman from Missouri full-out making out with the one from PA. Um , okay. I’m not close-minded and who am I to judge so I still didn’t say anything. It eventually got so bad that the manager came out and asked the ladies to leave the pool area. My husband and I laughed about it and headed to the beach since the show was over. But we were soooooo wrong!

Next Time: Things get a little NSFW

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She’s a Brick House

Jul 14

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

bricklayer“Will you be our chaperone on our field trip?” she asked sweetly. “We’re going to a state masonry competition in Fayetteville and we need a lady to go with us since it’s for two nights.”

I’d never been to Fayetteville. I’d never been to a masonry competition. I’d never chaperoned an overnight field trip. So yeah, count me in!

The next week all of us were off. Six boys,four girls, and the masonry teacher packed into a white van heading down 95 south. The kids were talking and laughing and I was getting to know Mr. Williams a little better. We worked at the same place, but I’d only said hi to him in the hallways. He was telling me that when we got to the hotel, I’d have my own room and I didn’t have to go to any of the competitions, but just hang around at night and take the kids to the mall if they wanted to go. Sounded more than reasonable to me. Then we got to the hotel.

Mr. Williams asked me to stay with the kids as he checked us all in, so I did. When he made his way back through the masses of teenagers that had swarmed the hotel, he told everyone to head on down the hall to their rooms. As we walked, I asked him if I could have my room key.

“Oh yeah, there’s been a mistake. Your room was given away so you’ll have to share a room with me.” Oh sweet mercy, this is not happening! I would have to share a room with a 50 year old married man. “Um, okay,” I said hesitatingly. I walked into the room and exhaled as I saw two double beds. Well, at least I wouldn’t have to share a bed with the old coot. After a while, his buddy (another teacher) came into our room with a brown bag. He proceeded to give Mr. Williams a drink of Hennessy and had one himself. I declined. The kids came by the room and asked if I’d take them to the mall. I was out the door in an instant!
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Hooked on Carolina Beach Phonics

Jul 13

Posted by Ed in White Trash Tales

redneck educationI have felt the need to help the lay person understand what a Redneck is saying when they encounter one in the wild. Having a 9 month old, I have been privy to the “baby-phonics” videos as they are playing in the same room I happen to be in most of the time. I felt the phonetic descriptions could aptly describe White Trash speak as well. I named it Carolina Beach Phonics, because I can think of no other place where Rednecks from Concord, Graham, Lexington, Siler City, Reidsville, Elkin, Pittsboro, and the other citified trailer parks will congregate for a $25 a night beachfront roach Motel and subsequently drink, fight, bleed, and defecate in public places. This ensures continuing stagnated property values on Pleasure Island for years to come.
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The Tractor Auction

Jul 10

Posted by Trey in White Trash Tales

There had better be some big-ass mosquitoes nearby to justify this option...

There had better be some big-ass mosquitoes nearby to justify this option...

18 year-old girls look hot in boots and shorts. 60 year-old men do not.

In my opinion, 18 year-old girls look hot in boots and shorts. 60 year-old men do not.

Aunt Jemima...on the auction block.

Aunt Jemima...on the auction block.

Goddammit.

Goddammit.

Yes, that's Skoal in her back pocket.

Yes, that's Skoal in her back pocket.

I found out last week that an agricultural festival and tractor auction called “The Old Thresher’s Reunion” was going to be within driving distance. People from all over the southeast come to this festival to camp out and show their old tractors and farming equipment. I knew that I had to go to this event and document it, so I headed down there on July 3rd. Here’s a run-down of the day’s proceedings:

9:00 am: I arrived at the fairgrounds in Denton, NC. The parking lot was a gigantic field. There was a long line of cars (and by cars I mean 4-wheel drive trucks with all manner of deer hunting stickers on them) waiting to get in.

9:15 am: I paid $13 dollars for a ticket to look at old tractors and farm equipment.

9:30 am: I walked into the fairgrounds area and started looking around. Immediately I realized that I stood out like a sore thumb…my t-shirt had sleeves and I did not have boots on. Right away I noticed two pregnant teenagers.

10:15 am: It was obvious that every time I pulled out my iPhone to take a photo or video, people looked at me like I was holding an instrument of Satan.

11:00 am: I headed down to the auction area. I saw a man in his mid-sixties, casually talking to his peers before the tractor auction. I noticed this guy because he was sporting denim shorts…and he was wearing cowboy boots.

11:30 am: There was a small auction that appeared to focus on any kind of redneck paraphernalia. For example, a Dale Earnhardt Jr. car that doubled as a billiard light was on the block. The highlight of this auction was an “Aunt Jemima” statue. As far as I could tell, this statue was the only non-white entity within 25 miles of this festival. Nobody bought “Aunt Jemima”…

12:00 pm: The tractor auction was due to begin at any moment. At least 1,000 people were tightly packed around a bunch of dilapidated tractors to see who would buy them. I started noticing how quiet and emotionless all these people were. Were they having fun? I don’t know. The overall vibe I got while standing in the crowd was that these people were inescapably drawn to this event, like moths to a flood light.

All of a sudden, the auction began. I admired the speed at which the auctioneer spewed out his gibberish. The auction company had a team of assistants who worked the crowd by pointing at them, while whooping and hollering. It appeared that only about 5 people were doing any sort of bidding. The rest of the crowd just stood there, as if they had been placed in a trance by a snake charmer.

1:00 pm: I was getting hungry, but there weren’t many options. The only food vendor on this end of the fairgrounds was a carnival trailer advertising Chinese food. I had grave reservations about the quality of Asian food at an event like this. There was no one in line…which not surprising considering that most good ol’ boys and gals are petrified of anything that ain’t served with cornbread and cole slaw. So I walked right up to the window of the trailer and ordered something akin to pepper steak, but made with sliced up steak-ums. Yum.

1:30 pm: I ventured down into the camping area to see what people were displaying and peddling in front of their tents and campers. There were a lot of neat old “hit and miss” engines on display, and I saw an old Porsche tractor. Little did I know that the highlight of the whole event would be found sitting in these shady woods…it was a semi truck (from the Smokey and the Bandit era) with some sort of RV Camper slapped on top of it. I can only hope that one day my photo of this vehicle will find its way back to me in the form of a chain email filled with pictures of rednecks and their antics.

2:00 pm: I stood on the upper rim of the giant bowl arena that was designed to showcase the tractor pull event that was to be held later in the day. I should point out that the event staff called it an arena…I would describe it as a big fucking crater that they dug out. The only activity going on in the arena at this point was a demonstration of a sheep-herding dog terrorizing a group of sheep.

2:30 pm: I was standing in line at a lemonade stand when I happened to notice that the girl in front of me had a can of Skoal in her back pocket.

3:00 pm: It was finally time for the tractor pull event. This was supposed to be the highlight of the day. Thousands of people were sitting on the bank around the “arena”. I expected the crowd to erupt with a joyful noise once these things started roaring and dragging a weight sled behind them. But that did not happen. It was disappointingly silent. I so wanted to hear chants of “Git R Dun” and shit like that, but there was nothing but the occasional polite clapping. Dammit!



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Elton John Would Have Been Proud (or mortified)

Jul 9

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

Before

Before

Heading to the finish line, I knew he was going to beat me. And it stung. There was no way that could happen. I was the runner, not him. This was the moment that I’d been training for and what had he done to prepare? Nada. So as I watched him head down the road, throngs of cheering fans encouraging everyone to finish, an idea popped into my head. Suddenly I went down, held my ankle, and started screaming. Being the kind soul that he is, he stopped and turned around without hesitation to come back to help me. As soon as he stooped down to check out the ankle, I leapt up screaming, “SUCKER!’ and raced towards the finish line. He still beat me, but I almost had him.

Later that evening, my boyfriend Chris, and friends Tyler and Tina decided to celebrate our finishes by heading out on the town. Tyler and Tina had lived in Virginia Beach for a number of years so they knew of cool places to hang out. We went to the first bar and before I knew it, I had downed three or four martinis. They weren’t real martinis, but more of the pretty drinks with sassy names that cost $9 each. Feeling pretty good, but being a little bored, we decided to head to the local piano bar, Crocodile Rocks. I had wanted to go there for some time and what better night than this? We made our way through the dimly lit, smokey room and grabbed an available table.
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The Old Rebel Show

Jul 7

Posted by Jonathan in White Trash Tales

The Old Rebel and crew during the 60's

The Old Rebel and crew during the 60's

Most kids of my generation remember growing up with Captain Kangaroo or Mister Rogers but if you happened to be a child in the Piedmont region of North Carolina during the 50’s, 60’s or 70’s then you had access to a very special bit of children’s programming known as The Old Rebel Show.

Aside from the fact that the host assumed the persona of a retired Confederate soldier and probable slave owner, something that surely wouldn’t fly in these more politically correct times, The Old Rebel Show was a treat for children for all races (NOTE: much like the television show in NC ethnicities only came in black and white at the time) as long as they lived within the limited range of the WFMY broadcast tower. That is to say you were pushing it if your house was further than a 20 mile radius from Greensboro.

Lucky for me, my father had a hobby of repairing television equipment. Not only did we have a TV in nearly every room but we also had a monster of a directional antennae jutting about 40 feet above our house. While my friends had to watch the Old Rebel through a snowstorm of interference, I enjoyed my kids programming with crystal clarity. Hell, the image on my 17-inch black-n-white was almost HD-like.

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Can’t We All Just Get Along?

Jul 6

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

It's all fun and games until someone loses a leg

It's all fun and games until someone loses a leg

I don’t condone violence of any sort. I’ve never been in a fight in my life and even boxing makes me a little uncomfortable, but being a high school teacher, I’ve seen my share of fights. Most of them are yelling or shoving matches that are broken up fairly quickly, but others are bloody and seem to last forever. In fifteen years I’ve had two fights in my classroom. Both happened on days when I was giving a test (perhaps they were planned).

In one of these fights, a young man got up in the middle of the test, put his pencil on his desk, calmly walked across the room and cold-cocked this other kid right in the face. He then grabbed the kid by the neck and maneuvered him into a headlock. That one was over fairly quickly. The second fight I should’ve known was going to happen. In the middle of the test, a young man took off the shirt he was wearing and put on a wife beater before he slugged the other kid. That fight got so out of hand that I had to have other teachers come in to help me.  They knocked over desks, made highlighters explode, tore pages out of dictionaries…they were going at it. I just remember trying to get all of the others students out safely (the one on crutches was the most difficult).

The best fight that I have ever witnessed was in Weldon, NC. I was sitting in the teachers’ lounge one morning, grading papers when I heard this awful screaming. When I walked out the door, I saw (and heard) the secretary screaming, “OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW! I SAID OPEN THIS DOOR!” while she was banging on it with both fists. When the door opened, I could not believe what I saw. Two girls were rolling around on the floor and the principal was crawling towards the door. I couldn’t figure out why he was on the ground until he was fully out of the way. Apparently he tried to get in-between the fighters and was knocked to the ground, but not before one of the girls yanked his prosthetic leg off of him and was using it to beat the other girl. I can still see the shoe and sock that were attached to it.

I know I should’ve helped the others who were trying to break up the girls, but I was paralyzed. I had never seen anything like that before in my life (and haven’t since then). All I could do is stand there with another teacher and laugh in disbelief. I felt horrible for laughing, but that was the last thing that I expected to see happen in a fight. The fight was stopped, the principal re-attached his leg and the day continued as normal, but that was the day that fights in school were redefined for me.

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Why Do These Things Happen to Me??

Jul 1

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

Don't cross paths with these guys

Don't cross paths with these guys

So I wrecked my car in my parents’ driveway. It happens. Okay, it’s actually happened more than once, but the last time I drove through the garage door and didn’t hit another vehicle. So what. That’s not what this is about. It’s about the second most embarrassing moment in my life.

I was pulling into the driveway as my mom was pulling out. Neither of us saw the other and we collided. Her car was fine, mine was a little battered. The front end was pretty torn up, but it was still drivable. At the time I was house-sitting for a friend of my mother’s in Stuarts Draft. She told me that I needed to hurry up and get to her friend’s house because it was the night of the annual Fireman’s Parade and I wouldn’t be able to get to their house when that started. I needed to go feed the animals, so I drove my battered ‘81 Dodge Colt (yellow with a brown racing stripe…hot) down 340 to Draft.

I decided to go the back way because I just wanted a more scenic route. As I neared the end of the road, I saw people lined up for the parade. I was thinking to myself how smart I was because I actually beat the parade itself. The roads weren’t blocked off and I was good to go. I turned left onto Main Street and went about twenty yards before I stopped in the middle of the road. Coming down the street directly in front of me was the parade.

Now if I had been turning the other way, I could’ve just driven ahead of the parade and been fine. I could ‘ve faked being the Grand Poobah, and waved. It was too late. I was trapped. So I did what anyone else would’ve done: I sat in my mangled car, windows rolled down, and waited (I even turned it off). Majorettes had to re-route their formations to actually go around my car, the Shriner’s drove their teeny cars around mine, circling it as if it were roadkill. Floats had to be pulled over to the side and people had to move their chairs from the sidewalk to make room for it. My favorite part had to be when the kids went by throwing candy into the crowd. Someone must’ve radioed back to them that I was there because they didn’t throw, they pelted me with Starlight Mints and Tootsie Rolls. A kid not even a foot away from me hit me in the face with a Bit-o-Honey.

So I sat there until the parade was over. It was probably only about a half an hour in reality, but it felt like hours that I had to sit there. It’s summer and the Fireman’s Carnival is gearing up again, but this time I’m not going anywhere near that town on the day of the parade.

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Something In The Air

Jul 1

Posted by Jonathan in White Trash Tales

Just two empty hands and the will to rock

Just two empty hands and the will to rock

If there were ever to be a Trailer Trash Olympics surely Air Guitar would be the main event. It is something that mulleted youth have been bred to do since they caught their very first riff of Nugent. The formula is simple. No tennis rackets or broomsticks necessary. Just a man with two hands, the desire to rock, and a distinct inability to play a tangible musical instrument.

Though it is sure to be a while before the South rises enough to bring Air Guitaring to the Olympic attending masses, that hasn’t stopped a motley crew of die hard head bangers from wielding their imaginary axes in front of an international audience. I know because I have witnessed it first hand.

Last Friday I attended the regional finals of the US Air Guitar Championships at The Independent in San Francisco.  Eighteen hopefuls gathered for the first of a two night event that would send its winners to the national championships in DC later this year and eventually on to Finland to compete against the greatest faux-rockers on the planet.

It is really hard to explain just how much these contestants put into their acts. One might think that rockin’-out sans instrument is a joke but in truth there is an element of danger involved. Last year the national winner broke a finger during his routine and one rocker chick limped onto stage for her performance due to having one of her toes amputated after a previous air guitar accident.  To my knowledge, there were no spectacular injuries to any of the participants this year but the audience was forever scarred when Dirty Airy stepped onto stage Chili Peppers style sporting just a sock. Caution: Video kinda NSFW.
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Habla ANYTHING?!

Jun 29

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

Not meant for internal use

Not meant for internal use

Dominican Republic…I know it’s not THE south, but it’s south nonetheless. It was the end of vacation and my husband and I were staying at this casino in the capital. The old man had won some money gambling and he decided that he’d pay for a spa treatment for me (I’m a sucker for those things!). I opted for an exfoliation treatment since I was a little scaly from the sun. I walked into the spa and the woman who greeted me asked me to change out of my clothes and into a robe.

I should’ve known that something just wasn’t right when I walked into the treatment room and it reminded me of an operating room. It was solid white, circular, and had a white ceramic table in the center. Conzulea (the lady who would be working on me) didn’t speak English. I didn’t speak Spanish…very well…okay, at all. She motioned for me to remove my robe. She was holding a towel, so I assumed that she was going to lay them across me while on the table, so I could maintain some sense of dignity. Nope. I ended up 100% naked on the table. I started giggling a little bit and perhaps that’s when she misinterpreted my nervous laughter for sheer bliss.

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Another Date

Jun 25

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

Truth in advertising

Truth in advertising

“Oh, I just know you two will hit it off!” Isn’t that what every person who sets someone up on a blind date says? It’s insulting sometimes to be set up with someone by a friend and mid-way through the date, you think to yourself, “Does (fill in the blank with friend’s name) even know me? What in the world do they think about me if they set me up with this person?!” I didn’t even make it mid-way through the first date before I knew it was over.

Carol, my co-worker at the high school where I taught, just couldn’t wait for me to meet her brother. It’s all she talked about. Again, I thought, since I was new to Roanoke Rapids, why not go out with someone? What could it hurt? So I agreed to go out with him. I mean, she was smart, educated, attractive, and well put-together, so her brother probably wouldn’t be much different. In my head I had images of a tall, blonde, hulking beefcake of a man ready to sweep me into his arms and discuss Faulkner. So it was no wonder that I raced to the door when he came to pick me up and threw it open without a moment’s hesitation (and I didn’t have a peephole).
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At Least It Could’ve Been KFC

Jun 23

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

You can dress 'em up...actually, no you can't

You can dress 'em up...actually, no you can't

Traveling four hours to a wedding in Pennsylvania was a little inconveniant. Especially since I didn’t know either party getting hitched. I went with my boyfriend who had painted houses with the groom when he was in college. As we crossed the Mason Dixon Line, I had a sinking feeling that I was going to be out of my element. I wish that I could say that it was a lovely wedding. The ceremony itself was fairly normal until the best man busted out in the middle of the ceremony with “Love Bites” on his electric guitar.  Did I mention that the groom was released from prison two weeks before the ceremony? I’ve no idea what he did to get in jail, but that wasn’t relevant on his day of wedded bliss.

We were actually the fourth and fifth people to arrive at the local V.F.W. where the reception was being held. We were led to the basement by an elderly woman who told us that normally receptions were held upstairs, but it was Bingo night and they didn’t want to upset the regulars. We sat down at a table and watched people frantically set up the food table. Suddenly, a middle-aged man in a navy blue satin jacket came racing in carrying a styrofoam cooler. Skeeter (and yes, that was his actual name) had ridden his bike over to Hardee’s to pick up the food for the gathering. I know that it came from Hardee’s because the cooler broke into pieces in front of me and fried chicken came flying out of the bags and landed at my feet.
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At The Drive-in

Jun 22

Posted by Jonathan in White Trash Tales

Our county's two drive-ins before they turned to smut for profit.

Our county's two drive-ins before they turned to smut for profit.

The drive-in movie is one of those lost pieces of Americana that has sadly gone the way of the quill pen, rotary telephone, and manual typewriter. You would be hard pressed to explain the concept to a kid today without breaking out a copy of American Graffiti and even then you would have to get past their confusion about why the creator of Star Wars was able to make a movie that didn’t feature Jar Jar.

There was a time, however, when teenagers flocked to the drive-in to ignore moths and mosquitoes that flew in front of the projector while a poorly reproduced soundtrack crackled from shitty speakers attached by hook to a partially rolled down driver’s side window. All the while scarfing down popcorn and, with any luck, practicing making babies in the back seat. At least that is the drive-in experience that has been romanticized in popular culture. By the time I was born things were a bit different.

The 70’s were a decade of death for the drive-in. Though there were plenty still in operation (our county had two working theaters), it was clear that the activity was on the decline. In an attempt to remain economically viable, one of our theaters, the infamous Circle G Drvie-In, had changed over entirely to adult films. Allowing lone movie goers the freedom to rub one out in the privacy and comfort of their own vehicle. Keep in mind that this was long before the VCR made pornography a living room event for more discreet perverts.
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The Real Reason That I Wouldn’t Return His Call

Jun 20

Posted by Allie Jo in Allie Jo's Exploits, White Trash Tales

Rednecks know how to make their mark

Rednecks know how to make their mark

I’m a nice person. Honest, I am. Ask anyone to describe me and that’s usually the first thing that comes out of his/her mouth. I never want to hurt anyone’s feelings at all, so I tend to avoid any situation that could cause me to do just that. When I lived in Roanoke Rapids, NC I met Adam at a club in Rocky Mount one night while I was out with some friends. We seemed to hit it off immediately and I was certainly looking for more friends in the area because I had just moved from Virginia and knew only a couple of people. He called me the next day and we ended up hanging out a few more times with friends, but nothing romantic was on the horizon.

One evening Adam called and wanted to know if I’d go on a “date” date with him. Just the two of us. I wasn’t interested in dating anyone at all, but decided that he was nice enough to give it a shot. If nothing else it would get me out of the house on a Friday night. He worked as a beer distributor and talked me into going to a club in Weldon (which is a stone’s throw away from Roanoke Rapids). He picked me up and we spent the evening drinking and dancing. Unfortunately, this is where it gets a little hazy for me.
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NC State Student Arrested For Monstrous Construction

Jun 19

Posted by Jonathan in White Trash Tales

One man’s art is another man’s vandalism and if that other man happens to be THE MAN then you are in trouble. Such was the case with Joseph Carnevale when he decided to chop up some construction barrels and make a 10-foot tall hitchhiking monster.

No hitchhiking allowed

No hitchhiking allowed

Though the construction company was actually quite pleased with the roadside art, even requesting that Carnevale build them another one, the local police were not as amused. Not only did they dismantle the creation and arrest the boy but they are also investigating other instances of street art displayed on Carnevale’s website.

So far hundreds of people have spoken out on Joseph’s behalf. All of them asking that the charges be dropped.

We at WTT are strong advocates of The Arts particularly when they are portrayed in such a menacing fashion as to frighten motorists. We wish you luck with your legal troubles Joseph and look forward to your next project involving police barricades and donut boxes.

Links:

MSNBC article about the barrel monster

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Pizza The Hut

Jun 19

Posted by Jonathan in White Trash Tales

This doesn’t exactly fall under the heading of white trash news but I have to wonder if they haven’t hired someone slightly simple-minded to run the marketing over at Yum Brands.  It seems that Yum, the parent company of the venerable Pizza Hut chain, is attempting to increase their appeal with the youth market by dropping the word Pizza from their title and going with the simplified moniker “The Hut”.

One pizza too many

One pizza too many

You would think that the mere fact that their single product offering is comprised of the number one junk food among American children would be enough to help them capture their intended demographic. Yet somehow they feel that rebranding their restaurants under a heading that calls to mind at worst a ramshackle hobo dwelling and at best the overweight galactic gangster scourge of the universe is going to up their numbers among the hip prepubescent youth.

In all fairness, I am pretty sure that the chain hasn’t served anything resembling an edible pizza in years. So perhaps this is a move to try to thwart any inevitable litigation that would arise from someone mistaking their product for that of our beloved Italian American monument to junk food. In the end Pizza’s good name is probably better off without them.

Links:

MSN Money article about the rebranding

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Elon University Lowers Bar For Graduates

Jun 15

Posted by Jonathan in White Trash Tales

Growing up in Alamance County, Elon College never meant that much to me. It always seemed like a place where snotty northerners were relegated after their lack of academic ambition had precluded them from entering finer institutions. As a towny, however, I did serve an important role in the Elon educational process. Students would look down upon townies for our perceived inferior backwoods upbringing. Fueling their burgeoning superiority complex to the point where they could eventually go back to whence they came and take over their daddy’s business or spend their trust funds.

I vividly recall once ordering a gyro at a local restaurant, pronouncing the food correctly as “yee-ro”. The too-smart-for-his-own-good Elon kid taking my order felt the need to correct me before smugly walking away.  “Sir, it is pronounced jire row”, he said with the utter confidence of an imbecile.  Well deserved was the beating that I promptly administered to him in my mind.

Over the years the school has grown. The alumni must be doing well indeed because they kicked in the funds to pay for a slew of new buildings and maintenance for well-manicured lawns. Somewhere along the line they even managed to up their quota enough to change the name to Elon University. Fancy indeed.

As time heals all wounds and distance makes the heart grow fonder, I thought perhaps my disdain for the institution was no longer founded. And upon seeing a sign on Interstate 40 proclaiming that Elon has one of the top 10 MBA programs in the state/top 20 in the nation, I brushed aside the desire to make fun of any school that spends money on roadside advertising and decided that it was time to give credit where credit is due. Elon was all growns up and it deserved my respect.

That is until I saw video of the 2009 commencement ceremony.

Rather than provide an uplifting message about social responsibility or how to put their education to best use in these trying economic times, the guest speaker instead decided to take it easy on the outgoing students. He took it back to basics and made sure that each and every kid, before receiving their degree, knew the fundamental elements of the English language. Yes, he asked them to recite their ABC’s. And just to make it more fun (or to increase accuracy in their recall) he had them sing the alphabet song.

Let me just say that when the sum total of your 4 years at a privately funded ivy-league-wannabe school hinges on remembering 26 individual letters you can bet that mommy and daddy spent their money well.  Thank goodness that they all got it right. Though I am pretty sure that kid on the forth row wasn’t singing along.  Probably was an Economics major.

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Midget On A Miniature Horse

Jun 14

Posted by Jonathan in White Trash Tales

An old school friend was an organizer of the Arts d’Vine festival so we all packed up and made the 30 mile trek down to Kernersville to see what was up.

Over the past few years the western region of North Carolina has been working hard to become known as the Sonoma of the South.  Wineries have been springing up all over the Blue Ridge foothills and, for the most part, they actually produce some very good wines.  So I wasn’t as concerned about the “d’Vine” portion of the evening as I was the “Arts”.

You see the Piedmont has never been known as a hotbed of artistic talent. For years Jessie Helms did his best to suppress our creative urges replacing them instead with steady nicotine infusion to satisfy our souls. But I must say that in this post-Helms era the arts are flourishing and I think it is safe to say that the people of Kernersville are leading the charge. Gone are the coon jiggers of the past. No longer are lawn jockeys considered appropriate. Why you can even engage in lofty conversation while sipping tea and eating finger sandwiches at the local Pegg House Tea Room.

Yes art has come a long way in North Carolina and there is no better evidence of this than the image below.

The high water mark for southern art

The high water mark for southern art

I found this while walking down Main Street in Kernersville. It called to me begging for purchase. Had I not been unemployed and 3000 miles from my home I might have answered the call.  Alas this solemn midget straddling a magnificent yet miniscule equine remains on the market.  I can only hope that we will find each other again one day as there could be no more perfect pairing of art and owner.

Thank you Kernersville for awakening my love for art and fortifying it with enough free booze to almost make me part with my mortgage money.  I will most certainly visit you again.

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