We sprawled across our Screen on the Green camp of blankets, McDonald’s bags and Twizzlers, as well as the newspapers, bags, and shoes used as placeholders until more blankets arrived. At one point, we debated jamming tampon flags into the ground to claim our space.
I realized we had rebuilt Woodbridge, the epicenter of trashy Americana. All we needed was a spare tire, a camper top (used as a playhouse), and some poorly trained dogs, and we’d be my childhood neighbor’s front yard. Our little group even looked like a vignette from Cops. One of the girls was wearing a wife-beater, and we drank wine out of cheap plastic keg party cups.
Our neighbors were Fairfax. They had bags from Whole Paycheck, fancy blankets, wine in special plastic wine glasses placed in artfully designed wine glass holsters, and so-precious-you-could-die retro picnic baskets. They occasionally glanced in our direction, wondering why we had forgotten our fancy cheeses and custom tarpaulins. Much like our beloved Woodbridge, we were an oasis of redneck in a desert of yuppie hell.
OK, I admit it. Sometimes, I’m kind of a yuppie. And so are most of my friends. We like tapas, movies on E Street, and independent record stores.
But I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a girl from the WB. Give me burgers, breakfast all day, modular homes, outlet shopping, and cars with abnormally large tires. While you’re at it, throw in some guys in trucker caps and man-pris (how Kevin Federline can NOT be from the ‘Bridge is completely beyond me).
I like simplicity. I like foods I can pronounce, utensils that I can recognize, and junk food. If Slim Jims with mustard are wrong, then I don’t wanna be right. Because there's nothing more American than carcinogens with condiments. Bless you, America.
Blogroll Update
I can never make up my mind which depresses me more about the blogosphere: the number of people who believe they can write, or the number of people who believe they have something to say. Fortunately, my dear friend Kevin can write - he's a former journalist, even. So let’s check him out, and find out whether he has something to say (signs point to yes!).
"Whole Paycheck". *snort*
ReplyDeleteSlim Jims are wrong no matter what you put on them. It's beef jerky that they somehow failed to cook the fat and grease out of. You bite it and the lard squooshes out and climbs between your teeth.
ReplyDeleteeyuhuhh-bleh
Gilahi - or, Food Hole.
ReplyDeleteIbid - there will be NO mocking of my favorite snack! Remember to eat your RDA of carcinogens, or the terrorists win.
Killer Title!
ReplyDeleteYou should hear me go off on McDonalds' "french fries". Shoelaces in coagulated grease.
ReplyDeleteFoxy - thanks. Sometimes I gear entire posts around the title.
ReplyDeleteIbid - I LOVE the fries. I had a Dollar Menu kind of night last night.
I think I will just tell people I live in Lake Ridge from now on instead of Woodbridge -
ReplyDelete"Why do you live in Woodbridge?"
Its not really a bad place - I like it there.....damnit!
Apparently every McDonalds in the world keeps a supply of cold, limp, extra greasy fries around just in case I stop in. I don't think I've ever had one that was capable of standing vertically when held at the base. They behave more like cooked spaghetti than french fries.
ReplyDeletehaha! And because the title only slightly relates to the content, now I have this horrible image of Tom Cruise jamming Tampons into the ground in some far and away place as Nicole Kidman runs around the frontier looking for a Whole Foods
ReplyDeleteZip - Aw, show your Hoodbridge pride!
ReplyDeleteIbid - soggy fries cure a hangover like nobody's business.
Foxy - Ha! Then a horse will roll over Tom Cruise, and he'll be magically resuscitated by wheatgerm and soy cookies.
You can take the girl out of Woodbridge...
ReplyDeleteIs Dale City Woodbridge?
ReplyDeleteVelvet - Indeed. I try to class it up, then I do things like make Cool Whip flag cake (the cake in the photo is my creation, however, no, that is not me holding it).
ReplyDeleteMarissa - sort of. Lots of my friends lived in Dale City, however, I lived further out in the hinterlands. The directions to my house included, "Turn right at the cows."
I like me a $25 dollar steak and expensive Port, but give me a funny bone, and I will be just as happy.
ReplyDeleteBah. Third left, past the cows after the third corn field, second right, under the bridge, straight ahead past 5 wheat fields, under the bridge, right at the caterpillar migration, drive until the cell phone dies, look for the silo, if you hear banjos you've gone too far.
ReplyDeleteGreat Post.
ReplyDeleteI enjoy the yuppie life as much as the next guy: Fresh cooked Morels on baguette slices, single vineyard Oregon Pinot, and indept discussion of the latest Economist? Sign me up.
Still, my inner texan comes out occasionally loud and proud. Usually in the form of a shirtless men argueing about BBQ joints after consuming massive quantities of Miller Light, while various girlfriends and wives roll there eyes between bouts of britney convo.
Good Times. You get your WT freak on.
Lemmonex - Funny bone?
ReplyDeleteIbid - In all fairness, you had to turn onto Bacon Race Road to get to my house. I never knew bacon could race!
Bates - indeed, there's no trash like white trash!
Funny bone: Little Debbie treat comprised of chocolate cake with a peanut butter filling dipped in chocolate.
ReplyDeleteMy father swears they must be eaten with Dr. Pepper. Yes, we are trashy...is this a problem?
Lemmonex, I would probably dip them in the Dr. Pepper. So, not a problem.
ReplyDeleteI thought long and hard about an appropriate comment...
ReplyDelete...until I realized that your little trashy city sounds a lot like where I grew up...
...and I thought I'd gotten away from there.
And for the record, I think I have something to say on my blog, thank you very much. *snort of dignity*
wow trashy little city - ok later tonight after pet sitter comes by - I am going to go take pictures of woodbridge and prove this theory wrong...........
ReplyDeleteTwo Words: Big Red.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.bigredltd.com/
Combine that with broiling hot summer day, playing in the sprinklers, and a broken washer growing in the weeds in the back yard, and viola: my youth.
Brandon, I'm sure you do have something to say. But I don't think anyone can argue that all blogs have merit. I'm an e-elitist.
ReplyDeleteZip - Awesome, make sure you get pics of all the chain restaurants.
Bates - what, no dryer?
funny - I am going to go take pics of the park, belmont bay, the cool playground by my house......does occuquan count as woodbridge?
ReplyDeleteWhen given a trashy or a classy option, I'm pretty sure I'd go redneck 90% of the time. It's just more fun, damnit. Plus, the people watching is always way, way better.
ReplyDeleteZipcode - Occoquan doesn't count. But 20 points if you find my childhood home in Cannon Bluff.
ReplyDeleteLivitLuvit - Trashy, always and forever!
I know where that is - there are a whole bunch of homes back there :-)
ReplyDeleteNICE very nice and you are right back in the day it was turn right at the cows.........not anymore
Zip - Back in the day, one side of Bacon Race was all upscale colonials, and the other was ramshackle ramblers with dogs and old tires cluttering the yards. It was quite the gulf of social class.
ReplyDeleteNah, That old kenmore just won't die. Plus my mom is the only person on earth who still repairs appliances instead of just buying a new one.
ReplyDeleteCongrats on making the Express. Unfortunately, you're now officially MSM, so I'm going to have to ask you to turn in your edgy, alternative card at the nearest U street hipster joint.
I proudly wore that wife-beater, just as i proudly held that American flag cake in one hand and the bottle of wild turkey in the other. true patriotism, I say.
ReplyDeleteI'll bring the slim jims next week, as long as someone else gets the mustard.
Bates - I remember my housekeeper in Bogota was going to take our iron to be repaired. I looked at her rather incredulously, then bought her a new iron. Yay, America!
ReplyDeleteVictoria - I guess that puts me in charge of mustard!