Pink Flamingo Crisis

Happy Halloween. Or Happy HELL-O-WEEN as I like to say. Only a few more hours until our kids will be high on so much pure sugar they will take a week to "detox". WTMs, there is a WT crisis going on that you may or may not be aware of. I am talking about...the Pink Flamingo crisis.

On this day of Halloween, we all need to take a moment and reflect on the closing of the company that produced the ORIGINAL plastic pink flamingo. The pink flamingo, a WT cultural icon beloved by shallow and tacky Americans everywhere...is on it's way to extinction. I don't need to tell my WT readers what a serious matter this is.

Here is the story about the pink flamingo crisis, from one of my favorite websites, IMPROBABLE.com.

Read the info at Improbable.com but to sumarize: Union Products Inc., the original manufacturer of the plastic pink flamingo, will close its doors by Nov. 1, according to the company’s president.

It's a dark day in WT America my friends. Pop open a cold one right now in your trailer and remember the good times.

Muffy's Daughter Needs Physical Therapy

I'm such a clutz that I recently fell off a piece of exercise equipment. I think I was so proud of myself for actually making it to the gym that I got too big for my britches (if that isn't a play on words...), forgot what I was doing, and fell. The result, much to my dismay, was that I had to get some physical therapy on my ankle. Well, the last time I needed any of that was over 15 years ago after a car wreck. Man, those places have changed. They're kind of glitzy! So, it's my first visit, I'm standing at the counter, waiting to be acknowledged after having signed the obligatory sheet of paper. And in walk a mother / daughter combo, the likes of which I haven't seen since the 1970's. I kid you not. It was like something out of a time capsule. (Can you say Dallas? Dynasty? Knots Landing?) Mom's makeup is so thick that it makes my face hurt just looking at it. And I swear that 9-year-old had on blush, mascara and lip gloss. EE-oooh. She had obviously come straight from school, as she had her backpack, it was the middle of a weekday afternoon, and she was talking about what happened at school that day. What transpired next made my toes curl. The mom, let's just call her Mary Kayte... She brushes right past me - all five foot two of her. I swear, I thought she was going to step right on my bare, flip-flopped toes with those spike heels. Then, I really would have needed therapy...So, she brushes past me and proceeds to start in on the receptionist, for whom I have been patiently waiting. "Excuuuuuse may." (thick Southern drawl) "Ashley Carter is here for her appointment with Gary." (flashes me a perfect-toothed bleached til-they’re-painful white smile) "Hah...how're yeeou?" "I'll be right with you in a moment, Mrs. Carter..." (Mary Kayte purses her lips at the mere thought of waiting even a moment...) Feeling invisible, I continue to stand there, patiently awaiting some sort of direction. My appointment was to have begun 8 minutes ago, but I figure it looks like a busy place, the phone has been ringing incessantly, so it may be a little while longer. "Excuuuuuse may...Aysh-ley's appoh-eent-munt with Mr. Gay-ree was s'post-to start three minutes ago. Ahh don't hay-uv all day, yeuuw knoooow." "Mrs. Carter, we'll be with you just as soon as we can, ma'am."(Mary Kayte looks down at her insanely long - not to mention thick - nails and clucks her tongue.) Turning to me...and this was classic..."Way-ull would you look at thay-ut? Ahh just got these duhn today, and ahhl-ready thay-ur gittin' all scuffed up! Ask me, that's the sahn of a bay-ud manny." Affecting mock horror, I smile sympathetically. (Come on, what else can you do?)"What's a girl to do?!" "Ahh know!" Then, she turns back to the receptionist, who has, by then, fielded about 20 phone calls. "May-uhm. Is it almost Aysh-ley's turn? She's got cheer in anoth-uh ow-uh and a hay-uff." (Receptionist turns to me and gives a most apologetic look...then back to Mary Kayte) "Yes, Mrs. Carter, Lee is ready for Ashley now." Mary Kayte's head snaps up, her nails grow about another half an inch, and sparks fly out of her eyes. After the head-spinning ceases... "Ex-cuuuuse me. Did you say Lee? Ahh specifically asked for Mr. Gay-ree. Aysh-ley hay-uhs to hay-uhv Gay-ree." (crosses her arms, rests them on her bejeweled chest and proceeds to stare the receptionist down) At this point, Ashley hops up from her seat where she's been playing with her Gameboy and does a backbend, thus providing comic relief for me - but not her mama. Then, she does a Russian (think leaping with legs spread eagle in the air). I am almost beside myself. I can hardly suppress the urge to laugh. It's like she's trying to provide a distraction from the scene that she KNOWS her mama is about to create. "Well, Mrs. Carter, we'll have her back on with Gary for next time, but for today, she'll need to see Lee." Mrs. Carter proceeds to throw one – helluva – hissy-fit. I'll dispense with the Southern vernacular to avoid this taking too long to read... "Do you realize that Regionals are in November? " pause "And right after that comes Nationals. And mark my words, she's GOING to be ready." (Pan to Ashley: Back flip. Splits. Winning smile...) "Ashley, settle down...And she can't recover with just anyone. She knows Gary, is comfortable with Gary. Give Lee to someone else, and give Gary to Ashley. Ashley has only a few weeks left to kick this injury's butt, and she gonna do it, too, mark my words, as God is my witness." Receptionist starts to speak, but Mary Kayte has not quite stepped down from the soapbox... "Do you realize that Ashley gets up every morning at 5 am to go practice with her coach for two hours before school? And she's got 4 dance classes per week - not to mention tumbling." Cartwheel...Roundoff. "Ashley, so help me, you are gittin' on my last nerve. I said settle...Period...Now, I'm not going to let some nitwit's scheduling error mess up my little star's shot at Nationals, so just get Gary out here, and let's get on with it!" Splits, arms in the air, wild grin upon her young face. Receptionist, with eyes bugging right out of their sockets, replies with measured words: "Mrs. Carter, Gary called in sick today, so Lee will have to take Ashley this one time, and then we'll be back to normal next week. OK?" "Honestly, you'd think you people could take your jobs more seriously. You're messing with people's lives here...Ashley, come on, Peanut. It's time for your therapy. Go on in. Thank yeeeouu." Flashes those pearly whites, fluffs her sprayed-into-submission bob and marches into the workout area. "Tacky Princess, thank you for your patience, we're ready for you now." OMG.

Dear Abby vs White Trash Mom

Good Afternoon to all the WTMs:

Today I read DEAR ABBY. Here is one of the letters with her reply. After you read her reply, please read White Trash Mom's reply. I am confident that you guys will agree with me. Read on:

DEAR ABBY: My wife and I are in our early 30s, with a 2-year-old daughter and a baby on the way. Both of our parents live eight to 10 hours away by car, so there is limited exposure to both sets of grandparents.

The problem is my father. Dad is very physically affectionate, even against the will of our daughter. For example, if she walks past him, he'll grab her and squeeze her and kiss her while she struggles to break free. It's all in the spirit of a playful hug, but it bothers my wife and me to hear and see our little daughter say "No!" and struggle to get away while he says things like, "No, I'm not going to let you get away. This is what a granddad does."

My father imposes the same behavior on me, coming up behind me and forcibly hugging me while I cook, wash dishes or some other task. When I say this makes me uncomfortable, he either acts offended or makes fun of me. His aggressive demand for physical affection is becoming an issue with us. But when we say things like, "Let her go" or "Respect her boundaries," my parents make light of the situation. In fact, my mother said on her last visit, "Your daughter HAS no boundaries!"

What can we do to protect ourselves and our kids from my father's aggression without hurting his feelings or starting a fight? -- ANXIOUS DAD IN OHIO

Here is the reply from DEAR ABBY:

DEAR ANXIOUS DAD: Perhaps back in the day when your parents were raising you, children didn't have boundaries, but times and circumstances have changed. Today, parents teach children to assert themselves if someone's touch makes them uncomfortable so they will be less submissive if an adult tries to take advantage of them.

There may not be a way to protect yourselves and your children from your father without "hurting his feelings" or "starting an argument." People as insensitive to the feelings of others as he appears to be are usually hypersensitive when it comes to their own.

Because your father (and mother) refuse to accept YOUR boundaries when you ask him to let your daughter go, recognize that his time with your children should be severely curtailed until they're old enough to fight him off. And the next time he grabs you from behind, don't "suggest" that it makes you uncomfortable; INSIST that he let you go.

DEAR ABBY has been giving good advice for years. I can't say that her advice is not good. However, White Trash Mom, has a little different, a more DIRECT approach communicating with "Anxious Dad" about his creepy dad and mom.

DEAR ANXIOUS DAD: Quit being a wuss! Your dad and mom, while I am sure they don't realize it, are being totally creepy. Okay---I am being NICE when I say that they don't realize it. They probably DO REALIZE it and they don't care! People that say things like "Children Don't HAVE Boundaries" make me break into hives.

I question whether or not you have explored all the "issues" that you have with your dad, if he comes up and GRABS YOU and you don't feel comfortable----and you're a grown man. Think of how bad it makes your little girl feel!

Get a backbone for God's sakes! If it creeps you out-----it has to really upset your daughter! I understand you don't want to create conflict but the creepy parents you have are acting like bullies-----and bullies respond ONLY to force. I understand that things change with generations but they don't respect you or your family. Protect your daughter.

Muffia Headquarters-DISCOVERED!

Dear WTMs, I now know the location of "the muffia" headquarters. The evil ones operate at a small, out-of-the-way grocery store and deli, near my favorite liquor store. Read on for details....if you dare. I went to my favorite liquor store today to stock up on my best friend, SENOR PATRON. As I mentioned in the previous post, it's been a MONDAY. I took a proactive approach and decided to go to the liquor store early in the week. Monday, after all, is close to the weekend. If you look at it from a certain point of view. My favorite liquor store is not that close to my house BUT they are nice and most important....they take checks. A key factor when dealing with a WT shopper like me. After writing a sizable check for SENOR PATRON and other "friends", I decide to dash in to a nearby grocery store. It's not my usual grocery...this store is a little smaller, more "exclusive" than the coupon palace that I usually frequent. When I entered the store....my WTM instincts went into high gear. I sensed...DANGER. Despite the fact that I had showered AND groomed today, the muffia immediately knew that someone from the outside, someone NOT from the mothership, had invaded their territory. I even looked a bit "muffy-esqe" today in my pants, shirt and sweater. But all the same, the evil ones knew that I was a WTM. My smart ass smirk and really brown hair "roots" were a dead giveaway. As I quickly walked through the store, grabbing my ding dongs and fruit roll ups, the muffia silently watched me. Unlike most of them, I actually had to be somewhere. So I raced down the aisles, at lighting speed and then I noticed....I swear to GOD I am not kidding...one of the "Queens" was following me. Really. Queen Buffy was by far the loudest of the crew and I knew she was one of the leaders because only a leader could dress that badly! I could hear her from two aisles over discussing the "hellish remodel" that she currently has going on-----and she was wearing a paint spattered shirt(multi-color coordinated) and sweats to prove how DIFFICULT her remodeling was going. Anyway---"QB" followed me, I kid you not, for over two aisles. She started by the frozen foods and was on my ass all the way to the coffee and bread section. As I was in the check line and I could see the door, I decided to get a little SASSY. I spoke directly to the muffia mom and her toddlers in front of me. WTM: Your daughter is really sweet. How old is she? MUFFIA MOM AT CHECKOUT: (Has "deer in the headlights" look on her face, panics and looks around ) Chesterfield is 18 months. Barley is 3 years. WTM: She'll be grown up and living with her boyfriend Steve in his conversion van before you know it. HAVE NICE DAY!

If Shopping is a Disease, I'm Terminal.

Dear WTMs, Apparently compulsive shopping is more common than anxiety or depression, according to a new study released by doctors at Stanford University. The study says that 1 in 20 adults suffer from an addiction to shopping. There are some medical professionals that want to classify shopping addiction as a true medical disorder----right up there with Bi-Polar Depression! Yippee! Good news for the white trash credit card chargers (like me)! The cherry on the cake of this NEWS story about "shopping addiction" comes from one of the best ever sources for American life, "NEWS OF THE WEIRD".

When Lucille Schenk finally sought help for compulsively buying jewelry, New York psychologist April Lane Benson advised her to have a "conversation" with the jewelry before she made her next purchase, as a way to put some distance between herself and her compulsion. "I would say, ‘You are so beautiful, I can’t live without you; I love the way you sparkle,’" recalled Schenk, 62, in an interview. "The jewelry would say back, ‘You need me. You look pretty when you wear me.’ I would say, ‘I do need you. I can’t possibly think of being without you. But something has to change. I need to stop this. I can’t afford a penny more.’"

There is really nothing to say in response, is there? I have an idea for Ms. Schenk. Next time she has an urge to purchase jewelry, she could just pay ME the money and I COULD TALK TO HER (instead of the jewelry).

White Trash Mom Flunks Out

Dear WTMs, If I had to go back to 7th grade and if I had to take 7th grade math-----I would flunk out. Completely. My 7th grader, at her great new school, gets hellacious math homework. I am not only NOT a HELP to my daughter with her 7th grade math homework questions-----my advice actually caused her to miss several questions on a test. I am 43...and I can't do 7th grade math. This should not be a surprise since I totally stink at math and if not for Microsoft Excel® and a calculator...I would pretty much be locked out of a job. But this year, it's not like I can even look up the concept and help her with the problem she's stuck on. Now I look up stuff and I misunderstand it---and I tell her to do it incorrectly. HELP! OMG, I feel so very stupid. I really do. Last night there was some hellish math AND then some science FORMULAS. By her bedtime, I needed a Tylenol PM. My head was pounding. Give me your wisdom, WT sisters and brothers. I need to hear some good news. I need to hear that I am not the only one that would actually flunk 7th grade.

House of Appliance Hell

Tacky Princess here. Back from the depths. Of family drama. And computer hell. And currently (and always...) living in House of Appliance Hell (hereafter referred to as HAH!). You see, it's not enough that we live in an old house. OK, not ancient. But old enough that it has continual problems, as older homes will have (need a new furnace, need to fix the foundation, need to fix the roof...you get the idea - not cheap stuff.). And we keep up with those, 'cuz' we like to stay warm and safe and dry (and we don't want our neighbors to egg our house...). But Lord, almighty, the appliances...I don't know anyone who has the luck we have with appliances.

In a few shy of 20 years of marriage (child bride), we have managed to blow through:

• 4 Coffee Makers
• 4 Toasters (and none of them really worth a damn, including the current model)
• 4 mini vac's (and that's saying something since we've had outside help with our cleaning for the last 14 years...)
• 4 Electric mixers
• 4 can openers
• 4 microwaves (one actually CAUGHT ON FIRE - that was our signal it needed to be replaced!)
• 3 Dishwashers (one actually CAUGHT ON FIRE - no that's not a misprint - it, too, caught on fire - different house - different occasion - sparks flying out of dishwasher)
• 3 Irons
• 3 Waffle Irons
• 2 Griddles
• Oh! And we can't forget the untold numbers of cordless phones. OMG! I'd be willing to wager that we've gone through a minimum of 14 cordless phones. That's almost one per year. Unbelievable. I continually find myself saying, "I'm sorry, could you hang on while I switch to a different cordless? This is the old one we bought three months ago, and it is just shot." Which is met with, "Oh, yeah, I was going to say: You sound like you're in a can... You keep cutting in and out... Are you calling from the UK? Are you on your cell? You sound like you're in a tunnel...in a vacuum...in a box." You get the picture. Very pleasant. And this on a 3 month old phone.

Generally speaking, we buy name brands, and most of the time, I even do a little research before we buy. After all, when you live in the HAH!, you can never be too cautious. But it doesn't seem to matter. Everything breaks.

There is one exception. Old Faithful. Our washer. From 1892. Uh huh. 1892. It came with our first house. The seller was marrying a sugar daddy, and he already had the best of everything, so she no longer needed her top drawer 1892 Roper. Yep. Roper. Ever heard of it? We hadn't either. We figured it probably wouldn't even make it when we moved it to our second house, but lo and behold, we hooked Old Faithful up, and she started going - full blast. It wasn't until she got to the spin cycle that we noticed something was a little off. Well, that might be a bit of understatement. Let's see. How shall I describe it?

Think back to your days of the pre-college exam. ACT...SAT. Now, remember on the SAT - the verbal section? Come on, dig back. You can do it. Exercise that old gray matter! OK, are you with me? S-T-R-E-T-C-H! OK, Verbal section - Analogies. I know, college was a long time ago. But this is fun, right?! Here we go...

Rock concert is to World War III as Tacky Princess's washer is to a Boeing 737 taking off

Have you wrapped your brain around that one? Are you getting the mental picture? Since we moved over 10 years ago, our washer has sounded like a Boeing 737 taking off outside of our kitchen (where the laundry room is). Now, I'm all for having the laundry on the first floor, but if you heard this washer...

If someone happens to be doing laundry when we have guests over, and the spin cycle comes on...OMG! The alarmed look that comes across their faces. You can tell they are sure that we are under terrorist attack. All conversation must cease. The floor / furniture / windows shake. The CD that's turning might even skip. When the cycle is over, we calmly explain the situation. Our guests give us that "you poor saps" look and politely excuse themselves. Why, you might ask, don't we replace it? Well, it WORKS fine. It's just noisy (and annoying) as hell. There are other ailing appliances in the HAH! that demand our immediate attention (and monies...). So, how can we justify $600 or $800 for another new one unnecessarily?

And when my Big Strong Man is out of town...well...let's just say, it can keep a girl company, if you know what I mean. HA!

You Can't Fix Stupid

Dear WTMs, Per one of my favorite blogs, CeleBITCHY, an update on Britney's husband, K-Fed: Here’s K-Fed partying it up in Vegas. As D-Listed points out, that stupid custom bling looks like a Pepperidge Farm Chessman cookie. Page Six reports that philandering K-Fed, who is currently partying with random women while his wife tends to their one year-old and newborn baby. The gurus at CeleBITCHY go on to tell us that K-FED will make about $10 million bucks if he and Brit split. I feel the need to write Britney a letter from her mentor, WT Mom. Stay tuned.

Debby and her monkey can't eat at Crackerbarrel

In September, following complaints of diners, the health department in Springfield, Mo., notified restaurants that Debby Rose's "assistance monkey" could not be permitted to dine with her! The harsh health department officials said that Debby's "assistance monkey" could NOT sit next to her in a high chair at local restaurants,even though Rose said she suffers from a disabling social phobia!

Apparently, Debby's phobia is only helped if she can have "Richard" with her. "Richard", who is a bonnet macaque monkey, is the only reason Debby can go out to Cracker Barrel or whatever other restaurant she chooses. Monkeys are generally permitted under the Americans with Disabilities Act if they perform certain tasks, as capuchin monkeys have been trained to fetch groceries from shelves for wheelchair-using patrons. However, animals that provide only emotional support fall into a gray area, according to a U.S. Justice Department spokesperson quoted by the Springfield News-Leader. [ABC News-AP, 9-16-06]

Two questions: WHY ARE THESE PEOPLE ALWAYS NAMED DEBBY? Why in the name of God did the restaurants allow DEBBY to bring in a flea ridden monkey into their establishments? EW!

Plain Jane Mom

Dear WTMs, Found another cool blog. PLAIN JANE MOM. Check out her recent entry about the idiot parents that park in front of the fire hydrant at school drop-off.

ANOTHER day where some mom parks in front of the fire hydrant at preschool. Good lord people, don’t you get it? I don’t want my kids on fire. If you want that for your kids, please take care of it on your own time.

And then she gets all mad when I very politely mention that she’s in front of the hydrant. In fact, I’ve gotten quite good at this little spiel because I do it about once a month. And that is just the folks who do this when I happen to be there.

Sigh, can you guess how popular I am at this school?

Get this gal a margarita with my best friend, SENOR PATRON! Go here to check out Plain Jane Mom.

Un-Freakin-believable

Tacky Princess here. Uh Huh. Remember me? From back in the day? I know. I've been remiss. Life has gotten in the way lately, believe me. School stuff, work stuff, DRAMA, family stuff (oh, brother...), sick people, did I mention DRAMA? So, I finally, sit down to write to you, our loyal readers. And I'm just putting the finishing touches on House of Appliance Hell, when - you guessed it. I tap the switch on the surge protector for our computer with my great big FOOT, thereby inadvertently turning said computer OFF. And had I learned ANYTHING from the last time this happened to me? Or the last time something like this happened to one of our kids? OF COURSE NOT! Far be it from me to SAVE MY WORK!!!! I'm like the 3rd grader whose dog ate his homework. I only wish I could say this was the first time I've lost data. Meanwhile, to make matters worse, the brand new computer that I accidentally switched off, is now no longer functioning. My Big Strong Man is going to be so very pleased with little old me, let me tell you. Now booted off the home computer, whoever said the library was a bad place to use the computer must not have been very motivated... Hence, you will have to wait a little longer for me to completely re-think, re-type, re-enter, re-edit, re-fluff and re-put the finishing touches on the elusive "House of Appliance Hell". Now, lest I continue to RANT, I’ll leave you with this little nugget… Think back to the SAT when you were in high school…are you thinking…are you there? Come on now…dig back…OK, Grammar/Verbal section…are you with me? Now…think analogies. Still with me? I know – pretty lofty stuff for those of us who’ve been out of college for a while now. But you’ve got to exercise the old gray matter now and then, right? OK, here goes…Analogy: Rock concert is to World War III as Tacky Princess’s Washer is to Boeing 737 Ponder that…and I’ll get back to you with my next REAL entry. Cheers!

WTM Blog Updates

I know just enough web stuff to be dangerous. In my attempts to make the blog more readable, I put the "Official" WTM blogroll on another page. I also have a "HALL OF FAME" (or in the case of those not happy with WTM love...a hall of SHAME). See links to these pages in the sidebar. I also plan to add other pages but I am sure that I will procrastinate so I dare not give details. BTW-does anyone know how to change the COLOR of the font in the SIDEBAR on blogger? I can't do it. If you do, will you please let me know? If you can speak in small words it will help. Thanks and will chat later. Note-If you blog is missing from the "official" blog roll, please know it is operator error and will be back up soon. If it's not back up soon, please let me know. Not that many people consider it an honor to be on WTM's blogroll so if you one of the few, the proud, the brave---let me know!