This is blog of a woman who didn't know what she wanted and so chased after dreams and men in search of the answers...drunken hilarity ensued. Then one day she met a man who was everything she wanted, but he wasn't so sure. Then she did the unthinkable; after they broke up she gave him this blog address and she let him into her mind as well as her heart. Unbelievably, even after sorting through the sordid archives of failed relationships, one night stands and her lusty (and embarassing) pursuit to secure the heart of a certain young line cook, John somehow managed to fall in love with her too. Melina and John were married a little over six months after they started dating, running away to Las Vegas to seal the deal. You can imagine what the over/under bet was to see if they'd even make it a year!! Over a year later and they are still going strong...this blog has become their story. Need to tell me something? Email me at Melinalovesjohnny at gmail dot com
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Monday, January 10, 2005
My White Trash History
For some reason the phrase white trash has been attached to me a couple of times in my life and I could never understand it...because I don't think I ever was white trash. I have all my teeth (in fact I never had a cavity), I didn't marry my dad/cousin/or step-brother, I didn't get pregnant at 15...I don't know what it was.

Here are the two "white trash encounters" that stick out clearly in my mind:

When I was in fifth grade, my dad dropped me off at school (a private school mind you) in an old Chevy Caprice (you know the old cop cars, think Boss Hogg's ride from Dukes of Hazzard). Well this kid in sixth grade caught a glimpse of my pop--decked out in his ripped t shirt and sweat pants (he was going to be working on said car later that morning) and this sixth grader proceded to say in a whiny, taunting voice, "Your dad's white trash! That makes you white trash." Little Melina was taught not to cry by her Marine drill sargeant pops and to stand up for herself. Melina said quietly, "Shut up, or I'll hit you!" (I hadn't learned negotiation strategies and my father wasn't a follower of Ghandi). Sixth grade boy continued to hop on one foot, and announce to the world that, "Melina's white trash...her daddy's a hillbilly" and so on, until...
Melina kicked the shit out of the boy. I say this with pride but it wasn't a proud moment. Pops taught me how to fight, and I don't think prep school boy's daddy did--because I kept on kicking the shit out of him, long after I should've stopped. It felt that good. After my suspension, 6th grade boy became my friend and I put an end to the rumor of me being white trash with a little bit of muscle (or at least they didn't express it to my face, that is until 11th grade).

In 11th grade an exchange student from Germany came up to me and said in broken English, "Excuse me, you are white trash?" I reponded, "Fuck off" in perfect German. Someone had been talking about me again, and I knew the reason why. In 11th grade my dad gave me an El Camino (definitely a white trash staple). But let's go over this again. He GAVE me a car. I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth! I took that little confused vehicle, the car that wanted to be a truck so badly, and I drove the hell out of it. I admit--it was a white trash car, but it was free. Plus, without that trucar (that's truck car) I wouldn't have been able to snuggle under the stars with my hot next door neighbor (sorry dad, don't think I told you about that perk huh?). It's kind of funny that my parents paid more for four years high school tuition than I spent on my entire college tuition...but hey I guess we weren't POOR white trash.

This rant all came from taking the white trash test that is posted below. So I just want to say to Kieran and Sophia, "I'm only 27% white trash!" and that sounds about right to me!

posted by Melina at 8:05 PM