we’ll get you there

Of course anyone reading this would automatically cry “NO!!!!!” but it’s okay, friends. I have accepted the possibility, and you can, too. I used to think that I couldn’t be trashy just because I am an intelligent person with a solid middle-class background (although that background is anchored in Kent and Renton; hmm…) but the more I ponder my situation, the more evidence I find to the contrary. Unfortunately, natural intelligence does not negate questionable behavior.

I knew it was getting bad when at brunch yesterday, my friend commented upon my guzzling of a pitcher of mimosas (after an early morning breakfast of Bud Light):

“Emily, you are getting to be really trashy.”

My defense?

“What?!? Look, I have a real Dior wallet!”

Pretty weak. I admit it. And I think Joe’s response summarizes it perfectly:

“…yeah. A paper-thin veneer of class…”

So in order to delve further into this issue, I need to take things on a step-by-step basis. Let’s inspect aspects of my lifestyle that could, to some, be considered trashtastic.

Today’s hot topic: PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION.

I don’t own a car. Honestly, I can’t really afford to buy one at this point. And even if I could buckle down and save up to purchase a cheap one, I definitely can’t afford insurance, payments, gas, the guaranteed barrage of parking tickets, the possible lawsuit after I hit a pedestrian… I mean, these are risks I’m just not willing to take. Also, with the amount of alcohol I usually am “celebrating” with throughout my travels, getting behind the wheel is a death sentence.

If anyone asks why I don’t have one, though, I tell them I’m being eco-friendly and don’t support the oil industry, it’s wasteful to put all those emissions into the air if I have another option, etc etc etc… what a ridiculous facade. Everyone knows I have practically no convictions. But I think we can all agree it’s way better to pretend to care about the planet rather than admit I am just poor, lazy, usually at least kinda drunk, and spend my money on more impractical investments, like vintage cameras I’ll never figure out how to use and fitness magazines that will never actually inspire me to work out.

I knew it was getting bad this weekend when I became one of those bus people: I was lugging not one but two sparkly lamé duffel bags to haul around my crap. Not only that, but I was carrying a pillow and tasseled yarn throw blanket (because I was planning on sleeping at my friend’s apartment and couldn’t find a sleeping bag or any normal bedding). On top of this, I was yelling at my iPhone because it was running out of battery power and I was trying desperately to make a call before it died. (So clearly, screaming “Please just WORK!!!” into the sky will give my phone more power. I guess I shouldn’t have wasted a fully charged battery sending about 80 drunken and humiliating text messages to a large collection of people who have the misfortune of being my “friends.”)

As I boarded the bus, I thought to myself, “Oh crap, it’s so crowded, I hope I don’t have to sit next to any sketchy people who smell bad or look like they might try to make conversation with me or awkwardly hit on me…” Then I realized something. I, for no real reason, was carrying around a closet full of clothes in tacky bags and some heavy blanket during broad daylight while lecturing an inanimate object. Yikes. I’m positive someone saw me boarding the bus and thought, “Oh crap, it’s so crowded, I hope that girl with the bleach-blonde hair and huge hangover sunglasses and weird bags of clothes and creepy blankets who is muttering into her dead cell phone doesn’t have to sit next to me.”

Seattle Metro. The great equalizer. Everybody is somebody’s “oh crap” and I really took it to a new level this weekend. Trash? You be the judge…