You might be...

Progress Report: $52.50 saved. 271 cigarettes not smoked. It's been eleven days since my last confession. For seventeen days I've smoked an average of one cigarette a day, clinging to my daily reward like a buoy in the ocean. Last weekend Hoop and I went 24 hours without nicotine. This weekend we went 48. There's a part of me that knows I could have kicked this already.

But the other part doesn't want to do it alone, doesn't want to leave Hoop behind. We'll get there. We're not giving up and we're not backing down. I laugh when I remember how easy I thought this was going to be though. It's like knowing how to swim and then getting stranded in the ocean. Swimming is no longer enough. You have to learn how to be patient. You have to learn how to float.

You might be a redneck if: ...your advertisement for used vehicles includes a "Wish List" for trade ins. Attached to an open phone booth at a gas station, Hoop found a handmade poster marketing all types of old 70s and 80s trucks and truck parts. The top of the ad read, "For sale, trade, OBO." It seemed normal enough, until you got down to the bottom. "Will trade for: RV, Houseboat, Fishing boat, Good Family Car, Camper, King Mattresses, Dining Room Set, Piano." Did you catch that? A PIANO. Not a banjo, guitar, or drum set. We have high-class Rednecks around here.

Hoop and I would have had enough fun picking apart the numerous typos, not to mention imagining what the hell their yard must look like with all those rusted up trucks and parts. But the "Wish List" is what made the flyer worthy enough of tearing down and taking home.

Tink: Who in their right mind would trade in good stuff for junk?
Hoop: I kind of admire the guy.
Tink: You admire the piano playing Redneck?
Hoop: This is probably his only chance at getting what he really wants. He's laying it all out there in a last ditch effort. What's the harm in asking?
...
Tink: But who does he think is going to see this list? Santa Claus?!

You might be Ghetto if: ...the rims on your car cost more than your car does. Every town has one of those notorious streets that people are scared to drive down. Ours is called King Street. It's more of a joke really. People get nervous because there are Hookers on the corner and because it's like the Lost-and-Found of stolen cars. But it's tame compared to when I lived in Toledo, Ohio. In Toledo, people would break into my borrowed Jimmy all the time. It was totally senseless considering the car had no locks, no passenger window, no stereo, and no value whatsoever. But they'd break into it all the same, cutting the seats and stealing all the napkins out of the glovebox. Woo Hoo, NAPKINS.

You can drive down King Street in the middle of the night and not hear gunshots. The worst you're going to see is an occasional fist fight or the usual barefooted children running around like strays outside dilapidated houses. Hoop thinks I'm insane because I like driving into that part of town. It humbles me. It makes me think of all the places in life that I'm not. Instead of turning a blind eye, I embrace it. We all belong there. If we'd sunk into our addictions, given up hope, lost our money, loved the wrong person, caved in to depression, were beaten down and forgotten, we could have all ended up there.

You might be lucky if... I don't get stuck in a tangent tomorrow and actually get those "Doses Of Tink" chapters to you. ;) Hope you all had a great weekend! Thanks again for your opinions and kind words.