Striving For Mediocrity: Martinis and hillbillies will always get you in trouble.

Tonight we went out for Jackie’s 20th birthday. We went to dinner at a restaurant that has the BEST dirty martini I’ve ever had (Ketel One, olive juice, olives stuffed with blue cheese). This restaurant is also ridiculously crowded, so we spent about an hour and a half in the bar waiting for our table, which is not such a bad thing since the drinks are so good (and I didn’t have to pay for any of them).

Until your Mom has about four cosmos, and is loaded before we even get to the table. Jesus, she sucks those things down like they’re water sometimes. I was just finishing my first martini, and I have to tell you, since the surgery, one drink is all it takes to get me DRUNK (I am such a cheap date now), and she was already finishing her second. She lives to embarrass Jackie and I when she’s had a few (or fifteen).

She was loud, and kept doing air quotes every time she was making a comment about anything. She wanted “another drink,” she was thinking of getting “jambalaya,” she told me to “shut the fuck up.” Yeah, we’re that kind of family.

Then she saw me eat the olives out of her martini and she yelled out that I was a “skanky ass bitch.” Thanks, Mom.

Needless to say, all the people in the booths around us were giving us the stink eye all night. We were talking loud, and laughing loudly all the time (we were all drunk, we had no choice), and my camera flashed every time I took the eight thousand pictures that I took. We were the kind of customers most people hate. It was fun.

Holy shit. Mork and Mindy: Behind the Camera. TV movies about tv shows are so cheesy. Set the tivo. NOW!!

Tomorrow (well, today really, since it’s 1 a.m.) I have to endure yet another stress-filled family event for Easter. Ugh. So not looking forward to this. I haven’t seen this side of the family since some of my hillbilly relatives from North Carolina were visiting, and one of my stupid bigoted ass cousins almost got me, my Dad, and Jackie killed at a Nascar race.

My Dad thought it would be cool to take them to a race in California, since they took him to one in Charlotte when we were there a long time ago. I should point out that they are from the same town Dale Earnhardt was born and raised in, and even though he has been dead for four years now, he is still a god to those people. My stupid cousin Sammy actually has a giant 3 tattooed on his arm (this is also the same guy who wore his KKK shirt to Thanksgiving dinner. Enjoy). God bless white trash.

So we’re sitting in the stands, watching the race, and there is a guy in the row in front of us with all kinds of Jeff Gordon crap on. Jeff Gordon is hated by the Dale Earnhardt fans. It’s pretty ridiculous, and I can’t believe I am telling this story in my diary, since I am about 1000% sure no one who reads this gives one shit about nascar.

But you guys care that I might die, right? Shutup then. I am going on.

Oh, yeah – the Jeff Gordon fan was a HUGE black guy (this part is very important).

Gordon slid into the wall, and Sammy yells out “Yeah, hit the wall, Gordon, you big faggot! Gordon fans are homos!” I am not joking. I wish I was, but I am not.

The huge black guy stands up, turns around, and looks at him, and says “What did you say?” It is at this point that my Dad, my sister, and I all look at each other and realize that this dumb hillbilly racist fuck is going to get our asses kicked at the California Speedway.

My Dad tries to calm him down, but he’s not listening, and he’s talking all this trash to the black guy, and I swear to god, I thought he was going to call him a nigger, because that’s perfectly acceptable to him and his whacked kin who live deep in the Appalachian Mountains (think the Appalachian Emergency Room sketch on SNL. Very similar.).

Even in 2005, it is still very much like back in the day where they live in terms of race relations. It’s pretty sad.

So my Dad grabs his arm, and tells him that he’s in California. He doesn’t have the whitey upper hand here, and that the black guy is not afraid of him. And in fact, he should just about be pissing his pants, because that guy’s probably going to kill him. And us (even though I should have been saved because I was sporting my trashy Jeff Gordon sweatshirt).

After a few minutes of trash talk, my Dad calmed down the other guy, and told him that he would do his best to keep Sammy’s mouth shut, and that if he acted up again, we were leaving.

Yeah, we had to leave about ten minutes later. My Dad ripped his ass in the car about his behavior, and it really bothered me, because Sammy didn’t think he did anything wrong. He thought it was ok to talk to the other guy that way, and to try to use his being white to intimidate him.

I am ashamed to be related to these people, I swear.

I really didn’t mean for that to go on as long as it did. Jeez.

Ramble less, Andria.

I am so in love with Keane right now. Their cd is excellent. I have listened to it about a million times this week.

I really don’t know why I am so update happy these days.

Quantity over quality, I always say.

I suppose I should end this crap now. Have a happy Easter, y’all.