Before I embark on this little diatribe of mine, there's something I think you should know, just to disperse any thoughts as to me being racist.
Recipe for TCWH:
1/4 Cup Philipppina
1/8 Cup Tribally enrolled land owning, non casino working Seneca Indian
1/4 Jewish (I don't know what this means. It was how it was taught to me by Momma. It's her father, so if she chooses to identify it as an ethnicity, SO BE IT. Speaking of NOT being racist, the first time I found out about her father's origins I whined "No wonder I keep spending money! I'm a JAP!" I thought the cigarette was going to fall straight out of Momma's lips into my Mimosa. Ain't I a hoot?)
Everything else is varying shades of white, of which Momma says some is Celtic. Or some shit like that. Educated fraternity boys that live in Louisiana referred to me often as a mutt. What a *great* pick up line! Witness:
Stupid Frat Rat: So, what are you?
Young, Impressionable TCWH: What do you mean?
SFR: Why do you look like that?
YITCWH: Like what?
SFR: Tan skin? Blonde Hair?
YITCWH: Dad: Philippino and White. Mom: American Indian and White.
SFR: Oh, so you're like one of those stray dogs...what'sitcalled? Ummm...
YITCWH:...
SFR: A mutt! You're a mutt!
30 minutes later
SFR: Sure you don't want to come home with me? I've got the room all to myself.
YITCWH: Umm..no thanks, despite your tantalizing pick up lines.
I'm just kidding, kind of. I don't think everyone who belongs to a Greek Organization is stupid. I was in one myself once, in a past life. Look at me, trying not to step on any toes. That one quality is enough to infuriate even the most patient of souls, namely...aw, who cares? The guy called me a mutt, he did, he did. My point? My parents raised me with a great appreciation for all cultures, regardless of color or infuriating habits. Which leads me to this...
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Imagine my shock and awe (so clever, aren't I? I'm not getting that degree to wipe my ass with, you know! Althought the bachelor's did crumple up rather nicely.) as I was flipping through the channels last night (yes. I. know. I. need. to. get. out. of. the. house.) I stumbled upon The Blue Collar Comedy Tour on Comedy Central. And got sucked into it. I laughed so hard I felt my belly jiggle along with (insert redneck's name here)'s "That's funny right thar. I don't care who yew are." I hee hawed when Jeff Foxworthy said that if you had a set of plastic matching salad bowls that all said "Cool Whip" on the side, you might be a redneck. I wiped the tears from my eyes when he followed it by saying that if you wore a strapless dress with a bra that isn't...you know the rest. And then I wondered what the hell I was doing.
In case I've forgotten, rednecks are not known for being the most tolerant people in terms of race, sex, politics, weather, EVERYTHING. I used to have an Uncle who was a self-proclaimed redneck. And while I sincerely believe that he has a good heart, I found him a little, well, racially challenged. I lived with him and my Aunt when I was in college. They took me in after a bad relationship ended worsely. For that, I am eternally grateful. I brought a friend home to help me move my stuff to an apartment closer to campus one day, and he drawls, "Hey! You! C'mere!" My friend (male, hispanic) approaches my Uncle. I do the introductions. My Uncle shakes his right hand and grabs his right elbow with his left hand. Faster than you can skin a pig, he licks his thumb and rubs it into my friend's forearm, making small circles. "Okay. You're white. You can stay." For that, I will be eternally embarrassed. My friend looked back at me, horrified. His face said, "WTF, TCWH? Is this guy kidding? Not kidding? He put his spit on my arm! Can I move now?" I just froze, doing my damndest to blend into the terra cotta wall on the sun porch. If I don't move, they can't see me!
Yet I sat there last night and laughed my ass off. The grandaughter of an immigrant who was kicked out of his wife's house because of the color of his skin. To the credit of the four comedians, not one racial joke was uttered, erm, drawled. Fucking Hilarious.
And now I leave you with this thought.
If you spent your Halloween at the local Hooter's glued to a barstool talking to a 3 year old dressed up as a catfish and went home with your Uncle, you might be a redneck.
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Actually, watching a 3-legged dog bury anything is kinda funny. :)
A, I have a Larry the Cable Guy CD converted to MP3 if you'd like to listen to it. If the RIAA comes looking for it, just tell them you're 'borrowing' it.
And I'll leave you with "If you shot your father-in-law's fishing boat with a semi-automatic rifle, you might be a redneck".
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