rephrased

I'm updating to talk about something bothering me. I went out for dinner with my family in Portsmouth tonight. It was my dad, my stepmother, and my two fosterbrothers. I realized tonight how much I hate my own origins. I mean, they're so rural, so ill-mannered, so closed-minded. They yelled everything, complained that there were so many vegetarian dishes and so few with red meat, tipped the waitress poorly. My father was leering at the high school girls at the next table. They complained loudly about the music (The Microphones' "The Glow Part 2", coincidentally my favorite album.) They made fun of a girl passing outside because she had tattoos and facial piercings and striped stockings. They gushed over G.W.B and how we should just pave the whole middle east. They gave me a hard time and made fun of me when I said that I saw and enjoyed Farenheit 9/11, I liked the girl with the tattoos, loved the album, and wanted my stepmother never to use the words "nigger" or "colored" in my presence again. I hate the fact that this is where I came from, that these people are my blood. And then I feel guilty for not liking them.
Mood: Alienated, hopeless
Music: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, "Murder Ballads"