Birthday manners

I am very proud of myself. I was confronted with blatant rudeness, immaturity and poor manners and I didn't point them out.

Now those of you who know me understand how rate it is that I keep a handle on my tounge. I lack 'the filter.' You know, the one that catches all the crap that the ID really wants to say before it gets out of the mouth. Since I don't have said filter all sorts of detrious comes flying out of my mouth when I'm perterbed.

But for once, I reinforced that filter with titanium wire and the bitch held. Why, might you ask? Because I was at a birthday dinner. A birthday dinner for a woman that I really like, but don't know all that well.

And she doesn't know me all that well. She knows that I'm loud, that I can burp better than 90% of the college fraternity population, that occationally I'm a mean drunk and that I suck at karaoke. But she's never seen me truly mad.

Fortunately for her.

So I couldn't very well unleash a can of well deserved whoop-ass on her professed best friend. 'Cause after all, this was A's birthday freaking dinner.

But hot damn, the BFF so deserved it. (For those of you not versed in pre-adolescent girl lore, BFF stand for best friend forever, biatches.) My friend A had warned me that BFF was, "loud and opinionated." Um, no. She's a f*cking brat. Here's why:

1) She shows up to her best friend's dinner 55 minutes late.
2) She immediately starts texting at the table... the traditional Japanese tatami, butt firmly on the floor, special 'cause we planned it that way table.
3) She starts yelling about how bad the service at the restaurant is, despite the fact that prior to her arrival, the staff had been doing an admirable job handling a party of 15. After her arrival and loud disparaging comments, service mysteriously slowed. What a twist!
4) Because the service is 'slow', she declares that she is not buying any of her own drinks. Oh, and did I mention that this was A's twenty first birthday? Uh, exactly who should be getting the free booze?
5) She then complains about the long hours she puts in at architecture school. Now, architecture students do put in crazy hours. But please, BFF needs to remember to check her attitude at the door when she's talking to a bunch of people who, on average, are at least five years her senior. Why? 'Cause us old fogies have realized that, well, college only kinda matters. Don't get me wrong, be cool, stay in school! But until the quality of your work determines your income, the safety of a building or, um, life or death for some poor kiddo... just cool it. We've all been there, we'll sympathise some, but not if BFF is yelling about her woes at 10 million decibels and clearly believing that she is clearly working harder than anyone else at the table.

Just to remind you, all of this was at her best friend's birthday party.

Now, kind viewers, did I smack her down? No. For once in my life, I didn't. Only because I respect A. And I like her boyfriend.

But people, realize that I'm NOT going to keep a lid on my mouth next time. Screw it, the immature bitch needs a little smack around.

And I'm just the docta to do it.

I respect the housewife

As an under-employed wife, I could be called a housewife.

But I'm not. 'Cause a true housewife does house-y things.

And I don't.

I could... but I'm just not interested. Without that interst, I'm completely, totally, utterly bored. Staying at home is horrible. I wake up when my hubbie goes to work to make sure I get out of the damn house.

Don't get me wrong - I love our (relatively) newly purchased townhouse.

But I was never meant to stay here for most of my time.

I was meant to be doctor. I was meant to bust my (metaphorical) balls against the walls of pediatrics.

So to the women who keep house, do it well, and make it into an art form - mad props.

Not dead, I swear

But I am depressed 'cause I can't work right now. Well, I could work - flip burgers, file things, lay tile - but I can't work. The state of Texas is holding my license hostage.

So I'm stuck.

Since I don't want to get up in here and write about how lame my unemployed life is every day, I haven't been posting.

Sorry.

LAMBO!

People who aren't Astros fans, or fans who can't get to Minute Maid Park won't have any freaking clue what I'm talking about. But just let me say, Mike Lamb just hit a homer in the top of the 9th, after the Astros have gained and lost the lead more times than really necessary, in a game that none of us thought we'd win, and that is COOL!

And now Willie Taveras just hit his first homer in SEVEN HUNDRED THIRTY NINE at bats. Last homer for Willie T. was June 10th 2005. Holy crap, where did these bats come from, and why can't they visit more often?

WHY?