Sunday, December 19, 2004

... put a fork in my eye


Went to the early Christmas dinner my parents threw for the employees. I love them because they're not only co-workers but substitute girlfriends. I also met all their boyfriends, two of whom were complete himbos: high-maintenance, finicky-eaters, rude, and plain unpleasant. After one tried to make a sarcastic quip, I told him this "wasn't a sitcom" and "not everyone is required to read lines." He was a total uncultured brat: "What is this? Lobster? Ewww, it still has a face on it. I'm going hungry ... at a restaurant. This sucks." Wherepon, he waited until everyone fell silent and proceeded to wipe his boogers on the table. The other guy was just a jerk who complained about not knowing what he was eating and looked like an aged Backstreet Boy with bleached tips and jewellery fresh from the set of Miami Vice. It's difficult to mock men in their mid-20's who don't understand the words coming out of my mouth. ("Uh, okay, whatever. I don't even know what [discrepancy] means.") It's like their vocabulary is limited to three-syllabic words and a mish-mash of bodily sounds. My parents paid for the 8 course meal, you'd think they'd at least be grateful to be fed. But that would be giving too much credit to guys who think sweet bean paste is a form of raisin.

Although I can't substantiate this, I got the feeling that the two dicktards were unimpressed with my hotty-totty "university education." Whenever one of the girls mentioned it, they'd roll their eyes and take another sip from their bottomless tumblers. I refuse to be ashamed for having a mental capacity that exceeds pairing gold earrings with platinum spikes and sticking chopsticks up facial orifices.

Fucking urban bumpkins.


My mom's inauspicious nagging is back. I never knew you could remind someone to put on a wintercoat for 18 years and still assume they'd forget (because frostbite is, like, so bitchin').

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