she was a bit of a close talker. she and her family showed up in the parking lot of the japanese steak house where my birthday dinner was to be held. apparently my parents knew her. i didn't.

she was with us at the door. she was with us in the foyer waiting to be seated. she was with us when the hostess seated us at the long table with the intimidating metal grill insert. she was with us when the chef lit the oil with a match and the hot flames that were supposed to be in celebration of my entry into manhood showered light on the corners of our faces. she was there when he caught the bowl in his hat. she was there when he planted a burning match, erect, in the middle of my rice and wished me happy birthday. she was there the entire time.

but my parents were not.

they spent the entire evening engrossed in conversation with her. she clung to my mother's arm and laughed with every orifice in her body. even her ears shook. it was revolting.

but my parents didn't seem to mind.

of course, all of this was forgotten as soon as i tasted the food.

holy cow.

it was the best food i've ever had.

so, overall, it was a happy birthday.

but i still hate "her".

current music: bright eyes