Happy Barfday

Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday, dear M! Happy Birthday to you! Ah, another lovely, fun-filled year of existence for our dear pal. I actually forgot to say Happy Birthday to her this morning when I saw her, oops! I shot her a text message later in the day. Believe it or not, I even bought her a present! Ok, so I bought her a Christmas present, but when she was too poor to buy me one in return, I decided to save it for her birthday. Yeah, ok, I’m a bitch. Whatever.

I wasn’t planning on going to any sort of birthday dinner but there was one organized very last minute with J, M, B and I as the attendees. J forbid anyone else from going because she wanted it to be a “girl’s dinner” and then she ended up calling about 10 minutes before we were leaving and told us she was puking and couldn’t make it. Actually, she was puUuUUuuUking. You know what that means, Me, B, and M together for dinner. Wow. Awkward convo to ensue!

Before we leave, M put on a very nice pashmina scarf. Making small talk, I asked her where she got it. “Oh, S picked it out.” Ahem – does that in any fucking way answer my question? She is so in love with him that she must, at any moment and without reason, throw his name into the conversation. I responded, “Um, I said, WHERE did you get it.” “Oh, when S and I went shopping, he picked it out at Le Chateau – of course it was the most expensive one!” She had to get it though, since S commented that he liked it. I’m rolling my eyes so hard right now, my brain thinks I’m doing a fucking handstand.

On the drive there, B reminds M and informs me that last week, M made this statement: “My car is good in the snow.” Um, wait… she has never driven in the snow. She had her car for ONE snow-less month and she claims it’s great in the snow. Well, yes, I guess it is – since it is completely fucking stationary. Allow her to explain, “Well, I was thinking of my car like it was S’s car because his car is very good in the snow.” I made sure she knew that S’s car is a VR6, Automatic, and that the driver definitely plays a large part in how well a car drives in the snow.

At dinner, B and I made sure to sit next to each other so as to chat candidly on our Blackberrys about the night’s events as they go down. It was time to open the present I got her - a super awesome Guess wallet (I actually have the same one in a different colour, so be sure I didn’t get her like, a shit one because I hate her.) She spent a good chunk of the dinner putting all of her cards and lack of dollars into the new wallet, which was a good way to alleviate the staring at each other while not saying anything moments.

She pulled out Eric’s card, he is the guy who does all of the work on her car and sees pure dollar signs when she rolls up. Yeah, the one that sold her a car that can’t be registered, the one that charged her $1700 to fix the motor for her power window, the one who… you get it. The guy is a dick and he is so clearly using her because she is clueless. Anyway, she goes, “I’m definitely keeping this card.” To which I said, “Don’t you just have his number in your phone, why do you need to keep it?” She says, “To give it to other people, of course!” …

I said, “Excuse me? Why would do that? The guy is a con-artist, leaching you dry of every cent you own.”

“Well, S talked to him and now everything is fine.”

“What? S ‘talked’ to him? What did he say?”

“I don’t know. He talked to him and now everything is fine between us. Everything got sorted out.”

“So… S bitched him out?”

“I don’t know but he was very upset with Eric, so probably.”

Let me make sure that I’m clear about something: this is not in S’s character AT ALL so this story just seemed extremely bizarre to me. Of course, I asked S and he confirmed my suspicion that no, he did not call and get mad at the mechanic. He said that he got mad at M, if anything.

I understand that some people love their job more than anything in the world and that is just fine and dandy but this is a message to them: WE DON’T FUCKING CARE. M loves working at Starbucks. How do I know this?? Oh, only because this is the sole topic of the entire goddamn night. Starbucks this, my gay co-worker that, the new tea-latte this, the we-ran-out-of-soy epidemic of last week. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD THAT STARTS WITH STAR OR ENDS IN BUCKS. It’s to the point where you’re starting to think that you may have found hell just by listening to her ramble on and on. It’s like Chinese water torture but with M’s voice replacing the drip-drip-drip.

We ended off the dinner by taking pictures of her and going back and forth between them pretending she was moving in some sort of twisted geriatric rain-dance. Oh, and she paid for her own dinner. Happy Birthday!