Saturday, August 21, 2010

Bigtime Donna WTF of the day

Donna is frequently capable of inciting "WTF" reactions. In fact, it's usually at least a daily occurrence. Still, the "WTF"s she incites generally aren't "bigtime WTF"s. Today... Well, today she hit the "bigtime" mark.

This weekend is Donna's Birthday. Tomorrow, August 22nd, she will turn 37 years old. Donna is never one to let a birthday go by uncelebrated, particularly her own birthday. To Donna, her birthday is an occasion that should be celebrated with drinks, dinners out and, most of all, presents. Things like being in debt are not a deterring factor to spending yet more money to celebrate something that, in the end, is just another fucking day on the goddamned calendar. Each year's birthday is an exercise in validating her self-worth, it seems. Presents, dining out and hitting the bars is the objective yardstick by which she measures that self-worth.

Whatever. I get it: I married someone who's a little fucked in the head. I married someone for whom worth is determined by external factors rather than an internalized feeling of innate self-worth. Donna is so very "western" (or maybe just "American") in this regard.

Most years, Donna's birthday dinner is usually something that just she and I do. However, for whatever reason, she felt compelled to involve others. Whatever. If it makes her happy, fine. If it means that, rather than eating some place interesting, we eat at someplace that's more "accessible" to all involved, so be it. Besides, "accessible" places are frequently less expensive than the more "interesting" places are.

As per usual, she also wants to spend the later parts of the evening out at the clubs, drinking it up, and being paid attention to by her friends. Again, "whatever, I'm used to that." This year, however, after I spend a non-exclusive dinner at a hum drum eating establishment, she wishes to spend the remainder of the evening as a "girls night out."

Ok, a little selfish, but, again, "whatever". At least I don't have to spend an evening at a club I don't like. At worst, I'll have to put up with her drunken bullshit when she gets home: the incessant, inane chatteriness and/or vomiting from the alcohol (followed the next day by the inevitable hangover and general worthlessness). Still in the realm of "whatever". Not because it isn't extremely annoying but because it just follows to the expected pattern.

No, the coup de grace on this is the request that - in addition to paying for a hum drum dinner, putting up with the effects of her drunkenness, not spending the birthday celebrations with her - she wants me to play chauffer (at least for the ride home). She and her partner in drinking crime want to go out, but, obviously, if both are drinking, neither can drive. While it's possible that her friend's husband might be cajoled into driving them - even just as dropoff/pickup - that's not good enough for Donna. See, her friend's husband isn't the smoothest of drivers. He believes in binary drive. His is a textbook example of "herky-jerky" driving. Such driving often doesn't mesh well with someone who's been drinking too much. So, naturally, she has requested that I pick her up from the club when she's ready to go home. Thus, if I should agree to this, I will get to listen to her babble the whole way home. I will get to be driven to the point of wanting to either throttle her or to want to drive us into a bridge abutment. And, I get to sit around, waiting for her fucking call, all the while getting more spun-up at the dread of the forthcoming ride home.

Happy fucking birthday you self-centered harpy.

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