I'll have the chicken picatta with a side of Judas Priest.

Friday night I went out to dinner with my parents for my Mom’s birthday. We went to this nice Italian place that has wonderful food, but shitty service. For atmosphere, there is a guy who plays piano.

We were talking, and the song the piano guy was playing sounded familiar, but I couldn’t think of what it was. I don’t know about you, but anytime I hear something and I can’t name the song and/or singer or band, it drives me completely nuts until I figure it out. I’m a dork. I know.

So I am sitting there, listening to my Mother yammer on and on about how old she feels being 51, and suddenly it occurs to me. The guy was playing “Iron Man” by Black Sabbath. Awesome. I couldn’t believe he was playing Black Sabbath and all the crusty white patrons had no idea they were eating along to Ozzy Osbourne.

When I mentioned it to my Dad, we started laughing, and the lady at the next table told us she was his girlfriend, and that he threw in songs like that just for fun. Later on, he played some Zeppelin song I didn’t recognize, and then he played “One” by Metallica. I never imagined those songs could sound nice and pleasant when slowed down and played on a piano, but they did.

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Last night, a bunch of friends and I went out for dinner. There were eight adults, and a couple of kids. My friend Angela and her retard husband Barney were also there.

Kay asked Barney how his day was, and he yelled out in front of the kids that he was “stressed out because of all the fucking cocksuckers” at work. God knows, I love to let the expletives fly, but when there are two kids at the table, I use a little decorum. When the waitress asked him if he wanted parmesan cheese, he said, “Yeah. A shitload.” Nice.

The more time I spend with this dipshit, the more I realize that Angela settled. She was pushing 35, single, and he came along right when that goddamned biological clock started ticking and fucking with all her common sense. So she married his dopey ass, and now that she has his kid (god help that poor little baby for being saddled with his genes), she’s never going to get rid of him.

One day I’ll tell the story of our first camping trip with him (consequently, it was my first and last camping trip he was involved in). Oy.

Watching the two of them insures my resolve to never settle. And thank god I am immune to the biological clock.

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My computer is sucking balls (and not in the good way, either) these days. So, in addition to wanting a man with brilliance, wit and sarcasm, and excellent make-out skills, he better be some kind of computer genius, cause I can’t figure this shit out.

Grrr.

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Um… am I the only person that wants to gouge her eyes and ears out whenever the Black Eyed Peas are on?

Just curious.