Paulydia

Tonight my parents took me to a business dinner; most of the people attending were nasty, self-absorbed, and elitist. Perhaps it shouldn't have come as such a surprise to me that several of the executives were closet "Laguna Beach" fans: they love pointless drama and opulence.

The way people spoke to and about each other made it evident that no one there really liked each other, it was all for apperances. It came to a head when Paul, who had his birthday the day before, specifically asked that they do nothing about it. Later, he got sick, and while he excused himself to the bathroom, some of the lousiest people I've seen took it upon themselves to make it happen anyway. Lydia, who had a birthday a while back and also didn't want recognition, was thrown into the mix as well. So when Paul returned, flushed, the waitstaff serenaded them with some strange rendition of "Happy Birthday." Everytime the waitstaff said "Happy Birthday" we were supposed to shout out Paul and Lydia's names, which someone combined into "Paulydia." I refused to sing, partly because they clearly did not appreciate the gesture, and partly because the "Paulydia" hybrid sounded a little too much chlamydia for my taste.

Neither Paul nor Lydia looked happy. Silence. "'Paulydia' sounds bad," Lydia finally said. When asked why, she said, "Like an STD." More silence.

No one felt like cake. Good night, it was so nice to see you, we should do this again real soon.