Mike and I got to go out for dinner last night. It’s been a long time since we’ve gone out alone. As in I can’t remember the last time we had dinner without kids in tow. We dropped the girls off at the elementary school for a Parent’s Night Out. 3 hours of pizza and movies for $15. Can’t beat that deal!

Our suburb is slowly branching out in food. In about two year’s time, we have several new ethnicities popping up. We can choose from Greek, Indian, Japanese, Mexican, Italian and Australian. It’s a big deal for this former farming town.

We chose the new Japanese steakhouse. I don’t think we’ve ever done teppanyaki together. We were sat at a table with another couple our age. I sized them up and could tell they were DINKS. Despite having enough disposable income to order the lobster, they seemed to be good people.

Mike just finished a series of Japanese culture classes for work. We were comparing notes in the dark restaurant as the chef did his thing with our food on the grill.  I was intrigued by the Japanese chopstick rest. Both Mike and I grew up with Japanese friends and had never knew about such a device. Then we were remarking that if we had known this place was going to give use crappy wooden pull-apart chopsticks, we would have brought our own.

He was telling me about the table manners in Japan. No mixing your foods (what?!), sit up straight, don’t waste the soy sauce and others. He is comforted by the fact that when he goes to Japan for work, they’ll know he’s a dumb American and not expect a lot. As we chuckled at that fact, the guy next to Mike cut in.

“Have you been to Japan?” he asked.
“No, I am going this winter. My job just had me take a course in Japanese culture.” Mike responded.

“This place isn’t very authentic,” he began, “when you’re in Japan, you’ll see that the hunch over there bowls and eat quickly. They also use 12-inch (hand expand for emphasis) ivory chopsticks.”
“Oh, you’ve been to Japan.” I comment.

“No.” His wife chimes in. “He just reads a lot of books.”

Photo courtesy tanakawho on Flickr.

Deb is awesome. She is a mom of two teenage boys and a hilarious writer. I laugh so much I pee at her posts. “Deb vs. Deb: Cage Fight with a Neil Diamond Soundtrack” is one of my recent favorites.

She describes her writing as:

When I write, I work on metabolizing the swirling zeitgeist of this odd world. I get obsessed, stuck like a kayaker wedged in some rocks, and usually somehow I spin myself free, only to land on another pile. I really don’t know what blogging is. But I religiously believe that cluelessness should never stand in our way, and laughter is the only medicine worth smuggling. Well, laughter and opium.

Deb on the Rocks is like a favorite novel. I love to scroll through and re-read past posts. If you’re slotted to travel be sure to read “FAQS About Flying Vibrators & How to Survive a Conference”. Hell, read it even if you are couch surfing. My introduction to Deb on the Rocks was about 2 years ago and I still go back to “Lesbians’ Days are Numbered”.

Humor is only on of Deb’s weapons. She is awealth of knowledge about blogging. This summer, she published 5 Ways to {blank} Your Blog: Almost everything you need to know about the wild world of personal blogging. It’s a great book for any blogger who wants to kick ass on the internet.

Blogger Deb Rox brings an insider’s look to the crazy world of personal blogging. This unconventional guide gives hundreds of ideas of what to do — and what NOT to do — to rock your blog.

I could go on and on about how beyond fabulousness that is Deb. I was tickled pink when she came to our dinner at Type-A Mom. Unfortunately, my need for oxygen has arrived and I need to pry my inhaler for the grip of the Bear.

Follow @debontherocks on Twitter

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I am still struggling with asthma this week. The lack of oxygen is impairing my brain function and sapping my energy. I have brought out a post from last year for your entertainment. By the way, he filed for divorce about 6 weeks ago.

A sociopath in bipolar clothing. The self-absorbed narcissist with three baby daddies. This chick convinced a man twelve years her senior to take charge of some other guy’s kid, while pregnant with said child. Shortly after the birth of this child, she announces she is expecting again! Yippee! A thirteen month spread is more impressive than the mere seventeen months between her first two Oh yes, the current fetus is numero cuatro.

Somehow amongst the getting pregnant, conniving to take advantage of idiot lonely men and lying for no good reason, she has time for vacation. Correction: Vacations. I must be in the wrong game. Maybe its my guilt-ridden-must-have-been-an-Irish-Catholic-in-a-past-life self, but going on two vacations in one year without my two older kids would not be high on my priority list.

Perhaps it is my judgmental bitchy self speaking, but driving my husband across the country whilst six plus months pregnant WITH a ten month-old in tow is nothing but ridiculous. I must be a snotty stuck-up bitch to think it is a giant waste of time (not to mention a recipe for divorce) to drive from one coast to another, then fly back. Their reason? So he can have his vehicle while he is in training for a few months.

What in the name of flying reindeer kind of sense is that? His company purchased a plane ticket to get him across the country. He cashed it in (maybe $500, the company gets cheap fares on red eye flights) and opted to drive to the fucking eastern seaboard so he can have a vehicle for a eight week training all to drive it back.

Is it a romantic notion? Am I missing something? Can a three-thousand mile road trip across the North in January be a good thing? I must be a heartless bitch to not see the good in this. There has got to be some redeeming factor in taking an SUV that gets maybe twenty-two miles per gallon down I-90 in the winter just to have wheels at your disposal later. I bet there are numerous ways to justify paying three to four dollars per gallon. Thusly wasting all the cash you got from cashing in your plane ticket before you hit Philly. Add up the cost of food, fuel and at least one night of lodging. Double that. Five bones, even six is not going to cover that. The togetherness quotient must make it all worthwhile.

I hope the third graders she ditched for all of this agree with her. She should have been forcibly sterilized nine years ago.

Last week, I was invited to join a group of bloggers at {W}rite of passage. This is the brain child of the outstanding Leslie Flinger. She was inspired by Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamont.

Leslie has set up writing challenges for each Monday this month. This week’s topic is Character. We are to
find a person in public today and study their character. Make a story surrounding them. Build them in to your shorty essay. Except I bailed. Fiction is my enemy. I can lie like a rug but not make it into a novel. Hence why I am participated in NaBloPoMo not NaNoWriMo. I want to give props to those who took on the challenge.

Please take some time to read the fabulous essays in the links below: