Happy V. D.
Syphillis... chlamydia... and for the gift that really keeps on giving... Herpes.
Screw the diamonds this year...
Oh, wait. Where was I?
Sure, it's a manufactured holiday, benefitting no-one but hallmark, chocolatiers, the rose growers of the world, and DeBeers, forcing you to corral your affections into trite sentiments expressed in three-lines or less on some shmaltzy card with a cutsey-wootise teddy bear on it. And if you need to have a specific day set aside to tell someone you love them, you've got bigger problems than a cheap-ass Russell Stover box of candies is going to fix. But I will say this. If I get flowers, a card, or a call today, I will be the giddiest motherfucker this side of the Mississippi.
Why?
Because I fucking can.
Truth be told, ANY day I get a call, or a card, or some token admiration of some sort, I am a giddy little schoolgirl. I'm an affection whore. I admit it. C'mon. If someone sends you fleurs, are you not walking on cloud twelve every time you look over at them (and you look often, with a big stupid grin on your face, because "SOMEBODY CARES! HEE! ABOUT ME!!")
Realistically, I know this won't happen today. But it doesn't mean that I can't be all squishy and happy inside anyway.
(And why do I know realistically? Because despite knowing that someone misses me, I am not quite sure what our relationship... IS.... not that everything in life has to be quantified. Things are nebulous at the moment- though I know what I'd like it to be. I don't want to freak anyone out, least of all myself, and get ahead of where I should be.. but hey...)
Anyway.
A Happy Valentine's Day to each and every one of you, with the attendant flowers, confections, and sweet-sweet lovin' that goes with it.
Now go on, before I lose my reputation as a cranky bitch.
posted by Special Sauce @ 9:50 AM
4 Comments:
Awwwww...Saucy has a boyfriend, Saucy has a boyfriend [/childish chant]
I, on the other hand, am tragically solitary today and the only flowers I will receive are those that I buy for myself. On the other hand, I'm rather a fan of buying myself flowers. I figure that if I don't treat myself like a princess, no one is going to do it for me.
Enjoy your day. I'm glad to see someone enjoying the giddiness.
Hee!! [/blush] not exactly, but hey...
Do what I'll probably do, MWN, wait till tomorrow, because the roses will go on sale! Woo! (As will the chocolate, but you usually have to be at Walgreens at dawn to get the good ones for cheap)
Whee!
Aww. My dad got me fleurs. :) 3 white roses. That was sweet.
So to counter the sweetness Evil now decides that she has some sort of UTI (since she's been in the box a lot more than usual the past day or so, and cat pee shouldn't leave pink clumps) so we'll be taking a trip to the vet, tomorrow, perhaps. (I love our vet.)
I think I'll miss my arms the most. I hope it won't take me too long to learn to type with my toes, because damn, this cat not only hates "outside" she hasn't been to the vet since she got de-partsed like... seven years ago. Getting her in the carrier should be fine. It's getting her back OUT that will be the problem.
It will give her a new reason to pee all over my stuff too.
This was my first celibate V.D., and my mom sent me a gift card for the restaurant within walking distance (double thoughtful on the mom front as I may/may not be legally driving when I get my car fixed), so I took myself there, ate a lot of stuff, flirted with the hot hostess who I was this-close to giving up on the celibacy for if it weren't for the fact that I have a strong ethic about sleeping with drunk girls who aren't QUITE broken up with their full-time girlfriends. Call me crazy.
Then I splurged and took a cab home because I was fat and fed and didn't feel like going up the hill balancing a to-go box. And then I smoked a fatty and told myself I love me.
Then I went to Food Lion and bought a big ol' Russell-Stover heart shaped box on sale today, and I'm going to eat the whole thing and imagine that my first ex has been reduced to moving back to his hometown and packing chocolate (he and his mom worked at the R-S factory at one point) for the rest of his life, which makes him FAR lamer than me. (Because he's a lame-ass, not because of the blue-collar thing; that's just the thing he always swore he'd never do. Ass.) Chocolate tastes better when flavored with revenge, don't you think? And living well is the best revenge.
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