This fuckin' day, man.
(c) Miss Doxie, who apparently spent all day yesterday making old Valentines hilarious.
This is my first man-free Valentine's Day since 1996, and in 1996 I ended up getting secret admirer flowers. It's 3:28 p.m. It looks like I'm getting shit. No one secretly admires my ass, or even blatantly does.
My family and friends, knowing this was always my favorite holiday, sent me cards and textses--yes, I just said textses--because they're probably all worried Ima off myself. Dear F&F: I'm not gonna off myself. Because Lexapro.
My Aunt Mary has sent me Valentines stuff since I was a kid, because she enjoyed the part where I had a weird favorite holiday. I have always liked the colors and the romance and the relatively gaudy parts of this day. Anyway, she got me that pretty pink necklace, above.
And a little block thing that has pretty flowers on it no matter which way you place it. Plus, a romantic remote.
And a pretty box. So to speak. I can only hope someone will come over soon and say, "What a lovely box, June." Hi, mom. There's mom in the picture, under my pretty box.
Dear Googlers who are disappointed this is just a blog about a nice box: Sorry.
Love. Lovelovelovelovelove the sparkly heart. I feel like I'm so easy to buy for. Is it pink? Does it sparkle? Does it match her pretty box? Okay, I'll get over it. I want you to know that robe on the bed is not my fault. Edsel pulls that robe off the hook and takes it to the bed where he can ecstatically rub his head in it, over and over.
Anyway. The last time I had no man on Valentine's Day, in 1996 when I got secret admirer flowers, I ended up meeting Marvin later that year. So. Dear Marvin: I do not want to meet you again. But maybe someone Marvin-esque. Well. In that he's willing to make a commitment. Not stuff each drawer with black inexplicable cords.
Tonight my friend is having a small dinner party, to celebrate this shit day. That's how she presented it to me when she invited me. So Ima go. We're having pork tacos, or maybe we're all gonna pork a taco, and I'm fine with it either way.
I have to proofread statistics now so Ima go. While the rest of you get your stupid breakfasts in bed and so on. A bunch of women got flowers on Friday, and a guy I work with pulled these fake ones out of the trash for me, so I wouldn't feel bad. And that sums up my love life.