HAPPY FAKE HOLIDAY FOR LOVE!

Happy Valentine's Day. May Cupid poke his love-arrow into your soft warm spot....

Your heart, that is. Perhaps you and I both need to get our minds out of the Gutter O' Lust, me especially. Today is a special day...for card manufacturers and florists, that is. Valentine's Day, to me, seems completely unnecessary. Why should there be a day designated during the year for lovers and couples and people who care for each other? Should not every day be thus? Do I seem bitter? Or do I raise a valid point? Is it a point that has been raised many times before by people who express said point much better than I? Probably.

Maybe I am bitter. Maybe I want that special someone in my life to whom I could demonstrate my love with a good dinner and perhaps flowers and/or a box of noodles. Maybe I'm bitter and lonely. No and no. But it would be nice to spend a night with a lover rather than spending the night alone on the flea-riddled couch, checking out the latest on the Spice Channel with a box of tissues and a container of butter.

I joke; I kid.

Here's how my Valentine's Day has gone, thus far: At 12:07 this morning, a girl who I'd been seeing recently sent me a text message that read, "Happy Valentine's Day ;)". Now, the bust-up had been rather vitriolic and I hadn't talked to the woman in about four weeks, so I didn't really know how to interpret this message. At first, I took it at face value--She hoped that all was well and she was wishing me a happy day. But then I noticed the ";)" which made me think that it was a sarcastic offering, basically saying that I was a dweeb and she was not and she had someone and I was alone. Whatever. I didn't care. So I responded, "You too." Bam! Not half a minute later, she sent a text saying, "Thanks are you still mad at me?"

Was I still mad at her? Was I ever really mad at her? Basically, it was just bemusement and a sense of bafflement with the way things had ended--not red-hot anger. There had been some anger, but really not too much. Basically, there had been relief. So, anyway, I let her hang for a bit, as I took Louie outside and then I came back in and wrote the most unemotional thing that I could: "I'm over it. Going to bed. Take care." That was good, to me. I had things to vent to her, but I figured that there would be no point in doing so. Plus, I had liked her quite a bit...I was sorry that things had ended so immaturely. I went to bed. There were no more texts from her.

Psycho-Pop-Adam: I think she's feeling lonely. And on such a special special day! [wipes tears from eyes] I reckon there weren't all those men to fill my position, as she had stated. What comes around, goes around, chica. 'Tis Karmic, if nothing else.

I woke up this morning to my 69th day of sobriety. Ironic, isn't it? The most romantic day of the year and my sobriety corresponds accordingly with the slang number for an incredibly-popular sexual position! My life is blessed. Seriously.

Unfortunately, though, I had to go to court. (See above snapshot.) I got clipped for speeding on January 10th--an offense, coincidentally, that was inadvertently caused by the above woman's inability to get out of bed in a timely manner, thus causing me to be late for an appointment, thus causing me to speed, thus leading to a ticket--and I went to court today to try to reduce the fine or reduce the points on my license or at least get something accomplished. I was in and out of there like a crack-whore polishing off her last blowjob of the night. Fast, in other words. And absolutely for naught. The points remained, the fine stayed stiff and now I'm lugging around six points on my license after four or five years of perfection.

And so I was grumpy as I drove home on the slippery snowy streets of metropolitan Detroit.

And but then I thought about it. Rationally. There was one offense on my driving record that I could not really remember. I'd gotten two points for speeding in Royal Oak on Labor Day. I thought back with more ferocity and then--eureka!--I remembered.

'Twas Labor Day and I'd been late for a disc golf session. I'd had about five or six beers in me, so I wasn't paying as rapt attention to the road as I usually do. I'd sped through a construction zone and--lo and behold--a cop had seen it from his spider hole on Marias Street. He'd pulled me over and he'd known that I'd been imbibing--I'd told him, somewhat honestly, that I'd had a couple--but he'd let me off, telling me to leave the car and walk home. So, to recap, even without being drunk, I would have been in deep shit. Here in Michigan, if one is caught speeding in a work zone, one's points and the fine are doubled. So, yeah, I was lucky, in retrospect. I won't even go into how much shit rolls downhill for drunken driving. (I wonder if they double the fine for drunk driving in a work zone, too? Probably. Gotdamn! Yet again, I was lucky.)

So, today, realizing that I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouf, I immediately ceased my grousing and thanked God, and set about determining just how to celebrate my 69th day of sobriety on this oh-so blessed day: I'm working on being a contortionist. =)~~(=