King of pa-ain...

I spent most of the day in medical appointments. Exactly what I want to do mere hours before I hop on an airplane....

I had an arthrogram MRI. The worst fucking test in the history of mankind. Ok, maybe not the worst... I'm sure coloscopies top the list or some other horrible swallow-this-tube or scrapey scrapey nightmare.... but, this one was really painful. It brought me to tears.

Of course, all of this joy at the doctor's office is the result of a car accident in June. I heart the fact that I'm still spending a lot of my free time getting tests done so the doctors can see for themselves what I already know -- THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH MY ARM.

Wait, am I screaming?

So frustrating...

I have to say that the chap doing my MRI was a total cutey. How do you work that out? That, we met at an MRI and I thought you were hot moment? Stalking? When I was once on a train trip, I blatently gave the dude who was my car attendant my number. HE was cute. What's the line of tacky here?

Tacky v. desperately seeking a date? ... a tough call

I'm off to Finland, friends. I'll be back in town the last week in Feb. I'm sure there will be stories to tell.

Until then, I remain...

--- The Single Gal

This has got to be one of the worst Valentine's Days I have ever had...

Day suckus.

Let me break it down. I believe a list will aid in this telling. Shall we?

1. I get to work. I am accosted by Valentine's Day decor. I immediately want to strangle myself with a pink streamer.

2. A colleague, from China, asks me where my Mr. Right is. 17 times. No kidding. 17 times. Um, he's nowhere. I HAVEN't FOUND HIM YET. Happy?

Fuck.

3. I ate too much chocolate.

4. The present I gave to myself for the day -- a massage -- didn't happen. My therapist forgot or I wrote the time down wrong or something shitty happened.

5. I missed lunch.

6. I had a gyno appointment. In the lobby, I saw one of the receptionists receive a box of roses. I immediately think -- I won't get roses today. Maybe I'll never get roses again. Maybe I'll be alone for the rest of my life. Maybe I will be the cat woman. Old, alone, sad.

This train of thought = shit losing cry fest.

That's right friends, I had a nervous breakdown in the lobby of my gyno's office.

Full on bawling.

Which of course, is not socially acceptable, especially on the fucking day of love. So I'm there, crying like crazy but trying to hide it. Snot everywhere. Trying to hide my face, be nice to the MA, smile when more pregnant women come in with their adoring husbands.

It was a good classy moment there, that crying in the lobby of the gyno's office. Good 'n classy.

Needless to say, I really hate Valentine's Day. I think it gets harder for us single gals as the years go on.

For some reason this one was harder than most.

Hope your day was better than mine...
-- This Single Gal

You really want to know?

All right, I'll tell you.

Someone asked me what I was doing for Valentine's Day.

Do you want the truth?

Yeah, of course.

Well...

I'm having a pap smear.

And that is no lie.

I (don't heart) Valentine's Day

I don't like Valentine's Day. Never have. Regardless of my dating situation.

It's been about a decade since I have not had a sweetie on Valentine's Day. Last year's VDay date was a temporary sweetie, in years past I've spent VDay with my almost-husbands (yes, plural -- sad, isn't it?), serious boyfriends, and quasi-boyfriends.

But this year, my friends, I'm completely and totally single.

I got nothin' -- well, except for some email flirting with a lovely chap I went to college with (who lives in another state) and texting an ex-pro-football player who I'll go out with one of these days...

Love the 21st century seduction techniques...

When I was in college, my friend Steve and I held an annual Bitter Women's party on Valentine's Day. Even though both of us were (or might have been?) in separate "relationships," it became an annual tradition for those of us who hated February (could it be grayer and colder, please?) and didn't like the commercialism of love.

You know what I mean: every kiss begins with Kay... buy diamonds... flowers... candy... Hallmark... blah blah...

puke.

In my rebellious youth, our Bitter Women's party looked something like this:

We decorated the dorm lounge with black streamers.

We encouraged the party goers to come in black.

Our lovely party games included: taking turns hitting a black heart paper maiche pinata and conversation heart smashing contests.

You know the things...

http://www.candyfavorites.com/shop/images/brachs_conversation_hearts.jpg

I felt they needed to be destroyed. Especially shit like "my baby" and "be true."

I told you I was bitter...

So the parties were, you know, college parties... with all of its various drinks and some illegal drugs (I never inhaled)... After a few, they looked like this... tall, long, threatening and yet comforting at the same time...

Imagine, if you will: A Bitter Women's party. Valentine's Day. Early 1990s. Iowa. 50+ college students milling around. In black. Some drugged. Some drunk. Others just pissed off.

Insert hammers.

http://www.global-b2b-network.com/direct/dbimage/50328430/Claw_Hammers.jpg

You are asking for trouble.

The last year of our party I whacked like there was no tomorrow.

Smashing hearts. Candy chunks flying everywhere.

It was fucking awesome.

But suddenly something went terribly wrong... the frenzy moved from a frenzy into an injury... I stprained my wrist.

That's right. Smashing fucking candy hearts. On Valentine's Day.

I figured then it was an omen...

And perhaps it was...

-- The Single Gal

A tour of the house, by Daisy

Hi, I'm Daisy.

I am here to give you a tour of our house.



Our house is good. I like it.

I didn't like living in an apartment. That sucked. And it smelled bad.

Okay.

Here is the tour.

Here is where I like to sit and guard the house from rats, killers, and the cat from next door.




That fucking cat likes to sit on my deck.

That is all kinds of wrong.

This is how I sit and look out the window.

This is my back yard.

Yeah, the leaves still aren't raked.

Softer place for me to take a crap, but it looks bad, you know?

This is how the chandelier looks from where I sit and look out the window.





This is the new couch. I like to sit here. It is fun.

This is the stove. I sit next to it waiting for food to be dropped.

It happens a lot.

I like it.

But, I don't like broccoli. Broccoli is gross.

Cheese good. Broccoli gross.

This is a plant. She got it in Arizona. It is still alive, even though I have knocked it over a bunch of times.

It is time for me to eat.

I hope you enjoyed the tour. Good-bye!