Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near? How do I love thee (I'll count the ways)? What level of debt adequately proves my heart's burning desire? These are the big questions rearing their heads over the course of February 1st to 4:59p February 14th (everyone knows you have until 5p the day of to pull something out of your ass).
I've seen all sorts of solicitations for bribing your loved one to fall madly in love with you. Jewelry (thank you DeBeers for your commitment to years of anthropological and psychological study to establish what truly makes a woman "tick"), crappy mass-produced floral arrangements thrown together by monkeys who would otherwise fling poo from an FTD shop "near you!" (nicely tossed into an equally crappy vase -- BONUS), and the newest testament of love with technological relevance: a CELL PHONE. Get one for you and her. Because you aren't connected at the hip enough already and everyone knows that punching a string of seven digits strengthens your love bond.
Oh oh oh...lest I forget the chocolate. Please do not forget the mandatory melt-in-the-mouth pure goodness, molded into bite-sized morsels and wrapped up in a purdy box n' bow. Of course, I use the term "pure goodness" loosely. In 2007, the Chocolate Manufacturers Association lobbied the FDA to change the legal definition of chocolate, letting them substitute partially hydrogenated vegetable oils for cocoa butter in addition to using artificial sweeteners and milk substitutes. I don't know about you, but my momma always said I needed to eat more veggies -- and now, thanks to chocolatier shortcuts, I can consume oil of vegetables in a tastier form. And it's only partially hydrogenated!
And here's more uplifting news for those still ready to hurl their Hersey bars out the window. In 2006, the FDA lowered (by one-fifth) the amount of lead permissible in candy! Of course compliance is only voluntary and while chocolate has one of the higher concentrations of lead among products that constitute a typical Westerner's diet, a 2006 review article stated that there is a "paucity of data on lead concentrations in chocolate products". Wheeeee! Bring on the chocolate fountain, I'm talking a bath in it.
Veteran V-day participants might be savvy enough to combine the flower and chocolate mandates into one snazzy gift sure to make her flail about with unbridled lust (oh, and love) with...you ready for this? Long stemmed milk chocolate roses! That's right, you read between the lines correctly: two birds with one stone, my friend. Best of all, these flowering professions of love don't wilt and can last as long as her will-power does!
And if you really love each other, with your newly purchased mobiles you can perform daily check-ins, ensuring her vital signs haven't diminished and she's free of any lead poisoning symptoms, such as retching, cramping, fatigue, and headaches (violent sobs are not attributed to lead but may be the result of a poorly-crafted Valentine). Because really nothing says "I love you" like the concern of a guilt-ridden boyfriend who may or may not have inadvertently given you lead-laced chocolate. Happy Valentine's Day!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
To the Redhead at Point Defiance Zoo
I lay on my couch, staring contemplatively at the Spackled ceiling, saline drops of sadness pooling in my eyes as I thought of my long-passed pops, tragically playing scenes staring my 12 year-old self and him in my head. He left when I was nine months-old, his passion for and commitment to drugs taking up a good portion of his waking hours -- but dammit, if he had not spent his money on dime bags and eight balls, he would have shelled out a couple of bucks for a birthday card now and then. I know he would have, I can feel it in my gut. Or was the the left over Mu Shu Pork from Panda Palace? Either way, after 10 minutes the absurdity of my blubbering image hit me and I laughed between sobs, sounding like a choked gurgle, at the histrionic display of self-pity, thinking "get a hold of yourself, Bex." I mentally shook my shoulders until the sense lodged firmly back in place, then heaved myself out of the couch's comfortable embrace and pulled out my laptop -- where I sullenly skimmed the "Missed Connections" on Craigslist instead. Damn you, Craig and your lists of lost or never-yet-had loves. With each title I lamented my lack of presence there on the screen. Why can't I be the adored redhead seen ogling the gorillas on Sunday? Aside from being blonde and avoiding zoos all together, tell me why?
A well-meaning friend, tired of seeing me trudge through life alone as he beamed with newly-engaged bliss, suggested a little thing called "online dating". I may have had a look of disgust on my face at the time, but I swore I was open to considering it. So I simultaneously considered and crossed off while we dissected my life over California rolls and miso. Simply put: I do not do that.
Yet eight days and 43 solo meals later I found myself selecting the damn three month option (just shy of a $200 commitment)on eHarmony. The heavens only know what inspired me, though I will point a bitter finger at the handsome cowboy I met two weeks prior (aka "The Catalyst) who lit a fire under my cold, detached ass making me question my rigid single status.
And I tell you--it's liberating. Now I can see it in black and white, bold-face type when someone closes the match because they have not one iota of interest in pursuing communication. And you even have a list of choices to choose from: other, no chemistry, didn't like your "must haves", couldn't see us between the sheets (no, no...that's just one I want them to adopt). So no more wasting time pondering possibilities, such as "he lost my number", "he secretly had a girlfriend and felt horrified at our tryst", or my personal favorite, "he was electrocuted while trying to dial my number in a thunderstorm because the lightening reminded him our first kiss". Yah. That's a good one. So thank you, eHarmony for taking that from me. I'm a better, more grounded person because of it.
Subsequently, I've gone back to reading the Missed Connections with a box of Kleenex next to me. And what do you know -- I was in there! Certain as my name is Bex that it was me, the blonde with natural beauty spotted at the University Trader Joe's. My admirer was in black, eying me from a far. Excitedly, I remember him. His pale skin complemented by the dark hoodie he sported. The beady eyes boring through me. The way my skin crawled when I repeatedly ran into him aisle after aisle. I sit back, a huge shit-eating grin on my face. To the blonde sneaking away from TJ's... I AM a missed connection. And pervy stalkers be damned, my faith is restored that you can meet people the good ol' fashioned way.
A well-meaning friend, tired of seeing me trudge through life alone as he beamed with newly-engaged bliss, suggested a little thing called "online dating". I may have had a look of disgust on my face at the time, but I swore I was open to considering it. So I simultaneously considered and crossed off while we dissected my life over California rolls and miso. Simply put: I do not do that.
Yet eight days and 43 solo meals later I found myself selecting the damn three month option (just shy of a $200 commitment)on eHarmony. The heavens only know what inspired me, though I will point a bitter finger at the handsome cowboy I met two weeks prior (aka "The Catalyst) who lit a fire under my cold, detached ass making me question my rigid single status.
And I tell you--it's liberating. Now I can see it in black and white, bold-face type when someone closes the match because they have not one iota of interest in pursuing communication. And you even have a list of choices to choose from: other, no chemistry, didn't like your "must haves", couldn't see us between the sheets (no, no...that's just one I want them to adopt). So no more wasting time pondering possibilities, such as "he lost my number", "he secretly had a girlfriend and felt horrified at our tryst", or my personal favorite, "he was electrocuted while trying to dial my number in a thunderstorm because the lightening reminded him our first kiss". Yah. That's a good one. So thank you, eHarmony for taking that from me. I'm a better, more grounded person because of it.
Subsequently, I've gone back to reading the Missed Connections with a box of Kleenex next to me. And what do you know -- I was in there! Certain as my name is Bex that it was me, the blonde with natural beauty spotted at the University Trader Joe's. My admirer was in black, eying me from a far. Excitedly, I remember him. His pale skin complemented by the dark hoodie he sported. The beady eyes boring through me. The way my skin crawled when I repeatedly ran into him aisle after aisle. I sit back, a huge shit-eating grin on my face. To the blonde sneaking away from TJ's... I AM a missed connection. And pervy stalkers be damned, my faith is restored that you can meet people the good ol' fashioned way.
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