s.o.s.

So.

The notion of hating Valetime’s Day is almost as much of a cliché as Valentime’s Day itself.

But…

I got hit hard by Valentime’s Day this year. And usually I can snap back from these things pretty quickly. But it was a bit much this year, and I’m real, real glad that the damn day is gone. Don’t get me wrong: my favorite lyric is still “No I’m no one’s wife but…oh, I love my life” and all that jazz, but it seemed that every experience I’ve had this week has uh…reminded me of my solitude, and I’m man enough to admit that had a hard time choking it down. In fact, after dinner with the OSW, I found myself at home, texting LJ: “I’m bored and mad and I don’t want to be at home.” Neat.

Anyhoo…speaking of OSW, please don’t believe him when he implies that I dragged him out on VD for dinner. It was a fascinating cultural experiment. I’m just thrilled that he didn’t throttle the shitty waitress at the restaurant. The waitress acted like she had thirty tables to manage, when she in fact had only four plus half an empty bar. Waiting tables ain’t rocket scientry, y’all…

I decided to do some retail therapy the next day, and was assaulted by the Israeli lady at the “Dead Sea Salt” kiosk at the mall (first mistake). Literally assaulted. She was VERY aggressive and before I knew it, she had buffed two of my fingernails. With a smug, self-satisfied look that said, “There! Isn’t that fabulous?” she asked what I thought. I said, “It’s a little too ‘Jersey mafia hood’ for my taste,” and walked away. I mean, I don’t let Lily at the Gorgeous Pretty Beauty Nail Salon buff my nails, why should I let Rivke from Tel Aviv do it…?

Sheesh. I gotta drag myself out of this funk.