It’s Valentines’ Day. Insert derision here: _______
More importantly, I feel pretty today, oddly. I like my makeup (variations on a theme of
pink chocolate) and my hair. It’s cold,
truly cold, for like the second time this year, so I’m proving that I still
know how to build a layered outfit (grey knit knee highs, brown cargos, pink
bra, grey tank, pink thermal knit long sleeve, blue merino sweater, blue
skullie, brown boots.) I'm eating a quickie lunch w/ my friend-boy, at his house, and the word "steak" has been bandied about. Yum. OVerall, a low key, low stress duck and dodge of a day. Except.
The boy, whom I
have said multiple times is more for our mutual convenience than for any kind
of romantic love, has pulled off a minor key, major holy-shit coup.
My Day:
8am: @Neilhimself’s
Harlequin Valentine audio: because this is my gift to myself for an inherently irritating
holiday of angst and faux.
11:00am: Explain to boss-again-that I need to leave
for lunch early so I can have 5.7 seconds in the same place and time as my
murse.
12:00pm: Arrive at boy’s house to nearly done
ribeyes and L’Ecole 41 Syrah. Fringe’s “Welcome to Westfield”
is already queued up.
12:10pm: Oh holy cats do I love Fringe. LOVE. Lovelovelove.
12:45pm: Clean up his kitchen (He cooks, I
clean. Hey, we’ve only got a 30 minute
overlap to work with here, okay?)
12:55pm: Get
in car only to realize that at sone point he’d ganked and returned my keys in
order to get in my car and put the new Leonard
Cohen in my sound system.
1:05pm: Late
getting back to work because I was listening to new Leonard Cohen. Worth it.
5:02pm: Get
CD out of car, only to realize that he’s actually burned me a copy and titled
it “Crazy to Love You” thereby eliminating all the angst that had been building
about my “friendboy” maybe trying to become a “boyfriend.” Because I’ve listened to that song, and I’m
okay with being that girl. And he is too.
Best Over Commercialized Holliday EVA!
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