Ah Valentine’s Day. I’m not going to write a whiny post about Valentine’s Day and why it makes me feel sad/inadequate/fat/ugly/etc because it makes me feel none of those things.
Nor does it make me feel like a beloved fairytale princess either.
I don’t buy into that princess shit.
I had a great Valentine’s Day in that it was completely authentic.
For instance, I had this wonderful conversation with My Other Asian Daughter who is in … wait for it … ASIA (actually Thailand I think) when I saw something so adorable but felt like it wouldn’t be okay for me to express my feelings about it on Instagram lest everyone think I’m a perv.
Dad, you are just going to have to Google “yiffing” yourself and remember that I am not into it.
I realize that I prefaced my message to her with “I can only share this with you” but am now sharing it here, but that’s how I normalize my inappropriate feelings.
Then I decided to do the thing that kids these days like to do when they are feeling romantic. I sent some naughty sexts of my ass to Loony.
Yeah, only they weren’t technically pictures of my ass, but it’s the thought that counts right? Also, I happen to know the women IRL who own those adorable bums so I’m not 100% objectifying them. I love them as a whole … and their cute bums.
While I can appreciate a perfectly fiiiine human butt with the rest of them, this is more my thing …
That Siamese butt is literally the only image that came up when I Googled “Siamese cat balls.” Internet, why do you fail me now?
I also sent Loony this …
Loony made his delicious Valentine’s cookies (he gave me one when I was 19 as a matter of fact) and the night before, while we were watching Commando, he tried to stealthily remind the boys that maybe they should make a card for mom or something.
But Arnold was kicking ass very loudly so they couldn’t hear and in their completely doofus way they were all, “WHAT, HUH, WHAT DID YOU SAY DAD? VALENTINE’S IS WHAT? WHO SHOULD WE MAKE CARDS FOR?”
So much for the element of surprise.
But I was actually super surprised when Itchy presented me with a card in the morning. Never mind that it was a Christmas card that he crossed out the Christmassy stuff from.
And he was super huggy and lovey which I enjoy with great relish as he makes his way into teendom.
Sideboob gave me a gift certificate to get cupped for Xmas and I really, really, really liked it. Not because I think it “moves energy” or “detoxifies” me or some shit (and my cupper doesn’t think so either) it’s just a kickass massage technique. And it feels soooo good.
But then this happened …
The worst thing about having the marks on me was that I had to talk about cupping every time I saw someone and they wanted to know what the fuck just happened to me and I had to explain that I like it because it feels good and not for the woo-woo reasons.
In fact, I liked cupping so much that I bought some silicone cups to try out on Loony and the kids. My massage therapist oils my skin down and glides the cups around my back, it feels incredible. They only leave marks when she leaves them in one place for a long time. So I gave everyone little cupping sessions on their backs. Zero suction cup marks.
Scratchy had a Valentine’s party so I pulled out all the stops and brought snacks to class. I felt heroic. I was a hero.
I also brought the Scheissehund to school which caused a sensation amongst the kids. Scheissehund bore his burden magnificently as he submitted to being pet by all the children and didn’t bite even one kid in the face.
I must admit that I kind of liked being at the elementary school again. I have always been a hardcore room mom, sometimes being room mom for two classes at a time. Now I’m hardly at the school because Scratchy walks to school with Loony who volunteers at the Hug and Go lane in the mornings. Then he walks home by himself.
But today, to be surrounded by very short people in the halls, greeted by name by the teachers, to have all the kids in the class call me Miss Vivienne and have such happy faces when I presented them with the treats and offered to write their names on their Valentine’s bags in bubble letters, it was a moment that was deeply sweet and satisfying.
Anyway, even Mr. Bates got into the spirit of things by letting me pet him for 15 seconds – aka the best 15 seconds of my day.
And looking around I’m thinking my house is getting really, really, really catty.
Valentine’s Day was great.
Oh, on Sunday I woke up at zero-dark-thirty to make breakfast and get the kids up to Eldora to go snowboarding. I was out of eggs so I wandered into my neighbor’s yard to check the coop and then went back home. Once I got there my neighbor texted me that his alarm went off.
Weird. I didn’t go anywhere near his house, certainly not inside (it was an interior sensor that was tripped) but I told him I’d go back over and check it out and got the shit scared out of me by Officer Williams from the Boulder police. It was dark out, see.
Anyway, he smelled super good – like aftershave – but I didn’t tell him that.
Then I went home and woke up the family and Loony came downstairs first and I told him about my neighbor and he said, “Do you think it’s the guy sleeping in our sunroom?”
First we checked to see if he belonged to one of the girls, but they weren’t home so no. Plus, I can’t see either of them hanging out with a guy who wear fitted shorts and topsiders. Then I tried to wake him up from across the room but he was dead to the world so I called 911.
They were all, “Ma’am, take your children and wait outside for the police to arrive!” and I was like, “This dude is super out of it, I’ve been banging around the kitchen for an hour and he’s not awake yet so I don’t think he’s going to wake up any time soon,” to which dispatch said, “Is he alive?” and I was like, “Good question.”
So Loony got close enough to see that he was breathing and then four of Boulder’s Finest showed up (but not Officer Williams unfortunately) and I wish I had taken a picture of all four of them standing around this guy when he woke up.
I had no interest in pressing charges, he obviously got blackout drunk and wandered into my house. He was lucky he didn’t get shot like this gal, Loony left the door unlocked in case on the girls got home late (which I yelled at him for) and the biggest questions I have is …
WHY DO I EVEN HAVE DOGS?!?!
I’m at the point where that kind of stuff doesn’t phase me anymore. The fuzz gave the guy a stern talking to and he went on his merry – and extremely hungover – way. I did not offer him breakfast.
Oh hell, somewhere in my blog I wrote about another drunk rando that passed out on Blue’s dog bed. But I can’t find it.
We managed to get the whole business wrapped up and still made it to Eldora bright and early.
Onto other topics, I find this highly offensive …
… offensive to tardigrades!
I thought it would be really funny to name my dog Tardigrade and call him Tard for short and then when someone glared at me for being an insensitive asshole I would be like, “It’s short for Tardigrade! What did you think it was short for. Oh wait, did you think … WHAT KIND OF ASSHOLE WOULD EVEN SUGGEST (rant rant rant)!?” and watch them twist.
I think I’m an asshole for even thinking it.
Wow, this is really going downhill.
Look at what I found in my drier! It’s a miracle!
Actually, what happened is that one of the treads inside the drier popped off and these beauties were forming inside it over the years. It makes me want to pop all the treads off to see what’s inside. And then go to a junkyard and pry the treads off of ALL THE DRIERS and see if there are more balls inside.
I expressed this desire to Itchy and passed on a very sage bit of advice. Are you ready, Grasshopper?
When choosing an object of desire to collect over a lifetime, make sure it is a rare and hard to find object. And that it’s small. Ergo my cat whisker collection. I have a friend who collects paintings on circular saw blades. I guess it was a thing a long time ago.
Here are more quotes from City of Mirrors which I am almost done with.