A break from the emotional funk.

I feel good, I feel great, I'm happy. I'm sitting here alone with the cats, and it's relaxing. I'm zen. I'm daydreaming about the Best Boyfriend Ever, watching TV, playing Mahjong Tiles, and contemplating food.

The downside?? My feet are cold. Yuck.

Men are pigs.

Respecting your girlfriend's virtue does NOT give you the right to call up your ex-girlfriend and ask her for risqué photos to tide you over until you finally get laid. I hope his penis shrivels up.

Let's set the record straight here.

St Valentine's Day is a holiday in the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox traditions (celebrated on February 14th and sometime in July, respectfully) named after not one, but several men who were all martyrs when the Roman Empire was still the big cheese in the known world. Stabbed, maimed, fed to lions, crucified, beheaded, what have you, for worshiping a guy who pissed off the Pharisees and ended up dead on a cross two thousand years ago.

Oh, swoon.

I don't know what Geoffrey Chaucer was smoking, but he is the one to blame for this day being all romantical. (It's a word in the dictionary. Don't ask which dictionary, just take my word for it.) He lived and died in the Middle Ages when courtly love was popular. I define "courtly love" as "pretending to be in love with unattainable members of the opposite sex". As opposed to real love.

You still with me?? A holiday named after brutally murdered martyrs in honor of horny teenagers lusting after much-older married women.

And then Hallmark was born, heralding the Apocalypse and the End of Times. Head for the hills!!

Now that I've set the record straight on Valentine's Day, I am going to go and smile dreamily at the roses that Rich sent me. Whee!!