So far away yet so very close

So Valentines Day is over, and so is it's surrounding weekend. I had a good time.

Well, after having expereinced February 13th, 14th and 15th of 2004, I have come to a few conclusions.

The first is that I still don't completly understand what valentines day is -supposed- to mean. I understand what it means to me (finally)... Yet, I don't understand what it's supposed to be about in this day and age. Like, okay, Christimas is about the birth of that dude the Jews killed... (Not hitler, the other one... oh wait hitler was the other way around) but valentines day is so commercialized that it's truly nothing more than a guilt trip.

Do we, as women, not already weild enough power over the weak-willed, erect-penised men whom we oft enjoy the company of? Do women not already get the best of our male companions, and receive daily affermations of affection in every variety: verbal, non-verbal, material and immaterial? Are we not already causing them enough internal termoil with our harmone driven mood swings, cravings for chocolate and passive-aggressive behavior? Are females not doing enough to cause our men personal anguish and frustration every time they're without us on a cold night, and desire our warm supple bodies housing them as we softly (or, in my case, not so softly) moan out their name? Well, I guess not, because the poor saps keep buying chicks valentines day shit.

Valentines day is nice for us, but I think it's kind of a crock for guys. Any guy I've ever spoken to about valentines day- men I have befriended, dated, worked with or hated- they all think valentines day should basically be called, "Womens Appreciation Day -slash- Get your Boyfriend/Husband/Girlfriend/Wife (in San Francisco) to Be A Goddamn Romantic Day." It's just as important for girls to know they're loved as it is for a guy to know he's sexually desired. Now that varies from person to person, but for the most part, guys are driven sexually, and chicks are driven emotionally. I'm not saying a good fuck doesn't make my day, or that I think guys don't like hearing that a girl gives a hoot about his emotions, but affermation of affection will not only make my panties wet, but it'll make my fucking week too. Getting laid is great, but it's not the same as knowing someone loves you so much they think about you when they're brushing their teeth, and whatnot.

The second conclusion is that I've officially become one of the chicks I used to hate when I was single. I would have hated me (now) with my happy fuckin' relationship and my journal entries about love, spewing gushy affection regarding my goddamn adorble boyfriend from my freshly kissed lips. I'm such a vile disgusting creature, with my statments of "Aww, you're so sweet," and that fucking couple mentality where I use often words like, ours, we, and us. Goddamnit, how dare I! I would have called myself a spoiled selfish bitch, and that I hoped one day I (the me I am now) would one day understand my (me then) personal hell of dangling by one hand on the tightrope of emotional satisfaction. I feel kinda bad, but then again, when I was bitching about how much I disliked single life, I felt bad about complaining. So fuck it. I feel bad, ya'll, but this is my life right now. Sorry if it sucks.

Another conclusion- I like my apartment being clean. I cleaned my apartment this weekend so that (uh oh, boyfriend gushing ahead) it would be really nice for when Frank came over on Saturday. My bedroom is clean, if you can believe it. I hardly can. I even washed most of my dishes. That doesn't sound like much, I know, but I'm such a lacksidasial housekeeper that this is truly an event to be celibrated.

Pathetic.

Here's another conclusion for you. I think I am among the ranks of functional alchoholics, and a portion of me is proud of this in a sick way, but a larger part of me wants to stop this before it truly starts. I have a fondness for drinking stuff that isn't water, in general (fruit punch gatorade, starbucks hot chocolate, vanilla pepsi, orange juice, vanilla lattes, coffee [yeah I like a little cream in my coffee!] the list goes on people) so downing booze is basically second nature. I can't tell if I have a problem or not (I don't think I do, since being drunk hasn't effected my life - work, money, friends, love life- but what junkie admits to having a problem?). A lot of this whole thing has to do with my Grandfather's death, and my direct association with him and liquor, and that not all alcholics are completly bad people. The smell of liquor reminds me of him, and that kind of makes me comfortable.

I'm sure somehow, that's kind of a serious fucking problem.

I've put a lot of thought into this. Alli said that alkies drink more than 6 drinks a month. Well, I've had maybe, 13 drinks so far this month, and it's only half over, lol... and there's liquor in my apartment right now. I don't think I'm gonna drink it all by myself, though. Had I drank while I was out with Liza last night, I'd surely be in the upper teens in the month's drink count. This month is a little unusual, though-- I'm catching up on a lot of hang-outage. I doubt I'll have 13 drinks in march, but we'll see. There's always time for a weekend drinky-drink. I think my problem is that I not only have that pop-pop association, but I also associate drinking with having a good time. I don't need to have liquor in my body to have a good time by far, but it sure helps, lol. I've never been drunk, and had a lousy time, so perhaps I need to have a bad drinking expereince to keep me driving steadliy on the road of moderation?

Roofie colada for one, please?

I do understand why chefs often drink while they're cooking. It makes time pass while you're waiting for the shit in the oven to bake... although I don't think I'd want to drink while cooking alone in my apartment. I'm prone to accidentally burning myself while sober. I'm sure if I wasn't being at least partially supervised while drunk-cooking, I'd burn my pinky fingers off or microwave a severed toe.

Yum. Don't you all want some of my cooking now?

This is my favorite conclusion of the weekend, and it's one I already knew: For the record, I work really fucking well under pressure. In fact, I do my best 10 minutes before something is supposed to be done (or a day before). I think that's why I procrastinate so much, I like the rush of having to get shit done right away... or else. I also really, really enjoy planning things, and seeing them out to fruition. Valentines day was kickass for me 'cause aside from the obvious funness, I successfully planned a fun evening with very little assistance that Frank enjoyed.

Shit like that really gets me all proud and excited.

love and adoration,

pammie j