I just realized that it’s just a less than a week before Valentine’s Day. As much as I try block out the world when everyone starts to become mushy, there will be a couple of people who will break into my zen bubble and piss the hell out of me. You will then see me retreat into my room, crying, bird in hand, wanking off.
Okay, to be really honest, I’m not even making a huge deal out of Valentine’s anymore. It’s like the whole novelty of the stupid day has died for me. Also, I don’t even know if I’m willing to blow half my salary for a bouquet of roses anymore. You know, if I’m going to invest in getting laid, I’d be better off handing girls a note that says “Let’s fuck! No? K.” Yeah, I’d be rejected, but even if I do spend a lot of roses and shit, the it’s still going to turn out the same anyway. At least Post-its are infinitely cheaper than roses.
Seriously though, February 14’s going to be kind of a bitch to me because I may have a girlfriend, but she’s in some faraway land where things like Bryan Adams come from. So… yeah. Aside from spending half the day in my room with Mary Palmer to keep me company, I also plan to get drunk while watching Legally Blonde or Mean Girls or something.
I actually don’t know what my point is. But if you have money for a two-way ticket to Bryan Adams land or if you can afford to bring her back here, it would be awesome and you’ll be my new best friend. Alternatively, we can just get drunk, but I can’t assure you that I won’t get creepy afterwards.