SWEAT POO

Note to all the foxy ladies out there: Somehow I’m still single

But you should see my legs.

WARNING: Not yummy. Not even a little bit.

Unless you’re jonesing for the taste of amoxicillin. Because you’ve caught Valentine’s Day gonorrhea.

When you can’t get a date, hoard memes

Love is a peasant named Ewing

Pulling the rug out

I’m sorry to kick off Valentine’s Day with news of a failed relationship—especially a new one like this that held such beautiful promise—but the side rugs I bought for my bedroom just aren’t working out with the giant Oriental rug I already have. I thought the minimalist pattern of the side rugs would create charming opposites-attract interest, but the reds just aren’t compatible. They’re not even trying, in fact, and they fight so much that they can’t even be in the same room. So the side rugs are moving out before they’ve even really moved in.

The rugs have agreed to do everything they can to keep this from being awkward or upsetting for everyone. Please try to respect our privacy as we work through this difficult time.

#WeirdStuffICollectOnMyPhone

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow

Well, another Valentine's Day is over and done and nothing is left to show for it but a wobbly hash mark in the record books, 15 reasonably clever and 4 blatantly derivative cat memes on my blog, a mysterious lipstick smudge stretching from my right elbow to a location I'd rather not discuss in front the children thank you, a stray rose petal lodged in the wad of duct tape in my trunk, a carpet stain that I'm pretty sure smells like cupcake sprinkles but in my present condition it's hard to tell, a petulant man-boy wasting space and time and tax dollars in the White House, a mint.com unauthorized spending alert I can't seem to delete from my damn phone, and a curiously designed bra and panty set I've been wearing all day just in case. I hope your day was less humdrum than mine.

Shake and Jake

It's 4:37! Time to make the milkshakes! I mean the metaphors! But I don't have a very big yard, so if you'll please form a single-file line with Sondheim lovers in front, exclamation-point wasters in the middle and Mitch McConnell at the bottom of the ocean, I'll get to you in the order of who has the cutest shoes. If you like chocolate-mint milkshakes, thank you for your time and I'm sorry but GROSS. If you are a cat whisperer or a supermodel in a towel, please contact me privately to schedule a one-on-one milkshake at your earliest convenience. All others, please be aware that your milkshake will be made in a kitchen that routinely processes psychotropics so it may contain traces of nuts. Please bring your own microphone and know all the lyrics to "Our Time" should your milkshake lead to a duet. 

Thank you in advance for coming to my yard, and I hope you enjoy your milkshake. I mean metaphor.

VD with ME

I'm not bitter about being boyfriendless on Valentine's Day. In fact, I embrace the freedom it brings me. Like the freedom to make up words like boyfriendless. So I'm just going to buy 50 boxes of these assorted chocolates and sit at home and celebrate ME. By lying in the dark in the fetal position yelling Adele lyrics at my cat. Happy Valentine's Day to us all!

Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy day.

A Valentine's Day cliché

So I called my little sister on Valentine's Day just to say hello, and she told me she'd ended up in the hospital a few days earlier with chest pains and had ended up wearing a heart monitor for 24 hours. It turns out she has some mild arrhythmia that's nothing really to worry about, though it will need periodic monitoring throughout the rest of her life. Lucky her.

I hadn't planned on telling my family about my abnormal EKG last week until I got more information from my stress test, which will be happening first thing on Wednesday. I didn't want to worry them needlessly, especially because my mom can be the polar opposite of me in interpreting bad news. Where I refuse to get worried until I have something very specific to worry about—like my cold, dead heart sitting in my own bloody hands—my mom has been known to take a benign tidbit of information and blow it out to its absolute worst-possible-case proportions:

Me: Oops. I burned the toast a little.
My mom: I knew it! Cancer!

But the fact that my sister and I both ended up at the doctor's with measurable heart problems within a couple days of each other was too cosmic even for my usually level-headed self to process. So I spilled the beans about my sludge-pumping heart, and we reveled in the bizarre coincidence together. (She, too, knew better than to tell our mom about me, even though I never told her to keep it a secret. I know this to be a fact because Mom emailed me twice on Tuesday and never brought up my imminent—and no doubt painfully fatal—myocardial infarction. (HA! Infarction!))

But the Valentine heart clichés don't stop there—not by a long shot! One of the reasons Mom emailed me only twice on Tuesday was because she spent the day in the hospital with my ex and his mom and his boyfriend while my ex's dad had triple-bypass surgery. Because when my extended family gets heart problems, we make sure we do it with thoroughness and maximum drama. What's more, the poor guy was actually supposed to have a quadruple bypass, but the one artery with 100% blockage was for some reason inoperable. But—and this is the cool part—it was actually growing its own new passageway around the blockage. Which just goes to show you that the human body is totally friggin' cool.

Anyway, I'm not making this post to elicit pity or play the drama card. My sister's fine, I'm gonna be fine, and my ex's dad is recovering nicely, according to all reports.

But if you get offered one of our hearts next Valentine's Day, don't take it. I'm just sayin'.