Happy Valentine’s Day! Now, I normally dislike a Hallmark holiday as much as the next person, but this weekend was great. I’m only going to write a little bit, because I have to leave and get more Cadbury Creme Eggs. I’m all out, and that ain’t right.
A coupla snippets:
I stood next to Lala in the Atlas Cafe on Saturday night, listening to the Mercury Dimes play bluegrass (she says it’s old time — maybe it’s bluegrassy old time). I realized I was with my date, listening to fiddle music. That was big. I was perfectly happy. Then we went with a bunch of folks and crashed the square dance (five of us got in for $10 total, instead of the $12 per head we should have paid — Camilla is very blond). I made my girl dizzy spinnin’ her around.
Sunday, Lala and I went to Stitches, and shopped for yarn (I mostly picked up sock yarn stuff, nothin’ exciting). But I realized, yet again, she’s flipping perfect for me. It’s really rather ridiculous. Old time music, to yarn, to being lazy together all day today. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better person, period, full stop, let alone one that would love me back like this. I’m rich, and happy, and luckier than hell. (And she’s H.O.T.)
Oh, this is getting sappy, innit? I’ll break it up. Romantic vignette: For a year I lived literally around the corner from a porn store, and Lala lived not far from the same one for about three years. Now that she’s in my old place, we pass it all the time, and comment on its clientele seen going in and out (as Valentine’s Day approached this year, it became Valentine Headquarters, as declared the large red sign outside). The other night, as we made our usual jokes about going in, we actually looked at each other and said, "Wanna?" So we did, and we wandered the store giggling and pointing and probably pissing off the more serious customers.
But I did have a point. It’s this: The magazines are sorted by, well, tastes, and in with all the jugs magazines was BUST. As in Debbie Stoller. As in the clerks had never even opened the magazine; they must have just going by name. Either that or the clerk was getting a good laugh on the guys who bought it.
Now that’s what V-Day is all about. Now off for creme eggs. And milk. A perfect dinner.
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