More than that, I hate being cliche.

I really wasn't going to say anything about Valentine's Day. Everyone's going to talk about fucking Valentine's Day. Even if I had had a legitimate Valentine, I would avoid fucking talking afuckingbout fucking Valentine's fucking Day.

So I woke up this morning feeling very cute. It was weird. I cuddled with the kitty for a while, then went to the gym, and then to a dentist's appointment. When I got home, there was a beautiful bouquet of roses waiting for me, sent by a darling friend. I did a little happy dance, gloated to the cat, and then proceeded to feel COMPLETELY AWFUL. (Not at all because of the flowers. I'm looking at them now, and they make me obscenely happy.)

I had a date last night. It went exceedingly well, but I have no idea whether he will call me ever again. We didn't stop talking or smiling for the 4 hours we were together, and I still have no idea if I'll see him again, and I don't know how much I care.

First dates are BIZARRE. In most situations, you're hanging out with a person for the first time, and the two of you have no history, and no shared experiences. You spend the evening bullshitting, which can be fun if your counterpart is somewhat on your wavelength. Despite the potential thrill and fun, it's a prolonged and exhausting interview process.

It went well, and I should feel either good or indifferent about it. I don't know whether what I'm feeling now is related to the date, really, or if it's just fucking musings about the fucking bugaboo that is love.

Blablabla love comes in many forms blablabla love surrounds us blablabla love is light within us all BLAH! I have so many fucking incredible friends who love me, whom I'm seeing tonight and whom I'm looking forward to seeing. But fuckity fuck, people. Most of them are either married, or involved. I'll be the only person there by herself. I know the night will be fun, but I'm sick of pretending to myself that I'm A-OK with the solitude.

So. I like my incredibly friendly and cuddly cat, but he's not the coziest bed-fellow. OK? The fuck. I'm realizing more and more that I am a sappy, treacly, whistful Hallfuckingmark card, and I hate it, hate it, hate it.

Right, no, I don't really. Blablabla in touch with my emotions blablabla so much fucking shit to offer blablabla so much to look forward to BLAH! I do rather feel like I've got this enormous well of stuff to share with people, and crap like that, but what the hell am I supposed to do with it? I fear it's forming a healthy layer of briney scum for its meniscus.

I'm in my apartment, drinking a glass of red wine and watching a movie about glamorous heatrbreak and intense love-gone-right-gone-wrong-gone-right.

I'm sick of being nostalgic for what hasn't happened yet.

I'm watching a movie starring the talented Michelle Williams (from Dawson's Creek, among other things). I realize that I kind of look like her.

* Yup, the sweepstakes returns for another round, but I'm not departing with my nipple hairs because I like them. The more hirsute, the better, I always say. (That, and my free distribution of them apparently freaks out my darling Shelley! Hee.) You know the rules ... song and artist from which I stole this title, and ... I don't know ... I'll buy you a hot dog.

Love,

Kelly

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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