Top 10 Reasons Not to Celebrate Valentine’s Day
February 14, 2010
This is a recycled post from my very early writing days, so be gentle and read it in the sarcastic, good-humored nature it is intended. And for those of you who are die-hard romantics: Happy Valentine’s Day anyways (you deluded souls)! 
Top 10 Reasons Not to Celebrate Valentine’s Day
OK, so Christmas has scrooge and Valentine’s Day has me! Join with me if you hate sappy romance and overpriced chocolates by boycotting Valentine’s Day.
The Top Ten Reasons Not to Celebrate Valentine’s Day
- Celebrating Valentine’s Day is expected. Dare to be different; march to the beat of your own drum! Start your own ‘Anti-Valentine’s Day’ where you eat chocolate from super-sized bags instead of cheesy, overpriced heart-shaped boxes and refuse to wear anything red
- If you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day, you’ll be tempted accept a date from anyone who is breathing- just to avoid feeling like a loser. *shudders* Boycotting Valentine’s Day celebrations in all forms removes the temptation to sink to such dating lows.
- Chocolate makes you fat.
- Flowers make you sneeze and they die anyway, resulting in a deep depression as you cram them into the trashcan, creating a pathetic trail of dried up leaves in your wake.
- Pink is not slimming. Pink is also very girly and makes men feel wimpy unless they are very secure in their manhood. Most girls like pink, but should we let another nonsense-holiday determine our wardrobe choices for us? Where is the uniqueness in that?
- Candy hearts are greatly overrated. Those little candy hearts with cutesy sayings are the Magic Eight Ball™ of Valentine’s Day- except they are all blissful and sappy. Why is there not a “You need therapy” heart or, an “It’s not you, it’s me” heart? Where is the realism?
- All the good restaurants are booked two months before Valentine’s Day. Unless you enjoy taking your date to McDonald’s or you are one of those freakishly well-organized people who actually prepare for such occasions in advance, you are just out of luck.
- What really happens to all that romance on February 15th? It is just a big letdown for the other 364, non-overly romantic days of the year!
- Valentine’s Day helps to blur the line between love and physical affection, especially if your Valentine’s plans include alcohol in any amount. Yeah, most of us have been there.
- Celebrating Valentine’s Day is just a big marketing ploy by the greeting card companies to bilk honest American citizens out of their hard-earned cash!
Valentine’s Day should be an optional holiday.
Mushy romance and staged blind dates may be suitable for hormonally imbalanced teenagers and newlywed couples, but seasoned dating veterans and established spouses know that real romance is putting gas in her car, washing the dishes, or baking his favorite peach pie. If you really want to go all out, try scrubbing the bathroom for her, including the toilet. My husband has even changed a few diapers for the sake of true romance.
Who says chivalry is dead?
Santa’s Surprise
December 10, 2008
Here’s a tear jerker for ya. Grab the tissues, you’re gonna need ‘em. This three year old girl asked Santa for a blue truck and her daddy.
Meet Lily
November 16, 2008
Meet Tiger Lily. She’s my birthday present this year and I think she’s adorable. Since it’s Sunday, I thought I’d ramble about my little darling. For you cat-haters, we’ll be back to business tomorrow with tips for Online Business School.
The Cat Story
I mentioned to my husband that I would like to have a Pixie Bob. When he found out the price tag that goes with a Pixie, he laughed and said, “You’re kidding, right? A cat’s only worth about two cents. That’s how much it costs me to put a bullet in its head.” Boo. Hiss. Throw rotten vegetables at violent cat haters.
My son found little Lily at school, along with 2 other kittens. He was already enamored by the time I came to pick him up and said with those big beautiful blue eyes, “Can we keep her mama? She doesn’t have a home.” Now, how can you say no to that logic?
Lily Faces the Executioner
So Lily rode home and to my surprise, she won the heart of my husband. The first night, I caught him petting her. The second night, I saw him looking for her under the rocker before he sat down, and the third night he actually picked her up and declared she was “cute for a cat”. Tonight, he spent 20 minutes playing with her and told her she wasn’t tough enough to beat him, but she might be cute enough to live. Now that’s progress.
Getting to Know Lily
Lily isn’t a Pixie Bob, but she sure does look like one. I like to think of her as my designer knock-off cat. She is polydactyl and has fur of pure silk.
She likes to root around in my hair and occasionally latches onto my earring with a vengeance. I think she misses her mama yet.
She has spunk, and likes to swat me in the nose when I talk to her. My kids adore her. She’s already figured out that the four-year-old hangs out in the kitchen a lot, and if she goes too, she might get a bite of something tasty.
She likes to chase my fingers as I type and sits on the keyboard in Soup Nazi style and says, “No work for you!”
Right now, she’s a warm purring little ball of goodness curled at the small of my back. In five minutes she’ll be maniacally chasing her tail, or a catnip ball, or my eyelashes. So if you follow me on Twitter and get one of these messages, “kmkmadklmkikkm”, that’s from Lily.
(Maybe I should introduce her to Selma…do cats and ducks get along?)
Happy Birthday to You!
November 12, 2008
Today is Amy Derby’s birthday. You can find her on Twitter or at http://write-from-home.com. She’s a lot like the Welcome Wagon lady of Blogopolis and I heart her. So go wish her a Happy Birthday! 
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, your words are like sunshine, and we all heart you!”
Sappy, I know, but a poet I am not.
Today is also my birthday, and and I’m spending it in a Neurologist’s office with 2 kids. If I survive the agonizing hours in the waiting room with two active boys, I’ll be back late. If I don’t make it out alive, someone feed my cat, please.
Top 10 Ways to Know You’re a Freelance Writer
November 5, 2008
“You’re killing my MoJo. Scoot over a little.”
He just grinned, then moved to stand behind me to read the screen as I typed. I ignored him, as only old married couples can.
“What’cha doin?”
Chatting with the Queen of England. Washing the cat. Painting my nails. Saving the world. Strangling my husband. “WRITING!”
He grins, “I thought you liked writing?”
“I do, I do. I like writing. I like chocolate chip cookies. And I also like peace and quiet while I’m writing. Here’s your cookie, sweetie, 2 outa 3 ‘aint bad.”
In honor of my husband’s incessant ability to kill my concentration just for fun, I’ve decided to list my top ten ways to prove you’re a freelance writer.
Top 10 Ways to Know You’re a Freelance Writer
- You’ve gotten in the shower and found you only shaved one leg the day before. So you say what the heck and start an alternating limb shaving schedule to save time- time management at its best. And since Blogger Dad swears he doesn’t shave his legs (not that I believe him for a second), for the guys, Dave adds, “You haven’t shaved or seen your family in so long that they accidentally reported a Sasquatch siting when you came out of your office yesterday.”
- Eyeing that baby sling, you begin to wonder if you could craft a double harness that will hold your child and your laptop.
- Your desk looks like you live there, because you do. “Could you pass me that extra pair of socks on top of the monitor? Thanks.”
- You eat more meals with your computer than with live people.
- You realize you put your underwear on backward- 12 hours ago.
- Your fingers move across an invisible keyboard in your sleep.
- You find crumbs in your bra (or your bellybutton, Dave) and consider eating them because, hey, it’s quicker than making a trip to the kitchen.
- Your children have the best vocabulary in the neighborhood and can diagram sentences by age 5.
- A shopping spree at Staples excites you more than the prospect of sex.
- Instead of instituting casual day at the office, you have a work naked day. The neighbors love it.
I will admit to 8 out of 10, but I’m not saying which ones are true. Go hug your kids, tie them up with duct tape, and GET BACK TO WORK!
For Sale: Ran Great Yesterday
October 13, 2008
“I’m at school. The car won’t start.”
Silence.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yep.”
Silence.
I wait, breathe deeply, squash my irritation and panic, and try to remember all the things I love about my husband.
All I can think about is where I need to be in an hour, and how am I going to get the boy to school in the morning if the car is dead?
After an eternity, He speaks, “What’s it sound like?”
I roll my eyes, look around to see who’s in the parking lot and attempt to imitate the car noise, “plah, plah, plah, plah, plah.”
I can hear him smiling.
“What’s it doing?”
“It’s not doing anything, that’s the point.”
“Does it have gas?”
“YES IT HAS GAS! I DYE MY HAIR THIS COLOR!”
Now, he’s really grinning.
“You’re getting a kick out of this aren’t you? Listen…” I hold the phone out, hit the speaker button, and crank the key.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s my point! Can you come get us?”
“Yep” Click.
My husband can fix anything. He was born that way~ with wrench in hand, looking for a nut to turn. He built a heavy duty trailer from scratch. Then he built a heavy duty truck from scratch to pull that trailer. Now he’s building a flat bed to go on the truck. Handy that, especially on days like this.
He pulls into the parking lot, takes the keys, and starts the car. Just like that~ and grins.
“I hate you. That car loves me, it never leaves me sitting. Please check it over, I thought I smelled antifreeze.”
The car pulls forward, revealing a large wet spot. “That’s oil. And antifreeze. You still have that gallon in the trunk? What about that oil I put back there?”
I grit my teeth. “This article said you should remove all unnecessary weight from the trunk to help improve gas mileage and… I took it out.”
He clenches his jaw and stares at the ground, probably to keep from strangling me.
“Let’s get it home.”
“You following me?”
“That depends. Are you driving like an old woman?”
“Aren’t we full of quips and sarcasm today?”
The car makes it half way up the hill before the temperature skyrockets and the oil light comes on. I freak out, whip the car off the road into a shallow ditch, turn off the engine, and pull the kids out of the backseat in seconds. Steam billows from the hissing engine.
“I tried to get off the road as fast as I could. I was afraid it would catch on fire. I didn’t mean to pull into the ditch. Did I blow up the engine or did I shut it off it time? I hope the whole thing didn’t just crap out. That ditch looks deeper from out here. I have eggs in the trunk. Are you mad?”
Silence.
More silence.
Agonizing silence.
“How much money do you have in the checking account? This is going to cost you.”
“Now I have to PAY you to fix my car!”
“Nope. I was thinking about leaving it here with a For Sale sign. Maybe someone will steal it. Then we can go buy a Jeep~ with ground clearance.”
For Sale:
One dark green Chrysler Concorde LXI. Black leather, automatic everything, moon roof, killer Infinity stereo. New tires. 3/4 tank Marathon gas, fully charged air conditioner. Ran great YESTERDAY. Mud on undercarriage~ free of charge. Last seen on Watson Creek Rd. Motivated seller. Hurry, won’t last long. It’s a vandal’s dream.
