There Should Be More Holidays That Require Chocolate-Dipped Strawberries

I realize that I have been a delinquent blogger. But I will go ahead and blame the fact that I am working from home (read: living the dream) and no longer bother to do a lot of things that I used to do when I was procrastinating going to the freezing basement that I used to call “work.” I don’t bother to blog. I don’t bother to take vitamins. I don’t even bother to get dressed until around 11:00, most days. And usually, “getting dressed” translates to “pick up yesterdays clothes off the floor and put them back on.”

So, the new gig? Going pretty well. Minus killing the computer they gave me. Ooopsie. Remind anyone of the lost website? So once again, sister-in-law came to the rescue, and determined that I had not, in fact, killed the computer, so much as used a bad cable, and that was why I was not getting an internet connection, thereby relieving me from the thought of having to buy a brand new computer for the company that couldn’t even afford to get me a space heater.

I owe sis big time.

Meanwhile, I’ve taken two naps, and snacked on a fair amount of pretzels and string cheese. Because why wouldn’t I? Is there anything better than pretzel rods? No. No there is not. Except maybe extra buttery popcorn. Which I have also enjoyed, since commencing my working-from-home lifestyle.

Over the weekend we went to a wedding fair, where we were to make many decisions regarding our wedding day. I made a beeline for the wine tasting, The Funasaurus’ sister (my maid of honor) began madly collecting business cards for DJs and florists, my mother panicked over whether we had the exact shade of cranberry right for the chair covers, and The Funasaurus declared that we will serve steak and duck a l’orange at our wedding. I was fairly sloshed at this time, and thought that anything greasy sounded nice, and thus our menu was decided.

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(Dots. Because I am too lazy to think of a transition for my next rant about nothing.)

Today is Valentine’s Day. Many people hate this holiday. I don’t, and not just because I am engaged to a cuddly Funasaurus who will agreeably watch a sap-tastic romantic comedy with me this evening, while sipping on a cheap pinot. (Although that is definitely icing on the red velvet cake.) No, I like frilly, doily-esque things, I like Victorian Valentine’s day cards and seasonal candy. I like flowers and chocolate and a random, mid-February reason for asking someone out on a date. I don’t believe in Hallmark, but I do subscribe to any reason for breaking out the fold-out couch in front of the T.V. even though you don’t have guests. I don’t like Rod Stewart, but I do like an excuse to buy sexy lingerie and rose petals. (Don’t get your hopes up, baby, if you read this. I said, “I like” not “I can currently afford”) and while I’m at it, I like fat babies with wings. I don’t know why, but that does it for me.

Is that so wrong?