Vaginas can talk? What?!
Pretty much. If you’re out of the loop Vagina Monologues is a collection of monologues and short skits that are re-enactments of actual women talking about their vags. Sound…interesting? It actually was. I walked away with a goodie bag of condoms and flavored lubes, a chocolate vagina lollipop and a desire to “reclaim my cunt” by wearing sexy undies and doing something dirty. So a very worthwhile experience.
Saturday was FINALLY a rugby day once again. Sadly, due to my newly uncontrolled asthma I was unable to play. That didn’t mean I couldn’t cheer on my teams (and yell quite a few obscenities) as they slipped and tackled in the mud. The men won. The women lost. We all drank. And I finally had to shoot the boot (for messing up a song). Luckily, I was wearing my rain boots so I was able to drink my own foot sweat, not somebody else’s. Lovely thought, right?
I woke bright and early Sunday morning so I could trek over to Starfucks (slipping on some ice and busting my knee in the process) in order to study. After which I spent a lovely afternoon laying in the Minimalist’s bed, watching Rescue Me and talking about which woman was craziest and which woman we would bang. Not terribly romantic, but enjoyable nonetheless.
One would think I would romance on the BIG day. The day far too many people are bitterly bitching about. To those people I say:
Shut the fuck up. Valentine’s Day was not created by Hallmark (though they may perpetuate it). It was not created as a way to mock single people for being unloveable/undesireable/ugly. If you don’t want to celebrate it, then don’t. But for the love of God and all things chocolaty, don’t ruin the holiday for everyone who wants to celebrate it with your constant complaining and woe is me attitude. Suffer silently.
I, as you can probably tell, adore Valentine’s Day. Not because I have a Valentine every year who showers me with handcrafted candies and roses and champagne. I had a Valentine once and I don’t even remember what we did. No, it is because I relish any opportunity to channel my inner cooler, more modern Martha Stewart. This year, I really went above and beyond.
I made my own Valentine’s candy. White chocolate covered pretzels, cayenne chocolate pretzels, white chocolate truffles, cayenne chocolate truffles. They were time consuming to make. The chocolate wouldn’t cooperate. I spent too much on supplies. But they can out wonderfully delicious, so it was all worth it.
I packaged them up in adorable little goodie bags for all my loves.
I decorated my room with cute little cupcake window gels. Because they were cheap and the little draddle window gel I stole was lonely.
I made my own cards. While the little packaged cards you gave out in elementary school are fun, I couldn’t find any that weren’t Twilight, Hannah Montana or SpongeBob. So I collaged my own. They were far cheaper (as in free) and not in any way annoying or corporate.
I’m wearing a pink shirt, pink bra, frilly pink undies and pink socks with little red heart-puffs on the back (a Valentine’s present from ChiChi a few years ago).
I helped Frenchie decorate her room. Honestly, it is bordering on nauseatingly pink and sparkly. I’m sure her roommate thoroughly appreciated it.
Frenchie, Westchester and Roomie-Dearest and I even had our own little party (in Frenchie’s room, again to annoy her roommate). We gave out goodies and played Secret Cupid. I pulled Roomie and gave her the softest little bear ever. Westchester drew my name and gave me a stuffed cupcake.
Adorable, right? There’s more.
It’s a pupcake!
And of course there were the usual plethora of candy.
Frenchie is gave out more equally adorable personalized M&Ms.
Roomie-Dearest gave me a cute card. (For several reasons, some people call me Hampster, so this was relevant.)
And for the icing on my modern Martha cake:
I’m learning to knit.
Right now it looks like shit, but it will improve. Then I want to make a pair of the warmest, fuzziest socks ever (hopefully sometime before summer).
But for now, Martha 2.0 is exhausted. I hope your Valentine’s Day was lovely. G’night, m’non-bitter bitches.