love and wishing my life was a murder-mystery

I've learned the hard way that it's a bad idea to put a lot of pressure on one particular day, or encourage anyone around me to do so either. This is due to the unfortunate fact that usually before parties, reunions with out-of-town friends, or really grand hurrahs of any sort, I get stupid excited, like, hyperactive chihuahua excited, and run around the house making weird whiney noises, and/or get rather heavy-handed with my "calm down" cocktails and end up blacking/passing out before dark and missing the entire ordeal.

Mostly because, in all honesty, I conceive ridiculous illusions of grandeur in my mind and then put every ounce of pressure I have the ability to apply to almost every situation without even trying. IE: THIS WILL BE THE BEST NIGHT EVERRRR. Ah, the joys of neurosis.

I freak out a lot.


Like, A LOT, a lot.

This little fact directly applies at this very moment because Manfriend is taking me out on the town tonight, in honor of your favorite holiday and mine, Valentine's Day.

Let's celebrate all the love in our hearts as a distraction from the horrible and soul-crushing grips of February and endless winter in general!

Somewhere around the first week of January, my beloved Manfriend, bless him,  asked me what I'd like to do to celebrate this fateful day. At the time, I must have been feeling a bit whimsy and carefree, for whatever god-foresaken reason, and I remember replying with something along the lines of, "I'd like you to take me on a date."

THAT'S ALL, FOLKS.

That's all I fucking said.

I mean, I'm not picky, but I usually don't like to leave that much to chance- plus Manfriend has trouble making simple decisions, like pizza or chicken strips for lunch, so I honestly thought if I played my cards right, the evening would consist of us making dinner with ingredients weighing heavily in bacon and meat byproducts, a couple romps in the hay, and perhaps a new potted plant for the little indoor garden I have going on.

However, I clearly underestimated the accidental challenge I issued to Manfriend. And now, it looks like we're going fancy with this holiday for the first time in my 24 year existence.

So guess what's going on tonight? HAHAHAHA, your guess is as good as mine!!!  I've been instructed to adorn myself in my very best, (umm, vintage Dolce & Gabbana LBD I found at a boutique on vacation two summers ago, JUST BEGGING for an occasion dressy enough to make it's way out of my closet? uhhh, yeah.) and be ready to go grab a drink before our dinner reservations at nine. At some place apparently fancy and unbeknownst to moi. Reservations were made over three weeks ago. I'm not kidding. This shit is serious. Manfriend, my meat-and-potatos, deer hunting, beard-growing, flannel wearing, hunk o' MAN that he is, even purchased new clothing for this momentous occasion- New dress pants, new tie, new PURPLE dress shirt. The man has lost his damn mind.

So now, although I'm THRILLED that Manfriend is stepping up to the plate to wine and dine me, and yes, I said WINE, because last night he asked me if I'd like to get a bottle of wine with dinner tonight and was ACTUALLY browsing the wine list, I'm also taking this opportunity to panic.

We are not fancy people.

So, naturally, THIS IS ALL SO VERY EXCITING.

So, naturally, I'M FREAKING OUT.

For no reason, obviously.

This could just be one person showing another person a guesture of love on the one day a year that love is publically celebrated. Unless you count Sweetest Day, which I don't, because no one I know other than me really seems to notice when it's Sweetest Day.

OR

He's probably trying to kill me or something. By luring me into an ultra-romantic setting in which my guard will be down and he can make his move without much of a fight from my end. I mean, I'm sure he's had plenty of opportunities over the past five to six years or so of our friendship/romantic involvement, especially since we sleep together almost every night. But I mean, he actually got a haircut yesterday, for me. Shit, I got drunk Saturday afternoon and discovered his electric razor whilst relieving my bladder and, having no other viable options, shaved one, okay both, of my arms. I'm not exactly a catch.

Thus, the only reasonable explanation for such ADO is that it's all a cover.

I'M AFRAID FOR MY LIFE.

Sure, shake your head if you want. I'm just saying, if I wind up in the headlines, my body found (looking smoking hot in aforementioned curve-hugging LBD) at the bottom of a river somewhere, just know I called this.

I'm just going to go with it.

Happy Valentines Day to you and yours, however you choose to celebrate.

XO Sare