prickvixen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
prickvixen) wrote2004-02-14 07:00 pm
prickvixen) wrote2004-02-14 07:00 pm
(no subject)
Valentine's Day 'Ashy's Happy Thoughts':
I was allegedly conceived today. I say 'allegedly' because I do not have an immortal soul and was not in Heaven waiting to be born as a widdle bitty baby, smiling down on my parents, so I don't have any firsthand proof of when the 'rents knocked boots. But yeah, Mom says Valentine's Day, from which you can infer that a) my life is the result of a cliché, and b) my mom's kind of a sucker; a card and a box of chocolates and bang, you're in there.
I suppose some of you are expecting a lengthy rant about how Valentine's Day has become 'too commercial' and isn't faithful enough to its original themes of flensing and such, or how if you don't get cards today or have a lover you're an inadequate human being, a toad, even. A troglodyte, grunting and shambling around in a cave and frotting against rocks and sticks of wood. This is especially true in grade school, incidentally... if you're a little boy and you don't get any Valentines from any of the little girls in your class, despite it and other seasonal commercial activities being a mandatory part of the curriculum, you should consider having your balls removed and becoming a castrato. At least that's what God says. I'm sorry, the free market. If life gives you lemons, get your balls cut off. I think Walt Whitman said that, and Whitman's sells chocolates, and you get chocolates on Valentine's Day, unless you're a future castrato.
But it's really hard for me to think of this as a day for lovers, partly because the great disaster-- what I call my life --for myself and the world began on this day, and partly because the only person who sends me Valentine's Day cards with any frequency is my mother, and my Oedipal complex nonwithstanding, it just isn't the same.
At this time, I'd like to give a big shout out to all my former lovers, who have collectively given a total of one flower, no cards and no chocolates, ever. The flower wasn't from anyone I was dedicated to, the girl was just someone I was messing around with, I think she wanted it to be more than that, so she gave me a flower for no reason. To no avail; we just continued messing around. I think there's a Valentine's Day lesson there for us all. Her name was Heather, she gave me a rose, and she made me feel wanted for almost fifteen minutes, a personal record.
Peggy seems to have given me a small box of chocolates. I'm not sure that we're what you'd call 'lovers,' so I'm leaving her out of the counting so she doesn't screw my numbers up. Thank you, Peggy.
I was allegedly conceived today. I say 'allegedly' because I do not have an immortal soul and was not in Heaven waiting to be born as a widdle bitty baby, smiling down on my parents, so I don't have any firsthand proof of when the 'rents knocked boots. But yeah, Mom says Valentine's Day, from which you can infer that a) my life is the result of a cliché, and b) my mom's kind of a sucker; a card and a box of chocolates and bang, you're in there.
I suppose some of you are expecting a lengthy rant about how Valentine's Day has become 'too commercial' and isn't faithful enough to its original themes of flensing and such, or how if you don't get cards today or have a lover you're an inadequate human being, a toad, even. A troglodyte, grunting and shambling around in a cave and frotting against rocks and sticks of wood. This is especially true in grade school, incidentally... if you're a little boy and you don't get any Valentines from any of the little girls in your class, despite it and other seasonal commercial activities being a mandatory part of the curriculum, you should consider having your balls removed and becoming a castrato. At least that's what God says. I'm sorry, the free market. If life gives you lemons, get your balls cut off. I think Walt Whitman said that, and Whitman's sells chocolates, and you get chocolates on Valentine's Day, unless you're a future castrato.
But it's really hard for me to think of this as a day for lovers, partly because the great disaster-- what I call my life --for myself and the world began on this day, and partly because the only person who sends me Valentine's Day cards with any frequency is my mother, and my Oedipal complex nonwithstanding, it just isn't the same.
At this time, I'd like to give a big shout out to all my former lovers, who have collectively given a total of one flower, no cards and no chocolates, ever. The flower wasn't from anyone I was dedicated to, the girl was just someone I was messing around with, I think she wanted it to be more than that, so she gave me a flower for no reason. To no avail; we just continued messing around. I think there's a Valentine's Day lesson there for us all. Her name was Heather, she gave me a rose, and she made me feel wanted for almost fifteen minutes, a personal record.
Peggy seems to have given me a small box of chocolates. I'm not sure that we're what you'd call 'lovers,' so I'm leaving her out of the counting so she doesn't screw my numbers up. Thank you, Peggy.