First off... an apology. I have been a little... missing in action of late. You may have noticed. I was conspicuously absent in my posting duties of last week - but I have a really good reason! There was no wi-fi in the desert. And I was in the desert for much longer than I had planned on being. Last Thursday, John and I flew to LA. It was a friend's 40th birthday and, to celebrate, a bunch of folk were getting together and piling onto one of those ridiculous behemoth limo-bus thingies and driving across the desert to party in Vegas. Woo Hoo! Count me it! Sounds like fun! Right up until the part where the bus breaks down and strands us all in the middle of the (Freaking Cold With Driving Rain and Gale Force Winds) desert. For hours.
So. No posting for me. But dang if my cowboy boots didn't get soaking wet...
Right then. This week, I am not in the desert. I'm right here talkin' about luuuurve! And romance. Or a somewhat reasonable facscimile thereof. Which is sort what Valentines Day can seem to a lot of people, I think.
Now... I know a lot of people despise Feb 14. Some people rebel against the commercialization of love. Some are offended by the "couples only" bias. For others, it just brings back all those painful childhood memories of never getting as many Valentines in your little construction-paper mailbox (that you slaved over in art class) as the cleary untalented but naturally curly-haired girl who sat in front of you... er... not that that ever happend to me. Heh.
Now, me, I don't have anything against the occasion. Although I do find it a bit curious. I find that, in a lot of cases (not with everyone, certainly) the same thing happens with Valentine's Day as with St. Patrick's Day or New Year's Eve. Everybody tries too hard.
Last year my boyfriend and I went out for a nice dinner at this old world-style steakhouse. It's a lovely resturant. But here's the thing - we go there fairly often. The head waiter knows our names. And he was ridiculously pleased to see us. Because the place was packed with non-regulars. Some of them *koff*annoying-loud-guy-at-the-next-table*koff* were sort of... showing off. If you know what I mean. These were people that didn't know and love this resturant already for what it was and were trying too hard to impress their dates. "Amateur Night" the waiter called it with a gently sardonic grin. Is that like Romance Karaoke? I thought. Although, I must admit, I can sort of see his point.
I mean - why all the fuss for just that one night? After all, shouldn't love be a year-round kind of thing?