My Bloody Valentine

So it’s several days past Valentine’s day and a random, note-less mini heart cake shows up on my doorstep.

Angela says “Oooo who’s it from…never-mind, I’ll eat it! She probably thought it fell from Heaven. After trying to discover the secret sender with no luck, we finally just threw it away. I probably should have gone to greater lengths to actually have it destroyed lest Angela rummage it out of the trash like a raccoon.

Under normal circumstances, even “unannounced” chocolate is welcome and will usually send Angela squealing and skipping into the kitchen to fetch a fork, but the cynic in me thought differently. I assure you that to Angela, chocolate is of divine origin and therefore cannot be used for anything sinister – I’m confident that if she were to amble upon a parfait glass of chocolate mousse, sitting under an enormous metal cage with a trip wire, I would find her chocolate smeared face peering out from behind the bars.

Holidays are an emotional roller-coaster around our house. The excitement and anticipation of the probable pastry or 3-month supply of Godiva Goody-ness is too much to bear. To the serious chocoholic only the best will do and often times I will find the rejected carcasses of a less than desirable nut-filled truffle left to petrify in the molested Easter basket or Valentine tin from which it came.

Luckily, disaster was avoided and Angela did not fall prey to the siren song of the heart shaped ambrosia that beckoned to her from our front porch.

Misery Loves Sarah

Well I was none pleased with the Rangers loss – but that being said – I had a great time at the Sarah McLachlan concert last night. We had 2nd row center stage seats – so close I could have done a sound check. Honestly, I think it was the best concert I have every been to where the singer actually “sang” AND sounded good at the same time. A very talented woman to be sure. Now lets talk about the fans.

I would say that 85 percent of Sarah fans are lesbians and the other 15 percent is split between gay and metrosexual men. It was definitely an interesting mix of folks I had sitting around me. There was a man and woman sitting in the front row that barely moved – they looked more like a couple at their niece’s piano recital than the estrogen driven scream fest the rest of us were living. And of course, there was the amorous lesbian couple right beside me that were laying on the cuddly so thick they made Ang and I look like two catholic school children.

It was pretty ordinary stuff really until I noticed…HER…from the corner of my eye. She was right there in front of me the whole time. Sobbing and swaying to the music like she was at a slave song revival was Sarah’s “Biggest Fan.” She was clutching a ridiculous amount of glow sticks in each hand and waving them around like she was bringing a 747 in for a landing. There were a couple of moments when she rushed the stage all snot-nosed and breathless – I thought security was going to have to use a tranquilizer gun on her and drag her back to her seat. Her friend next to her seemed unfazed by the outbreak of emotions coming from Miss #1 Fan. I could see the face of the girl playing the electric guitar and I think I saw her reach for a shank.

“I love you Sarah…please notice me…I’m all lit up like a Christmas tree for YOU!!!!”

She had finally calmed down a bit until the band started playing ‘Sweet Surrender’. Then she tore into another bag of glow sticks like a Rottweiler going after a package of Snausages and the cycle started once more.

It was hard to look at. But I did anyway.

Rain Man Moments

If you’re 20ish, you probably spend your Friday nights lamenting over whether or not you should have a couple of shots before you hit the bars. Because nothing says, “I am one martini away from needing a liver transplant and a cab” like showing up drunk to a bar just so you can get more drunk. You have to envy the young in that way – when your paycheck and your organs are equally expendable.

Not that I’m old by any means, but my Friday nights are usually spent perusing the grocery store aisles or laying on the couch playing GodFinger on my iphone. I promise I’m not bitter, but the contrast is stark to say the least.

Ang and I, being the proactive planners that we are, have devised a system of grocery shopping that expedites our time spent wandering the store. She takes dry goods and I handle produce – we meet back somewhere between pickles and diapers where we combine our findings into one cart. On our most recent trip – she had just dumped the contents of her cart into mine, when she abruptly blurted out, “I’m going to go get the cat food okay…do you want me to take the cart or do you want it..never mind, I’ll take the cart…be right back.!” Now, not only does she not know what cat food we buy or where the cat food aisle IS, but she had that weird cadence to her speech that I hear when she thinks she’s being sly about something. Sorta like “I’m about to go do something that I don’t want you to know about and I’m cleverly disguising it as being helpful:)”
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