they always told me i'd go blind...i should've listened.

today's 'blog entry will be interesting because i got to work today without my glasses. if i were terry, tom, or myself 5 years ago, it wouldn't be an issue because my glasses wouldn't help my vision any more than an office building window would. that's right, i'm outing them: both terry and tom have gorgeous, expensive vanity eyeglasses. there. i said it! alas, i'm one of the millions who do need prescription lenses (terry's actually taken his off to see better before) and mine are at home.

valentine's day is upon us, crushing every singleton's spirit under it's monstrous, bright red, heart-shaped heel. why have i bought into valentine's day like i have? today, even though it is a rainy monday, terry and i will be enjoying a fancy steak dinner and exchanging extravagent (for our income) gifts. instead of surprising terry with a present i logged on to jackspade.com and had him pick out his own gift. he picked a messenger bag that i'm going to be jealous of, then i told him, "okay, honey. now go get daddy his credit card." before i gave up and logged on to jackspade.com, i'd called every nordstrom in maryland to see if they had the messenger bag in stock. after i was asked "what's that?" by a fourth nordstrom men's furnishings employee, i realized that jack spade bags are just kate spade purses for faggots. i'm buying myself one a.s.a.p.

though i huffily decry valentine's day as a holiday created by the pink teddy bear/heart-shaped chocolate box/greeting card industry, last night i actually began to give terry shit because we're not celebrating it in some spectacular, "romantic" fashion. what is romance, though? if we're to believe the today show, oprah, "dr." phil, or HGTV, it requires one (1) heart-shaped pink bathtub; two (2) massages, one for you and one for her; one (1) cabin in the adirondacks; one (1) bearskin rug; and one (1) roaring fire. that's bullshit. first of all, i wouldn't get in a heart-shaped bathtub if i was being paid to be filmed naked again (er...i mean...uh...), nor would i come anywhere near a bearskin rug. definitely not a bearskin rug near a roaring fire--the smell of singed bear hair just doesn't come out of fabric.

romance isn't fancy dinners and chocolates. it's staying with you in the hospital for four days; going with you to see bands he's never even heard of; listening to you complain about your stomach hurting for the 3,294th time and still feigning concern; and driving with you through the night to go to a stranger's wedding. i guess that those things aren't as easy to incorporate into a pink and red valentine's day card.

lest i get too high and mighty, i'll bring us back down to earth. terry and i were standing in line at wal mart in middle river, maryland last night (you either have to go to ghetto wal mart or country-fried wal mart; pick your poison) and we were behind a man buying an actual, honest-to-god pink teddy bear, heart-shaped box of chocolates, and a hologrammed hot pink gift bag. i thought to myself, "thank god i'm dating someone with taste."

i know what real romance is, but that doesn't mean i'm gonna turn down something that's thoughtful and expensive.