Elvis is dead and I don’t feel so good myself. [by the way, besides being a great thing to say, that’s also a book. you should really read it.]Also, as of the time that this was posted, the blog hit counter had officially reached 230. That’s exciting and therefore, I think it’s reason to celebrate. So, go fix yourself another drink and let's have a toast to the blog.If it’s your first time here at the blog, first of all: where the hell have you been? second of all, I’m glad you decided to click and spend some time. It’s good to know that you’ve finally jumped on the band wagon.
Anyhow, I’ve got to tell you a little secret something. It’s been almost a month since I purchased “Common Sense” by Glenn Beck (does it have two n’s? I‘m too scared to get it out and look). I know. It was a strange moment of weakness the other day at Target, where you can find me almost any Friday, which is also known as “Fun Day”. I don’t work there, I just love the place.
At any rate, I bought the book and I feel strange knowing it’s in my nightstand. It’s just hangin’ out in there with my copy of The Times when Obama won and my copy of Rolling Stone when Adam Lambert was on it. yes, I watch American Idol and you should, too.
It’s probably the only time that you’re going to find Glenn Beck, Barry Obama, and that shining star Adam Lambert all in the same place. If it should happen anywhere else, run. you’re in the middle of an apocalypse.
I don’t know why I bought the thing, but America: I blame you.
I don’t know what’s going on out there in the universe, but there’s strange talk of people solely voting for parties abroad. As I’m getting older, and, of course, wiser, I have decided that I no longer really want to associate with either “party.”
Socially speaking, I will now and forever more be Liberal. That’s something that I don’t see ever changing. But I am kind of tired of being a Democrat. Not because I don’t agree with all that the party stands for, but because that’s the ruination of this whole place.
Anymore, people just vote for a “D” or an “R.” Isn’t that just awful?
I mean, I don’t think we really vote for people anymore. That’s not at all what I think those good people in the powdered wigs set out to establish.
So, here’s what: let’s get back to what they wanted. Let’s stop voting for someone because they’re associated with a jack-ass or a big obnoxious elephant. Instead, let’s be a little proactive (yes, that is a word, and not just a line of facial products) and look that shit up.
Look up stuff about the people running. That way, you’ll know the truth. And therefore, you’ll see through the superfluous hype.
Well, good friends, that’s all I’ve got for now. wait. there's more: I saw where some people are joining a group on Facebook titled “I hate it when I wake up in the morning and Barack Obama is President.” That’s not okay, people. I know you’re probably just doing it for kicks-n-giggles, but it’s a tad harsh.
To the people who have joined: I hope you’ll reconsider. He really is good people. Also, I hope you’ll stop being silly and just be a little jazzed that you’re waking up at all in the morning. And you know what? I’m about to get all patriotic on your ass:
Be thankful that you are in this country. I mean, we live in a place where you can join a group that’s solely dedicated to not liking your fearless leader. You can’t do that in too many other places.
And don’t start spouting out at me that he’s taking away your freedoms. If you don’t like it, I don’t think I’d mind it too much if you left. And he ain’t doin’ that anyhow.
Sorry, guys. that was bitter. I didn’t mean it. Actually, a part of me did, but at least it wasn’t all of me.
Anyhow, I think the real issue here is that we’re finally being told what the hell’s going on up there in that shiny white castle. I’d also like to know where these Barry O haters were for the unfortunate eight years that what’s-his-face was in charge. If they’re all so concerned about “the way our country is heading” then why didn’t they see what an idiot they had elected when Dubya was ruling this place?
I mean really. I’d like to have more respect for Republicans, but it’s hard when I remember that a lot of ‘em voted for that capital D dumb ass not just once, but twice.
It’s right up there with T-Swift: I just don’t get it.
That may or may not contradict what the point was of this whole thing. I hope it doesn’t, but just in case here’s the point:
In conclusion, when it comes time to vote again, I hope you’ll do your American duty and get on the internet for something more than looking at pictures of people that you don’t really know, cultivating crops for an imaginary farm, watching videos of people cry about B. Spears, or Google-ing lyrics to that song that you want to post as your status. Instead, I hope you’ll look some stuff up about the people who you’re voting for because, although they may forget it, they’re working for us.
After you’ve done that, you can come right back to the blog and enjoy some Tazo tea and some delightful posts.
Also, maybe I’ll crack open that book I got and then I’ll let you know about it. I’m starting to find that I’m actually looking forward to it. That’s right - the blog is reaching across the aisle, and you heard it here first.
Yours,
katie beth
The following is a list of things that are getting on my nerves. So much so, that I’ve made a list of things getting on my nerves. Then I provided ways to alleviate all of us from these annoying things happening in our everyday lives:
1. I am sick and tired of pictures popping up on my Facebook homepage of people taking pictures of themselves. quit it. I know what you look like and it’s obvious that you do, too.
SOLUTION: people who have albums on Facebook solely dedicated to pictures of their faces and nothing else -you know, they’ve got titles like “Just Me!” and “OMG! IT’S MY FACE!”- need to stick those faces in a pit filled with toxic fumes and slowly inhale.
2. I am sick and tired of people only asking “Will this be on the test?” while in a class.
SOLUTION: pull your head out of you ass and stop worrying about the test and try your hand at actually learning something. teachers don’t become teachers to stand around and teach you their test, well, at least not the good ones.
3. I am sick and tired of lame music getting way too much credit.
SOLUTION: quit purchasing i-tunes of people whose songs get played on the Disney Channel.
4. I am sick and tired of that dog-from-hell invention that you people call “Farmville.”
SOLUTION: IT’S NOT REAL!
5. I am sick and tired of pathetic plots in movies. I see the same damn storyline.
SOLUTION: take your date elsewhere.
6. I am sick and tired of that commercial that gets played over and over here in East TN. You know, that one where the guy says, “Johnson City Honda. Johnson City.”
SOLUTION: flip off your TV set and shake your head while saying: “no shit, Sherlock. where the hell else would it be?”
7. I am sick and tired of ALWAYS getting stuck behind a Virginia driver.
SOLUTION: I don’t have one yet. it’s still in development. let me know if you have any grand ideas.
8. I am sick and tired of Fox News.
SOLUTION: do the right thing and adopt the life of a Liberal. it’s a lot more fun.
9. I am sick and tired of know-it-alls.
SOLUTION: shut up.
10. I am sick and tired of saying “I am sick and tired.”
SOLUTION: this list is now over.
okay, kids. study up and get those number 2 pencils ready…there will be a test.
Yours,
katie beth
Wait- this post isn’t over because I want you to know one more thing (consider it extra credit if you get it right) I will never grow sick and tired of hearing/saying “that’s what she said.”
I know you’re probably real sick of it, and I had a friend one time tell me that I sounded like an obnoxious frat boy for sayin’ it, but here’s what: I ain’t gonna quit.
Some phrases are just legends. And that’s a thing that they can’t help.
So, here’s to you, Michael Scott. I love when you do it on Thursday nights.
…that’s what she said.
hey, friends, thanks for bumping it on over to the blog. go ahead and settle in, cause this is an awfully long post, but I sure do hope that you like it. this post is called “doors,” because I wrote some “poems” (I’m finding that I kind of hate that word) involving those things that open and shut.
The Umbrella - at his left
He still holds his umbrella slightly to the left,
As if she’s still there.
He’s still trying to keep her from getting wet.
He looks to the skies and sees the grey
And heads out with a skip.
It’s raining today and she’ll need someone to keep her from getting wet.
He pops it open, barely wetting his shoes.
The thunder claps, the drops fall heavy,
And today’s the day, he’ll be the “who” that she’ll need to keep her from getting wet.
She wasn’t there when he arrived at her door.
Oh, what a painful thing to forget.
That’s she dead and gone, and he yells it more, “I should have kept her from getting wet!”
One thing he promises, like he does everyday; it‘s so easy to forget,
That when he dies, he will surely keep that umbrella to his left,
Even if it is all soggy and wet.
He’ll hold it there, all wrapped up beside him,
As people go by, they’ll stop and stare.
They’ll stare at him and his umbrella in the coffin and wonder why it‘s there.
He won’t care if they make a joke or stop and ask out “Why?”
Cause that’s the thing he used to keep her from getting wet
and that’s the reason why.
Notes on Doors
You’ve really got something,
Something right there in your eyes.
The cobblestone roads, the snow-ridden roads I’d go
To be something they’d fix upon, for only a spell in time.
And if you’d let them,
If you’d let them hold their gaze,
You’d see that I’m “her,”
The one you’re meant to see for the rest of your days.
It’s silly, I know.
All-ridiculous-and-such,
But I really mean it and I’d do
A-whole-hell-of-a-lot
To be right there at the-end-of-your-touch.
I know you’ve got places to be
And girls to pick from;
They’re all lining up in flimsy dresses,
But don’t ever forget:
That’d I’d crawl up the miles,
For my knees won’t work,
Just to arrive
And knock on your front door.
And on that door, I know I’ll be proud to see
A note that’s there, that you have
Written for me.
I’ll grab and squint at the blurred ink as I read;
“I need you in here, the only one I’ll see.”
I’ll know it’s me you’ve wanted for;
The only one you’ll see.
Cause I’m the one who’s at your door,
For all the pretty snowflakes to see.
Knocking
If you knocked on my door, I’d let you in without even a blink.
And I’d let you fix yourself a drink.
And I’d pull out my trundle bed,
And I’d let you fall asleep.
And I’d line up the stars and tell them to get-in-order!
And I’d let you pick one from the sky
And I’d wrap it up in mortar,
And you could take it home, as a memory from that one time:
That you knocked on my door, and I let you in without so much as a blink.
And I’d do it again tomorrow, because now, I wouldn’t even have to think.
Whiskey Cure
She had never been drunk before, until she looked in this mirror.
Her cheeks were blushed, her lips, they shone
As if to say, “come hither.”
That’s not at all how she wanted it to go,
But here she was standing,
With this shot-glass-of-whiskey and her heart started panting.
Another walked in ready to cure her of her sin.
He gave her an apothecary’s look.
He took her home, laid her up, and off-the-whiskey he shook.
He told her that “she was just-alright,”
And that “she’d feel better in the morning,
But she’d have to stay for the night.”
(that he didn’t have to say; that she liked just fine.)
And as he shut the door, fluffed his pillow,
And decided to stay for a spell;
He blew out the light and thought of the night, and the whiskey on her breath.
He’d been an alright one to take care of the girl right next to him
And he knew that he didn’t mind the scent she left on his sheets and the hair she left on his pillow case, that would reveal themselves in morning’s light.
(that he didn’t have to say; that he liked just fine.)
2:03
I found out who I want to be;
Last night, somewhere around 2:03.
It ain’t no doctor,
It ain’t no poet,
It ain’t no King-of-Philosophy
It’s just a life spent rocking in a chair, with you right next to me.
I thought about that life
And who I want to be
And how I want to wear your flannel shirt and open our cabin door,
And here is what we’ll see:
A tree, some grass, a snowfall or two,
A lake in the view, a swing swinging, too,
A circle of smoke hangin’ round about our chimney top,
A barn with a bed with a quilt lying on top,
And a dog who comes running when we call her name,
and we’ll make sure to call it a lot.
I think you know what you want
And oh, how I hope it is the same.
Because right at 2:08, a cabin I went out and bought
And a dog I went out and named.
Yes, that’s exactly what I want, and it took me five minutes to know
That it‘s nothing but:
Our love in the fire that heats our cabin up,
Our love in the grain of the wood that builds the fire up,
Our love in the wind that fans up the flames;
It sounds real-super-special, but it’s just our love, all the same.
I sure did find out who I want to be, right there at the stroke of 2:03.
I hope you read this, and I hope you know, that there’s something pretty great about hyphenating
“you-and-me.”
Reconfirmation
I’d love you, I’m almost certain.
I’d love you, and you’d love me just as sure as the dust hangin’ in that curtain.
When you have my love, know that there won’t be anything better than this
Cause my love is loyal and like a good-pup it’ll sit.
Boy-oh-boy, if we could just get it together,
I know we’d be getting it right.
Cause I’d tell you things like this, morning, noon, and night:
I’d love you the way that strawberries love summer,
I’d love you the way that you should really love a lover.
I’d love you the way that grapes in jelly love peanut-butter
I’d love you the way that the cold wind loves to see us shudder.
I’d love you the way that the barkeep loves his shiny bourbon bottle,
I’d love you the way that the wisteria loves to coddle.
I’d love you the way that the icicle loves to drip,
I’d love you the way that the gun loves a grip.
And you’d know it, when our love was revealed,
When we say it, and we know it’s really real.
But let me tell you something, sweet love of mine,
That my love will whip like a turpentine.
Cause, you see, as good as I can list,
My love will be better, and you’ll open the door and out it you’ll shout,
into that cold morning mist:
“There is nothing! no strawberries in summer, no lovers loving lovers, no grape jelly loving peanut-butter, no cold wind loving a shudder, no barkeep loving his bourbon bottle, no wisteria loving to coddle, no icicle loving his drip, no gun loving the hand that grips, that could ever compare to the way that I love the love that I am in.”
And when the townspeople look around in confusion,
Wondering how love could be better than those in that list,
You’ll reconfirm what you said, as you holler out:
“There ain’t nothin’ better than this.”
Special-sort-of
It’s an ordinary day, in an ordinary place, but let me tell you something;
I see a special-sort-of-look in your face.
It’s somewhere right there in your eyes, both left and right.
It’s a special-sort-of-twinkle, it bounces round about as your head tilts toward the light.
I don’t know if it means anything, I’m probably just lookin’ for clues,
And here’s the thing, I don’t really know you, no matter how much I want to.
But I can tell you that on my list, getting to know you -
well, it’s the number one thing that I’d like to do, in fact, that’s my number one wish.
Summer Whispered, She Whispered to Me
Yesterday, I thought I heard Summer whisper.
I thought I heard her say that she was whipping her currents, ready to blow-on-in.
She told me she was ready-and-waitin’ and that she’d be here soon, hugging me like my next-of-kin.
So I’m going to wait up, with my ear on the door, cause I don’t want to miss her.
Last night, I know I heard Summer whisper.
She said:
“Gather your skin, all pale and gaunt, and let me kiss it with my warmth. Gather your hats and suits made for swimming cause I’m coming real soon, but then I will be leaving. So gather your sweaters and don’t let ‘em get too far, because I’ll be gone, like the whisper of me that you first heard. I know it breaks your heart, to see my green grass fade to brown, but don’t worry too long, cause just like history, I’ll be coming back around.”
Antiqued Lines
Don’t come to my door, bringing me roses.
No, that’s the last thing that I want,
But if you did bring me roses, they’d be the best I’d ever got.
Don’t buy me some shining diamond
That’s all brand-new.
The one that I want will be an heirloom.
Because it’d mean the world,
That sign hanging in our minds,
That my hand fits the simple ring that rested on your grandmother’s hand for all-of-this-time.
And how incredible to know,
That when our life is drawing to a close,
That the simple ring will fit the hand of the one that our progeny chose.
And there it will be, that simple ring;
Living on and carrying through the next-in-line
Those sweet and simple memories
Of you-and-me curving around the antiqued lines.
Your Door
I can’t. I can’t shake you.
You’re there when I close my eyes
You’re there when I open them back up.
Oh, what a pity.
Cause you’re so damn close, but I can’t just show up.
But what if I did?
What if I used my key to get into your door.
And I didn’t announce myself, like I had been there before.
And I acted all normal, like it was completely such;
That I was meant to be there and we sat down and ate lunch.
But what if you had someone else?
Oh, what a pity.
That I couldn’t take.
No, that I won’t be able to take.
If you have someone else in mind, don’t tell me. Think of my sake.
Let’s just pretend like it’s all normal-and-such
And we’ll sit down in the kitchen and have lemonade with our lunch.
Cause that’s all I want.
I just want to be the one that gets to walk through your door.
I hope it’s me, and I hope it’s not too much to ask for.
Well, if you’re reading this, you’ve made it to the end of an obnoxiously long post. but it means the world that you did it, and, really, I should give you some sort of a gift for doing so. feel free to head back on over to Facebook and let me know how it made you feel. thanks for taking the time.
Yours,
katie beth
Readers, a sad thing has certainly occurred. As previously stated in a past post, my ipod shuffle went missing. Whether or not it was the works of a klepto-ghost, well, that I still don’t know. All I know is that I have torn this place apart three times and no such luck. I’ve now come to accept that it’s officially gone.
As I was looking, I made the major mistake of listening in to my otherwise favorite radio station over on XM. It’s called “The Coffee House,” and let me tell you, they were playing some pretty sad little ditties.
By the time I had finished listening to an acoustic interpretation of “Stand by Me,” Tracy Chapman’s wondrous hit “Fast Car” started to play and I gotta tell you, I nearly lost it.
Then, I heard this song called “The Cape” by a man they call Eric Bibb, and I really did lose it. I know it’s just an MP3 player, but I really miss the little thing.
I started to get all sentimental. I started to think about all the incredible music that tiny object of my affection housed. And I can’t get over it.
Tonight, while you’re listening to the sweet auditory bliss that your ipod so unselfishly gives you, remember me and my great loss.
Here’s to hoping it turns up in an unexpected way on an unexpected day.
Yours,
katie beth
Man, people. have you seen the line-up for this year’s Bonnaroo? holy hell. they’ve got Tori Amos, KOL, Tenacious D,---did you hear me?? I said Tenacious D--- Norah Jones, Brandi Carlile, Blues Traveler WHAT? Oh my gosh. I didn’t realize. That’s major. PLUS, they’re gonna have The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band -oh snap- The National - also, major. And… Jeff Beck. Sweet lord. I’d do a lot of things to be there.
WHAT? Regina Spektor’s gonna be in the house, too? I can’t handle this.
CLUTCH? Clutch of “Ace of Cakes” fame??? Gees. I really CAN’T handle this. CHROMEO???
Okay, let’s just stop. I can’t take it. Plus, they go on to say “more artists to be announced.” Rip my heart out, Bonnaroo. Rip it out and stomp on it. Then, stick a fork in it and light it up with your Zippo.
Yours,
katie beth
what?.....what did you say? Jay-Z?? are you serious??? really? shit.
Once again, let me tell you how much I like you coming onto this blog and taking a few moments out of your day to read what I’ve got to say. It means more than you could imagine.
Here’s the topic I’ve been thinking about: T-Swift. That’s another way to say Taylor Swift, but I’m sure you’ve already figured that out. At any rate, I’ll bet you’re tired of hearing people talk about her. Maybe you like her, maybe you don’t, but here’s the thing: I don’t get it.
Believe me, I’ve tried to understand the phenomena that is Taylor Swift, but, alas, I remain confused. Okay, I guess it's sort of cutsie the way she bedazzles Taylors -which, I get it: her name is Taylor....and she plays a Taylor.((((collective "aw, that's so cute!")))))
I think that's one of the things that bugs me the most. Quit tryin to trick out the Taylor. Those things are pretty perfect on their own. Sure, I think she’s alright, but I don’t think it’s anything real super special. And guess what, I’ve heard super special and T-Swift ain’t it.
The worst part is that, despite the fact that I have gone to great lengths to try and avoid her music, I still somehow know all of the choruses to all of her singles, and it’s just about the most depressing thing that’s happened to me in years.
[except for that one song "Fifteen." that's some emotional stuff right there.]So, I’ve decided to take a look at her musical musings and I’ve arrived at the conclusion that almost everything has something to do with a fairy tale. That shit don’t fly here. In response to her music, I thought about how her songs might sound if some other thing was singing them. Like, maybe if the fairy tale she was writing about was about two star-crossed frogs.
don’t ask, just sing.
the following lyrics are set to T-Swift’s smash hit “You Belong With Me.” hope you like it.
I’m just a frog sittin here on this lily pad
You’re lookin at me from across the pond - that’s rad.
Hey, what ya doin with a frog like that?
Don’t you know her reputation’s whack?
She jumps real high,
I can’t swim.
She catches all the flies,
I wonder where that tongue’s been;
Dreamin ‘bout the day when you hop up and find
That what you’re croakin for has been here the whole time;
If you could see that I’m the frog that understands you
All this time, how could you not know, Froggie-ee-ee,
You should croak with me-ee-ee?
You should croak with me.
Taylor Swift: your song has never sounded better.
Kermit: I feel honored to have you on this blog. Especially with you lookin all gangster and such.
Yours,
katie beth
…there must be a parka in the atmosphere. People of the world, it. is. cold. Last night, I thought I'd get up and put on a sweatshirt. Not just any sweatshirt - my Les Miserables sweatshirt. And -appropriately so - I was pretty darn miserable. However, I wasn’t necessarily miserable about being cold. Instead, I was miserable because I couldn’t find it, and it’s pretty much my favorite. It’s my favorite because I played Cosette in a local production of this earth shattering musical when I was but a wee lass.
Anyhow, things have been going missing lately. The other night, my face wash was no where to be found. Also, my handy-dandy ipod shuffle went missing. I looked everywhere. I even took all the blankets off my bed, because that’s where I usually listen to it. Nothing. Now, it’s my sweatshirt. What’s more, a lot of left foot socks are also currently MIA.
I guess they could also be right foot socks. It seems like they’re usually the left ones, even if there is no direct difference.
This place is spooked. You should know that I’ve decided to name the ghost “Tony.” I really don’t like that name, but I feel like it suits him. Anyway, sorry about that tangent on my klepto-ghost. This blog is supposed to be about the cold and how I’m starting to grow tired of the whole situation:
Don’t get me wrong. I love winter. I love everything that winter stands for, but I am really pining for a little warmth. Gees, I really didn’t realize how much I flat-out, full-on love summer. I used to consider myself a fall/winter lover of sorts, and I think I still am - I’m just a little burnt-out on all this frigidness.
At any rate, the thing I miss most about warm weather is camping. Sure, it’s loads o’ fun to camp in the cold, but nothing beats a little warmth while you‘re doing nothing but poking fires, playing cards, and getting all slap happy and such singing James Taylor songs. If hope is the thing with feathers, than camping is the thing with awesomeness. So, here’s what: let’s meet up later and build a campfire. Then, we can throw in ridiculous amounts of gravel while we pretend like it’s summer and we can have our own little private fireworks show. That might be nice.
Yours,
katie beth
((((and tony)))))
well, hell's bells. he's tryin to steal this blog.
Well, friends, it’s lookin like a few of you out there are feelin the new blog. And let me tell you something: that means the world to me. It’s good to know you’re out there reading. It was brought to my attention that I said a few choice words in that first blog. You must know that I am truly sorry if it offends you, but I wouldn’t put them in there if they didn’t lend their greatness to the story.
Also, I hope this blog finds you having a pleasant day. And know that I want nothing more than to be completely honest with you. What’s going to follow in these blogs will be true stories, real experiences, autobiographical raps, things that happened to me. All true. Bring the rhymes.[that was a shout out to the good people that watch and listen to the Conchords. If you know what I‘m talking about, you‘re good people. If not, don‘t worry. I‘ll write an entry on bret and jemaine. You‘ll love it.]
Anyway, lately I’ve been noticing something: times is hard and bitches be hatin. Listen, folks, I know that our economic standings are beyond the pits awful. We’re all broke ass poor and feeling pretty darn let down by the whole system. However, I don’t see any reason for us to all be acting so grouchy. That’s right. I said grouchy.
You shoppers at Food City are the worst. A woman was practically right beside me the whole time I was in the store. She stood behind me, huffing and puffing and blowing her breath . really? have we gotten so awful that we can no longer allow a person read the wonderful different flavors available on the boxes of tea bags?
bitches. be. hatin. I can’t tell you the last time that I heard someone say “excuse me.” well, I’ve heard it, it’s just starting to sound sassier and sassier. You know, like, “well, ecUuUuUse ME!”
Stop it. It’s not that hard to show a little decency. Bottom line: I know you’re all feeling low, but let’s make plans to be a little bit nicer for the sake of the greater good. If someone (like myself) makes an effort to hold the door open for you as a sign of my utmost respect for the common stranger, you better say “thanks.” Let’s all practice this together and then we can all …..(wait for it)….. glide on the peace train. [clap, clap, clap]
Cause I really have been smiling lately, thinking about the good things to come.
And I believe it could be, something good has begun.
Yours,
katie beth
In my Philosophy class, I sit directly behind two lesbians who, everyday, share a diet mountain dew. Do you think that’s what this whole holiday is about? So, I’m not gay and I don’t think I’d like diet mountain dew, but I get the point and I hope you do, too. Let’s meet up and give each other flowers, cause that's what it’s all about. Right?
What if we’re wrong? Will anyone notice? Probably not. Valentine’s day is the perfect opportunity for a skeptic to hash out viral verbiage about card companies and Hershey’s getting their jollies, but it’s something that we all want, and that’s the most tragic part about this whole thing. We all just want to be noticed, to be liked, and, in the end, to be loved. It’s a real pity and a serious cry for help.
So, let’s talk about this whole Valentine’s day thing. I mean, let’s really talk about it. Feel free to chime in whenever you see fit. And if you feel like reading on, I already like you even more than when you clicked on this. I don’t know the history of Valentine’s day and I couldn’t tell you one damn thing about Saint Valentine and I don’t really care. I’m not going to get all ridiculous and look that stuff up because it seems pretty irrelevant to a modern day discussion of this red and pink holiday that forces us to reassess our lives in sad little ways.
You may think that you don’t care about Valentine’s day. You may totally avoid those aisles in the stores that are decked out in hearts. Don’t worry, it’s okay, I do it, too. I guess the most depressing thing about Valentine’s day is thinking to the point of almost knowing that you’re gonna have one. Just when that little crush of yours spirals into constant thoughts of a really cool person, a little thing called reality steps out of that obnoxiously realistic room and slaps the hell out of you. And let me tell you something, that shit hurts.
It doesn’t hurt in a normal way, though. It hurts by how much your cheeks start to blush cause you’re so damn embarrassed for ever thinking you even stood a chance. What idiots we all must be, thinking we could make this crapshoot of a day be anything more then, well, crap.
I don’t mean to dog this day. I’m sure that there are at least a few people out there who still feel optimistic about February 14th. Here’s the shocker: I’m one of them. I realize that I sound all dungeons and dragons about it, but I really hope that things turn around, even if it is just once. I don’t think Valentine’s day meant to bring us all down. That poor little guy was trying to lift us up; lift us up with a day solely dedicated to those people in our lives that make us do nothing else but think about them. And how do we repay Valentine’s day? We give each other cheap chocolates. Is that the best we can come up with?
You see, even if you do have a Valentine, you’re still setting yourself up for major disappointment because nobody gets it anymore, and I don’t really know if they ever did. As a direct result of never having a Valentine, I’ve had plenty of time to think about how it should really go down. And I gotta tell ya: I got nothin. I guess that’s the point. Whoever that person is that you think you’ve really got a little somethin goin with is supposed to get it. They’re supposed to get exactly what you’ve always been dreaming of, even if you never dreamed it.
Isn’t that just awful? We’re not mind readers, even though we might like to be.
Re: the person that I wish was my Valentine:
I wouldn’t know what to get you. And that’s the point. You don’t give a gift to someone on Valentine’s day to show them that you love them. Instead, you wake up on the morning of February 14th and your gift is already there. The gift is that you have someone to love.
Well, guys, that’s all I got. For Valentine’s day, I hope you remember this little writing and I hope you got it. Anyway, it’s been real. Thanks for reading. Head on back over to Facebook and let me know how you’re feelin about it, cause I’d really like to know. Sorry it got a little sentimental. I hope it didn’t put you off.
Yours,
katie beth
