I know I should be ready to rip my heart out and beat my breast and wail, but shockingly, I'm doing just fine, a-ok. Better than ok, I'm doing grrrrreat. Valentine's Day? Was a lovely day, and I was unaffected. In fact, I somehow felt oddly strengthened, fortified, purified even. Like I've been tested with the box filled with pain and the poison of Eros' gom jabbar, and I am still human. I didn't even want to drink myself into a stupor or anything. Nope. I was horny, very horny, on V Day, but as there is currently no other lifeform on the planet that I trust enough to fuck with this heart of glass dangling so very enticingly by a safety pin from my everso emo hoodie sleeve, I only want to peg my doppelganger, and then lovingly strangle it before it turns and strangles me. Self love truly is the bestest love of all.
I wrote the above on Valentine's Day when it was all true, but today? Today I learned that when you type the symbol for a broken heart which is on a Sidekick during a Yahoo chat that the person on the other end receives a blank line. This makes me want to cry some more. Buckets. How cyberpoetically sad. It can't rain all the time though. Can it? Can it? Don't answer that! Only Brandon Lee is qualified to answer that, and somehow I think his answer is going to be, "All signs point emphatically to YES."
The sad state of my panties these days is dry, dusty even. After 197 days of self-enforced celibacy, the mere thought of sexual congress with an actual human seems rude and awkward and totally off-putting (unless you live 5 states away and are a REAL man not some pixilated jerk-off masquerading as my soulmate). Actual physical intimacy with someone who lives in my timezone? Scary. Weird. Messy. So, if sex is off the table right now, you may be asking yourself what does set teh_Beauty's loins afire? Or you may not, but for the sake of argument, let's say you are interested. Well then, let me show you what I consider hotter than the hottest PORN.
Yeah, that's right. It's the Thundercats Lair, not even MIB (mint in box). This? This is a panty-soaker. This is the Holy Grail of action figure collecting. The only thing sexier than the Thundercats Lair is this. I can't even post pictures of it. It's too hot to trot. My screen might melt. The only thing I already own on that page is the Sandworm in the box on the card (not mint), and it's the CROWN of my collection. Truly, I am ill if this is what it takes for me to form a blazing sword. But you knew that, right? You didn't come here looking for some well-adjusted womanchild who takes it vanilla, no spice, with a side of shiny and happy? No? I didn't think so. All we have here is spoiled princesses with broken hearts who cry over accidental html markups.
PS. It is shocking how many people wished me Happy VD on Valentine's Day. Folks, I thank you for the effort and the kindly intent but wishing me a Happy Venereal Disease on the day of LOVE is a little...disconcerting, not to mention oogy. Off to form Voltron. Merry Chlamydia to you all and to all a good night.