A Valentine To Remember.

I have strong personal convictions about Valentine’s Day.

I think it is inanely stupid.

It’s contrived, it’s expected, and it’s downright annoying.

It forces single people to feel sad, it obligates non-single people to feel pressured to write something disgustingly mushy on Facebook, AND it’s the single worst night in the year to attempt to eat out, making one choose to either a) wait 4 hours to be packed in like sardines at a prix fixe meal out, or b) COOK AND WASH DISHES AT HOME.

WHY would we allow something so ugly into our culture*?

I mean sure, Chris and I celebrated it for a number of years at the beginning of our relationship – until that beautiful day that we got comfortable enough in our love to have that most romantic conversation.

“I think this is stupid.”

“Really? I do too!!”

We would much rather celebrate romance on our anniversary. It’s ours and we don’t have to share it with every other couple on the globe.

Welcome to the romance of the cynical.

* Feel free to disagree with me. You may find Valentine’s to be the most romantic, loveliest of holidays and that is 100% fine. Continue to enjoy the pinkest and reddest of days and by all means don’t let me sour you toward it.

Anyway. My lack of disregard for this holiday is why, when my Dad texted me Tuesday morning and asked if he could stop by, I didn’t even think for a second that it had to do with Valentine’s. I wondered for the next 30 minutes to what exactly we owed his visit. Although it’s not unusual for Dad to stop by, his text implied more than the usual “I’m dropping by.”

He walked in with a big red envelope in hand.

“I brought you a Valentine.”

Now. I derive 105% of my cynical genes from my Father.

This was clearly a confusing turn of events.

I opened my Valentine to find a handmade card, in my Mom’s writing. So this was a joint card….still feeling a bit odd.

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And then I opened it. And I remembered why my parents are THE best parents in the world.

FullSizeRender 63“Twisted” is the word that is obstructed by Herman’s Grade A Packaging, just in case you couldn’t figure that out via context.

Have you ever seen such a perfect way to celebrate this holiday?

No. You haven’t. Because my parents just created it.

After I opened the card and gushed at my Dad’s thoughtfulness, he pulled out another baggie.

“It’s a two-for-one day!”

That’s right. I was gifted not one, but TWO dead mice for Valentine’s Day. No $200 bouquet could top such a thoughtful, personalized gift.

I squealed with happiness.

“I even had a Valentine’s balloon in my roadkill kit that would have expired today if I hadn’t found something!!”

Dad beamed, obviously proud of his perfect timing.

After he left, Noah and I headed out to the driveway in bare feet, and I put the rubber gloves in my kit to use for the first time – after all, Herman and Marge would have to be posed.

I got them how I wanted them, but the plastic stem of my balloon kept popping off the ground, sending Herman rolling over.

Carcass Models are such divas to work with.

I finally had to employ my toes to hold the stem down, then had to crop out the tippy top of my big toe to finally capture the essence of the moment.

Yes, I had gotten what I wanted. Now it was time to write A Valentine Tale worthy of the image.

Herman and Marge the Valentine Mice s

Marge tried to feign excitement about Herman’s proud cheesy gift of an oversized balloon – she knew he loved her to death, after all – but all she really wanted was for him to have not been such an idiot when he decided to make their home near that tempting, deadly, beautiful, terrible Mouse Trap Subdivision.

And that’s how I received the best Valentine’s Day gift ever.

A Round-Up of the Random.

Let’s have a round of not-at-all-important distraction, shall we?

As I’m sure you can tell by the way I live my life, designer copy paper is an absolute requirement. So thank goodness Staples had this deal on Cynthia Rowley’s designer case of plain white copy paper.

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…Because my paper deserves better than to come in a standard box. And it should absolutely be locked up in a security box so nobody swipes it before I get there.

We have some extremely interesting realtor names in this town, and now we have balding aliens to add to the crazy. I guess the real estate bubble on Mars finally burst.

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There’s nothing like studying Alabama History and learning that Hernando De Soto was a horrifically awful person who ravaged our state, murdering and stealing his way through it in the attempt to find some vast amount of hidden gold, to take the fun out of Family Fun park.

IMG_2467No. Not Awesome.

This pig has thigh gap. And I do not. The world is broken.

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Filed under “cars you do not want to rear end.”

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This is the home screen of my son’s iPad. I feel like I should go ahead and be looking into mental institutions for his future residence.

IMG_3214Who hurt you, Noah?

I went to the library to escape politics for just a second and read words unrelated to our current state. I failed.

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And then I failed even harder.

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I’m so glad they put that warning on this book. I once had a friend whose child’s brain LITERALLY exploded from doing one of these without parental supervision. But then again, who doesn’t have that friend?

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I feel like TMZ should have Googled the phrase “popping a squat” before utilizing it on dear Prince Harry.

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And now I can’t erase the mental image of Prince Harry wearing these shorts(?).

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This billboard caught my attention the other day. First for the fact that waist trainers are something that apparently belong on a billboard. Then for the verse reference.

IMG_3878For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a tiny waist.

And finally, my Text of The Month award goes to….my sister-in-law.

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Good thing he has superhero powers to fight germs.

Cheer Amidst Chaos.

November and December are the busiest, are they not?

I’ve barely been able to put coherent thoughts together to talk to my children, let alone write. But I have been taking pictures and screen shots. So I’ll share those with you to buy myself some time.

Audible has decided to really hedge their bets on their advertising plan. I think it goes something like this…

“Okay guys. This ad will be directed specifically at moms. But we have no way to know if their children have been cuddling with them or LITERALLY torturing them. Or both.”

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Saw this box. Immediately assumed “Take A Kidney, Leave a Kidney?”

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That feeling when you agree to meet someone at their house to purchase something off of CraigsList and you show up and you’re not so sure it was a good idea…

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Personally, when I go into a public bathroom, I prefer to not need to identify whose poop is in there.

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Who doesn’t love a good custom fitting.

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I hope Bonnie Ree also has an obscene amount of hand sanitizer.

Confession: I still have a home phone. I do not know why. I never answer the calls.

But WHO WOULD, with the calls I get??

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I feel like we’re to the point that biologists are just trolling us with creature names.

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Oh – Biologists AND lake namers.

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And while we’re at it, candy makers.

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Can you really trust a Pest Control guy that seems to be under siege himself?

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I have many thoughts about this window.

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a. I love being loved, but preferably in a non-violent manner.
b. I am impressed with the excellent window penmanship, but
c. It appears that, although Jess is still loving faces off, Tiff has moved on from the practice. Maybe she’s now just loving people in a standardized way.

Do you really want to be sitting behind your friend the inflatable unicorn? What if it all of a sudden feels the urge to deflate?

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I can only assume that there is some seriously championship liquid that comes out of that machine.

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Thank you, V-Tech, for teaching vital life skills at such a young age.

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We found the most royal tree on a walk the other day.

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It’s not simply a Sparkleberry Tree.

No.

It insists on being referred to with its royal name,

Tree Sparkleberry.

I guarantee you that Tree Sparkleberry has her Siri refer to her in the same way that mine refers to me.

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And finally, I’d like to say:

My dad is the best. That is all.

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…or at least, until I asked his permission to share the above screenshot.
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