Saint Fucking Valentine's Day is tomorrow.
I think that some people, usually the people with vaginas, must have a kind of secondary internal clock - sort of like circadian rhythm but an annual one - that kicks in each February.
An alarm goes off around February 10th and these people start scrambling like mad to make sure they're not alone on the 14th.
I have a different kind of goal for Valentine's Day. The goal of not doing anything so stupid I'll regret it for a very long time.
Twenty years ago tomorrow I proposed to my ex-wife. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but that one action, fueled in part by the timing of the holiday, proved to be disastrous.
Last night I did my best to enjoy myself despite feeling like a complete asshole. I managed to do okay. I had a CorsenDonk Christmas Ale while talking with CoffeeDude, and after a while NotGeorge came in and I had a Robert The Bruce and a Tunnel Vision.
The Valentine Effect was very evident last night. Rich O's was the site of a nearly constant stream of attractive single women, all looking for whatever it is they're looking for when they get desperate. NotGeorge is a good person to share nights like last night with - his radar for pretty girls is highly accurate and useful.
So I ended up having a good, but not great, night at Rich O's. The lack of sleep begun the night before, combined with the necessity of again having to run the emotional gauntlet that is MixedSignalGirl, had put me in an irritated mood. Then the parade of lovelies and the good conversations picked me back up to normal.