It’s almost that time again. Valentine’s Day. Could they have invented a stupider holiday, really? Anyway, in my house, Valentine’s Day doesn’t really happen. SOMEONE has a job that (lucky for him) forces him to work awwwl night long that night, and the kids and I eat chocolate dipped chocolate for dinner and then I drown my sorrows in a bottle of Johny Depp. It’s alright; I’m used to it. But this year I want a Valentine, god damn it. There is no way I’ll win The Retropolitan’s contest (bastard riggs it against me every stinking year) and so I thought I’d open it up to you all.

Would you like to be MY Valentine? I’ll understand if you decide to just go be Retro’s (he’s much cooler than I am) but if you think you’d like the job, you could have it in only a few, easy steps.

Below is a short questionnaire. Simply fill in the blanks. It’s like Mad Libs for booty. Leave an ANONYMOUS comment* with your answers, and I will announce the top three** winning answers on February 1st.

There are no wrong answers here, kids. It’s even ok if you don’t fill in all the questions; I’m all about quality over quantity***.

The mostest awesomest three answers win my undying affection, a virtual smooch, and one rockin’ Valentine’s Day mix courtesy of Bit Torrent very legal iTunes downloads.

“Do you like ___________ and getting _________________?”

“I would _____________ - I’d ____________, Walk the wire for you - ya I’d ___________.”

“I wanna _________________on the mountains, until the _____________________.”

“I swear that I can ____________ in your ____________.”

“What about ____, don’t you want someone to ______________?”

And last but oh, no, not least:

“You’re here in my _____, and my ____ will ____________.”

*I like to play fair. Not-anonymous answers will not be counted, no matter how freaking cool they are.

**Yes, three. I would like 3 Valentine’s. I need one for the 5:30-7:30 shift, the awkward, sober happy hour date. I need one for the 8-10 shift, the dinner and champagne in stilettos. I also require one for the 10:30 until god-knows-when shift, the “I’m gonna hate myself in the morning for this one” date. The CD’s awarded will correspond appropriately.

***The line that was GOING to go there? You’d disown me for it. Just sayin’.

Christmas is a time of the year to reflect on the true meaning of the words, “Survival of the Fittest.” Turkeys, pigs, evergreen trees; you are all put on notice from December 1st to December 24th. In our house, that warning extends one step further….to the Christmas Ornaments. Those lovely childhood mementos stand little chance up against 2007’s most infamous mass murderer, The Notorious Three of Three.Once a noble Santa stood tall and proud, now he is merely two creepy red sticks of the man he used to be.Not even the iconic Snoopy was spared from her Rampage of Carnage..That’s much more disturbing than a headless horseman, if you ask me.She moved from heads to legs, which are apparently less messy to transport and easier to shove in the freezer. Or something like that. Poor, tailless bird.I know it’s hard to make out, but that little nugget on the box? A foot from, yes, our most important holiday figure, the Man in Red, Santa Claus himself.Her reign of terror knows no limits.

Notice how she so subtly lures her prey into the trap.“Well, aren’t you just the pwettiest fing I have ever seen! Wanna pway wif me?I have my Chwistmas dwess on and we are gonna have so much fun pwaying wif Dorwa and Boots!”“Aha! Gotcha, sucka! You’re mine, now. Mwahahahahaha!”

That kid? Pure. Evil.

How was your New Years Eve? Did you drink yummy champagne? Did you kiss your one true love at midnight? Did you resolve to really quit smoking, only to break that resolution before you passed out last night?

I only pulled off one of those; go ahead and guess which one.

We spent New Years with neighbors. Every family in our ‘hood has 3 children. They are all really close in age. It’s like Soylent Green mixed with The Stepford wives around here; we all bred about the same time, and almost all the moms here are teachers. It makes me giggle, but it also makes for great NYE parties.

We had potluck dinner at my neighbour’s house, and then sat around and gabbed until midnight. The kids, who I thought would be dead on their feet by 12, were tearing it up. They blew noise makers, they drank Kiddie Champagne and toasted to friends. We had mugs of the very best Indian tea that has ever crossed my lips, and also toasted to friends.

It. Was. Wonderful.

I know my neighbors a little more, and like them more, too. I have cool neighbors. Funny, hot, cool neighbors.

I resolve this year to stop being such a damn recluse already and start hanging out with these people more. I love where I live for a reason. I am totally surrounded by awesomeness.

Josh had the most crappy night at work imaginable, and made it home before 2 am, and we watched The Dirty Dozen for a while and then we headed to bed where he gave me a little present. One of those Not Everyday presents. One of those things married people never bother to do presents.

Oh yeah, baby, I got a footrub. I got a footrub after he had just worked 15 hours on his feet. I think I fell asleep halfway through it, it was so damn good. That is the finest way to end a year.

Picture one of Blog 365, aka Project 365, coming later. Welcome to Y2K8. I, for one, am totally looking forward to it.

We have seriously better holidays than you.

Did you know that in Canada, we have TWO holidays in December? That’s right, two. And they are right next to each other. First, you get Christmas, the day to buy Jesus a bunch of birthday presents and then regift them to your spoiled children. And then, the very next day, you get Boxing Day. The whole point of Boxing Day is to get your over-stimulated, sugar-crazed, sticky kids in the car and go commune with your fellow Canucks at, you guessed it, the mall. It’s National Shopping Day, and the Post Office closes for it. The entire country goes on sale. You get to go buy all the stuff you didn’t get under your tree. Cheap. Crazy cheap. Day after Thanksgiving on crack cheap.

For example, you could pick up 9 CD’s for the price of, oh, 4.You could buy yourself a bag full of new sweaters because your fat ass A) needs to break up with Tim Horton’s and B) won’t fit in any of your totally awesome old ones.You could get yourself a new phone, the phone your wife tried for two months to get you, but since she’s spent the last ten years as a stay-at-home-mom who’s husband takes care of everything, she doesn’t exactly exist in the world of credit, and straight out buying the phone was, like, twice her entire budget for you.I’d show you the actual phone, but he can’t stop making out with it yet. You could return the very nice, fancy, totally awesome coffee pot you got under the tree that had nothing at all wrong with it except that it failed in every way to work, and exchange it for some very cute glassware that Good Lordy you needed so very, very much.And when you’re all done torturing your poor children by dragging them all over the mall, you could get them something, too. Like jeans, because Santa brought excellent sweaters but it never even occurred to him that boys like to wear more than boxers with their new tops. And you could buy your baby some new clothes, too,
because as you can plainly see, she doesn’t havenearly enoughas it is.But, be warned: if your baby, who you are shopping for, happens to be the youngest of 3 and the only girl, you would do well to closely inspect those new footie jammies before you pick them up. (Sweet, aren’t they?) And maybe chant a few times, “We have a girl. We have a girl.” Because even though she really likes skateboards and worms and stuff, she might prefer rainbows on her new jammies over trucks.And if you do get away with the trucks, which you will, someone, someday, is bound to raise an eyebrow to the footballs.Yeah, America, you so totally need to steal this holiday. It may be the coolest holiday in the whole wide world.