Luv Bucket

I love Valentine's Day. It is an excuse to give presents, and I LOVE me some presents. When I was little, I used to obtain toys that I already owned, wrap them up in wrapping paper, and place them at the foot of my bed so that when I woke up the next morning, I would be "surprised" with a "present."

This probably stemmed from the fact that my parents were "not big gift givers," meaning every Christmas, I got a brand new pair of pajamas and a sweatsuit, to replace the ones I received the previous year. In my stocking, I traditionally received an orange or two and a handful of unshelled nuts, which my parents imported all the way from the nut bowl sitting on our kitchen counter.

Like I said, not big gift givers.

So you can imagine how, now that I am all grown up, anytime there is even the remote possibility that I am going to receive a present, I become very excited, as I am fairly certain that I will not be receiving brazil nuts or a floor-length cotton nightgown. I cannot help it, nor would I want to--the anticipation of getting a present is better than just about anything else, excepting maybe Dove dark chocolate bites or IKEA. No, it's better than even those. LOVE THE PRESENTS.

Which is why, this year on Valentine's Day, I was absolutely enthralled when mine eyes beheld the gift my thoughtful hubby gave me. He calls it the "Luv Bucket." It's basically a big red vase full of scraps of paper, all folded up. Each scrap of paper contains a "personal compliment" or a "quote" that he found and wrote out on a scrap of paper, just for me. This way, I can open one up each morning to start the day off on the right foot, as a little loving gesture.

Is that not SO thoughtful? And time-consuming? His brownie points were racking up to previously unrecorded levels. They were shooting off the charts. I was so excited at this remarkably loving personalized gift, I cannot even tell you. "Open one," he says.

So I pulled a scrap of paper out of the Luv Bucket and opened it. It read:

"I love you, but your driving makes me nervous."


Huh?

I stared at the paper. Perhaps I read it wrong. Nope, that was it. I couldn't believe it. THIS was my compliment? Upon seeing the crestfallen look on my face, my hubby read the note for himself and decided to make an exception and allow me to choose another one from the bucket, as "that was the only one like that." I certainly HOPE so.

Hmph. I chose another one, which was much better (it actually CONTAINED a compliment). And it was a pretty good compliment, I must admit. So, luckily, everything was smoothed over, and overall, Valentine's Day was a smashing success. And I received a vase of red tulips the next day, which always makes me happy. So, all is forgiven.

I am also pleased to announce that I am making preparations for a Luv Bucket of my own, which I will have all ready by this time next year. It will contain such compliments as "Your armpits are slightly less hairy than those of an orangutan" and "If you hung upside down, I bet you would look like one. Especially with the hairy armpits and all." Very complimentary, don't you think?

Happy Valentine's Day. Love you all. Just not so sure about your driving.

F off, Grandpa!

If there is one thing I hate, it's people taking up my time. Whether it's telling me their entire life story, holding everybody up by going 40 miles an hour on the highway, or otherwise restraining me from going where I need to go or doing what I need to do, I don't like it (unless I actually LIKE the person involved, which is a rarity). Perhaps I am just a big crank, but there you go.

That said, there are a couple of 50ish-year-old men who have "befriended" me at the gym, which I visit approximately 4-5 days a week. In other words, I've got to put up with these yahoos almost every freakin DAY. They seem to think we are "friends" and they should "come try to talk to me" while I am working out--and I'm SURE it has nothing to do with the fact that I am a "spry 27-year-old female" and they are "a couple of desperate chuckleheads who are trying to relive their youth."

Case in point, I got into the hot tub the other day, and they saw me, so they immediately jumped out of the pool and joined me. The sign next to the hot tub reads, "Please do not use for more than 5 minutes at a time."

After 25 MINUTES of this idiot YAKKING at me about his JOB and his SISTER and YAKKITY YAK YAK YAK I thought I was going to pass out, I was so hot from being in there so long. I literally had to cut him off and excuse myself! I staggered to my locker in a steamy haze, cursing him with every step! Why can't he just leave me alone!!! I'm dropping all the hints. I'm excusing myself early on in the conversation on a regular basis. Is this guy just a complete knucklehead, or what??

I just don't get it. I'd say that approximately 5 times a night during my workout, both of these idiots have to "stop by" to "have a quick chat" when I just want to be "left alone" and "get on with my business" so I'm "not here all night." Is that so wrong??

Let this be a lesson to all of you middle-aged men out there that try to engage 20-something young gals in conversation unwittingly. LEAVE US ALONE!! If we want to talk to you, we will EXPRESSLY come and strike up a conversation with you. If, however, your "conversations" with us are typically conducted with our backs and/or ponytail regions, TAKE A HINT. FIND A GASBAG YOUR OWN AGE TO TALK TO. I don't want to be rude, but come on! Give me a break!!

Sigh. Why do people force me to be so mean.

On a side note, I get to visit the SuperTarget tonight, otherwise known as Mecca. I am so excited! It will be the highlight of my day! I love you, SuperTarget. Let's make out sometime.

Not you, grody gym geezers....