The 98837573498th post you will read today about Valentine's Day.

Yep, my personal brand of sophistication coming your way. At this point, nobody needs explained to them that I have the maturity level of a nine-year-old boy, so I'm thinking nobody was thrown by the obnoxious title. In fact I'm about to write an obnoxious post, so you can consider yourself warned. My aunt Jenni took some pictures of me a few weeks back, and sexified them, but they just don't look like "me." There's something missing, like maybe a thought bubble. A thought bubble reflecting my level of human progress since fourth grade. Reflecting the inappropriate laughter I have when I hear children smack their heads on the hardwood church benches, in the six seconds it takes them to start screaming. Or maybe the fact that I want to say "your mom" at random intervals in staff meetings.



Also known as Single Awareness Day, my personal history with Valentine's Day already got a shout out on this blog, so I won't put you through that again. But I will say that I am still planning on my Sweet Valley Career Girls series striking it rich for me, and I may just spend my Valentine's day writing it, and other shitty romance novels I'm going to publish under my pre-adoption name. Maybe I should make it something more inviting, like Sweet Valley Ladies Of the Night or Sweet Valley BabyMamas (cover featuring Jessica Wakefield upside down on a pole).

Please leave your ideas in the comments section. 

I also lost Moses today. It was really fantastic. I let him out to pee but it was fricking cold, so I didn't wait by the door because half the time he just likes to sniff around and frolick in the powder and refuse to come when called. I ran to the kitchen to make toast, and promptly forgot about him until fifteen minutes later. Of course by that time he wasn't in the backyard anymore, so I had to follow his meandering space-cadet dog tracks up the sidewalk (and through neighbors' yards) until his pawprints exited the sidewalk and started toward the road. Where they ended, in a circular stamping of small human shoeprints. So either he got hit and they took the body, knowing that in this neighborhood, he surely belonged to a yuppie couple and probably had his own room, and the guardians would surely skin them alive...OR they picked him up and called the SH like good Sugarhousers do when they find a lost, scared dog (um three houses up from mine and having the time of his LIFE without a leash or a care in the fricking world; dogs LOVE that, but whatever). His dog tag says only the Starter Husband's number, not mine, so I knew whoever "rescued" my "scared" dog would be calling SH, not me. I raced home to call SH and he picked up right away (bad sign, very grounded). When immediately asked if he was mad at me (would determine whether or not the Mo's rescuers had beat me to this phone call), he answered deadpan "yes." Sorry, SH. I was tempted to blame it on my mental state after being abandoned and having to go to the DMV so much, but I thought I'd save that for if Moses ever actually got hit. 

I was planning on spending my Vday with Moses, and taking cute pictures of him and showing them on here for you to see. After explaining to SH that it wasn't THAT bad or THAT long and the people that picked him up were being drama queens, and every black lab needs a day on the town with no nagging or boundaries, I then asked if I could "have him back now." There went that idea. So you will be seeing no puppy-dog-eye snapshots with hearts superimposed around his face, because I lost him and ruined it for everyone. At least I never had to drive him home! Thanks, complete strangers!

P.S. Drop a line if you wanna have some babies with me! 

Sorry, I can't sit here and bore you any more. I have romance/whore novels to write. Bye.