Something or other is upon us once again. Last year, I celebrated Valentine’s Day with some sort of rambling tribute to burning orphans and sentient sperm, and while that is the most romantic thing possible and there is no way I can ever top it, I do write a blog that gets frequent traffic from people searching for “perfect tits” and “grandma’s anus”, and if that doesn’t make me an expert on love and romance, go fuck yourself. I’m like Cupid, but with perfect tits and the anus of a grandmother.
But that is not what I want to talk about today. Any idiot can love you for the price of a heart-shaped box of shitty chocolates, half of which you will poke your thumb through and discard (strawberry taffy? Who eats that?) but it takes an Idiot to love you out of spite.
The Idiot heart seethes with a rage that makes the executives at Hallmark pop a throbbing, seam busting boner trying to think up ways to market it. An impossible feat. We are confident in that shit, and require no validation.
I know I have a heart. A very real one that beats in my chest, pumping blood throughout my sorry carcass. I received proof of this while running for a bus recently. Let me state this: I do not run. I don’t do it. There is nothing I’m in that much of a hurry to get to that I can’t spare myself a couple of extra seconds. I don’t find it relaxing to watch the scenery fly by. And people in running pants look foolish to me.
I saw a guy running down Fifth Avenue in shoes with separated toes wearing something I can only call “nut snuggies”, his entire package outlined down to the glaringly visible vein, all for the sake of so-called “physical fitness” and the runner’s high. No thank you. But I ran for a bus because it was cold that night and the bus was coming, and after a block and a half I felt like my heart was going to explode. Until that moment, I had never felt like I was having a genuine heart attack. I felt like I might actually drop dead on that bus (I caught it!).
Romantic love is like that. If it’s true, and pure, and life-long, you’re gonna find yourself utterly fucking dead at the end of it, but victorious, because YOU CAUGHT THAT BUS. And if the love is NOT true, your arm is still going to turn numb. Win-win.
I’m going to confess something that is guaranteed to shock the hell out of you. Or maybe not.
I am very much NOT the kind of person that people fall in love with. I’m not being coy about this - I’m not fishing for disagreement. I’m being so sincere right now. I am a horror. If I were an outside person looking in on myself, I’d run for the fucking hills. I mean, I’ve got a couple of good qualities sprinkled throughout but nothing to outweigh the overwhelmingly awful. My positives are like the white curl of frosting on the Hostess shit cupcake of my personality.
I’m weird looking, completely negative, I want to punch everybody in the ass, I’m a know-it-all, a perfectionist, and a neat freak. I hold people to impossibly high standards, and when they fail, I can be mean. I never finish anything, yet I want instant gratification and results in every single thing I undertake. I get frustrated quickly, I’m bossy, sarcastic, perverse, crude, pessimistic and I hate everyone.
I’ve never been the kind of person that other people lose their minds over. I just don’t have enough to recommend me. Every relationship I’ve ever had has begun, progressed, and ended with the other person constantly chanting, “PLEASE JUST CHANGE.” And I never do, because…how?
I don’t know what I ever did to have a guy like Sifu choose to shackle his cart to my horse, but I gave him every opportunity to back out of it before we made it legal, and he STILL went for it. INSISTED upon it. Maybe he’s able to turn off the part of his brain that perceives what an insufferable asshole I am, who knows.
The fact remains, this strong, brilliant, handsome guy loves me, hideous, grouchy, assholey mess that I am. The most baffling fact of my life is why that should be so. I’m lucky he does, though - nobody else would ever have me.
So go out there and love the shit out of someone today. Not literally, unless you’re into it, but if you’re going to do it, do it TO THE DEATH.
I love you, Idiots. Happy Valentine’s Day.
- cheezepoof likes this
- jumperpear reblogged this from simianidiot
- jumperpear likes this
- simianidiot posted this