Lover’s Day

20090204_045645_valentine2_pinupRecently I noted that someone who writes a daily “grammar blog” has come on board for a following/subscription to this blog.  This of course worries me, I am a grammar blog writer’s ultimate nightmare.  I used to have a university professor that followed me, drove her nuts.  She nailed me all the time on apostrophe’s, said I put them in the wrong place and was constantly pointing this out.  Last I heard, she had gave up and was working a rig in the Balkan Field in North Dakota as a tool pusher.

Let’s talk of Lover’s Day, that magical time of the year, that is quickly approaching.  

Soon the media will be full of nothing but happy, sappy, posts about this illegitimate holiday. Time is running out for a lot of guys, Valentine’s Day, that illegal estrogen enriched time of the year sponsored by all the chocolate manufactures and of course, jewelry shops nationwide is now clearly visible on the romantic horizon.  A banner day for Hallmark Cards I suppose … and the immediate downfall for the poor sucker who forgets.

Some of these holiday’s are suspect anyway.  Did you know that last Friday was “National Wear Red Day?” Well, it was, “If I am lying, I am dying” as my buddy Billy Raye Littler used to say.  This month, b’sides Valentine’s Day we also have President’s Day (the 18th) we ought to buy him and the family a one-way ticket to Borneo and give him a carton of Marlboro’s.

But I digress … sorry.

My marriage firmly locked down in the layered bedrock of the planet, established way back years ago, when the earth was still warm, does not require a yearly injection of false admiration and adoration, so I assume I am free.  I should be able to slide under the radar, much to the chagrin of some of you other suckers who will not.  All I have to do is remember to pick up the seat and I am okay for a month or two on the by-ways of matrimony.

Not a big fan of the holiday, as you can see.

My feelings about Valentine’s Day are mixed.  I remember as a small lad, we were required to give Valentine’s cards to all our young classmates in school.  The teacher would give us a list of each child in the class, and we were to dutifully fill out a little sentiment and then pass them around on the appointed day.  This gesture was to be seen as goodwill and friendship, but in reality, quite cruel to the kids who were an exception to the rule, and received no cards whatsoever.

I never cared for it.

Most of the time, the man is going to “get something for himself” and then pimp it off as a gift for her.  Box of chocolates, something racy and sweet, from Fredrick’s of Hollywood (for himself).  Now when you are secure in your relationship, you do not have to spring for these things.

One of the readily apparent benefits of a libido in retreat and being older, is the fact that at our age a trip to the Catfish Cabin, some shrimp, a short well timed visit to the Salad Bar and later, some bread pudding and you are set.

I would even venture that both would cost about the same in the end.

In my younger days, being the sleeze-ball that I am, I would have opted for this new thing on the market … The C-string.  Have you seen one?  Here is a photo sampling for your perusal and a live demonstration.  This would not be suitable for showing at work, so check the room first.


As you can see, this clearly leaves little to the imagination and is a testament to the female form.


Here is a working example of a C-string on some lovely, I would assume it is Mexican Television, it sure would not be aired here in the U.S.A. even Fox would not touch that (pardon the pun).

Clearly this is not a gift for the older audience but for the younger set.  Most of us who read this site, would be just as happy with a new toaster over.  I don’t know where the chocolate would fit in, but then again, it is the thought that counts.  Best get busy and do some shoppin boys, time is running short.

Please remember, “do not go overboard.”


Possibly Related:  Here is a lighter look at the subject of love, Timber Wear from a few years back.

Pocket Change

Been raining a lot here, yesterday was the 10th day in a row, so I have been spending a great deal of time watching television.  There is a commercial currently running that I just cannot seem to grasp.  It is a Hallmark Card commercial, I like Hallmark Cards, and they seem to stir something deep inside that is an old familiar feeling.

The newer versions that have the music in them are a kick in the … well …. I like them too.  Not long ago the grand babies got me one and it was childish, immature, and it brought a smile to my old tired face.

Hallmark is alright, they are aces in my book.

Two cards that readily come to mind are the old professor and the girl who becomes a teacher (“I have misplaced my glasses would you read it to me?”).  The other is the small Italian kid, who delivers the card to the foxy older gal, and she gives him a kiss for a reward and the next day her doorstep is full of young boys.

These two commercials stand out.

We also watch the Hallmark specials that run from time to time, because we consider them wholesome and quality programming.  Out of all their programming, the commercial that would apply to me would be the old coot in the nursing home.  If Hallmark made a card for me, it would be close to the “cranky old uncle in the nursing home” that gets a card on his birthday.

In this commercial that is currently running, the wife is slipping into the husbands’ pockets a card and then later on she is shown handing him the jacket as he hurriedly leaves for work.  The kids are at the breakfast table and the pace is fast and loose, typical America.

Another rushed thru breakfast where no one is actually talking to each other, time is of the essence, and no one in the room, has time for family. Typical American faire, too busy living to be living would sum it up.

The husband scoops up the jacket, grabs the cup of coffee on the run, and heads out the door.  He then briefly re-appears with the card in his hand, embraces the wife, and then blurts out, “And I love you too honey!” or some other sappy line that escapes me at the moment.

This is the part that kind of sticks in my craw, I just for the life cannot get into it.  I know it is supposed to register a familiar chord with the man of the house, and we are inclined to respond in like fashion, but hey, let’s get real here.

This is close, but it doesn’t get any cigar.

My wife is in my pockets all the time, she has for over thirty years dropped by from time to time and rummaged thru the cloth depositories of this and that.  I can truthfully, equivocally say, that I have never, ever, received any kind of refund of change or paper money from the family laundry or the through search and seizure of coinage or bills in my pockets.  And furthermore … She has NEVER at any point in time, stuck a card in there.

She has deftly removed car keys, handkerchiefs, numerous twenty-dollar bills, lunch money, receipts, gum, candy, fun money, mad money, gas money … But never has she has never so much as left a card or note.  If she had, it would tersely read “I need you to pick up milk at the store or don’t forget the kids at daycare, I need grocery money today.”  Something tender and touching like that.

My absolute favorite has to be the Reo Speedwagon commercial.  Now there is one commercial that hits really close to the house.

The old rockers in the car, where he opens up the card and they hear the old music and they are mystically transported back to another place in time, and then suddenly meet in the middle of the car for a passionate embrace and lip lock.

That is a good commercial, that makes you smile.

This card in the pocket thing is okay, but like they say in my neck of the woods, “that dawg aint gonna hunt” it doesn’t fit, its not hot enough from a male perspective.  As we all know, it is truly hard for one to love someone who is constantly living in your pockets!

(Yeah I know, don’t write me any letters)