A post in which I am a jerk, and there's VD all over the %$$#@!! place

Well it's that wonderful time of year again.

I thought I had lucked out in getting Justin to go with me to the canoodle-fest that will be VD dinner with my mom, her posse, and their boyfriends. But it was not to be. The cruel and vicious demon-whore that is Valentine's Day gave an evil laugh, batted her dollar-sign eyes, took the form of a muse, and gave Justin an idea. Gave Justin a wonderful, horrible idea. The idea that we should all go to a bar on the evening of Valentine's Day. He shared this master plan with me today.

Of course my first reaction was just to go to a quiet place and quell the dry-heaves. A gay bar. On Valentine's Day. Two of the most horrible, loneliness-inducing things in the world in one bloated hellucopia. A nightmare played out in ear-splitting fag electro-dance music. At least no one will be able to hear me scream.

Needless to say, I greeted this idea with a marked lack of enthusiasm. I sounded kind of like Eeyore visiting a pediatric cancer ward. Of course Justin would have no frame of reference to understand what it's like to be 40, fat, single, with a better chance of being struck by lightning than meeting a decent guy to date. He seems to feel that if he can get over his latest spat with his incredibly gorgeous boyfriend who is crazy about him, that I should be able to overcome everything with a few drinks.

Ordinarily I try not to dwell on the negative. Really I do try. I've put up with the 8 million jewelery and flower commercials on TV. I've turned a blind eye to the candy displays in every fucking store in the country. I didn't make a peep when Bi-Lo erected it's annual "love corral" over the registers and began to fill it with bloated Mylar announcements that yes, even the 500lb guy on the "Scamp" at the store has a sweetie to take a balloon, a cake, and a gallon of ice cream home to. But after the week I've had with my family, the cruel taunts of the VD bitch are just a bit more than I can take with good grace at the moment. I told Justin I'd almost rather spend VD in a Russian prison than in a gay bar, which really wasn't a very nice thing to do. He's doing me a favor. I should be able to at least be graceful about his request.

Now I feel small and selfish, and I'll have to spend an Evening in Hell to feel like a good friend again. Just call me Prometheus, and bring on the eagle. Apparently annually.