But Not For Me

I keep thinking of a line from PM Dawn's 'Set Adrift on Memory Bliss' (heavily sampled bits of Spandau Ballet's 'True') which goes:
"Bet you're probably gonna say I look lovely, but you probably don't think nothin' of me..."

I always loved the candor of that statement. Somewhat random. On to other things.

I am reading a novel by brit Jane Green that is utter schlock, but I am hooked on the plot of a once-fat writer/editor who drops the weight and begins having passionate sex soon after. It's a good train novel; I've foregone sleep on the last two rides to keep up with the story. I felt so motivated by the protagonist's resolve, I only had one helping of Sarahbina's meatloaf last night, I drank water with dinner, and was in bed by 9. If someday this will all lead to good sex, bring on a lifestyle of delayed gratification!

I wish I could go away for a while. alone. Mr. Renaissance once suggested that I rent a cabin in New England for three or four months and just write to my heart's content. That does sound nice right about now.

But I can't because I have no leave time and a new crap assigment.The only thing good about it is that it will take oodles of time and I have a failsafe code to charge to on my effort reports which are often exercises in creative writing.

I've been asking myself what I think would be a perfect way to spend Valentine's Day. Here's my take on it:

Cards from friends in the mail (e-greetings in the inbox, or whatever)... flowers sent to me at work and at home (anything but lillies)by "the man" w/cleverly worded cards attached, and evening plans that include a pit stop at a hip, indie coffee house, an indie film viewing (subtitles a plus) with some hand fondling, killer eye contact at pivotal moments, and sensual vibes flowing freely, going back to his place for takeout from an Indian restaurant (with more of the aforementioned nuances), and then being dropped back off at my apartment, the evening punctuated with a soft kiss on my forehead.

What's yours?