For the record, I don't stalk you. I actually know very little about you, including your birthday, and I have vowed to never Google you. The only facts I will ever take as gospel are those you share directly with me. You're welcome.
If I did know your birthday, I'd read you your horoscope for the week. But I don't, so let's just focus on me. As usual. I'm a Libra, Tom. Makes you love me even more, doesn't it? Just wait until you hear my horoscope for the week, courtesy of Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology, in our local Sunday newspaper:
Happy Valentine Daze, Libra. It's my astrological opinion that you need more jokes, comedy and humor in your romantic adventures. If you're too serious about seeking the pleasures of love you can't get what you want. To inspire your efforts, I present the winning entry from last year's Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. It was judged the worst possible opening line for a novel, but it's perfect fodder for the project I've assigned you:
"For the first month of Ricardo and Felicity's affair, they greeted one another at every stolen rendezvous with a kiss - a lengthy, ravenous kiss, Ricardo lapping and sucking at Felicity's mouth as if she were a giant cage-mounted water bottle and he were the world's thirstiest gerbil."
I'll wait while you collect yourself and change your pants after peeing them from laughing. Or was that just me? This was one of those things that made me tilt my head and ask, what the fuck Jeannie?!
After collecting myself (and changing my pants), I decided to share this and see if I get any bites. Maybe I'll even cut it out of the paper, glue it on a red heart-shaped doily glued on pink construction paper and mail a few out that say "Be Mine?", and patiently wait for the responses to flood in. Mr. Right could be just one Valentine away! What do you think?
Bottom line is, I do want a boy who will pee himself laughing at that. I really, really do.
Edie B. Kuhl