OK, so honestly, I had this whole Random Crap Tuesday post all cooked up like a fancy souffle and then someone was all “what are your PLANS for VALENTINE’S DAY” all screechy and shit and I realized motherEFF I kind of have to address this frigging holiday, don’t I. So I took some of the stuff OUT of the Random Crap Tuesday post and left in some of the stuff that was TOTALLY ROMANTIC and there. I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY SCREECH.
What am I doing for Valentine’s Day? Punching you in the face for asking? How about that? No, honestly, I haven’t celebrated Valentine’s Day once in my entire life, why the hell would I start now. Valentine’s Day is a holiday designed to make people without a relationship feel like shit. We WOULDN’T feel like shit if the coupley people weren’t all “oh, you must HATE Valentine’s Day” all the time, in that voice you use to gentle horses or maybe to talk to suicide bombers. Let me tell you where you can cram that voice, Myrtle.
Valentine’s Day means nothing but cheap chocolate day tomorrow, and that’s it. I don’t care about it otherwise. The closest I came to celebrating Valentine’s Day was one year in high school I was SO EXCITED because I totally had a boyfriend for Valentine’s Day, like for the first time EVER, and this was AWESOME, I was totally going to get PRESENTS, and then he broke up with me two days before the big day because he thought one of my friends was flirting with him so he had a better chance of getting laid if he went after her. When he actually DID go after her, she laughed in his face, which I guess was a nice bit of revenge. And also a couple months later he shaved off the three hairs he’d been cultivating for months that was his version of a moustache and they never grew back. Like, ever. I saw a photo of him on Facebook recently and he’s still bald as an egg. SO SCREW YOU DICK MCGEE.
But! I can’t let you all down. You totally want something romantic. Because it’s Valentine’s Day. SO! I totally have the cure for what ails you. NO NOT LIQUOR. But that might work, too, don’t rule that out.
I HAVE A SECRET BOYFRIEND YO!
(That’s a funny header because once I talk about it, it’s not really a secret anymore, NOW IS IT.)
I totally have a SECRET BOYFRIENDDDDDD! Who might be reading this RIGHT NOWWWWWWW!
So one of my readers, B. (I should probably keep her secret, right? This is probably all supposed to be on the DOWNLOW like a PRISON BREAK) and also one of my friends from the Geek Girls Book Club AND one of my Twitter friends AND one of my Facebook friends AND one of my Saturday night drinking buddies (she’s really a quintuple threat, then) said that one of HER friends decided that I would be a PERFECT match for her (the friend’s) brother-in-law. After telling B. that might get awkward if this guy was married to her friend’s sister (he is NOT, whew) she totally DOWNLOW LIKE A PRISON BREAK sent me his name so I could internet stalk him. Um. I mean, gently research him. In a most gentle way. Like a kitten! Like a little baby kitten, so gentle was my researching. Like the baby fur on a baby kitten. (ZOMG. When I worked at the Humane Society? People would come in looking for “baby kittens” all the time. I didn’t point out the redundancy of their phraseology, but would direct them to our cat room. They’d come out with lemon face, all, “NO BABY KITTENS I SAID” and I’d say, “Um, those are babies, they’re like 8 weeks old” and they’d say, “I SAID BABIES. BABIES! Like a WEEK old!” You can’t even legally adopt OUT a week-old kitten. A week old kitten needs to be with its MOM. You jackass baby-kitten ageist.)
ANYWAY. Because I totally rock Google, I found Secret Boyfriend like, almost immediately (except I was thrown off because the first thing that popped up was like a million references to a mixed martial artist with the same name, and that was off-putting, because the mixed martial artist – BEE TEE DUBS autocorrect keeps trying to change that to “marital” artist, what? Mixed marital artist? That is…not right. But kind of funny – had one of those Channing Tatum “my neck and my head are the same circumference” things going on, and well, that’s so nice, B., but I’d be a very bad dater of someone with a humungous neck, I’d always be all “that’s just a huge neck you have, babe, seriously, I can’t even take you seriously right now or even look you in the eye with that huge honking neck of neckiness going on.”) But NO! I totally broke through the fourth wall of Google and FOUND MY PREY. I mean. Um. Gentle like a kitten. A BABY KITTEN.
So secret boyfriend is adorable and also A DOCTOR. OK, not a blood-and-guts doctor with the cutting and the rude arrogance. OF PHILOSOPHY. The SEXY kind of doctor. I think the odds that secret boyfriend knows how to use a semicolon correctly are very high, like in the 90th percentile at least. ALSO he kind of looks like a more intelligent and less crazy-haired Mark Ruffalo. So henceforth he will be known as Dr. Ruffalo. And he is a PROFESSOR. At a COLLEGE. Who has PUBLISHED ARTICLES THAT HAVE REAL TITLES ATTACHED TO THEM. I mean, look up at my title up there? The titles of his articles are nothing like that. They use real words in them. And they don’t even use song titles. I KNOW.
Um. So after I picked myself up off the floor and asked the janitor to borrow his mop to clean up the drool-puddle, it was totally decided that OPERATION DR. RUFFALO would be in full effect. Oh, by the way, Dr. Ruffalo lives approximately 2,200 miles away from me, not that I Mapquested that or anything so I could put in the mileage here for you guys because it wasn’t as funny to make up a number and also because I’m like the best stalker ever. Also? In another country. One that is NOT AMERICA. Oh, sorry. Sorry. MERKA. NOT MERKA. And doesn’t know I exist. And I’m preeeeetty sure would read ONE PAGE of this blog and he’d die dead of death because if you’re a big fancy fancy person you probably only have so much tolerance for “douchecanoe” and “asshat,” you know? Also? ALSO? HE IS NOT ON TWITTER. I know. This, in itself? TOTAL RED FLAG YO. OH! Also he has the same last name as a BADGUY. The badguy used to date one of my close friends and we found out way too late he was a lying liar who lied. B. assures me that the people in Canada probably aren’t related to the lying liars who lie here.
HOWEVER! LOVE STORIES ARE NOT ALWAYS EASY. I WILL MAKE THIS WORK.
Did Romeo and Juliet give up when their families tried to keep them apart? NO. They COMMITTED SUICIDE BY ACCIDENT. Um. That is a bad metaphor. Here, this one’s better. Did Cher and her stepbrother from Clueless give up when…no, listen, I’m not even going to go there, I know Paul Rudd played him in the movie and I’d totally lick Paul Rudd like a lollipop, given the opportunity, but it always skeeved me right the hell out that she was dating her stepbrother even though they weren’t TECHNICALLY related. That one’s out, too. Oh, wait, I know. Did George and Lenny give up when Lenny murdered someone by petting her hair too hard and the itinerant workers were all “lynch mob!” Oh. Yeah. Yeah, they kind of did, George shot him in the head. And they weren’t even romantically linked except if you’re writing creepy sexually-inappropriate shipper fan fiction. DAMMIT I SUCK AT THIS.
SO! In honor of it being A DAY OF LOVE (please excuse me while I gag), I am going to have a conversation with my total new boyfriend Dr. Ruffalo. You can all listen in. I’ll let you.
Dearest Dr. Ruffalo! B. has assured me that we are totally going to fall in love and that you have been directed to read my blog. Isn’t that nice? Aren’t you so excited that your future is planned out for you? I know I am. I mean, I’ve been worried where I’m going, what I’m doing with my life and such, and here you are! I promise I am not crazy. Oh, wait. No, I totally am, that’s a lie. And what kind of foundation can we build our love on if it’s built on a foundation of lies, Dr. Ruffalo? A shaky one that’s prone to mudslides, is what. No one would like that.
Listen, I’m pretty sure you would like a laundry list of what I would bring to a relationship. I can provide that. I’m not shy. I totally talk about my gynecologist right on my blog to STRANGERS, I mean, I’m pretty sure propriety was thrown out the window like, months ago. Ahem: I bring to the table a marked dislike of most foods, a cat who may or may not be mentally ill, a legion of Twitter and blog minions, and a laugh that is loud enough to frighten small children into dropping their ice cream cones onto hot sidewalks. These are a lot of things to bring to the table! That table might totally break under the strain of all that awesome. I worry about that table, I’m telling you right now. We should shore it up with two-by-fours or something. OH! I also bring to the table the inability to shore up tables without hitting myself with a hammer and making myself bleed. I hope you are good with hammers, Dr. Ruffalo.
So! Dr. Ruffalo. I have no doubt you are halfway to in love with me right now; the ball is in your court. That is not a euphemism. Or – wait, did you want it to be a euphemism? Now that we’re in this secret romance, probably I have to start thinking of your wants and needs, too. If you want that to be a euphemism, Dr. Ruffalo, it is TOTALLY a euphemism, and aren’t you so impressed with my euphemism skills? I should add that to the list of things to put on that table up there. Except now that table’s sure to collapse, damn, and I don’t even know if you’re good with hammers yet.
I have attempted to Missed Connection people on here before, Dr. Ruffalo, most notably the guy who looked like Al from Tool Time but wasn’t that I saw at a play once, and Randy who hated me but also I’m pretty sure that meant he loved me. THESE THINGS WERE NOT SUCCESSES. I have higher hopes for you and our secret romance.
Oh! I am also totally good at sciency things, because I have a sciency friend. And I’m willing to try tea but it might make me gag, just a heads-up. And I’m totally learning German and a little Norwegian – like today? I learned that “rumpetroll” means tadpole in Norwegian. Taken literally? BUTT-TROLL. I know, right? Think of the pillow talk we could have, Dr. Ruffalo! I mean, I’m thinking it would be hard for ANYONE to resist me, right? Right.
Dr. Ruffalo, if you could like to contact me, please feel free. I give extra points for grammatically-correct comments, tweets, and emails, and will totally go to second base over a pleasingly and correctly-placed semicolon. Just a tip.
LET’S DO THIS.
Oh. Also I like caps-lock. Like, a lot, a lot. So don’t try to come between me and my caps-lock? You won’t win. Just looking out for you, sunshine.
LOVE AMY FROM LUCY’S FOOTBALL YOUR TOTAL SECRET GIRLFRIEND
Oh, here’s a picture of the real Mark Ruffalo wearing glasses so he kind of looks scholarly so you can all imagine my new secret boyfriend in your head. We’re going to make a lovely couple.
(Imagine him with no facial hair and normal head-hair and not Hollywood actor head-hair and they are the same. Except kind of not the same, same. But sort of. Kind of. DR. RUFFALO LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.)
So! Happy Valentine’s Day, all you coupley-couples. Happy Tuesday, all you other people. Happy Day-Before-Half-Priced-Chocolate-Day, people who are deal-savvy and chocolate-obsessed like me.
And happy day to YOU, Dr. Ruffalo. HAPPY DAY TO YOU SIR.