a very special valentine's day episode of "somewhere other than inside the out there." -- part nineteen.

i've got dr. gonzo curled to my right, her head all tucked under one paw. by my knees, simone keeps rubbing against the corner of the laptop until she hears something and hops across the bed to look out the window.

and all day, i've had the stereo shouting my favorite drunken chicago trio, all "happy valentine's day ... i hope he brought you roses" and such.

but i've got a lot to say tonight, and so i'll get on with it.

last night. light a cigarette.

it was an incredibly late night trip to wal-mart (it is the thing to do on an empty friday night). my friend and i were in an argument that has lasted a week now while we pushed our cart of supersoakers, sharpies, crayons, and other such things you buy at wal-mart at two in the morning when i got a phone call.

"linds, look outside."

"i can't, i'm in a store."

"go."

and so i scurried to the front of the store, phone all up to my ear and trying not to drop my bag. i stepped outside, and the sky was pouring snow from such a pink ceiling.

"it's so fucking beautiful." i let the snow fall over my hair and face and hands and shoulders and to my feet. "it's like being home."

"it's a cold day in hell."

"night... cold night ..." i said, but i'd already hung up, staring at these wafts heavily casting onto me.

we hurriedly purchased our pillows and candles and toys and such things, and then four of us gathered outside of wal-mart, but i couldn't say a word. it brings such a delightful silence upon me.

my friend drove me home, and explorer and rockstar ambushed us with snowballs from behind my parked car. a horrendous snowball fight ensued, and then we attacked the neighbors. and then they offered us beer.

after we changed from our wet clothes, we went and procured our promised beer. explorer left. then rockstar wandered off. i talked to some guy for a couple of hours until i realized that they'd both gone home. i walked the half block home carefully, letting my boots crush the snow that i never knew was possible in a place like this. for a night, this place felt like home. you can't imagine how painful and brilliant it was to know that.

austin, texas: valentine's day, 2004. snow was falling, cluttering in all the tiny crevices and creating purity whereever it landed.

i sat on the porch, alone. i watched it fall. i miss the snow. i miss the pant cuffs crusted with ice and the numb hands. i miss that cold that seeps in. five in the morning, i just wanted to know what home felt like.

when i woke up this morning (er, afternoon), i stepped outside to sun and cloudless space, as if last night had never happened, a dream in a place concocted by a few of us to go home to.

there was a small flier on the screen door that told me, "IMPORTANT!" well. i better keep reading then. it then informed me that a delivery had been left at my neighbor's house since i was "out" when they had called. nine in the morning, i was definitely "out".

i took the small piece of paper next door and rang the doorbell, shuddering at the thought of trying to communicate with my ancient wretch of a landlady who constantly informs me that i "talk to fast and must be from the north." ten minutes later, after showing her the flier, explaining who i was, gesturing to our house, and doing everthing short of pie charts and diagrams, she says, "oh! yes. they're beautiful." ???

"um, can i have them?"

"step in."

i was scared. i'm not afraid to admit that this woman scares the hell out of me with her jesus talk and delapidated piano.

i stepped inside to that air of closed places and retrieved a vase of a dozen roses. beaming, this was very unexpected, i crossed the lawn to my house, sat down, and ripped open the note. "don't cry. you are special. love, ellen."

his mom. she had done this beautiful thing for me. she knows him so well, and she knows us so well together. today was the fifth anniversary of our first date, and she knew how i knew him.

boston, massachusetts: valentine's day, 1999. a boy showed up with a dozen roses and shrugged. i couldn't have stopped myself if i tried.

today, she sent me exactly what he gave me that day. i pressed my cheek against one of the blossoms and cried. it filled me with light, to know a love like hers.

see, it's not that i'm single or lonely or plagued with identity crisis. i am all of those things individually, but i am not any of those things mushed together into this s&m holiday.

i have tried to tell this four times now, and each time, something gets in the way. my fat fingers keep hitting the wrong buttons and lost each version of loathing that i've put down here, tried my best to scream at you, or perhaps eagerly attempted to persuade your soft little mind to ... god, i'm trying to forget it! and still, on this fifth time, tell this, i am persistent in saying that it's all a sham, scam, whatever.

it all makes me quite ill.

see, here's the thing. when i was little, each valentine's day, my parents would put a cute little stuffed animal on my bureau for me to find in the morning. my new friend, given by such loving hands, was instantly scooped into my tiny arms and given an appropriate name. growing up, i didn't have many friends outside of those that i made up and the characters of my favorite books. i was quiet and odd with few close friends.

this year, i received a package with a stuffed monkey and monkey pajamas and a glorious array of candy-goodness, including snacks that my mom knew would supplement my new health kick. as i opened it, it brought back all those years, finding that token in my line of sight. i, finally, felt honest again.

that's what really gets me about this day. the facade of couples playing up to each other for one day and the girls complaining about being forgotten because they got a fifty dollar gift instead of his empty bank account, it genuinely kills me.

maybe it's because ... i don't know .. call me fucking crazy ... my perfect valentine would know better.

ok, see, one valentine's day morning, i woke up next to him, and he took my hand and asked, "will you be my valentine?"

that was it. that's all i needed. it was never a huge-uber day for us. we were each other's valentine's day gifts. we were our own love.

my perfect valentine would know that i'm uncomfortable in fancy restaurants with their bad food and breakables, not to mention my disdain for nylons and misplaced feeling in anything resembling a nice dress. he would know that a snickers bar is better than a cellophane-wrapped heart of chocolates that i need a map to eat. he would know that all i want is to share the best whisky with him as evening hits, listen to morphine or alkaline trio, and talk with him until voices carry such truths.

i want love everyday of the year, and so, he would get valentine's day off. let's let valentine's day be full of monkeys and whisky and drinking buddies and game night until pictionary becomes the most absurd shadow box of inside jokes. let's let valentine's day be an opportunity to say thank you ... for being my friend.

i want love everyday of the year, so, future valentines of mine, take that february 14th off. in fact, take christmas off, too. but christmas eve is all mine.

and, you know what? excuse me for a moment here while i recede into more petty versions of myself ... fuck hallmark. fuck them for thinking that their little elves can scribble out some poem in an illegibly scripted font that could possible encompass any love of mine. fuck them, indeed.

it's taking away that terribly fat man. america, one day a year, you try to put that fat man on a diet and dress him up in the brightest pinks, masking his heckling way. but don't you dare think for a minute that he won't be back to his sweating beer and belching the next morning as you try to steer around him to mow your lawn. he is the only honest thing that you've got coming. he'll get you every time.

he will drive that insane honesty through your thick skull and brand your cerebellum until it is charred.

at least, he's not hiding anything.

and america, i will admit that you won this battle. i admit, i did feel truly lonely on this day.

at least, i hold true.

that grotesque bastard will sit on my front lawn and follow me on each trite errand in his ill-fitting clothes.

he is one slight motherfucker.