(no subject)

No test results yet. Who hasn't been crossing their fingers?

Last night we were at The People's Pub when the man with the brand-new Strangers walked in. I was excited. "There's not a Stranger box on my way to work," I explained to my companions, "so I rarely get to read them while they're still relevant." The guy heard me, because he asked where I worked. I, however, was confused because I didn't think that he -could- hear me, so I stuttered for a moment before I said "Uhh...6th and Olive, I guess." "Well, there's about 30 new boxes going into downtown. Probably there. Somewhere east..uh..west of the main downtown. So I bet there too."
I thanked him and he continued on his way. On the way out the door, I picked up my copy, but not the one with the weasel on the cover.

This is the thing, and the thing is this

So I spent a large portion of my morning (note to self: quit starting sentences with "so") reading the Stranger valentines. I'm not a huge V-day fan, but I'm not one of those grumpy anti-Hallmarkers, either. I just seem to fall flat on my face when I try to make a big thing of it...or, well, anything else. I'm a spaz. Sad, but true.
This isn't the point. The point is that I most highly enjoy the fact that Valentine's Day is a universal excuse for airing your pet name for your significant other. I can just imagine how many people noticed their note and said "well thanks, honey, I really appreciate the effort...but did you have to call me snugglecheeks in front of the whole -city-?" I'm all for the exposure of our collective inner goofball.
So that's me for the day. I feel a whole lot closer to my fellow Seattle-ites...in a dirty, voyeristic way. And that's likely how it should be.