thoughtful minutes

I'm not a big fan of Prove Your Love Day. I don't like heart-shaped tchotchkes, chocolate samplers, or red roses. Gifts given under the gun of consumerist pressure don't feel particularly special. That said, I still like going out on February 14th. I recognize that we've been manipulated by marketers into it, but I can't help enjoying the sense of cultural participation. Matchy-matchy couples, pink champagne, and an agreement to throw our romantic best into the middle of winter. Because even though we know we should do it every day, on this day we're especially earnest in our desire to show care and affection. Good intentions sometimes just get lost in the details.

So we went to Santa Monica on Saturday night, to a restaurant I'd mentioned wanting to try. We knew nothing about it other than the fact that it's always busy when we walk by. Recommendation enough, right? Wrong. Had we Yelped, we might have known better. We did not Yelp. Our reward for this mistake was an overpriced, mediocre dinner served by an apathetic waiter (pretty sure prix fixe is Southern Californian for "go fuck yourselves, diners"). Behold my mound of dry, bland linguine, topped by a skimpy handful of sad lobster chunks:

"Excuse me sir, but you look awfully cheery for a guy about to drop a couple bills on some rubbery crustacean."

(Sad Lobster Chunks is going to KILL at Coachella, by the way. Most fire debut album of the year.)

Even though we were cracking jokes, I know Terence was disappointed. When the food is bad, the person who picked the restaurant sometimes feels responsible, and he'd put thought into surprising me. Also, we were exhausted from '80's night. We didn't even have enough energy to stroll the pier after dinner.

So the big V was a bit of a womp-womp.

What is not a big womp-womp, however, are the other 364 days with that guy up dere, who does his best to make me feel loved - and to make me laugh - on every one of them.

Anecdotal: A few weeks ago Chaucer had Shrek ear, which is when one of his ears accidentally flops over itself in a little coil. I don't know how he does it, and I can never replicate it, but it's the best:

I sent Terence a video of it, and he sent one back that necessitated my making a Vine account just so I could share it at some point. So then I made this:

(His response was a million times better than an LOL, and man do I love making him LOL.)

Exchanges like this - videos or WordSwags or whatever - seem silly, but they're a kind of language we speak. An easy and creative way to say I'm thinking of you and I want you to know. I want to make you smile. And they've become a sort of insurance policy against the pressure of a shitty prix fixe dinner. 

The point of my rambling (which is aimed squarely, if publicly, at my Valentine) is to say I'm grateful for the other three hundred and sixty four, and the thoughtful minutes that go into them. I'd probably love him even if Post-Ititis claimed both his ears. 



I hope everyone felt loved on Saturday, be it by your significant other, significant friends/family, or just your significant self.