Floral Sex

A horrible ad has been popping up on my Pandora Radio lately, telling me, "This Valentine's Day, give your man a not-so-subtle hint: Tell him to order flowers from Such-and-Such Place."

Tell...TELL HIM?!

Wow, what a spontaneous and romantic gesture that'll be for me. Should I go select the exact bouquet I want and just send him a link, or does he at least get THAT much credit? Because OMG, men are SO clueless, amirite, ladies?!

I once had an ex tell me I "hint with a hammer," because I usually just say what I want, but I've never pulled THAT shit.

Jesus Christ, if Valentine's Day is that important to you, your Person should know to get your fucking flowers.

I like Valentine's Day. When in a relationship, I personally like to spend it at home with a movie, pizza, and nudity, because I've generally felt loved every day in my relationships and don't feel the need to make it such a Thing. (I am also cheap and lazy.) But still, I like love and celebrations thereof. I like flowers and hearts and pink crap and on-sale candy the next day.

But I hate the implication that all women are whoreticulturists and all men are inept.

...It's possible I have too many feelings about this.

Relieving emotional tension < relieving sexual tension.

Between hormones and holiday stress, I just ended up Ugly Crying over something incredibly stupid, and now my brain is convinced I am unlovable and will die alone. So that's always fun. I think these particular feelings will need to be handled via pizza.

I almost never cry, so storing it all up for the twice-yearly Ugly Cry is sort of like when I finally get laid -- I never realize how long it's been since I've done it, so I just explode from the catharsis of it all. It generally works out much better during sex, but the result is the same: I end up collapsed in an exhausted, lifeless heap. And I feel a lot better. And I demand snacks.

Don't trust that pizza. You in danger, girl.

This is the greatest fucking thing I've ever seen. This woman is my new spirit animal.

But I need to go to Canada and show her what real pizza -- and thus true love -- is. That pizza doesn't love you, Nicole. That pizza will betray you.

P.S. I didn't even notice it said "shero," because it was just too gloriously much at first, but really, that shit needs to stop. She's a hero. That's the word. Knock it off.

"It's 'uter-US,' not 'uter-YOU.'"

Male Coworker: "I could live on pizza and tacos."
Me: "OMG, me too."
Coworker: "See, that's why you should have kids, because they'll eat that stuff every day."
Me: "Uh, that's why I DON'T have kids, because I'd have giant-mutant-obese kids who only ate pizza and tacos."

Also, that doesn't even make sense -- I don't need to have children to eat tacos and pizza. I just...CAN. I am a grown-ass woman and I can eat tacos whenever the hell I want. AND, with the money I save not having to buy food for Smug Junior, I can also get nachos or extra guac. My barren womb for liquid cheese? This seems like a fair trade.

Joking aside, I must reiterate that this is not a thing you should be saying, especially at work, especially if you don't know the person well. What if a medical condition has made it such that giving birth could actually kill her? What if she's been trying to conceive and not able to? What if she HAS conceived and the pregnancy didn't take? What if her husband has some sort of issue and it's causing them marital problems?

Honestly, shut your fucking mouth. This is a gross and invasive thing to say.

Besides, I don't even have room to birth a kid to share tacos with when I have YOU all up in my vagina. You're really hurting your cause.