Yesterday was the strangest, yet best Valentine's Day ever. Ok, so here's a disclaimer: If you are someone who hates Valentine's Day, quit reading. Go floss your teeth. Seriously. I don't want anybody bitching about hyper-commercialism, or the non-romantic nature of a day planned for romance. I know it is over commericialized, but the thing is, I LOVE Valentine's Day (always have, always will) and it is my all-time favorite holiday. So I am going to talk about what a splendiferous day I had, no matter what you think. So there. Cry me a river, bitch.

Onward. Yesterday I awoke, and got up happily knowing that it was the day that I adore perhaps more than I love ice cream and Anna Karenina combined. I blame this on the colors red and pink, which let's all face it, are pretty awesome colors. But anyway, I got up, screwed around the house for a while, studied for a Geology test, and put on some sexy clothes I had secured just for the occasion. Then, at 12:06, I get this great idea: "Hey, we had pizza last night. There are some leftovers in the fridge. I think I'll have some!" Bad, horrible, stupid, dumb, crazy, ugly idea. By 12:20, I was puking my guts out, which is a horrible image, but comes closest to describing what I was going through at the time. I was wretchedly, horribly sick, perhaps the most sick I've been since I drank 3/4 of a bottle of $4 pink champagne, and then decided to demonstrate my walking of a straight line. ANYWAY, it was bad. So I laid on the couch and wished I was dead, all the time knowing that I was missing my geology test. It was horrible. I called Matt and was generally miserable for a good 3-4 hours. Wretched, wretched.

Then Matt comes home, and things start to look up. He brings me flowers, which are pretty and fun, and all that jazz. And we talk about the Grammys, and I read a funny article concerning them on salon.com which makes mention of Jerry Lee Lewis and the beheading of rats which I thought was roll on the floor laughing kind of funny, but which barely prompted a curling of the lips on Matt. Then, pumped up on love and Pepto Bismol, I journeyed into the kitchen to start dinner, which consisted of two desserts, vodka-cream pasta, and salad. It was fun, especially given the fact that I was singing Journey, and well, everything's better with Journey and cream. Once more, it was fun. No overworked waiters, no obnoxious fellow diners, just good old fashioned romance. And a bottle of merlot. A really, really good smoky bottle of merlot.

Then we open our presents (I know this is dreadfully blow by blow, but indulge me, ok?). I give Matt liquor filled chocolates and "Love Machine" pajamas. He gives me unmentionables and some chocolate. It's good. We are listening to David Bowie's "Will you Rock and Roll With Me" which is dyno-mite. Then, David Bowie's "Be My Wife" comes on, and Matt gives me a ring. Of the engagement kind. I swoon, gasp, repeat. Very, very perfect.

So we had a good night. We drank another bottle of champagne, which I promptly threw up, but you know, you win some, you lose some. And I have a ring on my finger and it glitters, and although I feel like the Indy 500 is going on in my lower digestive region, it is ok. I am part hung-over, and part ill, and all the way happy. And how often do you hear an English major say that?

I had qualms about putting this on here, as I am airing our little private moment (well, not all of our private moments, wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more) to, well, the 3.2 people who read this, but the thing is, seeing it here just makes it all the more real. Right now it's too good to be real. I mean, we had just fallen into the wedding thing as a kind of thing that you just do because it is the right time and right place and whatever. But this makes it even more...just perfect. I don't know. It's one of those things that is surreal (Matt would probably hate me using that word) and magical and still so strangely there. It's like when you're asleep for a long time, and you wake up, and you see the person beside of you and you can't tell if you're still dreaming or not. It's just like a permanent phase of that. Clumsy metaphor I know, but somehow strikingly true. I don't know.

So that's what's going on with me. I am warring with my geology TA about when I am going to take this test and the fact that I did not get an excuse note from the health center because I was puking all over the place and unable to drive to the goddamned student health center at the time of the class, and it seems so far away and not like something I should be caring about. I don't know. It's weird. I guess the world stops for those in love. Sappy, sappy.

Well, I should go. I really should do more work. I have senioritis of the worst, worst degree. I am about 300 pages behind in Dostoevsky, and I have 150 pages to read and a response paper to write by tomorrow. Then there's the damn geology test. Oh well. We'll see how that goes. Sigh.

Here's a post-Valentine's Day list of Good Songs for You to Get It On To:
1. Love Song--The Cure. All time favorite. God, so good.
2. Always--Bon Jovi. Cheese should be a good part of your diet.
3. Blue Eyes--Some random guy on Garden State soundtrack.
4. Fade Into You--Mazzy Star. Favorite of my dramatic high school days.
5. Heroes--David Bowie. Need I say more?
6. Take It Off--The Donnas. Quickie music!
7. Doin' It--LL Cool J. This is so cliched that if someone ever played this in the bedroom, I would crack up, but this doesn't diminish the fact that I can recite every word on command. How's a big girl like it Daddy? Nice and large.
8. Open Arms--Journey. For those times when you find yourself with a bald, hairy man in sweatpants from New Jersey.
9. Darts of Pleasure--Franz Ferdinand. Love the title. And the guys are nerdy looking which will get any good English major in the mood.
10. Iris--Goo Goo Dolls. Haven't heard it in years, but it was "our song" when we were 16 and were concerned with such things. Sigh.