Friday, February 16, 2007

Ugly is the new beautiful

I can clearly remember the times in my life when Valentine's Day was a big freakin' deal. My delicate self esteem hanging in the balance between a night alone and a heart-shaped box full of substandard chocolate. Watching your fellow office bitches mates getting flowers delivered. It's so stupidly stressful. But at the time it hurts. I'm glad those days are over.

It's equally stupid to hear people (men) make a big dramatic show about how VD is a commercially run enterprise invented by Hallmark. Whatever, dudes, it's here to stay so suck it up and if it's important to your gal then quit being a whiny pussy and buy her a card and some candy. If you don't want to hassle with it then don't date a chick who needs a proclamation of love on February 14th in the form of a red Mercedes with a giant bow on top. Jesus. It's not that big a deal.

Since my days crying about being alone on a lover's holiday are over, and I really don't care about it anymore because I can buy my own damn chocolate (and do every day), I thought it would be fun to start a new tradition with my baby and take the hyper hype out of it. I'm blessed with the most awesome relationship I've ever had, one that is easy and fun, so I knew he'd be right there with me.

My idea? Instead of lamenting over the "perfect gift", especially so fucking close to Christmas where we all go insane anyway, I thought, let's go for the ugly. Seek out with minimal effort the most hideous, unappealing, awesomely horrible total and complete crap we could find and present it to each other for some always-needed belly laughs and a story to go along with it. Pick an under $10 limit, agree on having a semi-special dinner, and there you have it. In my opinionn that makes a great night.

He heartily agreed so we both set out on our separate quests to find the most appropriate atrocity. I hit the mother load at a newly-found discount home store with a clearance isle that left me with too many things to choose from. The stuffed kitty with the porcelain head wearing a feather boa? The wooden frog with the giant inflated pink lips? Or the coat rack made from 3 small smiling maniacal pig heads across the top. What to do. What to do.

I started gathering items (read: really hideous junk) and couldn't contain my laughter at some of the grotesque and confusing things. Why? Why would anyone want or need or think by any fathom of the imagination that a resin statue of 2 red-assed monkey's kissing is a good idea? Does a desk lamp really require a pink cowboy boot as the base? No, no thank you. I would not prefer to have a naked chubby cherub covered in glitter paint perched on my patio.

I finally had to explain why I had tears streaming down my face and was shaking with the giggles to a clerk who looked at me as if she might need to call for back up in the Shit Isle to help the crazy lady. After I explained what I was doing the young girl gave me some sincere support for the great plan and helped me decide on the stupendously terrible token of my affection. Which I did. And it is terrible.

Cut to Wednesday night and after having our dinner plans effed up a bit, (I was trying to bring home sushi for me and Japanese beef for him), we said fuck it and went through a drive thru. Which was perfect too. Snorfing down junk food on your own couch in comfy clothes with your favorite person on the planet is one good holiday in my book. Well, it's pretty much every Saturday too but we like it so whatever.

And then it was time to exchange our, ah..."gifts". I had to explain that I'd slightly broken the rules and purchased 2 things. One being his gift and one for our future home because, dammit, I could not forsake the ghastly treasure and you'll see why in a minute.

I also threw in a caveat that I didn't wrap anything because fuck that noise too, we don't care about such things. If it's not my birthday, the Supreme Day of all Days, then I don't give a hole about wrapping paper. Plus his present weighed like 10 pounds and I was not wrestling that bitch into a pretty bow the cat will only later eat and then barf up on the carpet.

I went into the guest room where my loot was stashed and said, OK, here I come, and lovingly, tenderly, joyously heaved it towards him and presented the love of my life with this.


Oh, you'd like to see another view? Why certainly.


After we caught our breath and successfully did not soil the floor we still didn't have any idea what the fucking fuck he'd do with such a perplexing and bizarre...container? Plant box? Crematorium decor? But it was unanimous that it was indeed beyond awful and perfect. Success!

Now it was my turn. I was instructed to close my eyes and with a rustling of a plastic bag I was commanded to look at my major reward. Which I love. So very, very, very much. Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce to you, Chef Froggy Von Assy.

Chef Froggy Von Assy

Please don't hug him too tight. He came from Big Lots and we're pretty sure he's got a poop stain on him somewhere.

Of course I was jumping up and down like a schoolgirl and flinging myself over at the waist trying not to piss myself and we kept laughing and asking, why, why, WHY? Who comes up with this shit? Who does the initial sketch? Launches the pitch? OKAYS THIS BRILLIANTLY REPULSIVE CRAP? It's a conundrum, but we don't care. We love it. Oh so much.

And if this doesn't make you seethe with jealousy that it won't be hanging proudly on your front door, well then, frankly, we probably can't be friends.

I can't explain it either but I love it

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