So…it’s Valentines Day. Why do I need a day to remember the stuck up she devil that I thought was the one? So I’m supposed to remember the fact that she cheated on me, while I was getting flowers and candy for her? I’m supposed to remember that it was with someone I considered a friend? I will however, enjoy the memory of kicking the crap of that ex-friend, telling off the whore who only needed a place to crash, and used me to get it, and then finally ending the day with a long, violent rant directed at my neighbor for partying until six in the morning the previous day. Yeah…great idea for a holiday. I get to watch other people show they care, while I hate everything that I see.

Although, a few months ago I did get to vent my anger to the source. A chance encounter in a store, a half hearted “you look well”, and then seeing her at my door. She showed up, after being kicked out by her sugar daddy of about four years. I didn’t need to know why. She wanted a place to stay, I considered it. I said no, and slammed the door in her face. She retaliated by coming in through an open window, like something out of one of those romantic comedies where the guy eventually takes her back, and they get married, and have a good life. I responded by picking up a steel bat. She scoffed at my threat. I killed my television with the bat. She ran down the hall. My loveable little chihuahua who hates strangers flew at her like a rabid badger. I sat down and enjoyed the chase scene unfolding in front of me. I eventually called my little dog off, and then decided to mess with her some more. I swiveled my chair around, petting the chihuahua in my lap, and got all calm and serious. “So, you want a place to stay? I shall consider your request. I swivel the chair back around, and act like I’m seriously thinking it over. I turn back around, and point to the door, and say “Don’t let it hit your bulbous ass on the way out.”