Best Valentine's Day EVER.

Not a single person on Mother Earth would ever expect ME to enjoy a Valentine's Day. If I was dating J. Lo (I know it's a weird hypothetical choice but believe you me Jenny from the block is back!) and she planned a romantic evening out in the south of France at a beautiful chateau that was secluded from French people and any other annoyance of life (see "Australians"). Even if the food was incredible and J. Lo actually let me get weird with her face and maybe other parts of her body. Even if I had physical evidence of the whole perfect evening (just so I could have actual proof of me getting my swerve on and it wasn't just some pathetic lonely thing I thought of for a blog post). I would, without a doubt, find something trivial and meaningless to complain about. I'd most likely complain that there was nothing to complain about.

(And when I say "not a single person on Mother Earth" I'm including the little starving kid in Eritrea who is hallucinating from hunger, sitting in the middle of his hut that's made of shit pies. Even that little dude would take one look at me and mutter, "Nope." Or whatever the expression is for, "That pathetic lookin' fella won't find joy in anything because he's bitter and lonely," in whatever weird language they speak over there.)

If I haven't convinced you by now that I am perfectly incapable of ever being satisfied or content with anything, then I have failed. But that's because I can no longer sincerely say with the utmost conviction that I am incapable of enjoying an unbelievably worthless "holiday" that revolves around lying to yourself and other people. Yes, I had an incredible Valentine's Day. Here's why.

Rashida Jiggity Jones in the house!

Yep, Ms. Jones came into my job today and hung out (shopped) for a good hour. I was the first one to notice her and kept it to myself for a few minutes before letting my co-workers in on the secret. After going over all of my smooth lines I've had the past 3 years to think about (3 years because that's when I changed my Facebook profile's "Interested In" tab to "Women" making my "Like" for girls official) I decided that none of them seemed suitable for someone like Ms. Jones. I resorted to my usual plan of attack. I hid behind something and stared, not completely hidden but definitely completely creepy. I caught her looking at me (and this cocoa butter body) a few times but I didn't lose my cool. I kept my right hand above my waist. As she was being helped by the Manager of the store, who magically appears whenever somebody remotely famous shows up to shop, I found myself in the middle of a ridiculous conversation with a pretty cool guy. I jokingly said I was debating taking off my shirt and only wearing my name tag around the store because it was so hot. He replied, "DO IT MAN!" I laughed and wondered how quickly the National Guard would be called in to neutralize the traumatic situation that is my shirtless body. The guy noticing my smirk then said, "Live a little man," with a laugh. As I walked away still staring at Rashida, I wondered if the guy said "Live a little, man." Or if he was the type that said exactly what he saw, "Live. A Little Man." Either way I left the sales floor for a second to calm my nerves and to attempt to be less pathetic. When I walked back out I was determined to make weird stupid jokes to Rashida but I was immediately stopped dead in my tracks by the sight of Rashida holding Mr. Hey Marty Take Your Shirt Off's hand. Jealous? Me? No way. Best Valentine's Day ever!

I may not know how to charm confident, beautiful, famous women. But you best believe I know how to get their boyfriends to imagine me with my shirt off.