I’m gagging everyone out of the holler today; I’m so bored I’m listening to the Backstreet Boys. *sigh* Okay, ever now and then I like to listen to boy bands and bubble gum rock. I have no idea what gets into me. I think it’s anger and rebellion.  Now I’ve moved on to 98 Degrees, and I’ll probably pop in some Brittany Spears (do you spell that with one t or two?) or Debbie Gibson later on.

I’m broke. AGAIN! And there’s no way my boyfriend is going to remember Valentine’s Day. He’s about as romantic as a sewer pipe. I probably shouldn’t complain, because he did buy me a pair of windshield wipers once. Mine were all to pieces, and it was heck to see the road when it rained. I read in Cosmopolitan that when a man buys you something with safety in mind, it’s his way of saying I love you. So, gals, if you get a set of tires for Valentine’s Day, he loves you, he really does! *sigh* I know…you’d rather have roses.

Seriously, though, I’ve never really been into getting gifts and flowers on special occasions like my birthday or Valentine’s Day, because it all seems so fake. Men feel like they HAVE to get you something on those days, and I’d rather he didn’t bother at all if he feels like that, because it’s not coming from the heart. I want him to do it because he loves me and he can’t wait to make me smile. I’ll be happy to just get a phone call from mine, because the freaking *&$%@ Air Force psychiatrists still won’t let him come see me

Anyway, I’m off to watch some sappy romantic comedy. I’ve chosen “Two Weeks Notice” even though I hate Sandra Bullock’s character in that movie. But Hugh Grant is hilarious in it, and I don’t normally find him funny. Ta ta and Happy Mushy Day!