the post in which i finally come out.

Well, I made it through Valentine’s Day last week without too much anger. I didn’t set rosebushes on fire or pop all the heart balloons the homeless guys were selling on 193. I took the high road and tried not to let ‘it’ get to me. I had the support of a secret Valentine gift swap with my girlfriends. When it came down to it, Valentine’s Day itself was a good day but I was left with one dawning realization: I don’t know what love is. Even Forrest Gump knows what love is. Maybe I should have had a white trash friend in elementary school who taught me how to climb trees. We would have been like peas and carrots. I’ve always wanted to throw rocks at a house or ruin her roommate’s bathrobe.

I’m not totally clueless. I know I love my friends and my family. Chances are, if you’re reading this blog, I love you too. Congratulations. I’m truly blessed, at least most of the time, to have you in my life. All I’m saying is that like people who are lactose intolerant, I can’t process love. My body literally cannot digest it, I get a stomach ache and maybe diarrhea.  Those who know me very well know that hearing the words ‘I love you’ provokes me to vomit. It’s happened twice.

I’ve heard that love is when you would go above and beyond yourself for another when they can’t. I’d sure as shit would take a bullet for you all but I know, or at least would like to believe, that most people who I consider my friends would do the same. It doesn’t have to be a bullet. I don’t really like guns. I’d do whatever Bruno Mars is talking about in that annoying but catchy song Grenade. I’d do that, but I wouldn’t actually fall on a grenade, Jersey Shore style. Seriously, no fatties. Anyways, I realized that I am in love with someone who I’d do anything for, regardless of if they’d return the favor. Because you love them despite the imbalance and if they don’t reciprocate emotions. That’s right all. I’m coming out. I love Penny.

Chill the fuck out. This isn’t another “OH MY GOD—I HAVE NEW PENNY PICTURES—LOOK AT HER—SHE HAS A NEW TOY AND SHE FELL ASLEEP ON ME AND SHE CHASED HER TAIL AND WE WENT FOR A WALK AND SHE DID THE CUUUTEST THING”. I subject you all enough to that. I’m sorry and I’m trying to eliminate the annoying puppy talk. Penny is getting spayed tomorrow. I didn’t think this would bother me. Hell, I even joked that I’d get my uterus taken out right next to her. (It’s not like I need it anyways. I could just take it out and pop in a backup liver. Much more efficient use of space). But now that it’s a reality, I’m upset. The fact that I know that Penny-pie is going to even be in discomfort actually upsets me. Not to be graphic, but thinking of her opened up like a bag of chips and then sewn up like a loose button actually makes me frantic.

She’s not even my dog. Maybe it’s because I never grew up with a dog that I’m acting like a total moron. I grew up thinking and still thinking that stuffed animals are the best listeners in the world and that they have their own stories too. But now that I live with a breathing and moving stuffed animal, suddenly I’m confused. So there it is. Monday is going to be terrible because I’m going to be anxious about a routine surgery. I totally believe in spaying too. Bob Barker had it right, just like ‘the price is’. It’s not the process, it’s actually the emotions behind it.

Mock me, whatever. I’m in love with a puppy that chews holes in my socks, barges in on me in the shower and farts in my face. I’m in love with a puppy that is deliriously happy when I see her in the morning and when I throw sticks for her to retrieve.

So I’m opening this up to you, blog readers and hopefully lovers of Sharon. In the spirit of Valentine’s week, tell me what you think love is. Because I don’t. I’m the one who cares more about the state of Penny’s uterus than finding a human soul mate. Maybe that’s why I’m still single…sometimes these problems just solve themselves.