Frozen Hearts

Oh look, it's Valentine's Day again. How lovely. (Note: This is a false statement.)

I have written at length, several times, on the subject of my distaste for this so-called "holiday," but that's not going to slow me down now (except for the time it takes to note that I used to be a way better writer than I am now. I have fallen out of practice, apparently).

So I walk into my office this morning, bitter and cold and partially frozen (it is 27 degrees outside with 20 mph wind gusts) and all I want is a cup of coffee and some peace and quiet. Instead, I am subjected to standing in line in the break room to reach the coffee machine. Someone has brought in brownies for the whole office, and these people are wild for free foodstuffs. Seriously, you would think they have been scavenging in the wilderness for days the way they are tearing into these things.

Also, the sounds. Good Lord, the sounds. Usually I am a big proponent of moaning about a particularly good piece of food, but they are taking it way too far. If even I - the guy who puts the flamboy in flamboyant - am thinking that you need to tone it down a bit, there is something seriously wrong with your behavior right now.

After finally inching my way through the teeming masses to the coffee pot, I find that not only is it empty (the jackals, they love their coffee) but we're out of grounds to make a new pot. Granted, there was decaf available, but why not just let the office pack kick me in the head repeatedly, instead. Decaf is the work of the devil.

Then, not only did I get no coffee, I had to spend another 5 minutes trying to escape without having a brownie physically shoved into my mouth. I don't understand why people refuse to believe me when I say that I don't eat in the mornings. Seriously and truly, it is really bad for my stomach. I think I would know, as I am somewhat familiar with the subject. Hard evidence and whatnot. But that does not stop these people, no sir. They are relentless. With the way they are swarming all over these things, one would assume they want them all to themselves, but no. I must share in their sugar-and-chocolate-fueled blood lust.

Finally I just took one with me back to my office to get them (almost literally) off of my back.

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I make it into my office with the hope that I can finally enjoy some peace and quiet, and work on the 3 files that I need to get out of the office before noon. I manage exactly two minutes and 45 seconds of silence before the phone rings and I am ordered out into the cold once again. This time, to wait for a bouquet of flowers that are being delivered to my office. This was supposed to take approximately 5 minutes, as the driver with the flowers assured me that he was less than 2 minutes from my office and could just speed through the delivery area without having to find parking and all that jazz.

Yeah, no. Minute upon minute pass, as I waited in the freezing cold and the icy blasts of wind that managed to foil even the super effectiveness of my stylish faux-denim corduroy jacket (usually so perfect for all cold weather occasions). And then I waited some more. And then a little while longer. And then, completely frozen to the core, I gave up. Or more specifically, I gave up when a wind gust came through that was so cold and so huge that it literally unwound the scarf from around my neck and sent me running through the parking lot after it, jumping and flailing my arms in a wild attempt to capture it. All the while looking a lot like one of those rhythmic gymnasts with the ribbons, according to the elevator attendant who happened to be watching from a nearby window. Awesome. (Note: Also false).

I went back up to my office and found a message from the delivery guy: "Yeah, so I totally got the wrong address. I'll be over there in, like, 20 minutes. Hope you didn't already go down there."

Haaaate.

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And now that the flowers are actually here and installed in the office, oh my god are they wreaking havoc on my allergies. The sneezing/not-sneezing ratio is so out of control right now, you have no idea.

In conclusion: I hate this holiday. I hate the commercialism. I hate the contrivance. I hate that I look really bad around the color pink. I hate the fact that I can't gorge myself on chocolate like usual because I'm trying to live healthy for once in my misbegotten life. I hate flowers that cause a deep abiding pain in my head. Hate hate hate, etc.

Bring on The President's Day, by God! I loves me some history.