HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY from the GREATEST POTUS to ever grace what I can only hope will go down in history as the whitest of all White Houses! As I always say, there is absolutely nothing wrong with raising your hand, no matter how big or small, in salute of your ethnicity. Just remember, please do so with a closed fist.
Extending right arm from the neck into the air with straightened hand: bad.
Extending right or left arm from the neck into the air with fist, or lifting both arms bent at elbows, pumping hands with palms open to the sky (aka “raising the roof”) to your favorite Kanye tune: good.
To help you avoid celebrating this HUGEST of SAPPIEST of UNFAIREST of BEST of holidays the WRONG way, I’m thrilled to share some of the things I love, so that you may love them, too. Otherwise, you’ll be deported. Because I love deporting, and you must hate America if you don’t love what I love, and most of all, that’s me.
Goddamn do I love me some me.
Some other things (besides me) I love:
Walls made from concrete, barbed wire or taco shells.
A reliable, natural-looking bronzer.
Ordering a side of extra-crispy hash browns with every Executive Order.
Tom Brady (not in a gay way).
P-Dog (aka Vladimir Putin), with or without shirt, but never on horseback.
Pussy grabbing as a new contact sport, not an act of misogyny.
Red baseball caps, bills forward, low and curved.
Steve Bannon, especially when he suggests banning something or someone.
Rallies with HUGE crowds of millions of adoring fans waving billions of signs with pictures of me on them.
Bald-faced lying.
“Make America Great Again (as slogan and lifestyle)!”
Tweeting after midnight after a glass of warm milk.
Not releasing my taxes.
Bald eagles (as an appetizer).
The expression “In Like Flynn.”
Trying (and failing) to correctly spell the word misogyny.
My daughter’s floral-print shift dresses. (Buy now! Your sweetheart will love you forever!)
Chanting the word CHYNA (helps me sleep like a baby).
Full, pouting lips.
My Cabinet picks (so filthy rich)!
My kitchen cabinets (made of solid gold)!
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Shit, I can’t seem to get through Donnie's introduction fast enough. It’s Valentine’s Day, there is nothing romantic about my desk or my office or my current state of mind, and I have to leave in 20 minutes to pick up my daughter.
Before I must go, let me start there. Ava is, after all, a great place to start spreading the love.
- I love my daughter more than all the heart-shaped mylar balloons in the universe, even when I have to drag her kicking and screaming out of Target because I won’t buy her another plastic toy made in China.
- I love pizza and cookies. I’m convinced the smell still lingering in our house should be a fragrance, maybe something like Chanel Eau De Pizza ‘n Cookie Dough. I can picture the TV spot now ... hot dude running down a dark corridor, chasing hot woman wearing dress made of pizza. When he catches her, he discovers their mutual love of baking. (May need a little work, but I’d totally buy it and I haven’t bought perfume since around Y2K, because on the precipice of Armageddon, you should probably try your darndest to smell pretty.)
- I love love in all forms.
- I love Will Arnett (and no, I haven’t seen the Lego Batman movie yet). Dude always makes me laugh, and laughing is unequivocally loveable.
- I love running outside (sort of offsets my passion for cookies and pizza). I never thought I’d utter those words, but running outside has become akin to meditation for me. With that said, I’ve never meditated. I’ve just gotten comfortable with panting, limping and stumbling along in tights in public, so I don’t think I’ll be striking sukhasanas out of doors anytime soon.
- I love sunsets, long walks on the beach, breathing, butterfly kisses and sarcasm.
- I love Jason Isbell. His music, not him. (Come on, I’m married. He’s married. I don’t even know him. Anyway, I’m sure he’s perfectly nice.)
- I love surrendering myself to sentimentality. It’s okay to embrace your sappy every now and then. Go ahead, cry during that Michael Bolton concert or insurance commercial (as long as it isn’t the one with the guy in khakis).
- I love trying (and failing) to write the perfect sentence; gin; college sports; the way my 55-pound dog struggles to curl up on my lap; Lake Michigan; my husband’s mad problem-solving skills, his sense of humor, and yes, even his inability to close anything he’s opened (e.g., drawers, cupboards, ketchup containers); short-story collections; new friends, old friends and friends I’ve yet to meet; eating cheeseburgers at the bar of Boone’s Prime Time Pub in Suttons Bay; my awkwardness in social situations; coffee; hiking; working out of my house; inspirational quotes, especially with pictures of puppies or kittens; sweatpants (aka what the kid’s call yoga pants); salads (pairs well with pizza); good IPAs; blogging; living in close proximity to most of my family; the color green, in just about any shade; and each day I’m blessed with having (despite not always expressing my gratitude).
- I love John Hughes movies. I can’t recite a single sonnet, but I used to be able to recount Breakfast Club, almost word for word, from beginning to end.
- I love long hair on men. (I am, however, much less enthusiastic about man buns. Men's buns are okay.)
- I love parenthetical statements. (If you haven’t figured this out by now, you must be asleep at the wheel. Like stop eyeballing your phone or filing your toenails or dry walling. Whatever. I’m out.)
All my love to you and yours,
Amie
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