4:17 pm | 10 February 2003 | "You can go your own waaaaay!"

Once again, it is probably time for a rant against Valentine's Day, but I am old, and tired, and find it pointless, and anyway, I don�t feel 'deprived' of anything being dateless, as I am perfectly capable of performing all date-type activities and functions en seul. For example:

1. I can bring myself flowers. In fact, I will know that I really only like large, violent, dramatic, and freaky flowers, like birds-of-paradise or those clublike Hawaiian numbers, and will thus spare myself the flimsy little daisies interspersed with the crappiness of baby�s breath, which always seemed kind of sinisterly named and which also, as far as I can tell, is nature�s packing peanuts.

2. I will greet myself at the door with a martini. Actually, I won�t, because all I usually want from the martinis are the olives. No, I will greet myself at the door with a glass of whiskey and a Hershey bar. And they will be good.

3. "My, you look absolutely scrumptious," I will tell myself, and not the usual either "Dood. Yer tits look hot in that top" or "What the hell are you wearing?" I will compliment me on my legwarmers, and I will understand and appreciate them for their right, true reason: because they make me feel like I have hooves, or legs like a pony�coltish. I want to prance in my legwarmers, and prance I shall, because I would never be embarrassed of my own prancing.

4. I can take myself to dinner. Here, also, I will not have to endure Bucky McHoofbrander�s Fresh-Roped Ass-Meats, "where We Kill It, Distill It, 'n' Grill It!" or whatever nasty Midwestern steakhouse I am so frequently subjected to (Hey! Salad does NOT have STEAK and CHEESE on it! Jesus Christ!). No, instead I will go have a large bowl of extremely spicy and saucy pan-Asian noodlejoy, which I will perhaps accompany with a Tsingtao (or an Asahi if I am feeling sassy, or perhaps one of each, because I can). I will not apologize for eating all of the noodles. I may ask for an extra fortune cookie, because I am extra fortunate.

5. I can head home, where I will slip into something a little more comfortable�but no less hot. I am prone to wearing slips around the house, not out of some Butterfield-8-cum-Cat-on-a-Hot-Tin-Roof notion of femininity (although I am totally obsessed with Elizabeth Taylor), but because they are enormously comfortable, and while I will admit to rocking the odd pair of seals-marooned-on-icebergs-print pajamas*, you will not catch me in sweatpants EVER, unless I am dead. And if you see me, dead, in sweatpants, please take them off me, because I would sooner be caught in a car wreck with dirty underwear than in a pair of sweatpants.

6. I can put on whatever I want to watch. It will probably be either Twin Peaks, or Wings of Desire, or something totally silly and indulgent, like Sex and the City, and I will not feel bad for watching it, or for throwing whatever snack item I am eating (most likely either whole almonds or edamame) at the screen whenever Sarah Jessica Parker does something particularly stupid, or sighing when Special Agent Dale Cooper does something especially swoon-worthy, or scooching my chair all close to the screen when the Nick Cave bits come on.

7. I can enjoy most or all of a bottle of Champagne. I will not be chagrined that think Freixenet is actually pretty good, as long as it�s Brut�I�m not much of a oenophile, and I won�t have to pretend, or be all like, "Pfft, the Shirazes from August are soooo acidic." Hell no.

8. I can retire. Everything will be cool. I will not feel weirdly pressured. I will not be kicked, deafened, or elbowed violently during the night. I will have most of the covers, and Guinness can still sleep on the bed. And in the morning, I can get up and bang around without having to worry about waking anyone. I can make just two cups of coffee (I will still be alone; I drink a lot of coffee) and then perhaps I will skip the bagel and just have a spoonful of marmalade out of the jar. Because I can. Because being alone totally rules, dudes! clm.

Actually, we are having a party on Valentine's Day, so I won�t get to do any of the aforementioned stuff. Which is why I already did it this weekend! Ha!

* An annual Christmas gift from my father, who exhibits classic denial of his daughter�s having matured, etc. A few years back I actually got a flannel nightgown�floor-length�neck-high�long-sleeved�with lavender flowers sprinkled over it, and lace at the edges�! I looked like an escapee from American Girl Zombie Circus en route to a Peoria production of Little House on the Prairie, only more cracked out. Come on, Gary, get with the program.