The Pain of Love on Valentine's Day

No, this is not another sappy pining for lost love, or whatever.

This is a story about a demon goat (now in the hospital), and a humble-by-only-the-most-outrageous-standards narrator (that probably should be in a hospital).

I didn't do anything for Valentine's Day. I'm officially a hater now. I hate commercialism, I hate sappy holidays, and I hate feeling obligated to do shit. I'm much better at feeling like a slacker. Can't we have a slacker holiday? You would think so, but to establish a holiday requires effort, hence the conundrum.

Regardless. Blew the back out. Second weekend in a row I've managed to injure myself in time for the weekend. Actually, that's not completely true, I did have a semi-decent Friday night, going out for drinks and dancing at some club down on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn. The largest problem with trying to hang out at a club is that usually, as was the case here, the music is so loud you can't really talk to anyone without yelling, so it's basically dancing and drinking, or nothing at all.

I don't get it. It's not really my thing. There was a giant fake ficus in the center of the dance floor, and in my hating on Valentine's Day, I decided the ficus was my date, and danced with it.

Actually, I really wasn't hating just yet. I just didn't really want to dance with anyone else, even though I did for a bit. I have a nasty habit of mocking/clowning when I dance drunk, and this night was no exception, hence my gravitation towards the tree - it wouldn't cause problems. It also didn't move around much, which is good because I'm also very clumsy, so dancing with other people is highly likely to result in collisions.

Saturday, hangover free (I'm lucky like that), I took Chupecabra to the vet/doctor/bike shop. There's a new one where the old one was. I learned what a BMX crank puller looks like, and I unleashed the pain of a smashed crank and jammed crank arm on the specialists. The crank got royally screwed by an employee of the former bike shop, overtorquing everything on it. Hopefully my luck will be better this time, otherwise, I'll have to start up my own bike shop just to keep that gawdawful Demon Goat appeased.

Either that, or using an ancient Egyptian God of Sleep name for my hookah didn't satisfy the Palestinian Pagan Deity that hates me so much. In which case, back to the appeasement drawing board. Any ideas?