Here it is again … Valentine’s Day. National Vomit-in-my-Mouth-Every-Five-Seconds-Day. National Why-is-Everybody-Happy-But-Me-Day? But this is the year of change! No more pawning it off as a holiday created by Hallmark. No more sympathy cards from Mom. No more, “if only you’d played football, not the flute” comments from Dad. No more hearing, “stop being a tool, sack up, and talk to a girl already, you pathetic tool” from my psychiatrist Dr. Rothstienberg. No more binge eating take-out sashimi alone while I cry gently to “Say Anything,” then vomiting all over myself after 38 pieces of nigiri. No more having to live vicariously through my 14-year-old brother’s sleazy bathroom exploits at his middle school dance. Last year that show-off sent me a picture of his girlfriend in a bra, and I had to spend four months convincing the FBI I’m not a pervert. They finally dropped charges when my brother and dad testified to a judge that I wasn’t a pedo, just a “spineless girly-boy who would probably die alone and a disappointment to his family.” But this year, the FBI can stick it. I have a date. Well I’m going to have a date … hopefully. That’s where you come in. Here’s a little of what I am interested in:

I like old fashioned styles, so definitely need hair past the shoulders. None of this short haired “Bob” stuff.

I need a girl with a huge dowry. Preferably with a father who raises cattle. I don’t want 600 heads of swine or any of that weak hill country s***.

I prefer some class. If you ever show your knees in public, have more than one earring in the same ear, or wear pants with letters on the butt, hit the highway. That’s where you’ll find a guy your type, anyway.

Ideally, I’m looking for a girl who dresses in lots of jewels and fineries from faraway places, like Persia.

And hands! Hands are huge for me. I need some delicate womanly bone structure on those puppies.

A bit about me:

I used to be a big mountain biker but forgot how. I have an irrational fear of peanut butter; so don’t go all George Washington Carver around me. I have what they call “Borderline Personality Disorder.” Probably because I go to Canada so often. I love going to the opera. I get as excited as a fish … going to an opera for fish. I am also a dog lover! By which I mean I like to spend my Saturdays at the track, betting on the poochies. A Gypsie-psychic once told me I have “the aura of a sturgeon.” That’s a pretty cool fish right? I am also never allowed back in the state of Rhode Island for various charges related to a nail gun.

If you want to be my valentine, meet me tonight at 9 p.m. in the Greenhouse. I’ll be the one that’s not a plant. Somebody please f***ing show up.