What a weird holiday. I've never liked it. My idea of romance has nothing to do with the deluge of pink-and-red poofy paraphenalia, so I've usually ignored it. This year may be different, but it still won't be a big deal---with my birthday last month and my anniversary with Mike next month, a February 14th celebration hardly seems necessary.

I am planning to make Mike's valentine. I want to make a sort of mock-teen-idol-magazine issue. I bought a copy of Tiger Beat for ideas, and will be cutting-and-pasting a little book together for him, complete with photos of the Backstreet Boys with Mike's head shot pasted over them, and a "How well do you know Mike?" quiz, with questions like "What is Mike's favorite ice cream flavor?" and "What is Mike's idea of a dreamy date?" and so on. I think it's going to be hilarious.

However, when I got up this morning, he gave me his valentine for me. It's a very romantic card with a beautiful poem inside. I love it, but now I also feel silly--he gave me a very mature and heartfelt card, and I'll be giving him a goofy joke card. Oh well....

--Jez"big dork"zika