Now you can’t get a six-inch sub at Subway for under $5. Even the cheapest subs are now $5.70. DISLIKE.
Mexican food poseurs
You all know how passionately I feel about Mexican food (specifically, its absence here). I wish I could ban coworkers from uttering the names Mexican Cafe or Mexicali Fresh in my earshot.
I feel bad complaining, knowing most of you guys live places where it snows. But I don’t care. Given how cold our house is, I reckon it evens out (even T is wearing multiple layers indoors and complaining about the cold, and that, I can tell you, is a rarity). Who needs four seasons anyway? (Not that we really get four seasons in Auckland; it just starts getting colder and wetter around May or so.)
I was recently introduced to this term. You know how building anything involves choices and compromises – after all, you can’t get anything that’s good AND cheap AND fast? And how building, tweaking and fixing software creates a many-headed monster over a time? Yeah. I’m over it. Where’s our technical fairy godmother and her magic wand?
Humans being shitty to other humans
As we all know, there’s been a lot of spectacularly bad news happening this month. It makes me so, so sad. That’s about all I have to say on that front.
‘That cost you how much?! We spent way less than that…’
If you want to survive on as little as humanly possible, that’s your prerogative. If you can afford to travel in luxury and that’s the way you want to go, enjoy it. If you are mostly frugal but splash out on food, who are we to judge? Just because it’s possible to spend as little as $10 or 20 a day in some countries doesn’t mean you’re ‘doing it wrong’ if you choose to splurge some days. Even the cheapest countries cost money and I’m inclined to agree with Adam Seper on this one: “You can’t do/see anything on $10/day, no matter where you are.”
Being on the road for six months, we occupied a strange middle ground – one that fell somewhere between normal people who couldn’t fathom how we spent so little, and long-term (often permanent) travellers who berate me for spending so much.
Six months worked in well with legalities (visas and such) for the destinations we wanted to visit and our finances, among other things. It did mean we moved at a fast pace by RTW standards and therefore jacked up daily average spend but it was the perfect length for us.
(Also, the US is not the only country in the world. There are travel bloggers from other countries, who deal in currencies other than the greenback.)
Anyone with a bag bigger than a 25L backpack is doing it wrong
I liked the idea of travelling with only a carry-on, I really did. Then I learned just how tiny the dimensions are for carry-on luggage with some of the budget airlines. There was no way that was going to happen. Plus, our RTW flights (for all the long-haul journeys) included checked baggage anyway – it was only the shorter European flights we had to worry about. So I sucked it up and paid extra for baggage on those flights.
I wouldn’t consider myself high maintenance; I only had a couple pairs of shoes and a handful of pieces of clothing for six months – one of the benefits of travelling in warmer weather. But we did have a few other things like electronics and a sleeping bag to contend with, and I am a lazy, untrained packer who likes to haphazardly squash things in. Oh, and yes, I packed jeans, and yes, I wore them a ton!
We could certainly have bought smaller packs (ours were never completely full until towards the end, when we did all our shopping in the States) and learned how to use packing cubes and the like if needed, but I figured I would rather have the option of more room in case I needed it (this definitely came in handy at times).
Props to the super minimalists and pro packers. Travel is always easier with less stuff to transport – but different strokes for different folks. My 9kgs may seem excessive to seasoned nomads, although non-travellers always balked at how little we apparently had.
The ‘right’ way to travel
Like most things in life, travel is intensely personal. I was itching to get out of the Louvre after an hour; some people dream of visiting it their whole lives. I adore Venice, but plenty of people decry it as a tourist trap.
So-called ‘real travellers’ occasionally astound me with their close-minded snobbery. How about we let people experience travel however the hell they want? Not everyone has the luxury of slow travel – the ability or the DESIRE to travel for long periods – so let’s not give them shit for trying to get the most out of their time. We only had 3 months in Europe as per Schengen visa rules so yes, we were kinda speed-freak backpackers over there as we wanted to fit as much in as we could – and it was a blast. When you’re from NZ, Europe is a long and expensive journey away, so this was a one-off/rare shot for us.
Not everyone wants to stay in gritty guesthouses and hostels, no matter how authentic that might be, or volunteer on a farm, or teach English abroad. (We did all these things ourselves and had a blast … but they aren’t everyone’s cup of tea.)
Also, not everyone wants to spend months or years in developing nations no matter how cheap they are. After six weeks in southeast Asia we’d just about hit our limit in regards to heat and the environment in general. We spent too much on foreign food when we could no longer tolerate local food for every meal and found ourselves lingering longer in our air-conditioned rooms in the mornings as time went on. It was a grand adventure and amazing experience, but too far out of our comfort zone to spend months in.
I will wrap up with this: “You can indeed have a narrow mind and a thick passport.” (Borrowed from William Chalmers, whose excellent list of 22 examples of travel snobbery is here.)
I think it’s been too long around these parts since I had a good old fashioned rant, no? (If you disagree, feel free to ignore this and check back tomorrow for something a little more upbeat.)
I like to think I’m a pretty chilled person. About 90% of that comes down to sheer laziness and the need to save my mental energy for Things That Are Actually Important. Unless it’s going to cost me money, I generally try to employ the “don’t give a fuck” philosophy.
Bus running 15 minutes late? Sure, it’s frustrating, but unfortunately, it’s something that’s beyond my control. Breathe, play some Battleship on my phone, and try to control that twitchy foot.
T’s best friend dragging him/us into his latest drama with his off-her-rocker wife? Sure, it’s a case of same-old-same-old, but he’s made his choice, and T won’t give up on him, and it doesn’t cost me that much to listen for a few minutes and make the appropriate sympathetic/outrage noises in the right places.
Mayor caught with his pants down? Sure, it takes him down a few notches in my opinion (and trust me, I have absolutely no patience for cheaters), but ultimately, I am more concerned about whether he’s done a good job professionally. Can’t we get back to worrying about dying kids, uninsulated houses and internet privacy already?
Ultimately, the only logical reaction to the vast vast majority of crap that blows across our paths in life is this:
(George Watsky is a genius and I can’t believe I only just came across him. Look him up!)
But sometimes things break through that barrier, like it or not.
Sometime in the last couple of weeks, something in me snapped. It might have been after the first wolf whistle of the day, or the third, or the fifth.
We’ve been living here a month, and in that time, I have had more random dudes whistle at me from passing cars as I’m walking outside than I had in the 18 months we lived in our old neighbourhood, and in the 18 months we lived in another neighbourhood before that (a total of zero times in both cases).
Nothing about me has changed. I still have the same resting bitch face (in fact, it’s probably even more pronounced these days). I dress exactly the same way. I haven’t gained or lost weight. I haven’t had surgery of any sort. I still look more or less the same as I did a year ago, two years ago, three years ago.
So if it’s not me, what is it? Is it the fact that we now live in a working class area, where houses are closer to the $500,000 mark than a white collar area where houses are closer to the $1 million mark? That we now live around the corner from a retail/industrial hub as opposed to just a strip of shops and some posh schools? Does it even matter?
I’ll be honest. The younger, more insecure me secretly used to like the attention. But I’m older and grumpier and way more impatient these days, and all of a sudden, I find it intrusive and disrespectful and just bloody annoying.
I want to wait for the bus and cross the road and walk to the supermarket in a peaceful haze, lost in my own thoughts and daydreams, without having someone’s “appreciation” pierce through at random moments.
I do not like feeling that my body, even when clad in wrinkly jeans and topped with unbrushed sea monster hair and smeared glasses, is something strangers feel they have the right to comment on out loud, whether through words or sound.
I’m well aware that many other women have experienced honest-to-God harassment on the streets, the kind that actually makes them fear for their own safety. I’m thankful I’ve never had to go through anything like that myself. But I now understand, REALLY understand, people who are fully anti-whistles and catcalls. No longer do I just sympathise with them, I can empathise.
Guys, be a bit more original, and stop being douchebags. Chur.
If there’s one thing we took away from our various American hosts, it’s that you guys enjoy an insanely high standard of housing. Your bathroom is straight out of the 70s, you say? Oh, please, spend a day a flat hunting in Auckland and you’ll realise how good you have it…
When we left, the state of property here was insane. Six months on, the market is even crazier, and there are no signs of the housing shortage abating or of any political action being taken to fix it. Yes, Mum, there’s nothing more I’d like than to buy a place of our very own, but even a standard house in humble suburbs like the one I grew up in are well over the $500,000 mark.
We’re looking for a cheap rental so we can save up for a down payment. Somewhere that won’t kill us financially – or physically. One place we looked at … well, I wouldn’t let an animal live there. Dank, filthy and creeping with mould in every room. All the other people there to look at it seemed to be new immigrants, and I worry for whoever winds up renting it. My mother has taken it upon herself to help us look through listings, and it’s cute to hear her keep muttering “If I was a landlord, I’d fix this up and …..” Of course, if she were to do that, she’d also charge a lot more rent and probably price people like us out of the market.
We could flat with others, saving money and also getting to live in a nicer place as a result (as long as I’m not head of the house; I had that responsibility before and will never do it again). If we had our own bathroom, I think I could probably handle it. We’ve even looked at a couple of shared houses.
T isn’t so keen, however, and so we focused mainly on rental properties. Ideally:
around $300 a week (or less)
in an area where it’s easy for me to get to work (I work in the suburbs, not the CBD, so this makes things trickier, as we are a one-car household)
not visibly mouldy (it’s a little sad that this has to be said)
with a full kitchen (oven and stove, not just a hotplate)
mixer taps (my pet peeve is separate hot and cold faucets; I want to be able to wash my hands without either burning or freezing them)
off-street parking (garage would be a dream)
Beggars can’t be choosers, of course, so I was open to compromise. (And all going to plan, today we sign on the line for a tiny but very nice place, which is very affordable and includes whiteware – but has only two cooking hobs and no oven. Lots of stovetop cooking for us, then…)
But as well as being a beggar, I am also a blogger, and predisposed to ranting about things that get my goat. Here are three things that completely blow about flat hunting in Auckland.
If you don’t have a somewhat flexible job, you are shit outta luck
Agents don’t give a flying f*ck about renters.
Viewings for rental properties are always held during regular working hours, and because the market is so tight, there is only ever usually one single viewing. If you can’t make it, tough luck – it’s almost a certainty that property will be gone after that viewing to someone who DID attend. (By contrast, open homes are always on weekends – usually both Saturday AND Sunday.)
You might get lucky and find the odd property that’s managed directly by the owner, but in our experience (that is, lower end of the price range in central west Auckland) almost all rentals these days are managed by agents.
You will waste a lot of time
Compare a typical rental listing on TradeMe to a typical property for sale listing.
One will have a multitude of photos of every single room from every possible angle, and a flowery description to accompany, along with address or at least the name of the road.
One will state the bare minimum and the bleeding obvious (number of bedrooms, type of dwelling, and maybe the total move-in cost). It MIGHT list the address, but often it will simply only give the suburb. Super helpful. As for photos, there are a few rare listings that include photos of all the important rooms as well an exterior shot. Most of the time though, one of the following is true:
No photos at all (yes, this really happens)
One single photo of the exterior
Multiple photos of the exterior from different angles (sometimes up to about 10 – why?!)
Photos of the interior – bedroom and/or lounge only
Photos of the interior – minus the kitchen
Photos of the interior – minus the bathroom
I will remind you again that almost all of these are managed by agencies. I’m sure many of these amateur photos are provided by the owners, but that’s a weak excuse especially if you’re paying someone to manage your rental for you.
Then again, it hardly matters since the market is so tight that even crapholes get snapped up in a flash.
What sucks is that the managers put zero effort into the listings, forcing US to take time out from work to go along to viewings to get any sort of idea whether a place is really like inside. If we were better able to screen listings online, this would make flat hunting a lot less of a headache.
Did I mention that lots of agencies still don’t offer online application? Apparently they’re still stuck in the 1990s. Seriously – if I have to download and print a form (then scan it to email or physically deliver it to the office), then it doesn’t count, *cough Barfoot & Thompson*.
Meanwhile, house hunters have apps to get pre-approved in 10 minutes. I know there’s a lot more money to be made off buyers, but renters are people too, you know – and we need shelter over our heads just as badly.
On a budget? Then your choices range from Damp to Downright Uninhabitable
Yes, our climate is pretty dang mild compared to most part of the world. But that doesn’t mean living in an uninsulated house is healthy.
Did I ever tell you about the time we found a mushroom growing through the carpet in the hallway of our last house? I also hate to think how many spores I’ve breathed in over the past few years in the process of cleaning mould off bedroom and bathroom ceilings (and walls, come to think of it). I met up with a Kiwi friend while she was over in San Francisco at the same time we were, and we collectively marvelled at how warm and dry it was inside American houses.
If there wasn’t such a shortage of (affordable) property, maybe landlords would sort out their act. But there is, and so there’s no incentive to.
Please, share your other big city renter sob stories in the comments. Let’s wallow together.
Stress and I are bosom buddies right now. The last few weeks have been a real low point in my relationship – I’m quite looking forward to having the wedding over, work wrapped up and the house packed up. I’m trying NOT to freak out about things that really don’t matter, particularly as the two top of mind items are ridiculous and are things I would NEVER have imagined to be a problem: a) bridesmaid dress and b) flowers. Lord knows there are plenty of other, bigger, non-wedding related things to worry about.
But let’s not dwell on that. On the plus side, one thing that’s been plaguing me for the past month or so has finally been resolved. Let me walk you through Exhibit 1 of How Not To Do Business.
We’ll set the scene. One of the countries I’m set on visiting in Europe is Greece. I’ve even booked flights already from Italy. I figure we’ll carve out a day or two in Athens and spend the rest of the time on Santorini. Knowing that it’ll be a busy time in the Mediterranean, I book a lovely lodge through Hostelbookers, one that’s named after the proprietor (who shares a moniker with the main Soprano).
A few days later, I get an email from an employee on behalf of the owner.
“There seems to have been a mistake on the web site when you booked. It should have been €20 per person per night. [name redacted] is willing to split the difference with you and to let you have the room at €15 per person per night. I hope that this is agreeable and we will be able to greet you on sunny Santorini this summer. Please let [name redacted] know when and how you are arriving and he will pick you up at the port or airport. We are very sorry for the misunderstanding.”
Well, that’s not thrilling news, but it’s not an outrageous rate. I ask for confirmation of what the new balance payable would be at that price (it’s all complicated slightly by the fact I’ve already paid 10% of the original booking price, in NZD rather than euros).
I don’t hear back that week. That’s fine, it’s Easter. But THREE weeks pass without a peep. Amidst the rest of wedding + travel planning, I dash off another email asking for a reply.
On Friday last week, I received this:
“Sorry about that mix up. Of course we will honour the original price of €10 a night.
We are looking forward to greeting you on sunny Santorini.”
followed by this on Sunday (this time from the owner himself):
“hallo.the new prices is 39 euro the night.and no tranfer…sorry about that”
At this stage, quite frankly, I’m pissed. The lack of communication, the back and forth between the person supposedly handling the booking and the proprietor jumping in like a loose cannon, and the jacking up of the price … I’ve wasted enough time and headspace on this debacle.
I’m not sure what the usual policy for operators is when prices are wrongly advertised, but if I’d been able to get a straight answer from the beginning, I might have been okay with paying full price – the originals were outrageously low. Unfortunately, the entire thing put me off. I’ve written off my 10% deposit and booked us a room at another lodge, which will hopefully NOT result in a repeat experience, or I may just lose it.
I get the concept of ‘island time’. It was drilled into us while we were over at Rarotonga a couple of years ago. Things move slower. Stress and rushing about just don’t happen.
I’m sure it’s the same on other idyllic islands around the world. But I don’t think that’s any excuse to neglect the basics of business and customer service.
Got any bad business/customer service stories to get off your chest?
I’ve had money on the brain even more often than normal lately (not helped by Women’s Money Week!) thanks to some financial setbacks.
As you might remember, T had a SUPER AWESOME brush with death recently on his motorbike thanks to some idiot boy racer. After a few weeks of being off work/on half days/off again due to medical certificate snafus, he was finally sent back to work on full hours, thank the heavens – because as an HOURLY worker with no built up leave right now, him being off work was hurting. (As we’ve learned, ACC has a minimum 7 day stand down policy. Not that is matters, since they refused to cover this incident. A complaint is being filed about the handling of the case, which T’s company is going to handle going forward since we’re leaving the country.)
His bike, which had just been rebuilt with new fairings in anticipation of selling it, also had about $1k knocked off its (cosmetic) value in a second due to that accident.
Since then, he’s been avoiding even looking at the bike, which still needs a couple of things done to it to get it running smoothly. That would have been fine, until his friend, who was keen to buy it as is, went and bought a car instead. With just a couple of weeks left, I do not see it a) getting fixed up or b) sold. [insert rant about useless males]
A couple of long-shot travel blogging pitches/sponsorship proposals went nowhere. Ah well.
Still in the works: my post about financing our trip. I want to be able to present the most accurate numbers, so I’m putting it off until as close to our departure as possible.
On the plus side, I don’t need to pay my wedding venue or wedding celebrant until the week before the big day, which is nice for cashflow.
Got any financial wins or losses of your own to share?
When did I last link to A Practical Wedding? I can’t even remember. Let me rectify that. This week’s post on how to be in love is simply sublime – and timely for me, as it’s been a rough week on that front.
ZOMG. The wedding ring buying process has totally exhausted me. What follows is one of the most painful and awkward retail experiences I’ve ever had.
T decided he wanted a tungsten wedding ring. They seem to mainly be sold online, so we look at Simply Suave, MaD Bling and Man Up Jewellery (and then see Google ads for the former everywhere online afterwards. Bless you, retargeting).
We also visited the mall for a looksee, and turns out Michael Hill also sells tungsten rings. We get to see them in person and try them on. T likes them, but I don’t like the price ($500). But Jenny, our awesome salesperson at Michael Hill Jeweller Lynnmall (New Lynn) tells us that they are going to go on sale the following month. She takes our details and promises to call when that happens. Seriously. She is the shiz.
T doesn’t like the idea of buying a ring online, even though they are WAY cheaper, so we wait. At one point I go back to the store just to check (and no, they’re still not on sale) and have a quick chat to a different, male staffer, who gives me a little more information on the specifics of the tungsten ring buying process while I’m there.
Suddenly the end of February rolls around, and we decide it’s time to just buy both our rings online (I’m getting mine on Etsy).
But wait! On February 28, Jenny calls and texts to let us know the tungsten rings are half price. We hotfoot it over. There’s a big sale on and the store is totally packed. She’s busy at the bracelet/necklace counter – physically separate from the ring counter – with a stream of customers. I catch her eye and smile (though she probably doesn’t remember or recognise me) and wait in line.
Male staffer who I talked to on my second visit seems to be the only salesperson NOT occupied. He zeroes in on me; I shrug him off and tell him we’re being taken care of. The second time around he finds us looking at the tungsten ring page of a catalogue which was lying on the counter, and goes for the kill. Jenny is still busy, so while I inform him that she had been the one dealing with us, we end up going along with him. Not only do I feel terribly guilty, it also turns out to be a huge mistake.
This guy (I won’t name him) is useless. Fast talking (came across as kind of sleazy), and downright incompetent. He promised to call us when the ring arrived instore, but forgot to get our contact details (I had to prompt him). Then he forgot to give us our receipts, and texted T once we had left the store to come back and get them. According to T, however, the guy was NOWHERE to be found when he returned. But by that time Jenny WAS free, and helped him sort things out (reprinting the receipts, etc). He apologised for what happened, and apparently she understood, though no doubt she was pretty gutted.
The next day Jenny texts me again asking when we’re going to come in. Cue back and forth messages while I recount what happened (even though she spoke to T, obviously she wasn’t sure if we were the same couple she originally spoke to. She must see dozens of people a day…
I can’t tell you how awful I felt. She gave us top notch service, and I gave in to the pushy sales guy who swooped in while he could. I FAIL. I hope she didn’t miss out on too much commission (how much would they earn? And is that reduced during massive sales (50% in this case)?
It would be really nice to attend a wedding in which the couple was made for each other and we as guests fully supported the union. It’s sad to say that of the two I’ve been to (and one that I had to miss due to being out of town), none quite meet this benchmark.
“Non crazy chicks are boring” is a line I actually heard at the most recent one. Not surprisingly, this is a couple who thrive on drama – or at least, their entire relationship is built upon it. That, and the child they have together. But there’s a lot to be said for stability, especially when you already have a family. And while a little craziness can be fun, abusiveness is never kosher.
Because objectively, that’s what that relationship is. Abusive. While he’s not the only guy we know to be in a seriously unhealthy relationship – my female friends thankfully all have good taste, apparently – the other three I can think of have at least had the sense to get out. This one decided to commit for life.
And somehow, I get the feeling that saying a few vows in front of a pastor is not going to magically fix things. Just an inkling.
Abusive = overly controlling (whether that’s born of insecurity or something else, I don’t know. I’m talking setting arbitrary curfews like a parent rather than a partner, taking all your partner’s money, and so on), as well as physical abuse (manifested through blows, attempted choking, smashing of all your possessions, etc). Not all of these apply to the guy in question specifically, but these are all things that have happened collectively to the four friends I’m thinking of who’ve been in unhealthy relationships at one point or another.
Making things slightly more tricky is when mental illness plays a part. (To my knowledge, it was/is a factor in some of these cases, though I’m not of course saying mental illness is or should be a barrier to happy relationships. Please don’t think that’s what I’m getting at. What I am trying to say is that being a human punching bag, literally or figuratively, is not helping either of you). But it is not an excuse to put up with abusive treatment.
Guys (and gals). You deserve to be in a healthy and loving relationship, one that makes you feel good about yourself more of the time than not. When a restraining order is part of the mix (and you STILL go back?!), if you’re being regularly thrown out of the house, if your possessions are being unceremoniously dumped on your best man’s lawn while you hide inside his house, ALL IS NOT GRAVY.
Though of course you can never really know unless you’re put in a situation yourself, these would be my dealbreakers:
Lying about finances
Prohibitive amounts of debt (subjective, I know)
Other irresponsible money habits
Not accepting you for who you are
Being overly controlling OR dependent on you
Doesn’t put you first (or second. Sorry, I’m still putting on my lifejacket first if the plane goes down
Violence of any kind. T is more than twice my size, so this would be an absolute non-negotiable. (The odd bruise caused by him picking me up with too firm a grip, – I’m delicate like an overripe fruit and was basically one giant walking bruise the year I played soccer – is excluded.)
And that’s about all I have to say about that.
With a slightly heavy heart, I ask you – what would your relationship dealbreakers be?
Sometimes T’s costly financial habits get up my nose.
Snacks and drinks. He doesn’t like drinking water and most of his money goes on random food purchases and Coke/juice/flavoured milk. I won’t lie, it frustrates me. Technically he has his own allowance, but still, sometimes spends extra out of the account on stuff. That’s when I get annoyed.
Tailgating. This can be an expensive habit. New Zealand drivers tend to be heinous tailgaters (2 second rule, guys! 4 seconds on the motorway!) and he is up there with the worst of them. Amazingly, only one of the car accidents he’s been in was caused by following too closely (all of the rest can be chalked up to even worse drivers out there. On Sunday night he had a narrow brush with death – I’m kind of glad he was on his bike, because if he’d been in the car it would probably have been written off and I just can’t deal with something like that right now. OTOH, he’s a bit banged up and since he has yet to seek medical attention, I may be staying home today to deal with that).
None of his sunglasses ever lasts longer than a few months – not because they break, but because he loses them. I have no idea how or where. He also used to lose his wallet on a regular basis (which he’s outgrown, touch wood) and every so often wakes me up in the morning with his muttered curses at having misplaced his keys. Worst of all, most of his phones have been replaced due to loss rather than breakage or upgrading. This distinguished history includes losing at least one phone out a car window on the road.
But look, I’d like to think I’m gracious enough to admit to my faults. Here we are, then:
Imagine this: the pantry is bare or we just don’t feel like eating toast (because that’s all that’s left). I’m more likely to buy food rather than go grocery shopping like I should.
I cannot keep track of cash. It’s hopeless.
I have a tendency to throw good money after bad. Blown the grocery budget on cheese? Eh, what’s another week over budget? Or another breakfast straight from the bakery?
Seriously. I don’t care about Valentine’s Day at all.
As a singleton, it’s a surefire way to feel terrible about your aloneness.
As a couple, it’s about stupid societal pressure to validate your love through grand, sweeping gestures.
Me, I’m not one for overdone romantic schtick. (But then again, I’m not engaged to a millionaire. Maybe things would be different if we played in the world of private yachts, holiday homes and personal chefs. We exist in a much more humble and down-to-earth dimension.) The best thing I could possibly imagine (on Valentine’s Day or any other day) would be to come home to dinner and a freshly scrubbed house. Literally.
Valentine’s Day is about expecting guys in particular to go all out and to plan insanely amazing days for their partners. And as girls, are we supposed to feel let down or as though missing out – or as if our BFs are lacking – if they don’t come up with extravagant gifts and gestures?
Thursday will be just another day, as we more or less ignore it. Maybe we’ll go out to eat, and maybe I’ll go watch The Princess Bride down at Silo Park with some friends.
Tell me, how do you feel about Valentine’s Day? What’s the most/least romantic gesture anyone ever made towards you?