Valentine’s will be… interesting. We had some sort of Pre-Valentine’s baking party. Or rather, my cousins had, I was randomly dragged into it, and the amount of estrogen deeply disturbed me.

It was just very surreal. I mean, I’m girly. I don’t deny that. I lust over clothes, I fawn over pretty dresses and lovely shoes, I like makeup and doing my hair, but wearing a frilly apron, decorating cupcakes and brownies and cookies with white and pink icing and little hearts and Disney-princess decorations? No.

Jules might have been all over it (hell, she would have gone all Bree Van de Kamp meets Stepford Housewives), but I’m just like.. no.

I was a tomboy growing up, for crissakes! (so was she, but she’s a real girly-girl now) And especially when yesterday we spent the day shooting rifles and shotguns. Talk about a 180 degree shift.

There is something indescribably sexy about seeing a girl shoot a shotgun. It’s also very sexy to see a guy shoot disk after disk with only one arm.

Everything is somehow sexy to me.

So now, as I watch Rafael threaten to shove a pizza on Monica’s face, and be an emotional sadist; as we all choke with laughter, I realize how insane my family is. We’re just… very special.

So Valentine’s will be interesting. It’ll pretty much be the same thing as tonight, except we’ll be eating the pastries, rather than baking them. All the pretty little girls gathered up in the living room doing Girl Talk, and… you know, whatever else girly-girls do.

It’s just very amusing to hear what normal girls talk about. It’s all about men and relationships— fantasies, hopes and dreams and the like. Sometimes they get a little kinky, but it’s all light stuff mentioned to shock and out of mild morbidity.

It’s always more or less the same thing in all my social circles, what differs is how dirty things get. So in this particular one, I’m out of place, because all my answers have to be very measured and calculated.

When they ask “What would be your Valentine’s Day fantasy?” I can’t go off on what I’d really like. I have to say something like “Roses, romantic dinner and a movie”.

It’s nerve wrecking, considering I surround myself with people I’m allowed to be open about everything, but helps me practice in learning how to behave in a strictly vanilla setting.

Which mad me realize a very specific tic I have. Whenever I’m asked something that puts me in a relatively uncomfortable situation, or something that requires a moment for me to consider my answer, I suddenly start to laugh in this disbelief sort of way, as if implying ‘Are you seriously asking me this?’ or ‘Way to catch me off guard’. In a way I use it to buy time to think of an answer, but it’s a clear sign that I’m taken aback. Especially because I continue to laugh at every other inteval.

It’s actually pretty nice doing a girl-only thing. I’m so used to celebrating Valentine’s with girls who all they do is complain about how miserable they are without a guy, it’s tiring. Especially when I’ve never felt that way, I’ve always celebrated it with my girl friends.

As long as there’s no chick-flicks involved, I will be a happy camper.

Best part of the night:

Rafael: You know what I would love? Have something like Hostal, except for humiliation. You grab some random girl, and just humiliate her.

Me: You realize that does exist in a way, it’s called an SM dungeon.

Rafael: No, I’m not talking about pain.

Me: No, I mean humiliation. People pay to get humiliated. It’s their kink.

Rafael: You’re kidding. People pay for humiliation? You’re joking.

Me: No, if I were a dominatrix people would pay me around 200 bucks the hour for that— a percentage of my clients would go for other types of play, but a percentage would see me to humiliate them.

Rafael:……… I would love to do that. I would be a millionaire.

This, all after he spent 20 minutes asking Monica after she hit him and threatened not to speak to him again if he continued to attempt to shove the pizza on her face, what it was she felt as the pizza slowly approached her frightened face, along with other very detailed questions attempting to extract specific responses that would stroke his inner emotional sadist.

The kinky lenses never come off.