Whilst reading my email, I found a message from Jennifer Andrews with the subject line that reads, “Don't Spend Another Valentine's Day Alone!” I instantly thought, who are you Jennifer Andrews and how do you know I’ve spent my Valentine’s days alone? Thanks for reminding me. Maybe I’m happy being alone on V-Day, ever think of that? BITCH! I clicked on the message and it was from match.com. Come on, like I’m going to find love for V-Day via the internet? Yeah, right. At least it wasn’t another email from Samantha, Carol, Susan, Jenna, Cathy, Isabella, Amy, Blair, etcetera who are always excited to write to me since they always send their messages using the highest priority little red exclamation point ! Supposedly I lost contact with them. Their subject lines are always the same, “Hi ERIC, it’s [insert whore’s name here.]" These "women" are always trying to get me to view their skanky vaginas and since I have no urge to be a gynecologist I never click on their web links. Don’t they understand that I’m gay? Leave me alone ladies, leave me alone! I’m also tired of the emails with subjects like this: “Barely Legal Mature Fat Teenage Grannies Eat Huge Donkey Cock and Drink Monkey Spunk while Riding Midgets Dressed like Clowns!” I just wonder how they got those pictures of my mother? I just got home. Earlier (if 10:30 PM can be considered earlier) Farmer Fred called me and told me he didn’t feel like going to the gym tonight because he felt tired. Instead he suggested I come over to his place to watch “Y Tú Mama Tambien.” I said sure, since it would get me out of the house where the annoying psychotic roommate was lurking in the shadows. I drove over to the Castro and waited for FF to get off from work. He soon arrived and we went up to his place and started watching the movie. Half way through the movie he got a call from Farmer Amy, his “wife” who said she was down at Harvey’s having a drink. She invited him to go down the street to join her. So off we went. While exchanging stories in the bar, a pretty cute, albeit youngish waiter came over to take our drink order. His name is Hersh, so if you see him at Harvey’s tip him well. Farmer Amy got another margarita, Farmer Fred got a beer and I decided since I would be driving back over the hill I should just remain as dry as my sense of humor. Hersh came over several times to talk with us. Well, I should say he came over to talk to FA and FF since I don’t talk much to people I don’t know. They asked him about his hours and after he wove his tail of intrigue and heartache FA and FF said they could relate to the crazy schedule he endures since both them are ER nurses. Hersh asked if they had worked today. FA said "no" and FF said "yes." Then FF patted me on the arm to include me in the conversation and said, “He doesn’t work at all.” To which I said, “Well, when one is a millionaire one doesn’t have to work.” We erupted in laughter. Now I've convinced myself that the cute Hersh really believes I'm a millionaire. Lord knows I act like one and I spend enough money to be considered one. What can I say, it’s the aristocrat in me coming through.