I still remember the good old days of fun, non-committal sex when I could drink beer as I pleased and not have to call my girlfriend every evening at precisely 9 o’clock and tell her that I loved her. I had total and utter freedom. I was not obliged to make choices in order to please somebody else. My life was precisely that: my life.

My, how the times have changed. Now my girlfriend Angela reams me out over something nasty that a friend of a friend overheard me say about her at a house party more than three weeks ago. I didn’t recall saying anything nasty. All I can recall of the party is that I was drunk and stumbled home with this blonde, whose name I forget but was also drunk, and she gave me a hand-job while we sat on the couch watching TV.

"I’m sorry," I say, not even sure what it is, if anything, I’ve done wrong.
The latest thing is this anniversary debacle. We have been dating for one full year now, Angela and me. I forgot an important day and now I am paying for it dearly. Let’s face it, I am not very good when it comes to remembering special days unless everybody else in the world around me is celebrating them, too. This works for Christmas, Easter, Halloween, Lincoln’s birthday, all those. Unfortunately, anniversaries and birthdays are different for everybody and, therefore, never pre-marked on calendars A guy always has to pencil those in himself.

Anyway, for our first anniversary Nov. 2, I was to plan something special for Angela and me. She said that all of the arrangements were in my hands, and whatever I chose to do that night would be OK with her. Of course, I forgot about our anniversary altogether because, as I’ve alluded to, I had nobody to remind me. Angela was quite upset over my bout of forgetfulness.
"I can’t help it if our anniversary falls on a Tuesday," I said, thinking that might justify things. "Who wants to celebrate on a weekday? I have to work the next day, remember?"

I told her that I had plans in mind for the coming Friday. I was lying. Still, it was a swell idea. By celebrating on Friday we would be free of the kids and not have to worry about the dead gray horror of the next morning, presuming that I got drunk as usual or we stayed up late fucking.
"All I wanted was a phone call in the morning saying, 'happy anniversary!'" she said, tears welling in her eyes, and that made me feel really guilty, as you can well imagine.

Over the past 12 months we have threatened to break up countless times. I admitted that I didn’t like her children, I had no intentions of cutting down on my beer intake, and as for my drug problem, well, what can I say — I’m working on it. Having such a rocky year, I suppose that I should have attached more importance to the day. By forgetting our anniversary, she said that I was "not considering her feelings." This made me feel even guiltier.
I made up slightly for my mistake with a greeting card, a pink sweater and some flowers. The total cost was just under $70. I can't complain though because she bought me a bottle of Drakkar Noir after-shave, which is about $70, and also a bottle of diet coke. I broke even, give or take.
I opted for a joke card rather than a serious one and that didn't seem to work out too good for me either. I'm just not into the mawkish romantic cards with the rhymes dripping with schmaltz and pictures of angels on the front. After all, if I don’t like something, why would I want to give it to somebody else as a gift? It didn’t make sense. On the front of the card I got her were the words, "If an axe murderer was chasing us through the woods and you fell and twisted your ankle... (open card) I would go back for you." I also wrote a nice message inside the card, apologizing and what have you.

The flowers were my best idea but I can’t remember what they were. When Lana at the flower shop asked what I had in mind for an arrangement, I said, "Lots of red and yellow, in the $40 range." As I suggested, she put one red rose in the vase and lots of yellow and red flowers of some description. I watched Lana as she prepared the arrangement. Lana was good at her job. She looked good the way her arms moved. She was a little too fat for my liking, big ass, big tits, big and ripe in all the right places. The best thing about these flowers was this odd kiwi stick that accompanied it, a brown twisty-looking branch, and apparently if you left it in water it kept growing and sprouted leaves — a great deal for $40.

Oh yes, I almost forgot, Angela and I went to Club 901 for fish and chips and free pool. Two young damsels drinking tequila were there, so I was a tad distracted, but the evening turned out fine, all things considered.
Closer to Christmas will be the next big quarrel with Angela. She figures that I ought to spend Christmas Day with her and the kids, and if I decide to visit my parents I ought to bring them with me. I am not too keen on the idea. I'd rather open presents with my parents and see Cindy and the kids when I return, whenever that is. Besides, my parents have this very sexy neighbour whose name is Linda. She has long brown hair and her bra size is 44DD, so I can’t wait to get reacquainted with her again — happy holidays and to all a good night!