Roxyland: It's not just for vacation anymore

I'm like Vegas baybee! Or maybe Disneyland - yeah, that's it. But I'm Roxyland.

Located in sunny Arizona, just one step out of reality, Roxyland is the married man’s number one vacation destination. Roxyland is always the perfect temperature. Sick of the cold, wintry mix of your home life? Roxyland is hot and spicy. Conversely, when things are blistering at home, Roxyland cools scorched egos with breezy jokes and cotton-candy kisses.

Roxyland is a place of witty conversations, loud laughter and cold margaritas. Numerous attractions include pirate themed parties; virtual reality trips to Paris and other exciting destinations; and dangerous, looping thrill rides. The fast, curvaceous roller-coaster is the peak of the Roxyland experience. Counseling services and cozy sunset dining are also available at the park.

Occasionally, men like to take the backstage tour and glimpse the inner workings of the park. However, Roxyland has primarily remained the diversion that these men need before returning to their climate-controlled, anti-climactic realities.

Recently, Roxyland underwent major renovations. Although the park is still one of the most fantastic and exciting destinations in the region, the rules at Roxyland have been transformed. The admission price has gotten higher and the steel sign at the front gate now reads “If you want to ride the roller coaster and eat the cotton candy, buy the lifetime pass. Save the day trips for your wife.”

Happy VD!

Friday hearkened me back to those school days when the girls would giggle and give chocolate and the boys would roll their eyes because their moms had made them bring red-hot hearts and painstakingly printed "Love, Johnny" notes to class. And come high school, couples would kiss in hallways and misfits loathed the day of red sweaters and exclusionary games.

But the other day, as a teacher, I experienced the other side.

I cleaned up on Hallmark holiday numero uno. Pink, heart-shaped boxes exploding with candied sentiments. Red bows. Handmade cards. A white chocolate rose. Even some of those sweet, folded 100-to-a-box "personal" messages. And I watched my flush-faced students dance up to their "closest bests" to bestow upon them love's trinkets.

Now, my high school students know that I don't buy in to this manmade million dollar jubilee. This made it all the more fun when I actually received an actual valentine from another teacher.

The stuffed kangaroo, balloon and flowers arrived in first hour. Rumors spread like World War 2 venereal diseases.

To prove things never change, another guy I work with finds out about the token of affection and decides to try to get in on my love-in. So not only do I work in a high school, I apparently attend one as well.

Being the cynical VD hater that I am, I decided to flee this scene and share my love with my girlfriends in L.A. I was content to start February 14th on Venice Beach after a night of chic-chic dining in Hollywood and drinking on Sunset.

But last night, as I watched the Valentines Day couples stroll down the Santa Monica Pier, I saw that same glow in their faces as I did in the hallways of my high school and I briefly bought into the sweetheart-hype.

As Marna Says, "A Girl Has Gotta Eat"

First and foremost, let me say that I met my January quota for dates. There will be no more this month because I just don't think I can handle it.

Tonight, I went out with "Shaggy" who goes by said name as his first name is Daniel and he hates when people shorten it to Dan or Danny.

I will not bore you with background information except to say that it takes a LOT to get me to go out with someone that I barely know so I thought I was being selective.

Shaggy, aka "Duck Boy" as Jodi calls him (because he wanted to meet at a duck pond), isn't ugly by any stretch and was very timely. He brought yellow roses (actually slightly impressed by that) in a vase (?!?) and chocolate (can we say overkill?).

We chatted at the duck pond for a while and it was slightly awkward so we decided to do dinner at a cute little German restaurant in Old Town Glendale (for you out-of-towners, just picture a cute little antique district with lights in the trees and brick walkways). Of course, since the restaurant is closed on Mondays (DOH!) I chose to stop at the Quiznos in order to minimize my walk time in the nippy Arizona air (yes, it was slightly chilly tonight).

I'm thinking we do a quick dinner and hopefully manage to chat a little. At that point I felt like I had run out of topics of conversation as he wanted to talk about himself and his theories and his past and the fact that he speaks fluent German (did you know that bierfucher is a German insult for a man and literally implies that a man has a small penis and can fit it in the rim of a beer bottle? Good to know. I'll skip the part about the band Rammstein and his theories behind their heavy-industrial metal songs.)

So, because he is such a "mental giant," (yes, that is what he calls himself) we were able to talk about logic and his theories about how
logical arguments are impenatrable no matter who is delivering said arguments. There are flaws with that logic so I bring up a few arguments. But guess what? He realizes he isn't talking about himself so that didn't last long.

We get our food and he wants to say grace - he's Catholic. I'm ok with that. He is also very conservative (politically and fashionably) and starts to talk about his conservative nature. I bring up the point that he has 4 earrings in his left ear and he brings up the point that he has 9 tattoos. 9???

Ok, so you know I gotta see these suckers. He starts to roll up his sleeves. On the left arm is all this bible stuff (no offense) written in Latin. Then he chose other latin words and some sort of cross with Latin symbols (did I mention he said grace in Latin?). He starts for the second sleeve and tells me he doesn't want me to freak out.

I start to think that he has a full bible scene depicted on his forearm with maybe some bible verses and whatnot. Instead, he has a scar in the shape of a cross, a tattoo that says "Vengeance is Mine" (in Latin of course), an interesting clown-like-marilyn-mansonesque doll head tattoo (dripping eyeliner included) and another tattoo (Latin, how did you guess?) that says something to the effect that ignorance doesn't excuse behaviour. The best part? He's a self-cutter. He deliberately cuts slashes into his arm to "feel." Excellent.

He asked if I was freaked out about that, which I wasn't, surprisingly. People do a lot of messed up things. What I'm not kosher with is that fact that after all his postulations, theories, and borderline psychotic-genius thoughts, he really is so juvenile. I'd expect one of my students to cut, not one of my dates.

Better luck in February, huh?