As usual, its been a hell of a run-up to Valentine’s Day.

I divorced what had been a good client, and a fun business run by clueless oafs at the very top with a trickle down of Daddy’s venture cap to build with.

In other words, I saw it coming all along.

It just didn’t have to be in the middle of the biggest snow storm to hit the city in twenty years. With serious shitloads of snow befuddling the decision making abilities and cramping the check issuing capacities of old school companies across the region, getting dumped instead of getting paid isn’t a happy bounce into the I-don’t-have-a-Valentine weekend.

It wasn’t FIN, by the way, so don’t worry. This project continues, with positive results I might add. Our little social media experiment is drawing some interesting attention to those little kitchen fuckers, and that’s what I get paid for.

They pissed me off, though, obviously– “fuckers” wasn’t a misprint back there.

I mean, they’ve all taken the “warts-and-all” philosophy we started with and pushed the envelope. They’re getting away with it, though, and to their credit– they shred the owner’s sister for being a major slut (well, she is) on the blog feeds, Facebook, everything… Well, I report to the owner, and he laughed so hard when he read this stuff! He told me he’d put her on the menu, and guests could have a turn in the walk-in with her for a hundred bucks–his own sister! Gross! Before that meeting, I thought I was getting canned for sure.

Of course, it had to be the cute one who went digitally postal first. I didn’t even read what he wrote until he was taking a few well deserved days off from the restaurant. I mean, I went from getting wet at the thought of this guy cutting up the million dollar tuna to wanting to gouge his eyes out with a fork the next time I see him in one sentence.

o thanks for the early Valentine, Henry. Mommy-fucking-Adrienne was just trying to make sure you still had a job when you finally got back from your latest crack binge… er, I mean, personal time. Asshole!

I stopped in FIN last night anyway, because I like that cute little bartender and she makes wicked drinks. And Chef doesn’t come out front too much early in the evenings, so I can drink free without having to eat any of his shit. The Valentine’s special Agave Kiss was getting my mind off things, drinking alone, until I saw her nuzzling another girl at the far end of the bar during a lull. I got all flushed, and afterward, my buzz walking home in the snow wasn’t quite as planned.

And then of course my mom’s thing hit the paper this week, and the one guy at Fin who’s got a handle on the world outside picked right up on it. I suppose I was asking for it, taking on a foodie client, but I haven’t come back yet with my party line– I mean, fuck, she’ll be here for nine weeks, I’ll have to bring her in once.

Look out.

Believe me, I have a lot to say about what’s going on professionally right now.

But like Russell Crowe’s hot, nubile gladiator says at the end of the movie, “But not yet. Not yet.”

A triangle of full sunlight just emerged, creeping across the TWO FEET OF SNOW in the park, and the light bouncing into the apartment made me just have to go out to play this afternoon.

I can see a little patch of perfect blue sky from my desk waiting for me too, and there’s enough room on my Amex for lunch at Mangia.

My sister just posted that in Pittsburgh there’s so much snow today that you’re not allowed to drive your car, or you’ll get a ticket.

I can’t get distracted, though.

I’ll be back for you assholes later.