Guys are stupid. I'm one of them. In a lot of ways, men tend to think way ahead, plan and plot everything that lie before them, and ignore everything in the present blowing up in front of them. On top of this, and this may just be one of my own ridiculous traits, is that I insist on making everything as difficult as possible, only to curse myself upon completion of the task. One would think that this is a key to inner strength, so after I've learned my lesson, I'll walk away stronger. This is not the case. The self-embarrassment caused by seemingly easy tasks turned into some quasi slapstick hijinks cause me to black out the bad stuff and plan ahead. So when I'm called upon another task, I start with a fresh slate and a vat of matches, just waiting for a chance to see if my new hair gel is flammable or not.

Here's a fine example. I awoke on New Year's Eve to the sound of my stomach screaming. The next few hours were spent with my old friend Dirty the toilet, and in between visits I'd call upon people who could help me. I was scheduled to do four shows at The Comedy Connection in Portland that night, and by the time I'd strapped on my tux, I had felt a little better.

By the end of the fourth show, I knew I was starting to improve. So, instead of going home quietly and resting, I was two fisting Coronas and belting out “Islands in the stream” on some karaoke machine, located in a bar I don't even recall. I awoke January 1st in a similar way to December 31st. The only differences were that my toilet wasn't as clean, I was dressed better, and I had to make apologies.

And now here we are at Valentines Day, a splendid opportunity to show the lady in my life my love for her by taking her out to a romantic dinner. Being new at this relationship stuff, I shrug off the necessity of reserving a table at a fine Portland eatery, and decide that last minute arrangements can be secured. Whoops.

After realizing the error of my ways, someone recommended that I cook a romantic dinner. Hey, there's a thought, watch the man of your dreams suffer third degree burns from the molten plastic of a lean cuisine tray, followed by a box of wine toppling down the stairs. Following that, I'll woo you on to my couch so you can watch me change channels. The way I do it just makes girls crazy with lust.

I decided to bite the bullet and go against the grain. Yes, I made a mistake with that reservation stuff, so I'll one up myself. I was going to whisk my girl out of town. There's a plan. A romantic Valentine getaway. Off we go, just her and me, to a remote romantic spot to spend our special evening together, to gaze into each others eyes, and appreciate our good fortune together, and that place was Falmouth.

I certainly know how to smash one out of the park when the right pitch is thrown, don't I? The beauty of this is that I still look good. She's new to the area, so by skipping Portland for night, I appear worldlier to her by jetting out to Falmouth. I still win.

Perhaps I'll display my power of restraint my not super sizing my meal. I'll let you know how it goes, and I may have a toy left over for you.