The Return of the Give Flowers to a Single Lady in Nashville on Valentine's Day Giveway

Every year, Valentine's Day rolls around. It's like Christmas. Or Jeopardy! at 6:00pm (which I am currently watching and knocking the shit out of these college kids including some guy from Vanderbilt -- take THAT!). Or wait... That last thing is daily. What else rolls around? Marbles? Sure. Every year, Valentine's Day rolls around like marbles. How's that for a simile? And just like a room full of marbles, navigating Valentine's Day is particularly tricky. Unless, of course, you are a cast member of an ensemble romantic comedy starring everyone ever. Then things just sort of fall into place. Like marbles into marble-shaped and -sized holes.

Have I written enough about marbles yet? Maybe for today but I don't promise anything. Except...

That's right, Ladies. With a capital "L". It's just about time for my annual giveaway. That's right: Give Flowers to a Single Lady in Nashville on Valentine's Day Giveaway

Here are the rules. 'Cause what's the fun of having a contest if you can't have rules? That's the fun part, right? The rules?

1.) First of all, you won't owe me anything. You don't have to call me. You don't have to text me. You don't have to even know me all that well. We don't have to be friends on facebook (which is my FAVORITE thing on earth). I'm not even looking to celebrate the infamous Steak and BJ Day the following month.

2.) The flowers will be from A Village of Flowers. I used to work there and any chance I can get to support them, I will support them. They've been making dudes look like champs for years.

3.) I will spend up to $65. This is the approximate cost of a dozen roses. If you want roses, that's cool with me. I can think of many other flowers that I like better but these are for you and if you want a dozen roses then, damnit, you're gonna get your dozen roses.

4.) As my friend Ryan has already jokingly inquired, yes, you have to be a woman, you have to be single, and you have to live in Nashville. I'm not driving out to Lebanon after I've been at work all day. Antioch is also out of the question. Madison? Doesn't count. You get the idea.

5.) The winner is picked by me. Don't feel bad if you don't win. It's not that exciting. I'm probably going to show up in dress pants and a button up shirt. I sit in front of a computer all day.

So, why am I doing this? Well, let's look at Valentine's Day. For the two weeks leading up to it, all you hear on the radio are commercials for buying that special lady in your life a diamond that looks like a piece of frozen spit from a chain

jewelry store. Or if you listen to a really awesome station, a commercial telling you to buy your sweetheart a cell phone. I shit you not, I heard that very commercial last night. I'd probably be pretty stoked if someone bought me a cell phone. I'd turn around, sell it on eBay, and then use that money to pay for these flowers that I'm getting some lady. That's a pretty cyclical argument, in'it? No, the real reason is that I feel like an ass most of the year. And as much as everyone says that they hate VD -- that's Valentine's Day, you sickos -- you, and me, and everyone else that's sitting at home all by themselves watching Muppet Treasure Island on a Friday night whilst updating their blog probably wishes that they weren't... Which will likely mirror my Valentine's Day night. I just randomly picked those last things out. Muppet Treasure Island. And Friday night. Updating their blog. By myself. My point is (and, yes, I realize how incredibly long this paragraph has become) is that I'm trying to be nice. I'm not very good at it and this about the one thing that I can do each year to do something, well, nice.

If you don't want flowers, that's cool. Don't enter. If you'd like to be in the contest, just send me a message/email/facebook thingy and let me know. The more creative the reason, the better chance you have of me showing up on your doorstep a week and a half from now with an arrangement and wearing business casual clothes and smelling like a manufacturing facility. I'm not trying to be romantic, I'm just trying to make one lady's day a little bit better

.

A Door for Humans

I was delivering flowers yesterday afternoon. Nothing out of the ordinary. Actually, I was delivering a gift basket to a doctor at Two Rivers Veterinary Clinic on Old Lebanon Road on the north east side of town but that doesn't matter. The gift basket part not the Two Rivers Veterinary Clinic part. That does matter.

Hell. Lemme try that again.

So I was delivering a gift basket to a vet's office yesterday. Not a veteran's office, a veterinarian's office. You know what? I'm just gonna start drinking right now. Maybe that'll help.

Okay... Third time's a charm. Yesterday afternoon I was delivering a gift basket to a veterinary clinic (I DID IT!). I pulled up to the front door in the behemoth that is our delivery van and parked squarely in the "NO PARKING" zone. I have special privileges, that's why. I got out of the van, walked around the back of the vehicle, and opened the side door. There was the arrangement gift basket in all its glory. I picked it up, assed the door shut, and walked in.

Upon entering, I was met with a set of two doors: one to the left that read "Dogs" and one to the right that red "Cats". Seeing as that I had a basketful of edible goodies (read: not underwear), I used my quick flower delivery man thinking and deduced that of the two doors, the one that read "Cats" would be less likely to have animals in that want to eat all of the delectables that I was carrying. I also guessed that there probably was no catnip in said gift basket. Also, I had to get into the office itself.

This is the conversation that I had with the front desk administrator lady:

Me: "Hi!"

Front desk administrator lady: "Hi! OHMYGOSHTHATISGORGEOUS!"

Me: "Awesome! Yeah, this is for Dr. Schlabach."

Front desk administrator lady: "Oh, I can take it to him."

Me: "Great, thanks. I hope it's okay."

Front desk administrator lady: "You hope what's okay?"

Me: "Well, I saw a door for 'Dogs' and a door for 'Cats' but I didn't see a door that read 'Humans'. I'm not in trouble, am I?"

Front desk administrator lady: [silence]

Me: "Have a good one!"

And this was after me meeting someone at Vanderbilt Hospital named Cookie Warpool. I didn't think my day was going to get any better after that but boy was I wrong...

The First Ever Win a Date with Florist Shop Man contest

I like to come up with hairbrained ideas. I'm not even sure what "hairbrained" really means but I think you get the picture. Hair. On a brain. Not entirely unlike the product to the right. That's not a political statement, either.

Yesterday, while eating the best cheap nachos from the worst named restaurant in Nashville (gracias, Mr. Burrito Fresh!), RH, Dan, and I came up with an idea for next month's art walk in Hillsboro Village. I think I should make it very clear that I am not much of an artist and most of my creative energy goes into updating my blog which I don't do much any more or playing my guitar which I don't do much any more either. I got stressed just trying to figure out a place to hang my "I heart NZ" banner (really, it's a tea napkin) on my wall so much so that upon completion I rewarded myself with a three hour nap. The artist's mind is a fickle thing. Also, anything I can do to justify a three hour nap... But that's another story for another time. Back to our idea for art walk. It's a Date Booth. Not a Kissing Booth but a Date Booth.

What we're thinking is we put pictures and descriptions of ourselves next to ballot boxes wherein pretty girls (I can't stress the "pretty" part enough) leave their information including their desire to be taken out on a night on the town to include dinner (possibly probably spaghetti), a night at the opera either listening to the Nashville Symphony or the Queen record of the same name (ladies' choice!), and a carriage ride. I haven't cleared the carriage with my partners in crime yet but I'm a hopeless romantic and what screams that better than sitting mere inches away from a horse's ass? Very little that I can think of. Hell, I may even wear one of those tuxedo t-shirts. Why? 'Cause it's the kind of thing that says "I want to be formal but I'm here to party."

Being the forward thinking man that I am, I realize that while face to face contact is good and all nothing happens these days without the internet. If only I had a blog or something to prepare the Nashville area for this. Wait a second...

So if any of you stalkers hot lady readers are interested, send me a note. Or a comment. Or an email. Or take your chances at the First Ever Win a Date with a Florist Shop Man contest (catchy, in'it)?

Looking forward to the great things the Lord has in store for this one.

Free flowers! Ladies, inquire within.

Irony: i-ro-ny [ahy-ruh-nee, ahy-er-] –noun, plural -nies.
1. the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning: The irony of her reply, “How nice!” when I said I had to work all weekend.

This is one of my favorite literary devices. Indeed it is. That and, as always, assonance. There are so many wonderful and fun ways to use it: to make fun of people, to make fun of situations, to make fun of people in situations. Um... Basically that would be it but that is the basis of humor and I'm not clever enough to think of new jokes or ways to use the old ones. I stick with what I know and it's lead me to the a life of fame, glory, and sleeping on top of a pile of money with many beautiful ladies each and every night. See? Irony. Right there.

For those of you who don't know, there aren't many holidays that I enjoy. Christmas, Worksgiving Thanksgiving, Easter, Valentine's Day: these are all days I can do without. Don't get me wrong, I think that the meaning behind them is fantastic but dropping some cash on chocolates or flowers for your sweetie just because the world says you should and if you don't you're going to be sleeping on the couch next to your 60 pound boxer who would be more than willing to make sweet love on you all night long... that's just wrong By the way, I did a Google image search for "boxer" and found yonder image. The url associated with it ended with "Boxers at play". Check it out for yourself. I don't know what kinda play that is... This is where I'd make a joke about David Carradine or Roman Polanski but I don't have one for either off of the top of my head.

So, guys, you kinda hafta buy something for your sweetheart this weekend. Otherwise it'll be you, a bottle of Fireball whiskey, and your entire collection of Pirates of the Caribbean movies trying to make it through the next few days. Actually, that sounds like a pretty good weekend if you ask me. And, fellas, quit asking me for discounts. I think I may have done used 'em up. "May have done used 'em up"? Good God.

The personal irony for me is that in addition to loathing Valentine's Day is that I work at a florist on the weekends; a job which I adore on a day that I decidedly do not. For the next two-ish days, I will be driving around the greater Nashville area delivering love (hehehe). To see the reaction on women's faces (and probably some dudes', too) when I hand them their bouquet and then have them immediately run over and hug/kiss/makeoutwith their significant other while I'm standing there with my clipboard in my hand waiting for her or him to come back to the front door and sign it all the while freezing my ass off on what may very well be my least favorite day of the the year... Well, that's irony.

To the ladies who are reading this (and I know there are at least three or four of you), don't feel bummed if you ain't got nobody just like David Lee Roth in his song "Just a Gigolo". I don't either. And maybe, just maybe mind you, I'll make your Valentine's Day by swinging by your place after I'm done working and give you a flower or two. Goodness knows what happens when I give flowers out to women: Someone else comes along and gives her a bigger arrangement and she starts gushing about that one. Which may or may not have happened in real life within the past week to me.

Has anyone seen my pride? If so, can I have it back?

So ladies who may be interested in free flowers, get at me. Leave me a comment. Tell me why you deserve free flowers from me: charming, funny, bearded, handsome me. Make sure I've got your phone number. Wear something skimpy when I show up. You know the drill.

You don't bring me flowers anymore except for when you do

Last night I had a very several conversations with a friend of mine. One in particular stuck out in my mind if only because I was exceptionally honest and forthcoming... And maybe because the instant that it was over I knew that I had to write it in to something at some point in time for (at the very least) posterity's sake.

As many of you know, I work at a florist on Saturdays an occassionally get free flowers that I give away. I now know all of 4 kinda of flowers now so lookout world! I walked out the door shortly after 6 yesterday evening and decided to drop off some flowers at my friend's house. I don't know why but I thought that not only could she use them but that they would suit her personality. She's a beautiful woman inside and out: caring, charming, incredibly artistic, the definition of grace (despite her clumsiness), and has got a good heart to boot. And, if you haven't been paying attention, you may know notice that this blog is called "Looking for Like" and not either of the two other dreadedly annoying four letter words. So, with no intentions of hope or (for that matter) surrender to the seeds of romanticism of my youthful days, I drove over to her house and gave her these flowers. All because I'm just trying to be a solid dude and I know that I've fucked up on far too many other things in my life that I should be trying to atone for them. Karma. Giving back. Whatever.

Honestly there were no intentions. And I can't even fake that.

To give you a bit of background on the previous coversations, she and I were talking about intelligence. I consider myself to be a pretty smart guy. As a matter of fact I know it. We were talking about IQ tests and high scores. We were talking about cognitive ability. And she was talking about how she thought I was all of those things and possesed all of those or whatever the proper verb tenses and item correlations there are with those things. It's 7:27 am on a Sunday, I'm at the laundrymat and I'm typing this on my phone. Don't expect Dickens.

Our conversation went like this:
Her: You're so smart. Why are you hanging out with me?
Me: 'Cause I like you.

And for at least a split second I felt like it was the most honest thing I had said in years. Yes, I'm still kind if a jackass and, no, I don't think that'll ever go away. And, yes, I got the flowers for free but if I would have kept them they'd probably be laying next to the empty Little Ceasar's Hot and Ready box on my bedroom floor right now. If we can all look past that, we'll be okay.

So, to all of other my lady friends (not "ladyfriends") who read this: I might bring you flowers some day, too. Just 'cause I think you could use them.

I am inspirational

My friend RCC3 had a great blog entry about the state of Nashville's music. It's true, it has become watered down. The artists in both the country and pop worlds that have made it sound exactly like every other artist that has made it or will make it from most anywhere else. They start to blend in with the scenery and before you know it, you don't even know what you're listening to or looking at. You know what? I'll give you FIFTY Stephen Bohn McFun Bucks if you can tell me what American Music Award winning country-pop artist is pictured here to the right. Yes, they are major award winners. Yes, they have fauxhawks. Yes, they play acoustic mandoguitars. No, I don't care about them and, really, neither should you.

"But why shouldn't I care about them, oh, mighty blogger?" you ask. Well, it's not because they're not nice people (I'm sure they are) and it's not 'cause they buy American (you guys know we suck at making blue jeans, right?). It's because they don't have a song about me.

That's right. I really am that shallow.

Point #1: Ke$ha. As some of you may know, she is from Nashville and she and are I well acquainted. I wouldn't say that we are "friends" because we haven't talked in quite a while but her friend tried to make out with me once during her birthday week and almost fell off the Sweet-T porch. Also, we are friends on facebook... So, I guess maybe we are. It's the facebook thing that I want to focus on for a second. I received a message on the ol' FB a month or so ago from this dude from Brazil.

If you can't read it goes a little something like this:
"stephen .. kesha wants to know why u wont call her .. she likes ur beardlove dilio"

The first thing that ran through my head was "Do I know this guy? Who the hell is he? This isn't Ke$ha's friend that tried to make out with me 5 years ago who has suddenly turned into a 16 year old Brazillian boy, is it? 'Cause if it is, I am living in a world of confusion." Suffice to say, I had no idea what this dude was talking about because I had yet to illegally download buy Ke$ha's record yet in order to discover that there is a song called "Stephen" (why, that's my name!) and it's about some dude not calling her (which I have not done in several years). As far as I know, the song isn't about me.

Point #2: Taylor Swift. The darling of the Grammy® Awards. The darling of Nashville. The darling of being anyone but Kanye West (remember how much that doesn't matter?!). If you haven't heard her record Fearless, you are probably living under a rock. I used the qualifier "probably" for a reason. I myself have never heard it but Wikipedia told me that she won a whole bunch of awards for that record the other night so I checked it (the Wikipedia article not the record) out... and wouldn't you know who has a song called "Hey, Stephen"... That's right! Now, the closest that I think I've ever come to Taylor Swift is our Monday-Friday delivery driver at the shop has brought her flowers before. I still haven't heard the song but I can imagine it goes something like this:

"Hey, Stephen / You should have brought me flowers / Not the regular delivery guy / I love all your magical powers"

I'm sure it's a hit song.

Point #3: Jewel. As you may recall, she filmed a video at the flower shop a few weeks ago. The song doesn't have anything to do with me but it was filmed at the shop I work at. If I can't convince you to listen to the song at least watch the video because Jewel is incredibly good-looking. And make sure you stay until the end of the video and notice how clean the floor looks as she heads toward the backdoor. That was my handiwork. Also, I like math.

How are all these Nashville lady musicians obsessed with me? How do I have to have to find out all third-hand-like that I am their muse? You'd think that they'd just come up to me and say "You're a really great guy. I like you. I want to leave my coked out / really tall and handsome / professional bullrider (respectively) man friend and go out with you. Maybe go ride some go-karts." Shit? Is that what people do on dates? Ride go-karts? That's pathetic that that's the best that I could come up with.

I'm a hopeful man.

Oh, and by the way... the band in the first picture is called Gloriana. I still don't know who they are. Why? No song about me.