Dear Future Me,
Happy Valentines Day! All day at work I was wishing those adorable preggers a happy V-day, which is kind of ironic, because I bet sappy and ultimately insincere romantic gestures are what got them into their predicament in the first place. Or, you know, drugs. It takes all kinds. To be parents. Apparently.
This is the first Valentines Day I’ve been single in a long, long time, and I’m almost disappointed that I don’t have a stronger reaction to this. If I was all bitter and depressed I could be like “FUCK YOU, CUPID, YOU GODDAMN DIRTY BASTARD”. Instead, it is more like Cupid is a vague acquaintance of mine on a bus, and I’m avoiding eye contact with him because I don’t want to have an awkward conversation where I put my foot in my mouth by asking about his dead grandmother.
I mean, I find gross sloppy couples disgusting, but I find them disgusting all year long. Valentines Day is just convenient because they can go somewhere special and moon over each other while I am at home watching Arachnophobia and eating Cheetos in the nude. V-day is all about couples being gooey so I can kind of forgive it. I’m expecting it. So if you really want to spend $80 in a restaurant to feed each other artichoke cheese dip and yell sweet nothings over the roar of a hundred other couples doing the same thing, be my guest. Enjoy yourselves! You have my blessing.
Also, I find angry “I’m single, it’s Valentines Day” parties to be really juvenile. So you hate Valentines Day because you are alone and lonely? And you want to celebrate by getting together with your lonely, angry girlfriends and drink wine spritzers and complain? Really? No offence, but my idea of a good time rarely involves a heapin’ helping of self-pity or a steaming hot plate of resentment. My idea of a good time generally involves trans fats or dinosaurs, but that’s a post for another time.
Not that I really mind if you don’t like V-day. I don’t particularly like it either. Go ahead and rag on it, if you want. Talk about how commercialized it is. Complain about the exorbitant prices of chocolate and flowers. Moan and groan about the societal pressure to Have Someone Special, as if another carbon-based life-form somehow validates your otherwise unspectacular existence. Really, I won’t stop you. Go nuts.
In the end, I am supremely indifferent to le jour de Saint Valentin, but that is because I think love is kind of boring. At least, the way people celebrate love is kind of boring, unless they are dropping several grand on a romantic cruise. Let’s celebrate our love by going skydiving, not surprising each other with unflattering lingerie. Let’s revel in sheer romantic bliss by watching every single one of the Children of the Corn movies, or by calling in sick to work and spending the day eating pizza naked, and then tomorrow let’s buy gratuitous amounts of candy gratuitously on sale. And if you’re going to get me a card, make it something like “Happy 13th Birthday to the Best Nephew Ever”, and on the inside draw a cowboy riding a penis.
It’s lovely to be in love, but it is pretty okay not being in love, too, and I don’t find this bright red holiday to change my feelings on the subject much. Hanukkah doesn’t make me jealous and angry that I’m not Jewish, why would V-day make me pissed that I’m not in love? There is so much love in my life that I have a hard time being bitter about much of anything these days.
Anyhoo, much love and Tyrannosaurs and garlic butter and all that,
P.S. Speaking of dinosaurs, when I write my autobiography I’m going to call it “My MemRAWWRRRSSS” and it’s going to rock the publishing world to its very foundations.