I will start this blog by saying how very much I do not swoon & sigh over the thought of Valentine’s Day. I am one of the bah-humfucks that see it is an event created by the greeting card and candy industry.
I see nothing romantic about a marked day each year to sweep each other off the feet or to woo thy love because a billion other people are doing so. I actually find it to be about the most un-romantic and un-swoon worthy attempt of getting some nook nook.
Yes, admit.. I may have hummed a bit when I opened my mail and saw a valentine from Hillcrest last year. But the man was three thousand miles away. I didn’t have to dress up or get my hair did. And the reality of love, where is he now.. Hold on, let me check. Nope. Not here. Sweet promises of a valentine easily become just more words sputtered out by a professional fiction writer. Honestly, the cards I received on random unsuspecting days are the ones that made my heart race. The ones that I knew every lady on the block didn’t get a card that day as well. Just me. The pornographic artwork inside didn’t hurt either- and noticing when cards went from friendly, flirty to hear filled. That is romance.
Now… Valentine’s in general.
Anyone with children can relate to this point. Babysitters on Valentine’s. Teenagers are willing to date anything to not be alone so they are all booked. If you snag a teen on valentines, you best believe she is sneaking someone in or she is in a bad mood and your kids will get the wrath of her unworthy appeal to even the head of the AV Club. If you assume a single person may be worth asking, you are assuming, to them, that they obviously have no love interest and if you ask a couple that never does anything, even if you know that man cannot get it up, you are solidly insulting their intimate relations. You could drop them off at one of these new age pay a stranger places, but odds are good they aren’t really watching them well or they will likely get lice or some other unromantic germ to bring home. Ah, romance.
Next- Flowers. I admit, I am not the normal chick. I am pretty fucking awesome. But what is the deal with paying so much money for some cut flowers? You realize these cut flowers die? Is that the message you want? You want this woman to think of you as the petals shrivel up, turn black and make a mess all about the vase. Another mess to clean. Every woman wants that. For the price of a dozen roses, you could get her a massage. for free, you could give her one and try not to poke her in the no-no hole when she moans. And Roses. Bless a rose. They don’t have some amazing scent. They come with blood inducing thorns and they are very much the messiest of the blooming deaths you could choose.
Next- Candy. I do like the conversation hearts. Generic words, but the concept, not bad. We all look for the special I love you or marry me or something but no, you always hand us 2 Sweet or something. Chocolates are even worse. Sure, they are yummy. No lie. But normally you guys get that sampler. You know if you get the 20 piece only 3 are really good and when we offer you one, you just know how to pick one of the good ones. Then we have nuts and tasty goo all in our teeth (not yours) and you want to kiss. Okay, and when we eat, should I also chew my food and spit it in your mouth like a baby bird? Ew, right? Ew. Think of that when you pick up that Whitman’s Sampler.
Next- Gifts (A) We know what you want. You don’t want a greeting card that plays Adele. You don’t want a stuffed animal that danced to Wild Thing. But we still feel the need to get something. We have to make up for the money you spent on flowers and the nuts in our teeth. It is hard, ya know? Shopping mushy like for a man. We really want to buy that cute nightie and those high heels, and we know you will love it- but the first time you get mad you are going to turn around and say how we bought you a gift for us on Valentine’s. So you get the Adele card and the horrible dancing stuffed animal. We don’t like it anymore than you do. Pleas know that.
(B) The greeting card for women. We know you struggle just like we do. We know you pick up that dirty card and laugh but think we will be offended. You read one that sounds like your mother would approve and put it back because you just thought of your mom and now you ponder why you wondered what card is most likely to get you head and suddenly a card makes you think of Mom.. You feel dirty. And not in a good way.. You freak out. You grab that card with all the writing. You know, the one that you read the first bit… Love you endlessly, soul mates….fate….blessing…You buy it. You run and you go to the electronics store just to claim some manhood back. But you see, we open this card and we see words…all these words. Like deep thoughts by Jack Handy. These aren’t your words. Adele wrote this card and it was too happy for a song. But still, we have to read all these words not from you and we hold our chest and poke our lip out and awww and look at you with fake tears and you think it is so moving you gotta get some serious head and we are thinking… I wish I had some floss this damn nut in my molar is driving me nuts. Ha. A pun.
(C) Jewelry. Le and sigh. Valentine bling. Somewhere there should be a law against this. Once again, recall I am not the average woman. I would be happy with a glitzy collar, some clamps or a nice harness system. The NORMAL lady is hoping for this. But not just any this. The bazinga of it all. But guess what? White gold, yellow gold,silver, platinum. Diamonds, pearls, gemstones, lab created or real. Honey, there is where you get fucked on Valentine’s. You have no clue what she wants. The over parfumed lady behind the counter claims she does, but she doesn’t. I happen to think diamonds are the stone of roses. Blah. But most women have it in their head that this diamond thing is it. And if you have dated this chick for any amount of good time, she does not want that diamond in earrings or a bracelet. You know what she wants. And oh hell no. You aren’t ready for that- and you know not a single diamond comes with a bj guarantee. Even if you do not buy jewelry, each time you reach in your pocket, her heart will stop. Don’t drop anything either, she will think you are about to get on one knee.
(D) Dinner. You gotta go to the best place around, right? You made reservations last March, right? Oh. Well, that 3 hour wait is a good time to talk. She could likely almost read the entire card you got her in that time. No, she is starving. She snacked before the dinner date- but 3 hours of smelling food will bring out her inner zombie. She must feed. Then, she is so hungry she downs it all. Don’t lose a finger over the bloomin’ onion. She is full she is tired and she is going to do what she can to silently fart so she can give you some loving, but guess what honey, she don’t want not one more thing to swallow tonight. Wa-Wa-Wa.
Truth be told, she wants you to drop her off and go home so she can drop a load. But no. You want that Valentine’s sex. So, she says she is gonna go freshen up. She wishes she had purchased that nightie and heels because you have seen her in everything else. and she is pushing on her tummy and spreading her cheeks begging God for a deflation poot. Now she has to throw on some lipstick just to make it seem like she did something during all that time you have been antsy on her couch thinking of the bj you ain’t getting.
Now if you are married, you know it doesn’t matter if you are in a nightie or your hole ridden sweat pants, his search for nookie won’t end til you sleep and the kids are hyped up on the sugar they got from the spiffy mass babysitting business. The youngest one is scratching their head, but not too much. You can check for lice later. And married man, you see that look in her eyes. That look of not making eye contact with you so you wont give her your Don Juan eyes. You ripped a loud one in the car, you are ready to go. Her hair is messed up from having to keep the windows down the entire way home. She wants to go to sleep and dream of the figure she had before you ruined it and she wants it worshiped by Johnny Depp or The Doctor. You are so there in the spirit of the greeting card holiday you would be happy if she would just breathe on it one time. Whip it out and wait. She will huff in a minute. Catch that warm breeze,
My point is…. yes, I kinda have one. This is not romance. These expectations. This trying to be the romantic you aren’t 354 days a year. Why not trash this day and bring the romance back? Not on the day we are told to do so- but on that random day you woke up dreaming about your lover all night and you woke up and rolled over to watch them sleep. Take them. Kiss them. Tell them how the world didn’t exist until they did. Remember the first time you made love- all that carnal passion and tension and take your lover and make that first time look like foreplay. Go to work and on lunch, make a card. Crappy drawing if you cannot draw- write just one thing that makes your heart race and mail it. Three days later- romance exists again.
You hate it when popular opinion tells you who to vote for or what good music is or what horrible fashion is making a comeback or what sports team is the best- Why the hell are you letting popular opinion ruin the art of romance?
I challenge you. If you must allow Hallmark and Zales to tell you when the romantic day is- Do it without them. I want to hear the most romantic sensual tales of Feb 14th with no gifts with no cards with no 3 hour waits to eat. Reinvent Valentines. Fall in love all over again and hold on to it like the secret to life- because it is.