I haven’t always hated Valentine’s Day.
When I was younger, like in elementary school, I really enjoyed picking out those little tear-apart cards and sticking a heart sucker in each one. I loved decorating my white paper bag and hanging it on the chalkboard tray.
My parents would even give me candy and a stuffed animal. Those were the days.
But now, I hate it so much. Every year, I try my damnedest to pretend it’s not coming, overlook the fact that I have no one to share it with, and tell myself that it really is a meaningless holiday.
But truth be told, I don’t think it’s meaningless or stupid. I’m just bitter and sad.
Last year, I was really looking forward to Valentine’s Day. A local restaurant was selling takeout pizzas that were shaped like hearts. I was dating the disgusting trashy cheating bastard ex, and I just wanted to bake one of those heart-shaped pizzas and get a good beer buzz.
The Thursday night before Valentine’s, I baked my first batch of red velvet cupcakes, with homemade cream cheese frosting and I had little Eiffel Towers to put on top, and planned to have them for dessert with the pizza.
But my then-boyfriend, a man I was in love with, ignored my calls and wanted to hang out with his guy friends instead of me. So I took the cupcakes to work and gave them to my coworkers. The leftovers, about seven cupcakes, I ate in one sitting. At my desk.
I went home that night, drank a bottle of red, and literally cried to Gizzy on the phone while I watched coverage of the winter olympics opening night. On actual Valentine’s Day, I sat in the WalMart tire center, getting new tires, for four hours, with not even a text from my boyfriend wishing me a happy day.
In college, when I was single, I admired the way men looked at Valentine’s Day. They couldn’t have cared less about it, they didn’t feel worthless if they were single, and they weren’t going to sit around eating cookie dough to make up for their losses.
I try, and I wish, to have that attitude. Maybe it’s just the fact that I’ve never had a real Valentine.
I had one, when I was in first grade. He was the fattest kid in my class. I didn’t know he had a crush on me until we had our Valentine’s party at school, when he brought me a little white bear. I was mortified.
Since then, I’ve never had a Valentine. Not even close. So each year, when Christmas is over and the red decor sticks around the stores in the form of heart boxes and couples cards, I’m not afraid to admit that yes, it does get to me.
This year, I’m really thankful that Valentine’s Day falls on a Monday—so I can do normal things, like go to work and watch The Bachelor. And get piss drunk.
However, I’m dreading this weekend. I know it’s this weekend the couples will crowd my favorite bars and restaurants, dressed in red, carrying roses, all feeling like they’re better than me because they have someone to fuck and complain to on a regular basis.
And I’ll give it to them, for this one day, they are better than me. I’m fine with it.
While I appreciate The Frisky for offering up the advice, the advice sucks. Let’s take a lookie:
1. Buy the Valentines you bought when you were younger and hand them out.
I did this two years ago. It isn’t fun, it’s actually a waste, and people think you’re lame for handing out Hannah Montana hologram cards.
2. Book yourself a spa treatment.
Done it. I didn’t realize it when I booked it, but the spa had a special VDay thing going on, with discounted couples massages and chocolate covered strawberries and bubbly. It was a bunch of lovers in robes. Not fun.
3. Gather your single friends for a fun activity.
What single friends?
4. Watch a marathon of movies you find romantic to remind yourself that love is actually a great thing.
Are you fucking kidding me?
5. Cook for yourself.
Yeah, and then cry because you’re alone and fat.
6. Cuddle up with a good book.
7. Buy flowers for a friend.
8. Take a bubble bath and put on some lingerie to remind yourself how sexy you are.
See #5 and #6.
9. Take a salsa lesson.
10. Make a date with a friend to go out to eat. Instead of making fun of the couples, notice how adorable they are and remind yourself that someone amazing is waiting for you.
You know what? I’m really fucking sick of this horse shit. No, I’m not going to sit around and tell myself that someone AMAZING is waiting for me down the road. Y’know why? Because when I finally get down the fucking road, one of two things is going to happen: either no one will be there, or it’ll be a homeless man begging for money that I don’t have.
I’m gonna go drink now.