Tag Archives: valentines day

Valentine’s Day Re-Hashed

Did everyone have a super lovey dovey Valentine’s Day? This year didn’t pan out as bad for me as past years have, but I still kind of wanted to slit my wrists and lie in the bathtub.  Oh and I had a super weird meeting with one of my bosses that made me feel dirty.

I should back up a few months, I failed to mention to everyone that before I left for my big Christmas trip to Hawaii I got a promotion.  Go me! I was pretty excited about it, I would be getting more responsibility, a(n) slave intern, a small raise, and most importantly my own office – far far away from Ciggy Breath and his noises.  Ah, the thought of my cube days being over was enough to tickle my pickle.

I knew it would take some time for my bosses to hire my replacement, and they told me that my office was currently occupado because of another building being under construction.  But, I am happy to report the replacement for my old job started Monday and my office will be ready for move in on March 13th!

So that brings us to yesterday.  My boss’s boss sent me a meeting invitation to go over transitioning the new girl into my position and what I should be prepared to train her on, etc, etc. A few minutes before the meeting she comes to my desk and says to come with her because we’ll be meeting with the CFO and the Director of my department too.  My thoughts? OH SHIT! They found the blog! Goodbye job, goodbye money, goodbye big city, goodbye health insurance.  Hello moving back in with Mom.

They started off the meeting by kissing my ass “off the record”.  They went on for a solid 20 minutes about what an amazing job I’m doing, how they know I’m not using my full potential at the job, how they all know a lot of people outside of our company and if I’d ever like to go elsewhere I should let them know where and they can hook it up because they want to see me do big things.  And on that note, they said that they would like to see me continue at our company and they were willing to make it worthwhile for me by providing me with incentives.  So now I’m thinking I might get another raise and that would make me muy muy happy.  Because I am poor.  Seriously, my bank account has $37 in it and I don’t get paid for 2 more weeks. Sigh.

Anyway, THEN they were like… buuuutttttt we want to talk to you about some things happening in the office.  [insert here what your face looks like when your stomach falls into your butt.]  “We’d like to talk to you about your neighbor, Ciggy Breath.” Oh shew! “Does he bother you? Anything you say will be off the record, we won’t ever use your name.” Ok, this is weird right? Why is this whole meeting “off the record”?

I don’t think it’s a question in anyone’s mind whether Ciggy Breath is annoying or not, we all know he’s The Worst.  So I told them.  “I mean yeah, he irritates me and disrupts my workflow because he’s so loud and obnoxious.  But I think that’s because the rest of us are so quiet, and he’s so not.” Apparently this wasn’t the type of dirt they were looking for, they all exchanged glances and moved in closer, “But has he said anything inappropriate to you that makes you feel uncomfortable or that has crossed a line?” Hold the bus.  Am I understanding this right? Are we trying to slap Ciggy Breath with a sexual harassment suit?

If they would have given me some more time I probably could’ve come up with some things I had heard him say to other people on the phone that were inappropriate, but my brain was kind of scrambled, “Uhhh… I can’t think of anything off the top of my head that he’s said that was inappropriate or off color that offended me.” Then they were all like, “This is anonymous, we want you to tell us if ANYTHING has been said, we’ll never use your name, we just need to know.” Trust me.  If I had some dirt on Ciggy Breath I would ABSOLUTELY come forward in a heartbeat to get him fired.  But I don’t, which sucks.

So after that sufficiently awkward meeting I went back to my desk and facebook chatted with Lucky the rest of the day.  Apparently my slacking off every day keeps this business afloat.

Then I went home, and while most girls were enjoying a nice filet mingon steak and a bottle of the finest vino with their significant other, I sat in bed and watched Teen Mom and chowed on a couple of those super yummy Dunkin Donut Valentine’s Day heart shaped donuts, yeah the ones with the chocolate chips, and didn’t feel bad about it.  I win!

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I’ll kill it. I will.

I don’t know where to start.   There’s 4 things on today’s agenda:

1. I got in trouble at work

2. I got in a fight with Anth

3. I dumped HOTTIE and shoved a fork in his eye.

4. I live with a snake.

But not in that order.  Although that order would make more sense then the order in which it all actually went down.

It all started a few weeks ago before I got the plague and was deemed terminally ill.  I was going home for the weekend for some good old TLC when I decided to stop and have dinner with HOTTIE on my way through.  All was good in the hood until a text popped up on his iphone.  (Iphones.  Blast!) It read:

Text Message WHORE #2

I know that since you’re all up to speed on your outdated Cocktails At Tiffany’s characters you’re sitting there thinking, “Wait a tick, WHORE #2 is a whore of Snoop-Linus.” And with those thoughts you would be correct.  Which is why I was instantly infuriated.  Not only was HOTTIE FULLY aware of my man hating trust issues, he also knew every last detail of what went down with Snoop and all of the whores, #2 included.  So imagine my surprise when I see her name pop up on his phone.  No, I didn’t grab the phone and speed off to the bathroom to analyze every text and then smash it like I wanted to.  I simply said:

“What the fuck is this shit?” (Now mind you, I normally don’t cuss when I am fighting with someone face to face because I think it’s tacky/trashy and we know I’m all about the CLASS.  So I was pretty much as pissed as a Gizzy can get.)

To which he said, “Oh what, WHORE #2? She’s cool, she’s my friend.  She probably wants to party tonight or something.”

Which left me with one choice.  To stand up and stab him in the face with a fork.   Kidding kidding.  Even though I totes wanted to.  But I did make a scene by standing up and throwing my napkin on the table and screaming, “FUCK THIS AND FUCK YOU!” And then I stormed out of the restaurant and realized my car was parked like 2 miles away.  I walked, because I’ll be damned if I was going back in there to look weak and say, “Umm hey, can you take me to my car?” Which is what he totally expected because it took him 2 weeks to call me and apologize.  But he did call.  Sunday – just in time for Valentines Day.

The conversation went down pretty much how you would expect.  He apologized for being the biggest douche on the face of the Earth and I told him an apology didn’t mean jack shit 2 weeks later and he could go live it up on drug island with WHORE #2.  He claimed she’s just a friend, I claimed she’s just a whore. He asked to see me again, I asked where he got the ring so that I could kindly return it, and he hung up on me.  HE hung up on ME.  Yeah wtf, that’s some BULL-shit!

So here I am back to square 1.  Anth feeling ever so sorry for me because I picked another winner and had a crying fit Monday morning when I realized one of our roommates has a boa constrictor living in his room,  (Which I am totes NOT ok with.  Anth claims he told me, which he absolutely did not.  It’s cool though, if I ever see the thing I’m going to kill it, which is what I told him. Don’t go all PETA on me, because I don’t care.  If it ever gets out of it’s cage, it’s dead.  End of story, there is no purpose for a snake in the city and I’m not going to get choked out in the middle of the night and served for dinner because this guy needs to feel like a “man” and own a snake.  No!) offered to take me out for Valentines Day on Monday so I got all ready, I even curled my hair and put on perfume, and then he stood me up.  Some words were exchanged, I went out to dinner with an ex out of spite (like Anth cares), went to work yesterday with what might be the biggest hangover of my adult career and got in trouble.

Here’s the thing, when I was hired and numerous times after that, my boss explained that we have “flex time.”  So we are allowed to come in anywhere between 7:30 and 10 and have to stay 7.5 hours then we can go home.  Last time I checked 9:30 was within those hours but yesterday I got in trouble for being late.  My boss said, “Next time call and let me know.”  I said OK, but lady – after what time do you consider me late? Because I’m pretty sure I was on time.  IDK.  I can’t take these old people.  They’re all senile.

So in case you were wondering Anth came home from work tonight and we played Jeopardy like it ain’t no thang.  However, I did find a pair of my shoes in the oven – so I’m not really sure what happened on Valentines Day while I was gone.

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Some people really are destined to be…alone.

One night, (I believe it was super bowl Sunday) Lucky and I had a long talk about how we are awkward and a-social, and how we genuinely feel there’s no one out there waiting for us.  This conversation was prompted by #1 my drugs and #2 the fact that it was Snoop-Linus’ birthday, I sent him a Happy Birthday text, and heard nothing back for almost 24 hours.  I was starting to get the feeling that I should just suck up all of Snoop-Linus’ bad habits and cheating ways and be with him, I texted Lucky for a reality check, but when it comes to the two of us we can quickly bring the other one down too, as I did with Lucky that very night.

Anyway, the point of this story is that I don’t know how to talk to people, and I’m afraid it has me doomed to be a lonely old maid or to be with what I know, someone who treats me like shit. I won’t lie, Snoop-Linus finally texted back, we got into an argument, I said some things he said some things, it was ok for a few days, and now it’s back to awful.  If I can’t even get my cheating ex-boyfriend to give me any attention, how in the EFF am I supposed to get it from a nice guy?

It’s not just men that I feel like I can’t communicate with, it’s women too.  Like I can’t even make conversation good enough/act interested enough in peoples lame stories slash lives to get a decent group of girlfriends.  It all just seems so exhausting, and that is pretty much the same way I feel about dating.  Hearing the backstory of every ex-boyfriend/girlfriend and lame friend they’ve had that got them where they are today wears me out.  I mean that’s a lot of talking, and frankly if someone wants to put it all out there I’ll put my face into a pitcher of beer and listen.  But, they better not expect me to reciprocate the stories, because if that’s the case we’re going to need something a lot stronger than beer.  And by that I mean tranquilizers and a therapist.

Of course, I have my current friends who I will listen to/whine to about my problems all day long, but that’s because I already know their stories, I know the people in the stories, and I feel comfortable giving/asking for advice.  But when you meet someone new and they are telling you all of these stories where they’re all, “Oh and THEN John drug me behind his car and left me in a dumpster for dead.” And when I say, “Oh thank god you got rid of him!” And in walks said John with their 3 kids and malshi-poo, I’m the asshole.  So unacceptable.

So here I am, 1 month in to what was supposed to be the greatest decision/fresh start of my life and I’m pretty miserable. Not because I live in the laundry room of a frat house and have curtains for walls, but because I’m too lazy to make friends or find any kind of romantic life for myself.   Even Anth doesn’t want to hang out with me anymore because I’m gross and lately have been coughing things up.  I can’t help it, I’m sick.  So now I don’t know what to do.  For the time being I’m blaming it on the -10 degree weather and the fact that I’m still “adjusting.”  But I can only use these excuses for so long until I have to suck it up and face reality: that I’m probably doomed to be alone forever.  And just in the knick of time for Valentines Day (black holiday, as you will hear it commonly referred to by Lucky and myself.)

Speaking of Valentines day, I realized yesterday that I’m in the same, slightly modified, boat that I was last year.  Last year at Valentines Day I was figuring things out with Snoop-Linus after he had cheated on me a few weeks earlier, and when it came to V-Day weekend he ignored me because I asked him to come home with me to see one of my best friends who was in from out of town.  He said no because that would cut down on drinking time with his friends.  I went alone and stayed at home for the weekend and asked my 6 year old sister to be my Valentine.  She was the best Valentine I could’ve ever asked for, I bought her a Bratz doll and she got me candy and we watched movies all day.  Of course, as soon as I woke up on actual V-day last year (which was a Sunday if you all recall) when the drinking had commenced Snoop-Linus was asking me to dinner for that night because, “There’s no one he’d rather spend Valentines day with,” I don’t think I ever got an apology for being treated like shit and ignored all weekend; I just got a dinner, that I should’ve rejected.

So, in the memory of traditions I’m asking my little sister to be my Valentine again this year.  I’m going to drive my happy ass home tonight after work to play barbies and watch cartoons all weekend, and I couldn’t be happier about that decision.  If I ever find a guy who is OK with watching Disney movies and drinking chocolate milk with my sister and I on said black holiday, he might be in the running as a decent boyfriend.  This is all Neal Bledsoe’s fault.  We could be together right now.

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Dear Cupid, eat shit and die.

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.

I was checking out one of my favorite websites, The Frisky, and they have an article there: 10 ways Single Ladies Can Embrace Valentine’s Day.

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.

See above.

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.

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1 day until the devil’s season begins.

Autumn is here.  I can already feel myself slipping into depression – I didn’t get out of bed until 5pm today.   Which has been my plan for the last week and a half, today was a “personal” day where I did nothing but personal things all day long aka rolling around in my bed until the sheets are balled up and I can’t move to the point where it starts to piss me off.  But, autumn sucks.

Lucky enjoys this time of year because where we come from the air gets crisp, you can open the windows and smell the stench of dead leaves and sewage, and before they all fall to the ground they are kind of pretty.  BUT, when it turns to winter you will witness a 4 man circus out of the 2 of us.  So this is a warning post.  It might be different for Lucky this year since she is dating Matt but in years past come November 1st we both become slightly suicidal and look for tips on the best way to sharpen a razor blade.  So we need to be monitored closely.  It’s the holidays.

Especially New Years Eve.  I like to get so drunk that I forget who I’m with, what year it is, and how old I am (not to mention that I’m single) and in Lucky’s eye’s December 31st doesn’t even exist.

Typically after that we’re all good until February 1st and it’s the same thing with Valentines Day.  Drinking, crying on the phone to each other, bitching about all the romantic dates our taken friends are going on, and eating greasy food until the hamburgers slide off our faces.

Don’t get me wrong, Christmas and Thanksgiving are no peach pie either when we are giving “Thanks” to God for granting not one of our prayers and buying Christmas presents we would have asked significant others to buy us for ourselves. But, NYE and Satan’s Day are by far the worst. Lucky has even gone so far as to send me a “Happy Singles Day” card on said black holiday.   Also, I purchased a tiny happiness Buddha to send to Lucky last Valentines day and a card with a grandma laying on the beach on the cover that read, “Happy Alcoholiday,” (sorry Luck, you made up with lying cheating bastard ex so I didn’t send it.)

Anyway, you get my drift.  If anyone would like to become a designated caretaker for the next 6 months: cocktailsattiffanys@gmail.com

We pay in Chuck-E-Cheese tickets and hugs.

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