The Obligatory Valentine's Day Post

sigh.

I don't really want to talk about Valentine's day, and not because I'm single and have no Valentine and not because it's a media inspired bullshit frenzy, but mostly because it's such a non-event. I literally don't care, and yet, I have to comment on it. It's the type of thing we sassy, clever girls are expected to comment on, perhaps with insight on the sexual habits of the modern man. I think I have written plenty about the sexual habits of the modern man, and they are both repugnant and confusing. For reference, please see my earlier posts "Yak Balls" and "the Hooter" (Actually, that would be a good cover-band name, as in "Yak Balls and the Hooter playing your favorite hits by Air Supply"). Since then the cavalcade of the bizarre and awful has not ceased, not do I see it coming to a close anytime in the near future. I keep dating, and they keep getting weirder. In fact, the absolute worst Valentine's Day I've had was when I was with someone. He bought me flowers from Rainbow. Rainbow, people! The grocery store. I had to pretend to be excited about some yellow carnations and a daisy. Then he had a panic attack in the middle of the event we were at and ruined not only my night, but the nights of most of my friends. And there was no sex. On Valentine's Day. Not that I was remotely attracted to him after that ridiculous display, but it was the principle of the thing. Needless to say that was the beginning on the end.

I don't get it up for little candy hearts, pink makes me think of pepto bismal and I think red roses are the quintessential example of male creative deficiency. In fact, when I worked at the hotel I delivered so very many dozens of red roses to rooms on birthdays, anniversaries and Valentine's Day that I swore to myself that if a man ever gave me a dozen red roses I would dump his ass for his shear lack of originality. That was before I got what were basically gas station flowers- now I have amended my vehemence to say I would appreciate them, then gently guide him to other flower choices as our relationship blossomed. Ahem. My point is that you can't just throw a red bunch of petals at a girl and expect her to get all hot and bothered.

I'm not bitter, I'm not sad, I'm bored with it all. Maybe I'm so bored with it because this year has really tried my whole patience with the two-cats-in-the-yard-married-with-three-point-two-runny-nosed-brats bull. For reasons passing understanding I have been made witness to the dark and ugly side of many a marriage (no waymy, I don't mean you guys), and would frankly rather be single and self-aware than married and clueless. At least I know what I'm up to. It's pretty hard to lie to yourself about where you are at night. But more than that, I'm really enjoying being single, having no one to answer to and no one to please or worry about. Maybe that's selfish, but I don't care. And really, no it isn't selfish. It would be selfish if I behaved that way and was with someone. So, it's good that I'm being selfish in my solitude.

Just remember: St. Valentine was martyred by the Romans... let that be a lesson to your cookie-bouquet giving selves.