Valentine’s Day brings up a lot of memories for me…mostly bad, a few good, and all hilarious. Where do I even start? Perhaps I’ll begin at my earliest memory of an “adult” Valentine’s Day…and by adult, I actually mean one that I was over the age of 15 and was sexually active. If you are my family member and don’t want to hear too much about my sex life, STOP READING NOW. Or continue reading, but don’t call my mom and complain about it when you feel like you’ve learned too much about your sweet, passionate, and dedicated niece (or cousin, or granddaughter, or whatever). Now, let’s get back to my stories. Yes, stories, because each Valentine’s Day offers a horrible, yet hilarious, story for you to enjoy.
Let’s go back. Way back. Tuesday, February 14, 2006 – my sophomore year of high school, or my days of chemically induced hallucinations and tomfoolery. I decided to trip on cough medicine. Yes. I bought it legally. And I did it and loved it. Within an hour of my trip, I was enjoying myself. My boyfriend was a loser. I was a loser. We were all losers. We were spending our Tuesday afternoon tripping on cough medicine. We were the definition of loser. But we were having fun. All of a sudden, this skanky girl shows up and well, it got interesting from there; for all intensive purposes, let’s call her Christy. Christy had a crush on my boyfriend. Girls tended to have a thing for whichever boy I was dating at the time. I don’t know why. It wasn’t like my boyfriend was the hottest guy in school. It wasn’t like he treated me like a princess. I don’t know why girls liked him (or whoever I was dating) but they did. And on this day, I watched my boyfriend make out with this Christy girl while I laughed in the corner, picking up my legs, one by one, and announcing how heavy they felt.
Then I puked and cried. And cried and puked. And then accepted his apology and called it a day.
Fast forward to Thursday, February 14, 2008. Senior year of high school. Dating a guy who shattered my world. I don’t know what I saw in him. Perhaps it was the “from the streets” attitude. Perhaps it was the fact that he was becoming a damn good tattoo artist. Perhaps it was the fact that he had his own house, his own job, and only a small fear of talking sex with his girlfriend. He took me out to dinner, at a place that serves breakfast all day! with him best friend, and baby’s momma in tow. Then we went to see Step Up 1500 and after that, went home and played a chocolate paint inspired game. I’m not even sure what the hell the game was about, aside from that it made me realize we probably weren’t going to make it much longer…and then we slept together and I headed to high school the next day.
A day later, I got a call from our mutual friend, who let me know the juicy news! My boyfriend had slept with one of my best friends. Also, his best friend’s ex-girlfriend. Does this sound too much like the “sister’s, boyfriend’s, cousin’s, stepbrother’s, nephew?” because it does to me. He lied and lied and denied and denied. And she denied and lied. And I forgave and we stayed together for a few more months, until summer came around and so did my sense of self respect.
Saturday, February 14, 2009 – keyword: Fabio. My post-high school, “true love”, live-in boyfriend debacle starts now. I could write a series of unhealthy relationships from this experience. He worked in the morning, so I made him breakfast. He came home to me, in sexy lingerie, serving up fresh strawberries, homemade whip cream, and waffles. He walked in, said thank you, and proceeded to pick up his phone and call EVERY SINGLE PERSON who may have weed for him to smoke. Well, needless to say, I wasn’t feeling appreciated and headed into the bedroom, alone, to cry, until he finally realized how upset I was.
Well, it wasn’t his fault that he was out of weed (yes it was, all he did was smoke pot). It wasn’t his fault that he cared more about getting high than showing his girlfriend that he cared. He finally found pot, then got so high that he got sick to his stomach and passed out. That lingerie was a waste of money.This wasn’t the first, nor the worst infraction that this guy had committed. A few months later, I found him passed out, on our $2000 mattress, with some blonde girl with braces. I moved out.
Saturday, February 13, 2010. The day before Valentine’s Day during my freshman year of college. My boyfriend, at the time, was a sweetheart. He bought me chocolates, bubble bath, and offered to take me to dinner. I had another plan. We both lived at home, with our parents, but my mom and dad were going out for the night and allowed me to have him over for a home cooked dinner. He was Italian, so I went about this in the best way possible – homemade lasagna, salad, garlic bread, wine, and handmade chocolate covered strawberries.
He had a thing for Eva Mendes, so I dressed up in a sexy white pencil skirt, black, pinstriped corset, and 6 inch stilettos with bright red lipstick. After dinner and a bottle of wine, we start making out and one thing leads to another, and I have to stop him because I have two sets of red lips (if you know what I’m saying). He proceeds to call his friend to come pick him up (he had a DUI and lost his license). Twenty minutes later, he was leaving and I was crying. Balling my eyes out. He didn’t get it. He appreciated the dinner and thought I looked beautiful, but he was already in town, so why not go to the bar with his friends? Umm, because it is Valentine’s Day and your girlfriend is crying on the couch. We lasted a whole other month until I got drunk, realized how much better I was than him, and hooked up with his friend. Yep.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012: a case of the leaky ceiling. I vowed to not care on this Valentine’s Day. I was seeing someone, somewhat casually, but we spent almost every night together. Not this night. I wasn’t going to do ANYTHING with him. Until he called and invited me to dinner. So I went. And I wore my “I ❤ My Boyfriend” shirt…with “boy” crossed out and “girls” written in permanent marker. He laughed and thought it was cute. And we went to dinner and I went out for a drink with some friends afterwards. He told me to come back over, if I wanted. I didn’t want to.
But then I get home and HOLY SHIT my kitchen is leaking water everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. The floor is covered with two inches of water. The ceiling was caving in. My roommate was nowhere to be found. My landlord and maintenance men were unavailable (it was 1am, on a Tuesday, so I understood). Fine, I gave in, and I went over and we had a fun night. So that was an okay Valentine’s Day, aside from my blender and toaster being completely ruined and my landlord not fixing our ceiling for 3 months.
Thursday, February 14, 2013. I had met someone. Someone who was amazing (or so I thought). We had an instant connection. It was beautiful. He was my soulmate. He had just ended a 10 year relationship and needed time. We made out and cuddled a week earlier. He had originally asked me to go to a Red Wing’s game with him on Valentine’s Day, but he mixed up the dates and it was a few days earlier than he thought. So we would do something else. I told him my Valentine’s Day horror stories, and he said that he hoped this one would be better. So after work, I go to my parent’s house (which was closer to where he lived). And I waited. and waited and waited. And finally, I texted him and he said, “oh, I’m soooo sorry, my good buddy called and wanted me to come talk to him, he’s dealing with some baby mama drama” blah blah blah.
Okay, no worries. We will connect again. This year, I think he’s on vacation withhis new lady friend, also known as his fiancé. Also known as the woman who stole my soulmate. Also known as, I’m still single, loving life, and happy to spend this Valentine’s Day alone. Cheers to Valentine’s Day being the most overrated day on the US calendar. Inspired by: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/10/writing-challenge-valentine/