My Funny Valentine

I would just like to start off by saying, for the record, that I think I am one of about five people on the planet who actually likes the Necco conversation heart candies. As in, I like them because I think they taste kind of good, not just because they say ridiculous things like “UR Kind” and “Be Good” (what does that even mean?).

Anyway. As I sit here eating dark chocolate (and maybe some convo hearts) and lounging on my bed, I’d like to tell you a little story, which may or may not lead me to talk about how I feel about V-Day. No telling just yet though — we all know I love my tangents.

Last night, on my way home from the gym downtown, I was waiting for the 151 bus on Washington. I was minding my own business when a random guy I’d just seen in Walgreen’s walked over and started talking to me. I swear, I’ve just got one of those faces. He wasn’t bad looking and didn’t give me the creeps or anything — just looked a little tough — so I decided to talk to him. Why not? It was either that or stare at the ground while I tried to ignore the homeless men who needed “just 45 more cents” to get on the bus.

Well, he said hello and asked me if I’d read the author he was reading (anyone heard of Zane?). No sooner had I said I no than he asked me if I had a boyfriend. Wow, talk about cutting to the chase. I laughed and said, “Ha, not exactly.” My roommate, T, says that she always tells random guys, “Yes, a very serious one,” even when she’s single, but I just can’t get myself to lie about it for some reason. In fact, I don’t even know why I said “not exactly,” since the answer is, in actuality, “No, absolutely not. I am so single it’s not even funny.” But anyway, I honestly think I like telling the truth because I don’t mind talking to strangers (apparently my parents lessons were lost on me) as long as they don’t truly give me a bad feeling. As I’ve mentioned before, the more random encounters I have, the more material I have for writing and story telling in general.

So anyway, random semi-cute white boy who thinks he is a thug then introduces himself as Tommy as asks, “How’s a cute girl like you not have a boyfriend?” Woo, apparently homegirl’s still got it. I know, I know… a random trying to flirt with you on the street is not usually something to get super excited about. So yes, he was a stranger, and yes, he was hitting on me at the bus stop, of all places, but I would be lying through my teeth if I told you that this wasn’t pretty flattering. First of all, it was at the end of the day, and I don’t think anyone looks fab after waking up at 5:30am and being at work, on the train, and at the gym for 13 hours. Second, I’d been feeling a little ‘meh’ about things, including my appearance, lately so I was not expecting the compliment. And third, I had just gotten my ass kicked by my trainer so I was sweaty and tired and my eye makeup was forming a nice set of raccoon eyes for me. My getting hit on at that moment was nothing short of a miracle. Anyway, I told him I wish I knew why I didn’t have a boyfriend and that it was as much of a mystery to me as it was to him. We proceeded to chat a bit more until my bus came and he told me he hoped he’d run into me again (ha, yes in a city with over 2 million people), which just sounded hilarious to me.

Once I was on my way home, I started thinking, Why is it that I haven’t dated in so long? I bet I could really torture myself by listing a bunch of reasons as to why I seem to be able to attract guys but never keep them. I could try to figure out what is wrong with me and create a whole slew of ways to fix myself, too. I know I’m never the needy or possessive girl –if anything I’m totally the opposite in wanting my own time and space, which I guess could be a reason…I always get along with the friends of guys I’ve dated, unless…maybe I’m too friendly? Or maybe I come off as aloof sometimes…Or maybe I never let guys pursue me enough because I get impatient and think games are stupid… or maybe… STOP!

Or maybe, just maybe, nothing is wrong with me at all and the old adage is true: You’ve got to love yourself before anyone else can. That fact hit me hard, but not in an unpleasant way, actually. It’s not that I am a self-loathing creature that stands in front of the mirror and hates what she sees. It’s not as though my conscience tortures me on a daily basis and I berate myself for having a unique (or quirky… or awkward) personality. But I am my own worst critic, as so many of us are. And even the things I love about myself, I fear others won’t understand or appreciate so I tend to never accept the fact that someone might be interested in who I am. I keep many at arm’s length, and I have been known to cut people off at the pass, rejecting myself for them before they get the chance. I’m starting to realize that maybe I’m throwing bombs out in front of me to keep others at bay until I stop being so damn scared of someone else rejecting me.

Whew. That was deep. Took a lot out of me. Anyway, the point of that is that I need to show myself a little more love. I like who I am, but I always worry that no one else will. Makes a lot of sense right?

Anyway, this is where I tell you about how I feel about Valentine’s Day. [sigh]I really wish I could say that I love it and look forward to it every year… but I don’t, I really don’t. I don’t totally abhor it, but it’s usually a holiday that I pretend isn’t happening. I’ve had two Valentines ever (besides my mom who sent me awesome dark chocolate this year along with a book on grammar. I know, I’m a dork.), so I don’t have all of these fond memories to recall that will make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. One was a high school boyfriend, who I wasn’t even quite dating at the time so the whole ‘are you my Valentine?’ thing was a bit fuzzy. The other was a college boyfriend who had moved for a semester-long internship so we weren’t even really dating anymore and I officially broke up with him two weeks later. Yeah. I get that it doesn’t have to be about romantic love, but most of the time I’m usually just sick of having to talk about how much I appreciate all of the other kinds of love that surround me. Even though I really do.

This year though, in order to show myself more love, I am going to appreciate all of the love in my life. I have great friends, an awesome family, and hey, love love will come my way soon enough. Tomorrow I’m going to treat myself like my own Valentine and devote my day to me (OK, and maybe a little freelance work). I’m going to go for a nice long run (unless it snows, then the workout will move indoors), grab a big cup of coffee, read for however long I want, maybe buy myself a little something because I work hard, and dammit I deserve it. I’m going to let myself get plenty of sleep, lounge around if I so desire, and have a little bit more of that dark chocolate. And, even though I have deemed tomorrow to be all about me, that doesn’t mean that I’m going to play bitter, anti-Valentine’s single girl all day. I’m going to hit the town with one of my friends whose boyfriend is on vacation, because hey, just because there’s no guy in my life doesn’t mean I’m not looking. And even if I don’t really meet anyone, at least I’ll know all of the cute ones who hit on me tomorrow are single. 😉

White Wedding

So, recently I attended two weddings, in one of which I was a bridesmaid and for another I was a wedding singer. Because you know, I have the voice of a freaking angel.

The first was the worst wedding on the planet (I referred to it as the nuptials from Hell before) and was so draining because over half the church and the bridal party thought it was a bad idea. And we had said so. Many times. The bride’s side was practically dying and no one smiled and it was one of the tensest situations I’ve ever been in. Also, the minister was reeeeeallly driving home this “subservient and obedient wife” thing and a friend’s father said he had never heard the word ‘fear’ so many times in one hour. (And we Catholics thought our guilt was bad!) Anyway, as I may have mentioned before, I was a women’s studies major and I do not take very kindly when religious texts use the phrase “the weaker vessel” to describe me as a female. And just because the term “whore mongers” is in the Bible does not mean it needs to be included in a wedding ceremony. So apparently my expressions were not church friendly as I was facing the congregation. I may have actually turned my face away from everyone a few times because the anger showing on my face was getting offensive. I know that sounds rude, but you honestly had to be there. I have never been to such an unhappy occasion. After the ceremony, the brides maids and the bride’s sisters and cousins all went into the parking lot to drink wine. Out of plastic coffee cups. Because we’re classy like that. The epitome of, even.

However, the other wedding, which was my cousin’s, was absolutely beautiful and was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. My dad’s side is a little more crass and they all hold back a little less. They also drink A LOT more, which was fun for me! I think I danced to about 75% of the songs, including every line dance imaginable. In fact, my sister and I taught everyone the moves to the Love Shack. Apparently we are two of the very few who know it…anyone else learn it when they were younger? I’ve been doing it since age seven in my country club swim team dance days. Then we learned it again in gym class in seventh grade. Nevermind. I had a weird childhood. But back to this fun wedding. We danced a ton, played with all of the little ones that I never get to see anymore now that I’m not in Michigan, drank too much wine, and heard my somewhat introverted, 31-year-old cousin rap “Bust a Move” in its entirety over the DJ’s microphone. OH, and I saw a football player from my high school who was a year older than me. We chatted for a bit and I learned that after going to school for three years, he dropped out and moved home. Then he became the bartender at my cousin’s wedding. I’m going to hell for this, but I found it veeeerrryyy funny.

Anyway, this last wedding totally made up for the previous one. And between both of them I picked up some ideas for my own (possibly-never-happening-because-I’m-going-to-die-alone-with-cats) wedding. First, even though I do want a traditional, religious ceremony, I will not be allowing readings that tell me to fear my husband and agree with everything he says. I don’t agree with everything that anyone says. And second, we will do the Macarena and we WILL have an open bar.