Valentine’s Day for the lonely
Given that yesterday was Valentine’s Day, you’ve probably guessed the topic of my column this week. That’s right — love. My skepticism is particularly heightened around this time of year, but judging from a segment of my book, anyone would peg me as a year-round pessimist.
Valentine’s Day. I’ll probably spend it at some swanky bar downtown in the company of other singles. For me, it’s a status by choice, but I realize that for many, it’s not. For those Wonderboy Romeos who have a reason to go out and buy overpriced candy, I say good for them. But the sort of tree sap that they create out of this day makes me want to yarf up a big hairy one.
Yarf. That’s not even a real word, I don’t think. Spell check gives me that red squiggly line underneath it. Yarf. Real word or not, it still doesn’t change the way I feel about this day. What is the point of spending $15 on candy that you could buy on any other day of the year for a buck fifty? Why this day? And how is candy or a stuffed gorilla that plays the theme to “Love Story” when you squeeze it supposed to show the extent of how much you love someone? I don’t get it. Then again, there are quite a few things I don’t get these days.
This wasn’t a holiday invented only by greeting card companies. The food industry was in on it, too. You go to some fancy restaurant with at least a two or a two-and-a-half fork- or dollar-sign rating and pay some fixed price per person for a four-course meal, with servings that are about the size of baked goodies that came from my Easy Bake Oven. They’re all in on it — candy companies, toy companies, florists, Sing-o-Grams, Beanie Babies. It’s a conspiracy.
This day functions as a time for me to reflect on old love, seeing as how I’m incapable of finding any new love. Sadly enough, as much as I loathe this day, the one good memory I have of an old love is Valentine’s Day. I must say, driving around looking for the wrong restaurant was one of the good ones.
If you felt down and out, pathetic and utterly crap-tacular this Valentine’s Day, take comfort in knowing that I am probably one step ahead of you. Hey, anything for a few kicks and giggles, even if it is at my expense.
Last year’s Valentine’s Day article was a personal story that involved my heart, a blender and a dog peeing all over it. This year, let me again humor you with another sad love story.
About two years ago, I found myself in the same position Cousin Davy was in the year before. That year, Cousin Davy lost his girlfriend, his dog and his car, all within a couple of months. His girlfriend left and took his dog with her, claiming that if he couldn’t take care of a dog, he would never be able to take care of children. And then he walked outside one morning, and his car was gone. So when I lost my boyfriend, my best friend and my wallet the following year, I quickly installed a new alarm system on my car. I ended up selling the car a few months later, so that put me out $200.
I think that series of events lay as the crux of all my conjectures. Duality — it’s an interesting phenomena in the way that we know ourselves. You don’t realize how much you have to gain until you’ve lost. You have to hit rock bottom before you can move up. Most of all, you don’t know love without knowing pain.
On second thought, I take that back. Bottom line, nitty-gritty, the root and heart of my conjectures — stuff happens. Of course, the language tends to be more colorful when expressing that, but I try to be more tactful in my writing.
Love sucks, I’ll admit. “Heartbreak is an inevitable pain and consequence of love,” as I state in the Afterward. But hey, if it hurts, then it was probably worth it, because that means you actually valued the experience enough to let it affect you in this way. As the saying goes, “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.” Well I’ve tried it, and though the consequences really do suck royally sometimes, love isn’t so bad. I’ve decided that love is the perfect way to end writer’s block. Fall in love, then break up — there’s plenty of material to write about there. There was two years worth of newspaper columns for me to write.
Live hard, laugh hard, and when it’s right, love hard. That’s the way to do it.
