Valentine’s Day actually doesn’t faze me at all. This morning Lauren Facebook chatted me, “How are you today, or is it nothing to you?” and I hadn’t a clue what she was referring to. To me, this day is an excuse to OD on candy (SweeTart Hearts are on my desk ready for my 3 p.m. sugar craving), cookies (free at Subway today!), and cake (loads of it in the office next to mine). I’ve only been involved with someone once on V-Day, and that’s when I was 16, so does it really count?
At lunch with my favorite lady coworker and brand new blogger, Yves-Marie (second trip of the day to Subway to get yet another free cookie), we didn’t even bring up the subject. Instead we exchanged celebrity run-ins stories. My meeting Justin Guarini and the Free Government Money guy were no match to her hour-long walk with Eric Braeden (aka Victor Newman from The Young & the Restless, which I DVR every day) and bumming a French cigarette from Natalie Cole.
"I don't give a damn that it's Valentine's Day."
I only agreed to the date because my recent ex-boyfriend happened to show up at the pool hall I was at (why was I hanging out at a pool hall?), so I had to make him jealous somehow, especially since he had broken up with me Super Bowl weekend, a mere two weeks before Valentine’s Day. The bartender had been flirting with me, and when the ex came over and said hi, I started flirting back. This quickly led to the bartender asking for my phone number, which I gladly gave him and then loudly said, “CALL ME!!!” to make sure the ex would hear.
We decided to go to dinner that weekend, but The Bartender asked if I could pick him up because he’d just moved here and his truck was still down in Florida. (Red Flag No. 1) When I arrived he invited me in for a glass of wine and said he wasn’t quite ready. (Red Flag No. 2 – only girls are supposed to make their date wait!) I sat on the sofa and waited for him (so he could finish his makeup???), and I noticed a photo album on the coffee table. I picked it up and flipped through, and I started wondering who this woman was in all the pictures.
When he came back in the den I pointed to a photo and asked him, “Who’s this?”
“My wife,” he replied. (Red Flag No. 3!!! Yet I still went to dinner with him.) He explained they were separated and getting a divorce, hence the moving to Georgia and the truck remaining in Florida, because she was trying to keep it.
“Want to smoke some weed before we go?” he Red Flag No. 4ed me. I declined his kind offer and STILL WENT TO DINNER WITH HIM. (Why are college girls so DUMB?!)
Dinner was fine, but he was super obnoxious. He tipped the waitress, like, 50%, obviously showing off, and then took me to a movie, “Hannibal,” because, you know, it’s so romantic and all (Red Flag No. 5? Yeah, you get the idea.). Around the time Hannibal started frying and eating Ray Liotta’s brain right in front of him, I was extremely ready to go home and a little worried that I might face a similar fate that evening.
When we left the theater I realized it was after 1 a.m. Behind me I heard a child’s voice. I looked over my shoulder and saw in horror that some guy had brought his 6-year-old son to see the late night showing of “Hannibal”! My eyes wandered up to see who this terrible parent was…
Ain't nobody dope as me, I'm just so fresh so, so fresh and so clean clean!
“OH MY GOSH IT’S ANDRE 3000!” I frantically whispered to The Bartender. His neck jerked to the left to see for himself, right as I turned to go introduce myself. But that jerk, who was just supposed to make my stupid ex jealous, GRABBED MY ARM.
“No one messes with Andre 3000!” he sternly said. I tried to get out of his grasp but he wouldn’t let go until Dre was a safe distance away.
I drove him home, half furious, half afraid of his anger issues and love for Andre 3000, and 100% sure I would never, ever go to that pool hall again.
A couple of days later I got a call from him. “Hey Gorgeous, I need your dress size.”
“Why do you need my dress size? That’s kind of rude,” I said. (Why did I even pick up the phone?!)
“It’s not rude, just give me your dress size!” he insisted.
“I’m not giving you my dress size! It’s weird!”
“Look, I need your dress size because I’m buying you something special and taking you out for Valentine’s Day. I want you to be my Valentine!” he barked.
But this 20-year-old had finally wised up. “No thanks, I’m good!”
And that is Reason No. 44 why I’m not sad on Valentine’s Day.
So I know this is kind of late, but I was thinking, I’d love to hear your Valentine’s Disasters stories. Send them to me at firstname.lastname@example.org and I’ll post the best one (or more) with a shoutout (if you want one, or you can remain anonymous).
And if you need last-minute plans tonight, come out to James Hoban's for an awesome happy hour! I guarantee a good time. Plus after lunch I saw a cute Marine and asked him if he was single and looking for something to do tonight. He said no, he is not single, but he works with a bunch of Marines who are and would love to come. Hello Eye Candy!