I suppose as a girly blogger it is incumbent upon me to weigh in on Valentine's in some way. Thankfully, the worst Anna did to me was have me liveblog Confessions of a Shopaholic with Latoya yesterday. Well, with Latoya, Caroline and rum, actually. Lots of rum. Followed by more rum. Rummy, rummy, rum.
That said, I haven't really cared about Valentine's in a really long time. High school maybe? I used to deliberately wear green to announce my opposition to the holiday, since black was too emo-melancholy, which wasn't how I ever felt. I think maybe 5 people my entire life understood its significance (color wheel, anyone?). The allure of the day had definitely worn off by college, since I actually dumped a guy I was seeing on Valentine's Day. He'd pissed me off in the couple of weeks prior by rather publicly Tom-catting around (any guesses as to his name?) and he insisted on seeing me for the chocolate-flowers-sex exchange figuring I wouldn't end it on V-Day. He came over, got dumped, was asked to remove himself and his property and then I think I went over to JC's and celebrated with (one assumes) bourbon and cheap wine. And probably Abba. That was an awesome one, actually.
Since then, the stalker kind of ruined getting flowers for me anyway, I certainly don't need chocolate, I am not one for fancy jewelry and cards are just one more thing I feel obligated not to throw away even when I want to. It sucks for going out with friends because restaurants are full of couples who feel obligated to go out to dinner, bars are full of people waiting for their dinner reservations and "date movies" (i.e., chick flicks that I wouldn't want to see) are full of men pretending they don't want to lobotomize themselves (thank you, Carl, for that perfect phrasing). It's like a day designed to obligate people to show affection since, apparently, most people in relationships don't, which is a sad statement on relationships and capitalism that you need a day and an industry to instruct you to do that.
My plans for the evening basically involve a house party, drunkenness and getting to bed early enough that I can actually enjoy my brunch tomorrow. You know, like any other Saturday. As it should be.