(Welcome to the very first Guest Post of Flâneur in the City! Jamie blogs about her adventures in dating and dog-raising over at Bibliophiled Away. Keen-eyed readers may note that her name is a bit familiar in these parts: Email exchanges with Jamie have appeared on FitC before! Jamie's hobbies include her dog, Rayla, making fun of my spelling, baking rainbow cupcakes, critiquing music, chasing musicians, and generally being hilarious. Give her love! -- Natalie)
Written By Jamie
When I was in the second grade, the cutest boy in Mrs. Roberts' class, Adam T., asked to hold my hand at a Valentine's Day party. As we were crafting our affections towards our peers with red construction paper and silver glitter, Adam reached across the desk and held out his hand to me. Stunned by his advances, I didn't say anything, but shook my head no, undoubtedly breaking his little 8-year-old heart in the process.
Fast forward twenty years, I am still shaking my head at love, as evidenced by the fact that my dating resume only includes 2.5 boyfriends (Yes, I just referred to a guy as a fraction). As a 28 year old confirmed bachelorette, I haven't had a Valentine in two years. That's a long time to go without a dozen roses, a box of chocolates, a frilly card, a romantic candlelit dinner, a piece of jewelry or two. I think Valentine's Day broke up with me because I was too needy (calling incessantly, asking it what it was thinking all the time, requesting it to buy me tampons on the way home from work), but didn't know exactly how to tell me it wasn't working out between us and hoped that I would get the hint when Valentine's Day wouldn't return any of my calls.
Like any jilted lover, the 14th of February harbors a great deal of resentment in my heart and is now just another day. To express my true feelings, I'd like to manufacture some real conversation starters for the so-called greeting card company fabricated holiday. Who wouldn't like to dip into a tiny red box of chalky heart-shaped candies with such sentiments as:
I MSTRB8 2 U
Danger: No Pants Zone
YOU ARE A sex DREAM COME TRUE
U R A HOTMESS
FQ 2nite?
Go fornicate yourself!
Sext me!
Thirsty Beaver
Coffee, tea or me? And P.S., we just ran out of the first two
America's favorite cookie, WHOREOS!
As a single 28-year-old unlucky in love, you would assume that I share my home with a dozen or two cats. You would assume wrong. I, in fact, share my home with my dog, Ray LaMontagne. Even though Valentine's Day dumped me, I don't want Ray to be deprived. Come tonight, I'll pour some wine, light some candles, make a giant platter of spaghetti and meatballs. Ray will nose me over the last meatball in appreciation. We'll haphazardly meet in the middle of a strand of spaghetti and share a sloppy wet kiss.
Afterwards, we'll snuggle on the couch and watch a romantic comedy, Jersey Shore. I believe those crazy on-again, off-again lovebirds Sammie and Ronnie use such terms of endearment as whore, slut, asshole, and douchebag with each other because they love each other. It's no coincidence that "love" and "slut" have the same number of letters, now is it?
Perhaps Sammie and Ronnie's relationship would have stood a chance if they didn't live under the same roof. (Even my dog is smart enough to know not to shit where he eats). At some point or another in our love lives, we have all fallen victim to the close proximity spell. It all starts with the little blonde haired boy you share a desk with in grade school. Unfortunately, tales of convenience never end well. I'd liken it to a 7-11 microwavable burrito, immediately satisfying yes, but eventually regrettable three hours later.
It takes a lot of effort to start the car and drive across town in the middle of the night to "smush". Avoiding the walk of shame is considerably shortened by reaching out to a roommate or neighbor for knocking boots. You rationalize that the less people see you wearing the same ensemble from last night, the better. Take it from someone who has been caught in her Saturday dress on a bright, sobering Sunday morning. The best things in life are things you have to put on shoes for. Think about that the next time you are thinking about bumpin' uglies with your roommate.
Happy unValentine's Day! If you get any candy this year that leaves a bad taste in your month, trust that it came from me, your friendly neighborhood spinster.
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