Valentines day has never really registered on my calendar as a real day to take notice of. I'm perpetually single, which I don't mind, and have no real reason to either celebrate or bash a holiday dedicated to romantic love.
I guess if you were to twist my arm I'd be all, "ugh I've had two really lame Valentine's days out of the x number of days I've been alive, therefore, have taken a vow to be bitter at this day until the end of time."
One was in seventh grade when the school goth made it his mission to make me his valentine and left me super creepy black cross bracelets accompanied with equally odd love pictures at my desk. Even as a seventh grader, my standards were quite high. I felt he could have at least used his minimally developed vocabulary to write a sentence of explanation, but alas, I was left to interpret them as I wished and I was pissed about it. What the hell am I supposed to do with an anatomically correct depiction of an eyeball, next to a heart, next to a finger pointing at me? You're in seventh grade! Use your words! (Like I said high expectations)
Since I was in seventh grade, I also I hadn't realized the tenacity of hope guys retain in chasing girls if their hopes and dreams of snatching said girl aren't completely obliterated immediately. I was too nice and didn't want to hurt his feelings, so instead of ripping his black on black heart out, I skipped gently around the issue in my painfully naive neon flowered shirts (apparently his timing was just off. I'm looking at my wardrobe and seeing nothing but noire). Thus, ensued my first real stalking experience in which principals, teachers and parents all had to get involved. I've since developed soul crushing rejection tactics....
...which brings me to my next valentines day gone bad. I was 24 when it happened but the strength of regret I feel when recalling that night makes it feel like it was yesterday. Now that I'm writing it, I can't really go through with a thorough purging of details, let's just say it was the first (and only) time I've ever made an incredibly nice, undeserving grown man cry and contemplate throwing himself, suit and all, into a nearby swimming pool. It is the single most cringe worthy, guilt inducing memory I have in my brain.
Bygones are bygones, so on and so on, this Valentine's day found me happily munching on a 9 course Spanish meal prepared in the private kitchen of Comilonas. That's right, I paid lots of money to have someone else cook for me in their kitchen. (Essentially) I didn't really get many pictures of the event because I wasn't planning on blogging about it, but it was pretty cool. There were about fifteen of us all gathered around a beautifully dark polished oak table for a good ol Valentine's day dinner. The meal itself was course after course of Spanish tapas, topped off with a portion of black rice paella, and the most delicious dessert: a gutted out half orange smothered in ice cream, served with an espresso mixed with cognac. There was soft Spanish music playing in the back ground throughout the meal and of course, we drank tons of Spanish wine.
What a perfect way to bash love.
No comments:
Post a Comment