17 days to figure out how not to be alone.
Well, the month is winding down, kids. It’s been exciting. You’ve been reading [and not commenting a lot, but I won’t judge] and I love you all for that. Has 2k12 been good to you so far? Yes? Well, get ready to get bumblefucked if it has.
In seventeen days, the hallmark gods take over. They send flowers that I’m possibly allergic to, and chocolate that I’ll probably get zits from, and cards that will give me papercuts.
Yes, kids. It’s time for Valentine’s Day.
My goal for the holiday? Survive. Actually, my goal is this:
NeighborGirl and I entered the contest with a great speech about how the only red we want to see is blood on the ice. It’s touching how much I love hockey.
Now, in case this epic matching making game of hockey proportions doesn’t work out, and I end up spending Valentine’s day with a bottle of chocolate w[h]ine, or if YOU end up spending Valentine’s day with said bottle of chocolate wine, I have a cure.
Dating Woes of the VS.
Who loves my sister? Besides me, of course. Well, you will, after this.
“This man,” VS tells me. “He was just so depressing. He was full of sadness. I don’t want to date him anymore because he just makes you feel terrible. He radiates sadness.”
“That’s so sad,” I say. “Why did you date him in the first place?”
“His online profile didn’t seem so sad.” She shrugs. “In fact, nowhere in his profile did it say that he was Droopy.”
“I hate those guys. You know, the ones that just have to control everything?”
“Alpha males?” I guess.
“Exactly. He ordered my food for me. As if I wasn’t capable of doing so.” She’s scoffing at the memory.
“Did he know what you wanted?” I ask. “Oh, no, did he order you meat?” *VS is a vegetarian.
“No, but that’s not the point. I can order for myself. I know how to order food.”
She does, in fact, know how to order food.
“Later, he kissed me, and he grabbed the back of my neck.” VS sounds horrified at the memory. “It was like he was saying he was going to kiss me now and I didn’t have a choice.”
“I didn’t think he was so old.” VS ponders over her initial reaction to the man. “He didn’t act old at all. He’s at the same place in life that I am.”
“How old did you think he was?” I ask.
“Maybe his early 30s?” VS guesses. She’s 26, by the way.
“How old is he really?”
“Well, you know how there are like stages of life that you go through? I feel like at my age, this is what you should be doing. Grad school, good job, something like that. So I just figured that’s where he was at.”
“He’s your age?” I’m confused now.
“But you said he was at your stage of life.”
She sighs. “It’s like he just took some time off, then came back to life, and got back to it.”
“He’s like Rip Van Winkle.”
“I hope you know,” I tell her. “That I will be blogging this. And after the part about Rip Van Winkle, there will be a picture of Wishbone as Rip Van Winkle.”
17 days, kids. As Queen puts it, “Can anybody find me somebody to love?”
Oh, and just in case you don’t find somebody:
“I’m going out with some girls for Valentine’s Day.” VS tells me.
“That’s always so depressing,” I lament.
“No, it’s empowering,” VS argues.
“Oh yes,” I say. “A toast to our empty vaginas!”
VS shrugs this off. “We’ll put chocolate in them.”
Happy Hunting, Valentines.