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VD.

I did a project on St. Valentine once for my 10th grade religion class. My teacher was a nun, and gave me an A- for seeming completely nonplussed about St. Valentine’s martyrdom.

“Are you happy about this Saint, Laura? He dies.

I wish I had a picture of this nun, complete with sound recording, to show you exactly how distressed she was by my attitude. It ever so perfectly sums up how I am towards Valentine’s day.

I wouldn’t be too surprised too, if St. Valentine was in the same boat as me on today’s culture though — chocolate and hearts and OHMIGOD, I DIED FOR MY RELIGION and all.

Here, in no particular order are my favorite Valentine’s tales of my life, thus far.

 

1. My first Valentine.

My seventh grade boyfriend and I fostered a great love, that spanned two skating parties, my first kiss, and approximately five months. That’s basically marriage, guys. Love and marriage, Catholic school style. The relationship did pass by a Valentine’s day, which meant we gave each other gifts and stuff — I actually don’t remember what I gave him – color me shocked, as usually I remember everything.

It was probably like…a rhyming poem, typed in size 12, impact font.

But he gave me chocolate and a card. It was very nice, and I remember opening it up, all excited and….

Dear Seventh Grade L.A.,

Seventh grade words of like love and stuff.

From, Seventh Grade Boyfriend

Granted, he drew hearts around the word “from.”

 

2. When records are broken instead of hearts.

During my splurge of “I don’t know why social media keeps letting me win things,” NeighborGirl and I entered a Red Wings Wing[wo]man contest. 

Goose and Maverick.

Goose and Maverick.

We submitted why we should be allowed to watch hockey on Valentine’s Day.

Men are good at disappointing. There are the men that don’t call, the men that won’t stop calling, and the men that don’t appreciate you. That’s why we want to spend our Valentine’s Day with the Red Wings, the men who have never really let us down. 98 new potentials couldn’t hurt either. This Valentine’s Day, we don’t want chocolates, roses, or even a candlelit dinner. We want cold beer, rowdy fans, and a Red Wings victory. The only red we want to see is blood on the ice.

Which we won, along with a bunch of other single people, which meant that we were watching hockey on Valentine’s Day. This was actually a wonderful Valentine’s Day.

 

3. Anonymous.

High school really did more of the same thing that middle school did. Holidays would come around and we would send candy to each other to support like…athletics and stuff. I’m not actually sure where the money we spent went. Except the bon bons. If you bought bon bons, you were definitely supporting the Latin Club and the Latin teacher’s probable drinking habit because my latin class was definitely a reason to drink.

By this point of life, I had realized that I was really socially awkward, and had no idea how I’d managed to straggle successfully through my formative years thus far. I was single probably because of all those things, and maybe because I once tried to make a utility belt out of crushed velvet and the back pockets out of a pair of jeans to carry my pens and TI-83 in.

This utility belt was actually made out of my Halloween 1999 "punk rock" costume.

This utility belt was actually made out of my Halloween 1999 “punk rock” costume.

Weird little L.A.

Imagine my surprise then, and the surprise of my girl friends, when I received a candy-gram.

To L.A.

From: ???

Instead of a message, this person drew an arrow, pointing to the computer printed bear saying Happy Valentine’s Day. We never did find out who sent that one.

 

4. Nothing says I love you like a text message.

Because the college version of me was so romantic, I chose to send my love not by flowers or candy, but by text.

This was college L.A. You're probably less surprised that I texted Happy Valentine's now.

This was college L.A. You’re probably less surprised that I texted Happy Valentine’s now. Please note that I am wearing an NES wristband and have a flip phone clipped to my pocket.

In honor of the holiday, I sent this text off:

Happy Valentine’s Day! I love you!

The response:

Who’s number is this?

 

5. Finally,  I’d like to direct your attention to Valentine’s conversation with my sister, VS.

“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 Valentine’s Day!

All I do is win, win, win, no matter what. Unless I lose.

A few weeks ago, I was driving home from the D. It was a normal drive home; I was being illegal and the like, and tweeting as I drove, because it’s a long freaking drive when you do it as much as I do. And I saw this:

Yes, I would like to go a hockey game with my BFF and a bunch of men.

I’m sure you remember seeing this when I told you about how VS has seven thousand dates and I have none. Well, that night when I arrived home, after the Boo fell asleep, I headed over to NeighborGirl’s house, and we entered.

Men are good at disappointing. There are the men that don’t call, the men that won’t stop calling, and the men that don’t appreciate you. That’s why we want to spend our Valentine’s Day with the Red Wings, the men who have never really let us down. 98 new potentials couldn’t hurt either. This Valentine’s Day, we don’t want chocolates, roses, or even a candlelit dinner. We want cold beer, rowdy fans, and a Red Wings victory. The only red we want to see is blood on the ice.

We sent in our little less than 100 words blurb, and a picture of the two of us being all hockey in my Red Wings shirts (I brought over a few thousand of mine so NeighborGirl and I could both sport the winged wheel), and we crossed our fingers for the hockey gods to love us, since we figured men do not.

It took at least fifteen pictures to find one we liked.

But something is wrong with the universe. Seriously. Normally, I have the worst luck in the world. I won $200 from GreekTown Casino once, bought a new digital camera, and the camera broke. I have terrible luck.

And with the whole fulfilling life goal’s thing coming true, I figured that there was no way we’d win. Plus, twitter told me they’d announce winners on January 31st. Which came. And went. And nothing. My streak of awesome was clearly over. Until…

Holy Sweet Jesus. These people have let me win again. I’m freaking out to myself and e-mailing NeighborGirl and being thrilled at the prospect that FATE LOVES ME when I realize…

NeighborGirl has just moved to Chicago. It’s four hours away from the D. On a weeknight. I have to work that day until 6. I have a two and a half hour drive to the D.

The game is at 7:30.

Well frack.

Put your thinking caps on, kids.

to the [Game]!”]

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:

Yes, I would like to go a hockey game with my BFF and a bunch of men.

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.

Date 1

“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.”

Radiating Sadness

Date 2

“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.”

The Ultimate Alpha Male

Date 3

“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.

“…He’s 39.”

“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.”

Silence.

“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.”

What's the story, Wishbone?

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.