Already? Again? Fuck.
Whelp, it’s that time of year, people. Valentine’s Hallmark Day is right around the corner!
Here’s to spending a dumb amount of money to buy your significant other crap s/he probably doesn’t even want. Here’s to corporate America attempting to brainwash you into thinking that your boyfriend doesn’t love you unless he buys you some flowers that will see the inside of a trash bin within a week. Here’s to DeBeer’s making you believe that if he really loved you, he’d buy you a diamond. Diamonds that, according to the Gospel of Leonardo DiCaprio, have the blood of Africans on them.
Think about this… how many women do you know who get showered with presents, but whose boyfriends are complete and total douche bags? How many Valentine’s Day gifts have you gotten from old boyfriends whose names you can’t even remember or whose names you wish you could forget? Can’t remember? That’s my point.
Now, I’m not saying that unexpected little gifts, expressions of love, affection, a home cooked dinner, whatever are not appreciated. That unexpected crap is appreciated whether it comes on February 14 or any other day. But the “buy me flowers and buy them for me today” shit is lame. Suppressing the urge to feel like your relationship must be shitty because Janey in cubicle B, got a $150 bouquet of craptastic flowers and you didn’t is lame. The forced-ness removes all semblance of real emotion and meaning.
Making that special someone feel guilty because he didn’t spend 100 bucks on flowers is lame. Pretending you won’t get mad:
“Don’t get me anything. It’s not necessary.”
when you really are hoping for something:
“He better get me something!”
and then getting mad when you don’t get shit is lame:
“What an asshole! I can’t believe he didn’t get me anything!”
As my friend once said to me,
“I just got fuckin’ flowers. I don’t need anymore fuckin’ flowers.”
You know what’s even more lame? People who send flowers to themselves. As if being single is such a horrific embarrassment that it is the shame that dare not speak its name. Unless, you’re just trying to make that cute boy sitting next to you think you have a boyfriend so he’ll be jealous. That is totally awesome. And also a major plot point in Clueless. But I digress.
Back in the day (which, according to this supersweet “Back in the day” calculator is 1978), I used to like Valentine’s Day. My mom always used to send me a funny card. And I like funny cards. Especially from my mom. Now I think she knows I’m pissed off and she don’t send me shit no mo’.
But, remember in elementary school, you’d get those little candy hearts that say stupid shit on them and you’d make homemade cards for other kids in your class? And everyone got one (although I didn’t get that many because I was kind of a dork in elementary school). But it was nice. Everyone could participate. And the cards were cool because people made them by hand. Little doilies pasted on red construction paper and shit.
Now everything is BUY, BUY, BUY. Diamonds, and HDTVs, and iPods, and iPhones, oh my!
The buy, buy, buy mentality and the abject commercialism of all holidays is highly annoying. Jesus died for your sins (not mine… my mom’s a Jew… her people killed Jesus) so let’s all celebrate his birth by going to Target and buying lots of crap. I say this with the utmost respect for Targé. I loves me some Targé. The prices! The savings!
Hell, Starbucks started selling pink mugs and teacups with hearts and shit on them right after the New Year. Of course, starting on the day after VD, it’s out with the hearts and pink shit, and in with the eggs and pastel colors to celebrate the resurrection of a chocolate bunny birthed from a Cadbury egg.
Do bunnies even come from eggs? Which came first? The bunny or the egg? What the fuck does Easter have to do with eggs or chocolate? These are eternal questions.
The only holiday that isn’t overly commercial and annoying? Thanksgiving.
That’s a Phelpsian stony holiday right there. Eating for 8 hours straight? Then passing out in a tryptophan haze? Who doesn’t love that? No one. That’s who.
All of the above said, I’m going to make myself a nice cup of tea in the pink heartsy tea cup that I bought myself from Starbucks.
That’s what Valentine’s Day should be about. Tell your significant other “I love me” and then buy yourself some shit with hearts on it.
[I wrote this two years ago. It’s still relevant. I recognize that it is written from a heteronormative point of view. ::shrug:: Happy Hallmark Day, Balloonbaggers! -xx, ABL]