Obligatory Valentines Essay
Never have had a great one. I can trace my Valentines all the way back to the 10th grade. Last year won the taco for worst ever. Years and years of being alone have trained me to resent and deny the romantic nature of V-Day. It is as much a part of me as my steadfast belief that I’ll never have another good birthday, nor have a Christmas where I’m not guilty and poor. But of all the holidays I loathe, the day of romance has a special place in my cold heart. What’s romantic about making me spend money on dinner, flowers, chocolate, cards, talking stuffed animals etc. etc. You can spend money on someone 364 days out of the year, miss February 14th? You are in the dog house fiend.
Valentines was so much simpler when romance came in packages of 50 cards or more. Elementary school. Those impossibly hard Valentines candies. Lace lined cardboard boxes collecting the obligatory affection of your classmates. To be fair my heart was first broken in this manner. “Alvin and the Chipmunks” card. Jesse Lavally. Love is a dangerous game, even in second grade. Still, the idea of communal platonic sharing of good feeling? That’s something I can get behind.
[The feast of St. Valentine was first decreed in 496 by Pope Gelasius I, who included
Valentine among those "... whose names are justly reverenced among men, but whose acts
are known only to God." ] - Wikipedia
Thanks Gelasius. We’re celebrating a holiday for dudes whose acts we don’t even know. Chaucer is the one who added the romantic spin on things. FU Chaucer. Yet, despite my deep seated resentment towards the holiday as a whole, I feel like I should, at the very least, enlist the services of a Valentine. Whatever that entails.
“Will you be my Valentine?”
What does that even mean? Will you accept my gift of a stuffed dog that barks out “Sexyback”? Will you eat the chocolate I purchase for you at Wal-Mart? Will you allow me to lavish you with dinner, possibly a movie? Will I get a handjob out of the deal?
Romance is useless to me. It is a tool that lays broken in my hand. I am, at times, a caring individual. I was once cavalier. But the days of the hour drive just to see the one I love for a few minutes, the unexpected 7 AM flowers, waking someone up to the smell of frying bacon are gone.
Replacing them are brief interludes of affection. Transient companionship. The ephemeral nigh-tangible gossamer of love reached for through opaque films of distrust. Never grasped. The silent and uncomfortable elephant in the room, wishing I would just cut him a check so he could get back to the zoo.
And so this Valentines, as the Valentines before it, my companion shall be abandon. My partner shall be oblivion, sweet and cold. I will choose not to remember that which I have lost, but that which I have emancipated myself from. I will choose not to remember the calling-in-sick cuddles, but the calling-in-drunk aftermath. I will embrace the glassy shards of love and grind their broken particles deep into my breast.
I am getting tits-ripped drunk and watching “Spartacus”. Getting a tatoo. Sword fight the rugby team. Man-Wrestle a priest. I will funeral walk and cry at the foot of a strangers grave. I will burn down Hallmark. Chocolates Plus will never see me coming. And when you bite into your steak at Applebees and wonder what that strange aftertaste is? That’s me. A wise funeral director once told me;
“All love ends Jeremiah...one way or another.”
To that end I quaff richly. Happy Valentines Day kids, and if you have someone to hold, do so with relish.
Valentines was so much simpler when romance came in packages of 50 cards or more. Elementary school. Those impossibly hard Valentines candies. Lace lined cardboard boxes collecting the obligatory affection of your classmates. To be fair my heart was first broken in this manner. “Alvin and the Chipmunks” card. Jesse Lavally. Love is a dangerous game, even in second grade. Still, the idea of communal platonic sharing of good feeling? That’s something I can get behind.
[The feast of St. Valentine was first decreed in 496 by Pope Gelasius I, who included
Valentine among those "... whose names are justly reverenced among men, but whose acts
are known only to God." ] - Wikipedia
Thanks Gelasius. We’re celebrating a holiday for dudes whose acts we don’t even know. Chaucer is the one who added the romantic spin on things. FU Chaucer. Yet, despite my deep seated resentment towards the holiday as a whole, I feel like I should, at the very least, enlist the services of a Valentine. Whatever that entails.
“Will you be my Valentine?”
What does that even mean? Will you accept my gift of a stuffed dog that barks out “Sexyback”? Will you eat the chocolate I purchase for you at Wal-Mart? Will you allow me to lavish you with dinner, possibly a movie? Will I get a handjob out of the deal?
Romance is useless to me. It is a tool that lays broken in my hand. I am, at times, a caring individual. I was once cavalier. But the days of the hour drive just to see the one I love for a few minutes, the unexpected 7 AM flowers, waking someone up to the smell of frying bacon are gone.
Replacing them are brief interludes of affection. Transient companionship. The ephemeral nigh-tangible gossamer of love reached for through opaque films of distrust. Never grasped. The silent and uncomfortable elephant in the room, wishing I would just cut him a check so he could get back to the zoo.
And so this Valentines, as the Valentines before it, my companion shall be abandon. My partner shall be oblivion, sweet and cold. I will choose not to remember that which I have lost, but that which I have emancipated myself from. I will choose not to remember the calling-in-sick cuddles, but the calling-in-drunk aftermath. I will embrace the glassy shards of love and grind their broken particles deep into my breast.
I am getting tits-ripped drunk and watching “Spartacus”. Getting a tatoo. Sword fight the rugby team. Man-Wrestle a priest. I will funeral walk and cry at the foot of a strangers grave. I will burn down Hallmark. Chocolates Plus will never see me coming. And when you bite into your steak at Applebees and wonder what that strange aftertaste is? That’s me. A wise funeral director once told me;
“All love ends Jeremiah...one way or another.”
To that end I quaff richly. Happy Valentines Day kids, and if you have someone to hold, do so with relish.
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