Valentine's Day. Bleh!

I know, I know. It's overcommercialized, and corny. You shouldn't have to be reminded to love someone once a year. It creates ridiculous pressure for people to impress one another, rather than connect in a meaningful way. We all know this about Valentine's Day, and we celebrate it anyway. Well most of us. I know I do, or at least make an attempt, when I am dating someone.

Speaking of, last V-day with R was the first time in my entire life that a boy has made even HALF of an effort to celebrate with me. It wasn't anything fancy! I lay in wait, for a week beforehand, with it not coming up in conversation, simply terrified to bring it up. Every single guy I had been with up until that point had given the argument that they hated what a commercial "hallmark" holiday it was, and that they did not need to be reminded to show their love, or to go out and spend money just because it was expected of them. I may have taken their argument as valid, if they had been of the character to randomly offer me romantic tokens or sentimental gestures throughout the year just because. Let's just say that in my early and mid twenties, I dated a succession of guys who seemed to tolerate my presence in their lives, rather than cherish it.

I had assumed that that was the way it always was, but everything about R was different from the men I had dated previously. First of all, he was very adult in his manners and priorities - he had a good job. A nice car. He wasn't afraid to tell me that he thought that I was beautiful. He wasn't afraid to hold my hand in public. Our relationship was full of random indulgences, renting hotel rooms and spending 12+ hours in bed at a time. Or lavish dinners at fancy restaurants. Our upbringings and value systems were so very different, but I was still drawn to him and felt a spark of possibility in our future. So When V-day started to creep up, several months after we had started dating, I started tucking things away to put together a gift for him. Chocolates. A dvd or two. Edible chocolate paint. A book. Silk boxers. So cliche is my romantic pallette, I swear. I waited with bated breath, for him to bring it up. I was terrified of springing my gifts on him and them being accepted with awkward confusion.

The day before Valentine's day R called me and admitted that he had forgotten that it was coming up. I honestly don't know if this was the case or not... he was a very busy man, his job a very demanding one. He could have forgotten. But if you are even remotely close to having some sort of emotional entanglement around mid february, it's very difficult to not be reminded of it about a dozen times a day. He told me that he didn't think he would be able to get reservations at a restaurant on such short notice, and that the movies would likely be packed. Would pizza and a dvd after he got off work be okay?

It was okay, obviously. I would have loved to have made him a giant dinner, but being 28 years old and living in your parent's basement definitely can have some inhibiting effects on your love life. It wasn't exactly much of a stretch from what we normally did together, there was a lot of movie-watching and eating in our relationship. But he brought candy, and chocolates, and movies, and a giant stuffed gorilla holding a satin heart with a rose in its teeth. A fabric attrocity so hideous that I felt guilty placing him on my cedar chest with the rest of my gaggle of animals, each one carefully selected for its cuteness factor and relevance to my personality. And we made love, and he made me feel beautiful, just like he always did.

This year I feel lonelier than ever before. Bitter, even. And I know that it isn't justified! And that I'm being silly! And that my bra-burning mother would be rolling over in her grave if she knew that her daughter was spending Valentine's day lolling about in a pit of despair, eating yam fries and wishing she had somebody warm to cuddle with and watch bad movies with and eat pizza with. Although technically, both of my dogs fit that bill.

Valentine's day? I'm glad it's over. Most days I'm okay with being single. I'm mostly so absorbed with pursuing my degree that I don't have much time to offer to a man, which is one of the reasons my relationship with R started to crumble. And the loneliness only creeps up very late at night, or when I've been drinking too much. But every once in awhile when I have a free evening and not much to do - I find myself wishing that I had a tall boy to watch movies and eat pizza and have crazy sex with.

V-Day - see you next year, asshole!