Monday, February 13, 2012

One Girl's Valentine's Day

It hasn't happened yet, but here is a prediction of how my special little Valentine's Day will go.

7AM: Am awakened by blue birds, squirrels, and friendly raccoons, Disney Princess style, and spring from my bed, throw open the shutters to a bright, sunny day and burst into song about how today is my day for true love!

7:30AM: Realize I was dreaming and have turned off my alarm clock in my sleep. Am actually awakened by the desperate meowing of my dozens of cats... the survivors who haven't been crushed beneath my hoard.

7:40AM: Time to get ready for work and MUST. LOOK. AMAZING.

7:45AM: Amazing isn't happening. Settling for 'festive' since it isn't yet 8AM and ripping shots until I *feel* pretty isn't an option... after all, it's a Tuesday. Big hair? Check. Lipstick? Check. Perfume? Check. Maybe some bows? People wear bows right? That's a thing people do. Okay maybe bigger hair, brighter lipstick, more perfume, couple more bows, obviously a pink or red outfit preferably with puffy sleeves, pink nail polish, deely bobbers and two FISTS FULL OF VALENTINES FOR EVERYONE I SEE.

8AM: KICK open door and emerge from apartment on a Valentine's mission! I DON'T KNOW WHY, BUT TODAY SEEMS LIKE IT'S GONNA BE A GREAT DAAAYYYYYY.

8:15AM: Arrive at work still Valentine-less after passers by are startled by either A) my outfit, B) my thrusting Valentines in their faces, or C) growing concern over my urban raccoon infestation.

8:30AM: Sit grinning ear-to-ear at desk, hands folded neatly, in front of my chipper-looking homemade Valentine's mailbox! Any minute now!

8:35AM: Still no Valentines in my lovely box. Spruce said box up by using a red sharpie to draw a few more hearts on it.

8:40AM: Still no Valentines. Cue up some Mariah and Whitney love songs on my work computer and play them at an unreasonably loud volume so all my coworkers know I've arrived and that my Valentine's mailbox is open for business (you know, just in case they missed the outfit, the skipping, and the trail of glitter I sprinkled leading to my desk).

8:45AM: Turns out we aren't "doing that". Also my outfit isn't "work appropriate" and my Fruiti O's cereal box with a hole cut in the side, wrapped in tinfoil and colored with crayons isn't the grand masterpiece I envisioned. ...also something may have died in it and it's stinking up the office. Really gotta do something about that hoard. This is probably how Don Quixote felt about his cardboard helmet.

9AM: "Seriously we aren't doing that. You're 27. Stop putting that thing back on your desk every time I'm not looking and get to work."

9:30AM: Carefully update all social media applications (Twitter, Facebook, gchat status msg) with posts about politics or sports - anything other than Valentine's day - so as to look like I don't care, but subtly let everyone know I am checking my social media applications just in case they want to wish me a Happy Valentine's Day and / or ask me to be their Valentine. "What!? It's Valentine's Day? Psh I TOTALLY forgot and TOTALLY don't care. Let's talk about the Steelers you guys!!"

11AM: Resolve self to staring longingly out the window, sighing dramatically like a scene in a movie that would be accompanied by really sad music. If no one responds, sigh louder and at more frequent intervals.

11:03AM: Am now hyperventilating. Abandon window sighing plan.

12:15PM: Lunch of self-purchased Whitman's sampler. Open Valentine's card to self filled with words of encouragement. Resolve to greet rest of Valentine's Day with renewed enthusiasm!

1PM: Note that no boy has gchatted me, likely due to fear of the following:

guy: hey

3PM: Ruin an email chain of single girlfriends discussing who is bringing what homemade dessert to the "Single Gals Vday Party!!" that night with horrifying response either involving un-ladylike bodily functions like crop dusting or involving hard drugs like meth and heroin authored with no obvious notes of irony so no one is quite sure if i'm joking.

5:15PM: Arrive home. Put on hoodie and sweats and house the absolute shit out of a combination of spaghettios, Easy Mac, and half a shaker of heart-shaped sprinkles for dinner, which I will describe in response text messages asking what i'm doing as "having a slow-motion, sexy pillow fight in my heels and lingerie and also my sprinklers went off so I'm all wet!"

6PM: Call my mom as preventative measure instead of raiding liquor cabinet and potentially calling a boy because "Wow. So 15 missed calls, a voicemail, and a text saying 'come downstairs'. And where is downstairs? Explain." isn't the line of questioning I want to wake up and deal with tomorrow.

8PM: Start going down list of Steelers' twitter accounts in alphabetical order, asking them to be my Valentine.

9:30PM: Write dark, brooding poetry.

9:50PM: Dramatic reading of said poetry outside on my lawn. Poetry reading to be followed by professing my love to a flower and performing an interpretive dance in the moonlight as my writing does not adequately convey all my feelings. I just have so many feelings.

1AM: Refusing to walk, drag self slowly and dramatically across floor through the narrow alleys between hoard piles to my bed, pausing every few feet to curse my parents for not loving me enough as a child (even though they did), just for dramatic effect. Climb into bed with my law degree, terrible towel, and the trophy I won in a middle school debate contest, and remind myself what a catch I am.

1:05AM: Remember I haven't yet checked my mailbox and run outside to check it where I discover a Valentine's Day card from my grandmother with $20 in it (turn this life around!) and am reminded that yes, Virginia, there is a Valentine.

Valentine's Day Blog 2011: My Fuzzy Valentine:

Valentine's Day Blog 2010: One Girl's Guide To Getting A Boyfriend: