What Can I Say? I Love to Love

Four score and many bitter years ago…


All facts considered, I am still exactly the type of person who should hate Valentine’s Day.

Mope, mope.

Mope mope mope mope mope mope mope mope mope.

Mopey mope.

And last, but not least, I have been single (eh, mostly) for the last four years.

My seventeen-year-old self would be shattered.

Sorry, bitch. Maybe it’s your personality.

The thing about the first five lines of “The Holiday I Shouldn’t Like” is that they are all still pretty much true. I could’ve written them in my diary last night. Some things never change. Instead of finding this depressing, I’m going to think positively about it. Time can be really scary! The train of life never stops! Nothing stays the same! People die! But alas, my soul, be quiet. Single you will always remain.


I do still love Valentine’s Day, though. It’s happy, and in a world full of hate I think any excuse for love should be honored.

Did you just vomit a little in your mouth? I did, a bit, writing that. My apologies – this was never supposed to be a hippie sap blog.

The happy vagina thing is hilarious. I swear to you that it really is true – I did go around telling people in my high school “happy v-day,” and chuckling creepily to myself. Although, with the way fourth wave feminism is shaping up, I could be considered a hero for this. How dare we celebrate a holiday that could potentially gives legitimacy to white males having feelings about a woman!!! Let’s change it to a holiday about vaginas! The whole WORLD should worship vaginas!  LONG LIVE THE VAG.


Do you think this could be why I’m single?

I bet you’re dying to know what my plans are for this Valentine’s Day. Let me fill you in.

8ish am – wake up. Remove foot detox pads from the feet. They smell weird, so throw them in my roommate’s trash can. Go on Instagram and watch viral videos about pizza.

9ish am – make coffee. Drink coffee. Worry that my coffee machine has mold in it. Drink more coffee

10ish am – go for a walk while listening to Wuthering Heights. Feel angry that men these days don’t understand subtlety. Worry that maybe I am the problem because I have no feelings and am a robot. Think about the fact that I might be a robot experiment. Switch to an angry political podcast instead.

11ish am – text my roommate that I miss her. Do various bits of homework.

1ish am – eat something. Probably rice and vegetables, because this is what the tiny Asians I used to work with always ate and I would like to have the physic of a petit, 60-year-old Asian.

2-4:30 – go to class. Hand out candy and wish people “happy V-day” with a glimmer in my eye that only we (that’s you and me, reader) understand.

The male-to-female physique ratio

4:30 – 12:00 a.m.– lay upside down on the couch with my roommate and talk about what we should do to celebrate the evening. Settle on getting drunk on vodka and diet coke. If you think this sounds depressing you should know that I will also be eating anothe
r bowl of rice. Once we get drunk enough, we will watch Sex and the City and discuss the perfect ratio of male-to-female physique. We will decide that it is Aiden, although Big is more sexually fascinating. Remember that I will be sleeping alone tonight. Climax towards a black-out.

12:00 a.m. – 12:01 a.m. – remember that it was my mom’s birthday yesterday. She was born on Valentine’s day because she is a beacon of love and light. And I am the shithead daughter who forgot to call. I don’t deserve to be loved at all.

Call me sometime, I’m a lot of fun.



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