I (don't heart) Valentine's Day

I don't like Valentine's Day. Never have. Regardless of my dating situation.

It's been about a decade since I have not had a sweetie on Valentine's Day. Last year's VDay date was a temporary sweetie, in years past I've spent VDay with my almost-husbands (yes, plural -- sad, isn't it?), serious boyfriends, and quasi-boyfriends.

But this year, my friends, I'm completely and totally single.

I got nothin' -- well, except for some email flirting with a lovely chap I went to college with (who lives in another state) and texting an ex-pro-football player who I'll go out with one of these days...

Love the 21st century seduction techniques...

When I was in college, my friend Steve and I held an annual Bitter Women's party on Valentine's Day. Even though both of us were (or might have been?) in separate "relationships," it became an annual tradition for those of us who hated February (could it be grayer and colder, please?) and didn't like the commercialism of love.

You know what I mean: every kiss begins with Kay... buy diamonds... flowers... candy... Hallmark... blah blah...

puke.

In my rebellious youth, our Bitter Women's party looked something like this:

We decorated the dorm lounge with black streamers.

We encouraged the party goers to come in black.

Our lovely party games included: taking turns hitting a black heart paper maiche pinata and conversation heart smashing contests.

You know the things...

http://www.candyfavorites.com/shop/images/brachs_conversation_hearts.jpg

I felt they needed to be destroyed. Especially shit like "my baby" and "be true."

I told you I was bitter...

So the parties were, you know, college parties... with all of its various drinks and some illegal drugs (I never inhaled)... After a few, they looked like this... tall, long, threatening and yet comforting at the same time...

Imagine, if you will: A Bitter Women's party. Valentine's Day. Early 1990s. Iowa. 50+ college students milling around. In black. Some drugged. Some drunk. Others just pissed off.

Insert hammers.

http://www.global-b2b-network.com/direct/dbimage/50328430/Claw_Hammers.jpg

You are asking for trouble.

The last year of our party I whacked like there was no tomorrow.

Smashing hearts. Candy chunks flying everywhere.

It was fucking awesome.

But suddenly something went terribly wrong... the frenzy moved from a frenzy into an injury... I stprained my wrist.

That's right. Smashing fucking candy hearts. On Valentine's Day.

I figured then it was an omen...

And perhaps it was...

-- The Single Gal