I don’t understand guys. I really don’t. It’s this whole Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus stuff. Lucky you if you’re homosexual. You can find someone from your own friggin’ planet.
Here’s a lesson in Astronomy. Mars has a messed up sense of timing. I guess “I’ll call you,” means something different on Mars then it does on Venus When I’m interested in a guy, I’ll check my voicemail like four(ty) times a day. Even though I have an answering machine. You never know. I’ve talked to my fellow Venus Women. Guys don’t call them either when they say they’re going to. Maybe on Mars phones are like these dangerous animals that explode when you pick them up or something.
Even the ugly guys don’t call. You think they would, so you try to hook it up with them, but they too have an aversion to phones. Beauty may only be a light switch away, but the phone lines are what’s really standing in the way.
I really don’t like the voice mail lady. Hate her actually. She sounds so placated when she tells me I have no messages. She could be a little nicer about it. I picture her as this size two, perfectly coiffed, big breasted ex-sorority girl who got into the voice recording business just so she could tell losers like me that they are never going to meet an even almost decent guy. I get enough of that from my mother, thank-you much.
Has anyone ever thought about having Sean Connery do voice mail recording? It’d take a little bit of the sting away from nobody calling to hear that sexy voice. From Russia, With Love.
It is to this sad phone fact alone upon which I weep my outcast state. At no other time is this lingering singleness of mine more bothersome than the fourteenth day of the second month of every year. My impending doom.
From what I understand, Valentine was this fellow a long time ago who got mad when Emperor Claudius The Something passed an anti-marriage law. You see, Old Claude thought that guys were better soldiers if they didn’t have any wives or kids. Makes sense to me. But Valentine spoke out against him, and was put into prison for heresy. Apparently Valentine fell in love with the jailkeeper’s daughter, and on the day of his execution, he wrote her a note, and signed it “With Love, from your Valentine.” He died on February 14.
And then somebody came up with the great idea of having a whole day to celebrate love. Good call considering that love makes 99% of the world miserable 99% of the time. Let me tell you something. Valentine DIED. They killed him off. Romeo and Juliet? Killed themselves. Antony and Cleopatra…guess what? They died too. That’s not romantic. That’s what you tell your kids so they never WANT to meet that special someone. As if it’s not true love until somebody kicks the bucket.
Remember when you were a kid and Valentine’s was such a big deal? The teacher made you spend weeks glueing lace and hearts onto a lunch bag, and then gave you a list of all the kids in your class, so your parents could spend hard earned money on dumb Barbie cards that you had to give even to the kids you didn’t like. And the night before you would have bad dreams that your bag would be completely empty on February 14 because everybody hated you. Or maybe that was just me. Anyway, you had to find just the right card to give to that special someone so he could figure out that you secretly lusted after him. “I flip for you Valentine”, and there’s a picture of a dolphin! But somehow he never got the hint.
Then you grow up and find out that love sucks. And Valentine’s Day is even worse. A whole day dedicated to love. As soon as Christmas is over, the stores pull out the doilies and red hearts. And you think, oh no, I’ve only got one month and fourteen days to find a boyfriend so I won’t be alone on Valentine’s Day. But it never works. I can’t even get a guy to call me back let alone buy me a little teddy bear with a heart that says “Be Mine.”
It’s all a big conspiracy. V-day is so commercial now. It’s not love unless you get a diamond bracelet. And chocolate, lots of chocolate. Get your girlfriend big and fat so you can leave her for someone skinnier. And don’t forget to ask for the bracelet back. I blame Hallmark.
I’m all for pink hearts and chocolate and everything the other 364 days of the year, but come on. That’s not romance. That’s selling out. Getting flowers, or chocolate, or jewelry, is a lot whole lot better when you’re not expecting it. It’s all about the element of surprise. Not that I would know. Oh wait, last year, I did get a flower from Luke Skywalker, my one true love. My roommate got one too, on the same day from this guy we know. Same color flower as mine, signed in the same handwriting as my flower. Funny how that works.
Maybe it’s because I’ve got that whole dumped and bitter thing going on, but Valentines Day seems to exist only to tell you that you’re nothing if you’re single. Just like Lil’ Miss Voicemail. I bet HER boyfriend gets her a million red roses on Valentines Day. I bet he even calls her every now and then.