Happy freakin' Valentine's Day
Seriously. Actually, not seriously. OK, seriously.
In honor of the most romantic fake holiday of the year, I am asking for your poor, your tired, your huddled masses of (funny) romantic woe.
I'll get this party started with a story from my extensive back catalog: In 7th grade, I went to my first dance. I was very cocky going in. I was only a week into junior high school, and my spirit had not yet been crushed under the steel-toed boot of adolescent fascism. My plan was to dance with as many girls as possible, make a list of my best-looking partners, and spend the rest of the semester kissing them one by one. Coming from a zit-faced, brace-faced, four-eyed uber-nerd, this plan exhibited hubris not seen since Custer at Little Big Horn. But, hey, was this kid great or what?
So I go to the dance. And I strike out. Not once. Not twice. Not thrice. But so many times that to this day, I lunge under tables like a battle-scarred Vietnam vet whenever I hear "Silent Lucidity" by Queensryche. My most memorable encounter was with a pretty girl I kinda sorta liked named Jill. And it went exactly like this.
Me: So do you want to dance?
Jill: (laughs) Are you serious?
Me: Come on, I'm not that bad.
Jill: Are you sure?
No James Freyesque exaggeration here. When I'm 90 and peeing into potted plants, I still will be able to recite that fateful would-be love connection word for soul-crushing word. Good times.
Top that, suckas.
posted by Steve Hyden @ 10:40 AM
19 Comments:
steve,
can i tell you about my favorite valentine's day date?
he took me out. to a chinese buffet. he stole the plastic flower from the table and didn't tip the waiter. i later got diarrhea.
i've never been more in love.
and i still have that plastic flower.
One time, after repeatedly hanging up on my crazy boyfriend, he called me back for the eighth time. When I picked up, he said "Kristin?"
"No, ass. My name is Krista."
Love. I love it.
krista, i like you. or at least i like what you write. so i'd like to say hi. my name is lori, i'm a reporter in cincinnati, and during a three-year lapse of judgment, i dated steve. he was much cooler back then.
anyway, i've read your blog and enjoyed it. i am in the process of trying to take over steve's blog. want to help?
Haha, yesssss.
Steve, you're going down.
Lori, my new BFF, and I are going to take over the world. Or, uh, your blog.
"...during a three-year lapse of judgment, i dated steve."
You need to regain control of your blog, dude.
Valentine's day has always been one of my favorite holidays.
Steve, I got your back against this estrogen-fueled coup.
My best story might be my most recent. After five or six months of arguably the best relationship I ever had - no fights, tons in common, shared values, lots of fun, great ... um ... physicality - my girlfriend stopped talking to me.
Let me make this clear: she stopped talking to me COMPLETELY. On Sunday, she cried on my shoulder and told me what a great boyfriend I was. Two days later, she wasn't returning my calls. This was six weeks ago, and I haven't heard a word.
Top THAT, suckas.
lori, hilarious..
"Top THAT, suckas."
Mine would be the same immature high-school ramblings about psycho girls who only want what they can't have ... blah, blah, blah. While good scars, everyone has picked at the same ones. That said, I have no idea who you are, Cheddar, but I'm really intrigued by your story. So you can't leave me hanging like that. You must have played several scenarios in your head over and over again. Any guesses?
Ooooh, Cheddar. Ouch. That's not cool. Everyone, a collective "awww" for our friend Cheddar.
He's got you beat on the Ouch Factor, Steve.
I didn't say the school dance story was my worst. If you know me at all, you already know my worst. And, NO, I won't be blogging about it.
can we blog about it, though?
Ah yes. Ouch. That's an ouch-er, too, Steve. Indeed.
I think we've got stiff competition here...
Does this count?
Me (to long-distance boyfriend): So, I've been having trouble reaching you lately.
LDBF (aka "that douchebag"): Yeah.
Me: I figure you either have a secret identity as a crime fighter, or you've started seeing someone else. [Girlish chuckle.]
TDB: [Wildly awkward silence. For at least 20 seconds.]
TDB: Umm.
Me: [Stunned silence.]
TDB: About that. I was trying to figure out how to tell you.
Me: I guess I figured it out for you. Nice to know some things don't change.
TDB: Her name's Asheley.
Me: Of course it is.
Then I hung up and went into ultimate girl cliche--an angry, never-sent tear-stained letter, the symbolic breaking of gifts (which I regret because they were beautiful crystal champagne flutes, not to mention a horror to clean up) and the playing of (sigh) Ani DiFranco's "Untouchable Face" on repeat for the vindictive pleasure of the chorus.
There's nothing like the anonymity of the internet for a little catharsis through humiliation on Valentine's Day. Now it's time to get dressed up and go out and drink.
Here~
Let me give it a shot!
I had a 12y relationship with this, uh, guy....and had been asking him for the duration about getting married. He was one of those that always proclaimed..."why do we need a piece of paper to prove we love eachother?" (although it has some validity, come on!)2 yrs ago, on V-Day he surprised me with an engagement ring (a $7,000 one). Well, the trouble was, not only was it a down payment on a house, but he had me conditioned in the paperless theory. As I repeated this well versed statement back to him he lovingly said "yea, your right!" Well evidently not so....2 weeks later he left me and proceeded to get married 6 mo later. Now, I know some of you will say this is my fault....and maybe it was! (I can take it) But see if I turn down another ($7,000)ring. :)
A couple of you have heard this story, but remember Nikki, my bipolar (seriously) girlfriend?
Once, she called me at about 4:30 in the afternoon, bawling her head off because she had just gotten in a big fight with her parents. I tried to calm her down, but she said what she really wanted was for me to come see her after work.
Keep in mind she lives almost four hours away in Iowa.
So I say, "Well, I won't get done until about 7, so I wouldn't be there until about 11, and I have to work early tomorrow, so I don't know if I can."
Silence.
Then she SCREAMS at me that she was having the worst day of her life, so horrible that she wanted to KILL herself, and if I didn't drive out to see her after work, she WOULD kill herself and the blood would be on MY hands.
So I drive out there. I get to her house just before 11. I walk in and give her a hug and start asking about what happened with her parents.
At about 11:05, she starts yelling that I'm no help at all, tops it off with a "F--- YOU!" ... and proceeds to tell me to get the hell out of her house.
I will say that E, the poor bastard, and I have an ongoing rivalry for who's dated the craziest woman. Although I have yet to meet anyone who can top me having a chick try to jump out of my car at 35 mph. Seriously.
Anyhow, to answer Thomas, there are some educated guesses out there, with varying forms of validity. The most popular one (among those who know the ex) is that she had told some pretty big whoppers regarding her past, and that I was sort of onto them, and therefore she preemptively struck to avoid the shame and likelihood of being dumped.
She invaded my Iraq, so to speak.
"She invaded my Iraq, so to speak."
Niiiiiiiiiiice.
http://www.uwec.edu/commjour2/go/livestories/graduatingcouples.htm
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