Valentine’s Day Bull Shit

Ok, so you hate Valentine’s Day…we get it. Someone pissed in your Cheerios and now you’re all kinds of upset. It sucks to be you, truly. All you have done for the past week is bitch and complain about how single you are, how you won’t get any presents, how stupid the cards are, and how you should show someone you love them all the time. I get it.

What you don’t get is that this day actually means something to some people. However, you shit all over their little heart filled day so you can feel better about your current situation. Let’s take a look at why this day of red, white, and chocolates is so important.

  • Chocolate: Women need chocolate to function much like men need steak. Can we live without it? Sure. Is life better if you give it to us? Abso-fucking-lutely!
  • Cards: They’re dumb and we don’t need them to function like normal humans. However, have you ever noticed how horribly most men describe their feelings? Let’s be honest, 80% of them are shit at it. Therefore…cards. Hallmark does fabu job at putting words in their mouths…words that won’t land them on the couch again this week.
  • Lingerie: What says “I Love You” more than a push-up bra, crotchless panties, and a piece of string up her ass? Pretty much nothing. Don’t deny it, men. If your woman walked into the bedroom tonight wearing see through anything with her nipples showing, you would want Valentine’s Day every fucking day of the year. Also, women rarely get headaches when wearing lingerie. You’re welcome.
  • Flowers: They wilt. They die. Dumb, right? Well, kind of. I’ve said this about flowers before, it’s not the actual flowers that mean something, it’s the act of getting them that means something. It means that someone took a moment out of their busy day, thought of you, and then acted on that thought. That’s pretty fucking cool because how often do people actually ACT on their thoughts? Other than serial killers, not very many people. She doesn’t like flowers? Fine. Whatever. Remember what I said about chocolates?
  • A night out: Sure, you can go out any night and, chances are, you will probably have a better chance getting a reservation at that place she likes any other night as well. Unless, of course, Metallica is in town. But answer me this, how many places are set up to be all romantical shit every other night? That’s right, none. They probably won’t have that Prosecco she likes either. Suck it up, dude, and take her out. You can complain to your fellow penis people about it on the 15th.
  • Oral sex: Steak and a blow job day is on the 15th. I think you can take the plunge into her nether regions for a few minutes on the 14th. She will thank you tomorrow.
  • Sex: I don’t think I have to explain this one, but as a warning, if you don’t do at least one of the things above…you’re probably not getting the sex tonight and you can kiss your steak and a blow job tomorrow goodbye as well. Whispers: Lingerie doesn’t cause headaches.

Basically, all roads lead to sex and sex is important to couples and booty calls and one night stands. Our world revolves around sex. THIS is why Valentine’s Day is so important to some people. Some of us want to get our rocks off tonight. Some of us NEED to get our rocks off tonight! So, while you’re all over there getting pissed off at people for being in love on a Hallmark holiday, remember we’re all just trying to get laid over here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go shave my everything because I’m planning on a little V-day lovin’ tonight.

Oysters, Fortresses, And Love

I met a man in my early twenties while shopping at LL Bean. He was, simply put, gorgeous. He had eyes that could reach way down inside of you, and lips you couldn’t help but want to kiss. To my surprise, he asked me for my phone number. A week later we had our first date. I remember being so nervous. Dating wasn’t really my thing it still isn’t, so I had absolutely no idea how to act. Add the fact this guy was a dreamboat, and I was pretty much a blubbering idiot the entire day leading up to that night. Being young, dumb, and a college student, I was beside myself over the fact he was going to come to my apartment and pick me up. Like in a car and shit. Weird, right?

I had never had oysters so he insisted we go to a tiny little oyster bar down on the docks. When we walked in the smell of salt and ice filled my nose as he gently took my hand and lead me across the dimly lit bar. We sat at the bar between two burly fishermen just in from their day. Growing up in a fishing town, in a fishing family, this place felt oddly like home. The sounds. The smells. All coupled with a man I couldn’t take my eyes off of.

We sat bellied up to the bar, eating oysters and drinking beer, for hours. We talked about where we were in our lives. What our hopes were. What had brought us to this point. Conversation came so easy and smooth, as he sat there with his hand on my thigh the entire time. At one point I had explained to him about my rocky sexual past. The rape and molestation, and my inability to form valid physical relationships. I was afraid I was falling into a trend of only wanting to have sex with men instead of getting to know them and forming something meaningful. He took both my hands into his, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Let’s not let you slip away like that. No sex. Not tonight. I promise.”

Shortly thereafter we left the comfort of the salty smell and burly fishermen, and he drove me home. He walked me to my door, and I asked him to come inside. Our date continued as we sat on the couch and talked until we could barely keep our eyes open. I invited him to stay until morning. I felt secure in his words about not having sex, and I wanted to experience what it truly meant to sleep next to someone with no expectations. As we laid in bed, limbs entwined, he pressed his body against mine and kissed me gently. Every ounce of me wanted to rub my body against his, pull his clothes off, and feel him inside me. But he had already said “not tonight”. So we didn’t. We simply rubbed gently against each other and fell asleep.

The next morning he kissed my lips as he walked out the door saying he would call me later.

He never called.

When I saw him a few weeks later at LL Bean he pretended he had no idea who I was. He was polite, but still would not acknowledge that he had ever even laid eyes on me before. I was upset, as most people would be. I had felt something I thought was sincere. Something I didn’t know existed. I was suddenly left standing there wondering if it had all been a dream. I often went back to the oyster bar on the docks, looking for that same comfort I had felt that night. I went there with different men, my roommates, and even by myself. The salty air and the burly fishermen were all still there is the dim lights, but the comfort was not. I’m not sure why, but it took me a long time to get past the feeling of lost hope from that night.

I’m past it now, but there are times I look back and wonder what happened. So smooth and cunning. Easy going and handsome. I’ve never met a man like him since. Not one to that level of comfort I felt anyway. Perhaps it’s from the walls I built up after, or the hardening from military service. Now, however, I’m working on knocking down those walls. I’m working on finding that comfort with someone. I’ve learned it’s not the sex, or the lack there of, it’s the ability to let people in. The ability to be confident enough in yourself to open up without being afraid of the hurt that may follow. We are all our own fortresses, and we guard ourselves well. However, every now and then we have to let someone in because living in a fortress by ourselves can be very lonely. Life is, after all, better spent with love.