Happy Valentine's Day Bitches

Some things really make me want to go on a massacre. Like naming a holiday after a massacre, and then commercializing it into something that is supposedly about love and whatnot. Ok, maybe I won't go on a massacre, but it is pretty dumb.

Since today is Valentine's Day and I've been having a shitty day thanks to work, I thought I'd just take some of my free time to share with everyone what may have been the worst experience I've ever had on Valentine's Day. Also, I just want to let the record show that I am utterly, utterly alone on this day, and I will probably die alone, never to be loved by anyone. But I digress*. The name will be changed so as to protect the "valentine."

I'd been dating this girl, let's call her Carol (note: I've never dated any Carol and I don't even think I even know anyone with that name), for a couple of weeks. Mainly we would just meet up once out, and then hang out. There was never really anything serious, but Carol was pretty cool, and I thought I'd ask her to go out for Valentine's Day if she didn't have any other plans. I really didn't want to make a big deal of it, but I thought it would be a good way to get to know Carol in a more intimate setting, and maybe let her see a different, sober side of me. This can sometimes be a letdown, because I can be pretty charming when drunk, but again I digress.

So I picked up Carol and we went to eat at this nice Italian restaurant. I was dressed slightly nicer than usual, as this was a nicer place, which meant that I was wearing khakis. We get to the restaurant and there's a wait, so we head to the bar. I was thinking, what the hell, why not get a drink. So I set sail with a Captain and coke. Just one though. I was driving. Anyways, Carol decides to get a glass of red wine. We finish our drinks, and our table still isn't ready. So Carol gets another glass of wine, and I get a beer. Well, Carol doesn't have a super-high tolerance for alcohol. The hostess tells us that our table is ready, so we get up to go. I pick up my beer and go, and Carol goes to pick up her glass of wine, and she spills it all over the back of my leg. On my pants. Khaki pants. Guh. Strike 1.

So we sit down and we're eating or whatever. Obviously, I was paying, and Carol ordered this really expensive steak. On one hand, I'm thinking, awesome, she likes her meat (no double entendre intended. Ok, maybe a little) and on the other hand I'm thinking, wow, did she really have to order the most expensive thing on the menu? But, that's the risk you run when you take a girl you don't know too well out to eat and volunteer to pay. Besides, I already spent money on flowers, so I was just thinking, hell, get it out of your system now because if we start getting serious I PAY FOR NOTHING.

Anyways, we're waiting for our food, me with my stained pants, and Carol is finishing up her second drink. We're making conversation since we've never really been in anything more than just casual conversation. Well, Carol, despite being slightly drunk, is actually bringing up some really good topics for discussion. And I'm wanting to impress her, so I think of the best things to say. I open my mouth at the first break, but before I can even make a sound she starts talking again. We were seriously waiting for 30 minutes for food and I think I managed to squeeze out 3 sentences. Now, I'm all for keeping up conversation when I lag a little bit, but I like being allowed to talk. Strike 2.

Also, during that "conversation," only about 5 or maybe even 10 minutes were actually on topics that I had anything interesting to say. After I realized I wouldn't be able to say anything, I really started to judge her. And then my mind started to wander. Why does she talk so much? Is one of her eyes bigger than the other? Uhoh, she's going in for another drink. Wine isn't cheap. Is she an only child? Damn she talks a lot. Oh, she IS an only child. That makes sense. I wonder if you could quantify how much she loves the sound of her own voice. And when I actually did squeeze in a sentence, forget about getting another word in for the next 10 minutes.

So then the food came, and we ate and luckily there was no real adventure there. Aside from Carol not eating even half of the steak that she got. And she chose not to take it home. I mean, I'm not gonna re-heat steak, but she could have at least feigned that she would.

Anyways, after dinner we go back to my place so I can get a little more comfortable if you know what I mean. And by that I mean so I can change out of my wine-stained pants. So I change and then we're just sitting and watching tv for a while. I ask if she wants to watch a movie. She says she doesn't like scary movies, and she doesn't really like any of the movies I have. But she loved My Boss's Daughter! Do I have that?

Uh, how about we just watch TV instead? I'm flipping through the channels and I don't really see anything. As I'm flipping through I see a particularly funny episode of South Park about Scientology and I want to watch that. And she was like, oh, I hate South Park. I'm closed-minded and I don't really understand satire. Let's watch something that I can understand because I'm simple. What's on TLC?

Strike 3.

Well, I obliged, because I was hoping maybe we could talk more. You know, maybe I could actually tell a little bit about myself. Boy was I wrong. Carol talked about herself for about 2 more minutes, and she did the whole spiel. There was talking about ex-boyfriends. There was talk about baggage. Oh so much baggage. So, so, so much baggage. At this point I'm just thinking, ok, what is the best way that I can get her out of my apartment?

So I do what any self-respecting man would. I go to the bathroom for 25 minutes. I make a lot of loud heaving noises. I come back, looking disheveled, eyes bloodshot from heaving so much (you have to sell it if you're going to make it work), and I tell her that I'm suddenly not feeling so hot, and it has nothing to do with her at all. I ask her if I can just take her home. She's like, well, I could just stay and take care of you. I was like, no, really, I don't know if I'll sleep much tonight, so I'll take you home.

So I took her home, and I never called her back. She called me one other time, and I never returned the call. I think she may have gotten the message. She probably thought it was because I never talked, but maybe it was because SHE WOULDN'T LET ME.

I'm not bitter about it at all.

So that was the worst Valentine's Day I've ever had. Never have I felt more like I wasted an entire night. Well, that might not be true, but I've never felt like I've wasted a night with another person as much.

*Actually, I'm totally cool with being alone this year for V-Day, because I don't have to spend any money.