A Trip Down V-Day Memory Lane

If you’re single and past the age of 22, this is not a depressing week, it’s just an annoying week. It’s not that you really care about getting flowers delivered to your office and all the other overhyped jazz that comes with this fête de merde. You simply don’t need the additional reaffirmation of your single status rubbed into your face throughout half of February, which is already the most depressing month of the year. 
I was racking my brain trying to think of a cool Valentine’s day story to tell you, when I realized that I don’t have any. Nobody has ever broken up with me on Valentine’s day; nobody has ever proposed to me on this day either (actually, nobody has ever proposed to me, period). However, over the past dozen years, I have successfully collected a number of perfectly mediocre tidbits of Valentine’s Day past, which I will be more than happy to recapitulate for y’all. 

2003 – A boy named Fedya (this was back in Russia) works odd jobs to buy me a gold necklace with a fat angel pendant attached. Real gold. Probably the grandest gesture any guy has ever made for me. I never wear it and I never date Fedya, which seems like an early sign that I don’t appreciate nice guys. 
2006 – My first semi-real boyfriend, 10 years my senior, buys me a stuffed animal. From Rite Aid, I think. My poor taste in men begins to firmly establish itself. 
2010 – My ex (there’s only one Big Ex in the picture) does something cute. High school level cute, but cute nonetheless. I believe it’s a giant cookie and an artsy card, which I save and put it in a scrap box (no, not the cookie, stoopid). I think this is where my love life officially peaks. 
2011 – My ex moves LA to “find himself”. My girlfriend and I got to Comedy Cellar, where the comedian briefly suspects that we are lesbians, then quickly disregards this notion due to the desperate looks on our faces. Personally, I think he was onto something. 
2012 – My ex and I break up in the end of January, Holding on to hope, I set a mental deadline for him to contact me. I’m an idiot, so this deadline is Valentine’s day. On February 14th I come home to find my apartment empty of  rose petals or any other romantic gestures. I pack his stuff and take it to FedEx, where I recount the entire story to the FedEx dude.  I then head to my best friend’s house, where her British boyfriend refuses to as much as give her flowers on Valentines day, firmly believing this holiday to be nothing but a crock of commercial shit. Just so you know, they are getting married at the Pierre this April, and I can assure you that there will be plenty of flowers at that wedding. SEE, IT REALLY IS A CROCK OF COMMERCIAL SHIT. 
2013 – I’m dating a French hipster who would rather eat processed food than acknowledge that this holiday exists. I ignore him for a week and post revenge pictures on Facebook with my photogenic friend Talal. 
2014 – In anticipation of this momentous holiday, I go on a Tinder binge and collect the following assortment of winners: 
1 drama theatre actor 
1 singer
1 pro gay rights activist 
None of which have yet asked be my date on Valentine’s day. Which means that I will most likely spend this glorious evening at Silencio with my friend Antoine, the Hetero Friend Every Woman Should Have. 
Unless, of course, you want to ask me out. In which case, I will do a DATE GIVEAWAY in exchange for your most embarrassing Valentine’s Day story. 
Because like two negatives make a positive, two losers may come together together to make something beautiful. 
I think we can officially confirm that 2014 is Rock Bottom. 

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