A Walk Down V-Day Memory Lane, the Expanded Edition

Oh, Valentine’s Day. A day of lacy cutout bras and Agent Provocateur nipple tassels, for some. A day of drinking and making Scarlett O’Hara-esque oaths that you will never be dateless again, for others. A non-event for those who actually have a life and are too busy to care. A day of reminiscing a questionable romantic history, for yours truly.

To my credit, I have quite the impressive track record, which I once spotlighted in a post circa 2014. Little did I know that it was then only a WIP, a trajectory that was sub ject to evolve until it finally hit a record low at this exact time last year. Since it is my firm belief that disasters should be shared as much as love stories (balance, people), I bring you a partially-recycled post that takes you through my top Valentine’s Day memories. Too lazy? Skip over directly to 2017; never mope about your own love life again.

2002 – A fellow Russian teen named Fedya works night shifts to buy me a gold necklace with a tiny gold baroque angel pendant. REAL GOLD. I never wear it and I never date Fedya, which seems like an early indicator that I don’t like nice guys. Had I known that it would be the most romantic gesture I would experience in the next decade, maybe things would have worked out differently.

2004 – My first somewhat-boyfriend, 10 years my senior, comes over with a polyester teddy bear from Rite Aid. My poor taste in men is officially established.

2009 – I’m dating my Big First Love and it’s our first Valentine’s Day together., which also doubles as our 3-month anniversary. I buy him two plaid A.P.C. shirts that I end up wearing myself; he buys me a ginormous cookie and an artsy card from MOMA Design Store. Muy simpatico. My love life peaks for another decade-ish.

2011 – My BFL moves to LA to “find himself”. My girlfriend and I got to Comedy Cellar where the host spotlights us as token lesbians, then as token desperate chicks.

2012 – My BFL and I break up in the end of January. I establish Valentine’s Day (i.e. our anniversary!) as a mental deadline for our reconciliation. On February 14^th I come home to find my apartment void of MOMA cards or hipster potted plants any other romantic gesture that I had oh-so-naively hoped for. I dump all his stuff in a garbage bag and take it FedEx, where I pay $50 to ship it to his house but get free therapy from the FedEx guy as a consolation prize.

2013 – I’m living in Paris and dating a French hipster who would rather eat processed food than acknowledge that Valentine’s Day exists. I spend most of the week listening to him drone on about America’s commercial evil. Apparently, wanting a nice dinner (where I didn’t have to pay for both of us) made me a part of this conspiracy.

2016 – I’m back in New York and exploring the boundless horizons of Raya, which is how I meet the owner of a popular NYC vegan cookie brand. I halfheartedly option him as a potential date, only to have him go MIA on me a few days prior. On Valentine’s Day he came back with the following message. (Read his full post here!)

2017 – And now, the pièce de résistance, kids, the stuff youthful dreams are made of. The modern-day fairytale that never loses its magic, serving as a consolation prize for women everywhere (“Oh, you thought your Valentine’s Day was bad? Well, let me tell you..”) While I’m holding on to details until they are somehow monetizable (kiddingnotkidding), here is the brief rundown.

I start dating somebody in October 2016. Let’s call him Prince Charming, for shits n’ giggles. So Prince Charming lives in Paris, I live in New York. On my 30th birthday, after we had seen each other a total of 5 times, Prince Charming presents me with my birthday present. Guess what it is! A purse? Nah. A promise ring? Nope. It’s a ticket for a 3-WEEK TRIP TO ASIA. After digesting said Grand Gesture and convincing my dad that no, I would not get killed in Détente’s drug war, I go. Following a trip that I have now successfully blocked out of my head, Prince Charming and I return to the Western Hemisphere as a couple. In February, he comes to visit me in New York, where I introduce him to my brother and his wife. Apparently, this is where it all becomes too much for him. On February 14^th, he doesn’t as much as wish me Happy Valentine’s Day. Actually, he doesn’t as much as speak to me up until around 10pm, when he chooses to inform me that WE ARE MOVING TOO FAST and, alas, it’s over.

The end!

2018 – Just kidding, there is no end. Because what doesn’t kill you only makes you more cynical stronger. A year has passed and I am currently on the coldest mountain in America with my French boyfriend who happens to hate Valentine’s Day as much as I do. We have no romantic plans, just pragmatic goals – to avoid hypothermia and, in my case, falling down a summit.

Oh, I also made him promise to wait until February 15^th to break up with me. So far he hasn’t agreed, so stay tuned!

Happy Amour Day, everybody!