I ganked this image from the folks over at the Be My Anti Valentine where you can get hysterical cards to send your most precious loved ones on this upcoming day of celebration.
Now, don’t get me wrong. As much as I hate Valentine’s Day? I LOVE Valentine’s Day. It is always big heaps of fun for me to play with paste and pink glitter and when I think V-Day, I think “Oh yay art project!” and make with the paint pens for days. And that, for me, is about it. Valentines Day is, to me, another excuse for glitter, chocolate and silliness. Or not, if those things aren’t really where my heart is at on that particular day.
I love it because it is fun. I loathe it because people make it into an obligation. I loathe that I spent so many of my years buying in to that crap. I celebrate the fact that in rejecting it, I could reclaim the parts about it that I enjoy.
For one thing? It doesn’t necessarily have to be about couplehood. My favorite VDay ever was the year we all dressed up as fairies and handed out toys, candy and cards to random strangers on Hollywood Blvd.
If I could do that every year? Oh my god, I’d be so happy. Best Valentine’s Day EVER. Just a big group of friends doing some random act of silliness, with pizza thrown in after and waaaaay too much body glitter.
I do not like the idea that it should be about Big Expensive Things. Having this obligation that you’ve gotta get all decked out in slutty lingerie you paid too much for at Vickie’s Secret and ya gotta blow someone because they gave you a diamond? NOT FUN. Feeling like you have to give someone a diamond or feeling like THEY have to GIVE you the diamond or they just don’t love you? NOT FUN. How about, all manner of WRONG. I mean come ON. It’s a Wednesday. Or a Tuesday. Most years, it’s a work night. You might be tired or have a headache and suddenly there’s this whole expectation that you’re gonna ante up a bunch of crap or put out and pay huge bundles of cash for a prix fixe dinner at a restaurant you normally wouldn’t eat at, well that whole expectation puts me right in a crappy mood.
I’d rather go have a fancy dinner some night for no other reason than I wanted the fancy dinner right then in that moment.
I’m kind of about keeping it simple, really.
Forget the diamonds. Forget the slutty, overpriced lingerie. Forget feeling like you are obligated to make it bigger, better, more expensive. Unless these things make you authentically joyful, turned on and happy and you’re not doing it out of some sense of obligation, in which case, hells YES make with all that stuff.
Forget feeling obligated to put out, because sex is never fun or nice or really great when you’re doing it from the standpoint of the calendar, Hallmark and Madison Avenue all dictating you should. Sex it up because you really want to. Or not. It’s okay. Let it be juicy and real and great because you are really happy to be there with each other, which may or may not be that particular calendar day. Seriously, it’s okay. Don’t do it just because they spent two months salary on a piece of rock so now you have to or you’re ungrateful. Don’t expect the best blow job of your life because you ponied up with the good stuff from Skip and Steve down at Robbin’s Brothers.
These are crappy expectations to put on someone you love.
Don’t get your knickers in a wad if they *don’t* spend two month’s salary on a piece of rock.
Question why the rock matters.
For the record? I like diamonds. Think they’re pretty. I think if diamonds were given to me by a lover or partner out of nothing more than, “Hey this is beautiful and it gave me joy to buy it and it didn’t set me back or put me in debt or damage me to get it, and I hope you like it.” then I might just jump for joy. I’d probably do that joyful jumping over a bouquet of flowers or a hot cup of tea, too, so long as the flowers or tea did not cause debt, came in love and it made the giver happy to procure it for me.
And I wouldn’t care if they came on VDay, my birthday or on a Tuesday or – in the case of diamonds at least – never at all. I think I’d be really sad if there were never hot cups of tea or random flowers. I think on the scale of what I’d rather have more of in my whole life, I’m gonna go with the tea and the occasional dandilion.
It’s the expression of love that is authentic, that makes me happy.
How about a blow job for the sheer damn joy of giving (or getting) the best blow job ever! Just because it’s fun and it feels good and you’re happy to be there!
Dinner, or not, at a place you feel comfortable, which might just be pb&j in your living room, over mutual laptops or with Dr. Who on Sci Fi. In PJs.
Pink glitter, or not.
Whatever you do, or don’t, just have some damn fun, ok? Have it be what’s real for you, and that may be on the 16th or the 23rd or it may coincide with the 14th. Have a nice time.
Even if it’s just with yourself. Because that’s the other loathesome little piece to the Valentine’s puzzle. The insinuation that you are broken or less than okay if you don’t have someone to put all these expectations on.
It’s okay to be alone on Valentine’s Day. Or not alone because you’re actually hanging out with way too many cats, but the cats are the only ones keeping you company and they’d give you diamonds if they could but do you *really* want to go digging in the litterbox for diamonds?
And go check out the Anti V Day card site, just for giggles. But maybe put the teacup safely away from the laptop, first.