Happy VD

Hello Darlings!

I was all prepared to write you a bitter diatribe against this day, this “holiday” as it were, but I find myself unable to. What’s this? You may gasp to yourselves, has our bunny at last found love? Has he, through a combination of medication and years of intensive therapy, finally been able to evaporate his inner ocean of cynicism, leaving behind a salt flat of sincerity? Bitches, please: I warned you about smoking on the crack. No. This is not some mushy-gushy mash note to the non-existent man in my life. Rather, it is a rallying cry to revel in my singularity (not in a singularity; while there would be an infinite amount of room for the guests, the party wouldn’t last very long, what with being crushed down to subatomic size while retaining the same mass and all). Anyway, through a recent conversation (which was in actuality a nearly interminable monologue), I have come to realize that all of the loves I have experienced have come to… nothing. Not once in my life has my affection ever been reciprocated. Ever. This is not to say that no one has ever expressed affection for me; it just hasn’t come from anyone with a penis. So. Why am I cheered by this? I’m not. See, it’s been more like finally understanding a math problem: I give plenty of love away, but get nothing in return. This is not the practice of a smart investor, but of a crazed eccentric, who… shit, I hate it when my analogies turn on me. Well, to shorthand it for you, kiddies, I realized that while love is not something that you can fill a bathtub with, it is something that I have been sorely lacking in my life. Since I can’t seem to find anyone else with a penis to love me, I have decided that I am going to love myself (waiting politely while everyone comes up with masturbation jokes). Yesterday, I was all set to break out with a black outfit for today, fierce scowlings, and just wrap myself up in my own drama. Then, I started to laugh at myself, because it was silly. “Honestly,” I said to myself, “You make this huge stink over what crap this holiday is, and it’s all because you think you can’t enjoy it unless you have someone else. Alone again, you were saying, just trying to work yourself up for a sniffle or two. But let’s take a look at what you have: the most awesome friends ever, your family loves you, you are funny and smart, you bake like a superstar, you don’t really look as bad as you pretend to think you do, and you have all the things: the job, the car, the house. Desire is the cause of all suffering, baby, and what else is it that you really need?” And I just started smiling like I was a helmet and harness away from riding the short bus. I kept doing it, too. My parents noticed it when I saw them; mom even remarked on it. I mean, if this is it, if this is all I get, well then goddammit (sorry Rachel), it’s still pretty good. So, even though I may be alone this Valentine’s Day (which is the first time I have uttered those two words all day), I am not without love. Oh, but don’t worry: I will still be your same old vicious and mean-spirited little bitch; it’s just that now I’ll have a twinkle in my eye.