Happy Valentines Day, Internet

It’s February 14. That means it’s Valentines Day.* A holiday both adored and reviled by the young and old alike. Some people loathe it, other people ignore it, and some people embrace it.
*I spell it this way on purpose, guys. It’s not Saint Valentine’s Day anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. It’s a day to celebrate Valentines. Ergo, Valentines Day.  


I clearly put lots of effort into making my Valentine for you. You are _welcome._

I’m one of the embracers, guys. And I’m not ashamed of it. But I don’t embrace it because I think I’m somehow owed flowers and tokens of love today because I just so happen to be female.** I think people lose their minds around this time of year – the same way people lose their minds on Black Friday and spend a whole day trampling each other in stores instead of spending a post-feast day relaxing with their families.
**How is that fair, anyway? How did Valentines Day turn into some affection-test for guys? Who was in charge of that nonsense? Can’t we just relax, people? Why does this aside involve so many questions?

I like to present a front that I have no time for love anymore in my life. I’m an independent woman, after all, single and in my 20s. TV tells me I should be a champion of everything.

'cause the face is busy being bitter...

I’m also a child who grew up in the 90s. I’m super good at “talk to the hand.”

That’s not really the real me, though. I come from a home that has always been full of love. My parents loved me and my brother endlessly, and never skimped on affection. They also love each other – a fact that I’ve never had to question, ever. They’re loving and affectionate and sometimes they even flirt. Frequently, there is cuddling.***
***All of this is, of course, accompanied by obligatory “ew, you made me, stop that, gross, parents” faces from me.****
****You’re welcome, Mom and Dad.

So despite pretending to be a cold-hearted monster without concern for love, what I really am in someone who wants to find the perfect partner. I want, in the longterm, the kind of relationship I see in my parents. Ew-faces aside, I’m a pretty lucky girl to have grown up in a household like that.

This is what REALLY causes heart attacks

Which coincidentally resulted in me actually being a lot more like this.

This has led to some issues along the way. I’m not exactly talented when it comes to picking romantic partners. This tendency has further fostered my posturing as a coldhearted, aloof girl, destined for a future full of cats.

But the point remains: I firmly believe in love. And I believe in Valentines Day. Not because it’s a test of someone’s love for you – and how well they can show it on demand – but because it’s a great time to do something that makes you happy.

Frequently, I am single on Valentines Day. That tendency is actually what drove me to embrace it.

Last year, with the help of a fellow single friend – who we shall call The Hero of the South (THotS, which is pronounced “Thhhhh-oates” as of this very moment) – Valentines Day was celebrated with style. We dressed up. We high-fived. We got drinks.

I am so giving today

Hi THotS. You know who you are. And you know you were never going to get a vote in your blog-name. _You’re welcome._

Most importantly, we went out for ribs.

Ribs. RIBS. Delicious ribs.

That lady is a waitress. I think she was scared of us.

Most people can’t bring themselves to go out for ribs on a romantic holiday, because…well…it is not attractive to eat ribs. They were delicious.

Other single Valentines Days have been celebrated with fellow single friends and movie nights – not in self-pity because we’re single, but because we’re at the same stage of life. Sometimes it’s refreshing to be surrounded by people who are sharing your current life goals, problems and, well, lack of couple-related responsibilities.

Before my pride was so barren of single friends

There is always popcorn. It is a rule.

This year, I have a date. I’m celebrating Valentines Day romantically, it’s true.


Guess what we’re doing? Go on. Guess.

But no matter what, it’s still kind of an awesome holiday, if you let it be. Couples get to be coupley. Single people can throw parties. Married people can set aside some time to go out on a real date.

If we all just stop being bitter and thinking this holiday is all about showing off.

So, Happy Valentines Day, Internet. I’m really glad we’re in each other’s lives.

Totally true

Because ours is a truly true love.

Tragic Tales of 20-Something “Love:” The Story of Captain Romantic

Or: Happy Valentine’s Week, Y’All

Lots of people hate Valentine’s Day. They say it’s silly and commercial, and obviously just another cog in the capitalist, consumerist machine. Not me, though. I’ve always liked Valentine’s Day*.
*And it’s glorious follow-up holiday, 75% Off Heart-Shaped-Chocolate Day. It comes every February 15, and I celebrate it religiously.


I confess to my hopeless romanticism. And also I like to hug big plush hearts.

I think it’s nice that we set aside a day to show the ones we love that they’re appreciated – whether it’s a significant other, friends or family members. It’s like celebrating someone on their birthday. Once you strip out all the materialistic expectations, it’s all about designating one day to be aware of the one you love, romantically.** And that’s sweet.
**Or the ones you love platonically. Or familial-ly. It’s all about love, people.

But it’s never really been a day that’s gone right for me. On that note, I’d like to introduce you to Captain Romantic. We were together through the senior year of college, and for two years after.

This is not stated with much enthusiasm.


We were together for two years when this particular Valentine’s Day came around. I knew, of course, that he wasn’t a terribly romantic guy. So this time, our second Valentine’s Day together, I decided that if I wanted romance, I could make it happen myself. I hurried home from work, rescued the present I’d wrapped, and set to work making his favorite meal for dinner.

The Romance! The Sweetness!

Check out all that enthusiasm! Romance is in the air! For sure!

I was excited – it was the first time I’d gone out of my way to try something romantic.

It was steak,. I made steak

Ok, I may have let him unwrap the present BEFORE I declared what it was.

Things seemed to be going well. I was still in my domesticated phase of life***, and nothing had burned – not even the dessert. The place was pretty, and everything fit in my budget. I felt like the master of romance and was so happy to see Captain Romance smile at everything I’d done.
***That point in time when I cooked dinners and washed dishes and didn’t have all the local delivery numbers memorized. It was a tough time.

Real women cook in aprons

Everything is more romantic in an apron.

After dinner, he pulled out a gift for me.

Dun dun duuuunnn...

With these exact words. Please keep these words in mind.

I was excited. A token of his feelings? That was possibly the most romantic thing Captain Romantic had ever said to me. The packaging didn’t stand a chance. I had that thing open in a blink.


I am not making this up, people.

It was a toaster.

For toasting bread.

Say it with me: I feel toaster for you

Seriously. I’m good at reading between the lines and all, but toasters and feelings together in the same present is just confusing.

I did not regularly complain of my lack of toaster. My roommate had a toaster oven, enabling all of my bread-toasting needs. But Captain Romantic was so pleased – my kitchen did not have a toaster, and he had noticed, and he gave me one to remedy the situation.

Because that is the type of romance I enjoy in my life.

True story, guys.

It’s a real toaster. This is a real story

I don’t make these things up, people.

An end-of-post apology:

This post is very late in coming, mostly because I am out of my mind on cold medicine today.

I am such a plague-bearer

Did you know that if you wave tissues in the air while marching around, it’s like you’re having your VERY OWN PARADE?!
This changes everything.

It’s The End of an Era

Or: I Finally Figured Out How to Quit Zoosk

Guys. Today is an important day. A day of both joy and sorrow. A day of celebration and mourning. A day of overly dramatic, hyberbolic statements in introduction paragraphs.

Today is the day I finally completely rejected the advances of Zoosk and demanded it never talk to me again.*
*And that it return all the mixtapes I gave it.

I'll never let go, Zoosk! I'll never let go!

Those tears of sorrow are super heartfelt, I’m sure.

Now, everyone** knows Zoosk and I have had a tumultuous relationship. For one thing, the first time I tried to quit it, it repeatedly crashed until I gave up and read all the nonsense poetry people were writing to me. 
**All the people I imagine read this in the quiet comfort of my own head

And then I was hooked. The pickup lines were too impressive. Too ridiculous. Too…incredibly obviously not going to work.  Honestly, things were getting bad. I was going to end up TLC’s My Strange Addiction, confessing to strangers how I just couldn’t quit reading the bad poetry of pickup lines on the Internet.

Something had to be done.

(It’s also possible that I’m just maybe seeing a real live guy. Maybe.
…Shut up. It IS possible!)

So, on this solemn occasion, I bring you (for the final time)…

(Better defined as “Zoosk Poetry.” The dulcet words of potential woo-ers in the Land of Zoosk.)

“Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.”
(No. I don’t have a map. Man up and stop to ask for directions. Duh.)

“I hope you know CPR, because you take my breath away.”
(Nope. I took it, therefore it’s mine. I’m not giving it back.)

“What does it feel like to be the best looking person in this room?”
(Oh man. We’re getting super metaphysical here. In “this” room? Like, the one-on-one chat “room” you’re trying to start with me? Or the room of Zoosk? Clarify here, so I can know how flattered to be.)

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”
(Oh, we’re starting off with movie quotes? Then how about this one: “I thought you’d be taller.”)

“Why aren’t you in jail? It’s illegal to look that good.”
(You don’t know that I’m not. Stop making assumptions.)

“Describe in one sentence the kind of person you’re looking for.”
(“Not a serial killer.” Wait! That’s a fragment. Let me try again. “The kind of man who does not end sentences with prepositions.”)

“Why is a good looking person like you still single?”
(….This is not a legitimate question. Try again.)

“I know you lost your phone number, so here’s mine. <phone number included.>”
(…Know what? That’s thinking outside the box. It’s also a way to end up getting drunk texts from strangers at 3 in the morning.)

“When I saw you, I fainted and hit my head. I need your name and number for insurance reasons.”
(Oh, holy crap! Of course! I’m SO sor-wait a minute. This is a trick!)

And, the best of all of them:

“You r pretty enough.”
(…Wait. Wait wait. Pretty enough? Enough for what? What system of measurement are we using here, and what’s the competition? I need answers!)

And so an era of dating website mockery ends. At last, I shall no longer stay up until 2:30 in the morning on a work night, flipping through messages to note down the very best ones for blogging purposes. My pre-geriatric bedtime shall be restored!

I know. This leaves us all very sad.**** So I shall leave you with a thought experiment to take your mind off things:
****Also there have been exactly zero actual doodles in this post.

I present to you Schrödinger’s Cake.

Cake is better to experiment on than cats

There may be cake inside. There may be no cake inside. There both is and is not cake…Until you look inside.

Guys. The cake might be a lie. But it also might not be. There could be cake in there.

The cake is a lie the cake is a lie

It’s not really a lie if I knew it was once a truth…

I Am the Last Single Girl in My Pride* of Ladyfriends

Or: Change Happens and Sometimes Makes It Weird to Talk about Dating

*Yes. Girls roam in prides, like lion(esse)s.

I’m not the fastest at making female friends, but the ones I have are pretty out-freakin’-standing. (Note: Earlier, autocorrect decided I wanted to say my ladyfriends were “commonplace.” This is not true. Autocorrect is a hurtful liar who does not want you to know the truth. My friends are AH-MAY-ZING.) And when we were younger, the vast majority of us were single at the same time.

Meeee-yow. Riiigghtt?

I think I should mention very few of these stick figures look anything like my friends

Over time, things began to change. Some friends began to get married.

Duuuun-dun-dun-dun-duuuunnn-dun. Dun, dah-dah-dah-duuuunnn.

Yes. I do picture all brides in princess dresses and tiaras. Because tiaras.

Others began to pair off into unified “we” relationships.

Prepare for a hell of joint apartment hunting!

I am going to lose “serious boyfriend doodling” privileges, I just know it.

And if you move around a lot, like I do, you also get to meet all new friends that are already couples.** It’s two friends for the price of one!
**Bonus life fact: If you make friends with people who are already married, you never have to buy them a wedding present!

But you also may just discover, quite suddenly, that you are the only single person you know.


This pose just looks silly without other people around. And, well, with other people around.

One by one, my ladyfriends became coupled. I am ecstatic that they’ve found such incredible partners, and have moved into the exciting, couple-y phase of life. But it’s weird to be the last single one. For one thing, my dating problems become “cute.”

Awful. Just...awful.

And awkward. It was also awkward. Because this really happened. He told me I should “give them out to my friends.”

And sometimes it is hard to understand couple-ed person problems, because it’s been a long time since I’ve been part of a serious couple.

This is a valid problem

Not that I would ever leave dishes in the sink, or anything. My life is super clean and organized. Definitely. Just, uh. Call before you come over.

We’re friends, but we’re in different phases of life. Like flowers. Or bananas. Or people.

Or upside down. I possibly watched a special on bananas so I could understand banana spiders, and am playing dumb here.

I clearly have no idea what banana tree-bushes look like. That’s how those grow, right? Also, I am not implying that “splotchy and gross” or “missing petals” is the couple/married phase of life. It’s just as likely to be the single phase because people are not bananas or flowers, but they are fun to draw,

I love my pride of ladyfriends as much as always. They’re awesome. But it’s super hard to gossip about the ridiculous issues of being single in your (mid) late 20s…when you’re the only one being single in your (mid) late 20s. Because, well, they can be pretty ridiculous issues.

Honesty is the best medicine. Also, fight-starter

At least we can all talk about how silly we are.

But they’re also kind of important issues, too. So just remember: Let your friends rant. Whether they’re single, or they’re couple-ed. Because that’s what it means to be a pride***.
***I know, I know. If ladies form prides, what are groups of guyfriends?
Wolfpacks. Duh.

Dating Is Really Complicated

I know it may be hard to believe*, but I generally don’t spend a whole lot of my time dating. I mean, I can indulge in online dating with the best of them, but that’s never really worked out in my favor in the long run. I’m not very good at convincing the male half of the population that I am mysterious and date-able.
*Unless you’ve been reading this blog for a while.


Apparently guys don’t have a resounding appreciation for spontaneous sock puppet shows. I wish someone had told me.

But every now and then, a guy comes along that convinces me that dating is absolutely fun and worthwhile.

I don't know what you mean. I am totally normal.

What? Doesn’t every girl stand with her hands behind her back all the time?

Being asked out is fun. It’s exciting and fills the world with all sorts of possibilities. But then, trouble strikes.


Trouble always seems to strike me in the form of complicated hair products.

There is always a flurry of activity as I try to remember how to be a real girl – one who has a working knowledge of eyelash curlers and a steady hand at eyeliner and mysteriously perfectly white teeth.

Ow Ow Ow

This is an accurate depiction of date preparation. Sometimes there are injuries.

All of this is to achieve the apparent goal of looking like a perfect stranger by the time the aforementioned guy comes to pick me up.


I think the goal really might be to convince guys that we women are magicians.

I do not know why this is. I have to assume it’s not just me who does this. But either way – dating is really confusing and complicated and requires a remarkable amount of preparation.

So maybe some day I’ll actually date someone long enough to just stay in.

This ALSO explains a lot about my lovelife.

Because it is very important to judge dates based on their sock puppet skills.