Valentine’s Day.
The only thing worse than not having a date on Valentine’s Day, is having a date cancelled on you on Valentine’s Day. And for my first official month in Los Angeles, I was calling it a dating disaster.
It’s not as if he was “The One,” but it’s the sheer principle of not breaking an event that women (so ridiculously) want to be a part of.
“Valentine’s Day. As if the daily single life itself isn’t miserable as it is, Hallmark and their gaggle of women writers had to create a holiday just for couples. It’s bullshit. Forgive the language, but let’s be honest, if you have a lover more than likely you get flowers on a regular basis (or should be), you’re getting laid, you get dinner, dancing, romance!! Sweet nothings whispered into your ear! AND in addition to that, you have a holiday to GET ALL THAT STUFF AGAIN!!
“If you’re single, the odds of you getting flowers from something other than your garden, orgasms from something other than your vibrator, or dinner that’s not made by your roommate is so tragically slim as it is - doesn’t the world agree that singles are the truly deprived and in some serious need of loving?
“There should be a holiday dedicated to singles - perhaps the all-time-favorite ‘Singles Awareness Day’ where those who are single get flowers, dinner, and hopefully laid – just one day out of the year. Is that much to ask? We’re already punished enough as it is - it’s cruel and unusual that, in addition to the daily reminders, couples now get their own holiday? Can’t they just use their anniversary date and give the holiday to a better cause?”
I throw myself on the sofa in despair. My roommate, Daniel, gives me a kiss on the forehead. Weak excuse for a consolation. “I’d love to stay and hear more about it, but me and the boy are having a romantic dinner for two. I’m so sorry about your date.” He offers a smile.
I frown. “You’re abandoning me at my weakest moment!” I shout after him. Daniel, of course, doesn’t agree with my rant; he just started a fresh new love life with this amazingly hot man named Ari.
That’s the other thing. There are so many gay men in this town! And 99% of them are gorgeous! So tragic. I didn’t move out to Hollywood to lead a single life. I guess it’s my own damn fault for leaving the backwoods of Pennsylvania just before Valentine’s Day. But trust me, I wasn’t going to get laid there either. Most of my stuff isn’t unpacked yet. Two of my old college friends just happened to land this great apartment and needed another roommate. I was basically sold on the beaches, the bars, and the bachelors. Daniel and Kate (the other roommate) did a really great job of convincing me to come out – how can you say no to all that? I had been living in the middle of nowhere with my dead-beat boyfriend who had no glimmer of, well, anything. So I left my Mess behind and came out to LA to find my Prince Charming. Kate is determined to find me the Perfect Man. She keeps telling me I just have to kiss a few frogs first. Kate has definitely kissed a lot of frogs, and even has had some pretty incredible sex with them too.
I had met my date at a coffee shop a few weeks ago, and we’d hit it off okay, a few dates here, a few dates there. We had decided that Valentine’s Day was just going to be another Wednesday to us - but it still stung when he called to cancel it.
My pity train came to a stop when Kate, the other roommate, came home from work. “You’re not even ready!” I slouch deeper in to the sofa.
“He cancelled.” I mumble.
“Aww, babe, I’m so sorry...” She sits next to me. WE’re quiet for a moment. That’s when I should have known she was plotting. “I’ve got it! You’re coming with me!”
“I’m not crashing your date!”
“Not crashing...double date! Now get off your ass, I’m going to make a call.” She gets up and dashed into her room.
Lately, Kate’s been getting into online dating – which I don’t even understand as a social phenomenon, but she’s been so successful at it.
She comes back into the living room completely excited. Apparently, this one guy she’s been casually dating has a supposedly cute single friend.
“Really, Kate, I don’t want to go. I don’t think I can handle any more emotional abuse today...” I whine.
“You’ll never get laid with that attitude.” She tells me. I sigh. It’s so true.
As I watch her dig through my closet for something remotely acceptable (which she’s already told me on so many occasions I don’t have), I think to myself, “It couldn’t be that bad...”
Wednesday, February 14, 2007