This might come as a shock to you, but I hate Valentine’s Day.

Ever since Donna Costello kicked me in the shinny after giving her a Valentine card back in the third grade, I knew this holiday was going to bring me nothing but grief.

It got worse during my high school years when some evil bastard of a bastard came up with the brilliant idea to have flowers and Valentines delivered DURING CLASSES. So I’m sitting there at my desk minding my own business, trying to learn the intricacies of the periodic table, when lo and behold there’s a knock on the door and in walks this delivery guy holding a huge bouquet of flowers, meant of course for the ONE girl I happened to have a crush on. And then when class is over I get to watch her throw her arms around her darling love while I grab my chest and try to endure the agony of having my heart get ripped to shreds as I made my way to Spanish class.

Year after year it was like this, even as I continued to hope in vain that maybe, just maybe, next time things would be different. Nope. Unfulfilled love, loneliness, pain and anguish continued to rule my Valentine’s Day.

Then a few years ago, something happened that would forever seal Valentine’s day as a day of infamy for me. I came home one night to find an eviction notice had been posted on my door. An evil relative had stolen the house that my family bought and paid for, and then had the courts rule in his favor to get us thrown out so his granddaughter could move in with her skank boyfriend. My family unfortunately had no money for an attorney, so we were left defenseless against this onslaught of pure hatred. And, (almost like it was his parting gift), our relative poisoned our pet cat, who died shortly before our eviction.

The worst act of hatred that had ever been commited against me (and left me homeless for the first time in my life) happened precisely… on Valentine’s Day. That experience changed my life forever. I no longer had a place to call home, and the ruinous trials that resulted in that destructive aftermath left all of us with no assets except the cars we drove and the clothes on our backs. My parents will never be able to retire, and even with our resources pooled together we had all been effectively priced out of the housing market. Even years later, I can still feel the dull impact of that devastating day.

So yeah, I f*&#ing hate this accursed holiday.

The only way I’ve managed to survive in the years that followed was to basically hide under the bed and pray the demon-spirit of Valentine wouldn’t come get me. Then when the morning of the 15th finally came, I’d come out and breathe a sigh of relief in knowing I would live to see another day.

Of course, last year I made the mistake of thinking it was finally safe to come out again, and met someone online (on Valentine’s Day) who seemed to be the perfect girl for me. Educated, funny, intelligent, had a good career, loved to travel, shared the same political and religious beliefs I did, and most importantly, had blonde hair .

The perfect girl ended up stringing me along for 2 months, and then after sending her flowers for her birthday, I get texted a terse “thank you” and never hear from her again. I mean sheesh, if you’re gonna be like that then at least pay me the difference for the flowers I bought you cheap miserable mother#*&%ing bi___

I hate Valentine’s Day.

But… you know, whether it’s because I’m a glutton for punishment or because I’m just a dumb schmuck (or both), there’s a part of me that’s still holding out hope that this Valentine’s curse will someday be lifted. That maybe, just maybe, there’s a special girl out there who can finally break the hex and make this day a day I no longer have to fear or despise again.

Until then, I will continue to hide under the bed and rage against the pink machine.

To the poor little boy who found my blog using the search phrase,

“i’m 12 and i like this girl who is dating another guy how do i win her heart”

Congratulations, you are now about to embark on what will undoubtedly be the start of a lifelong journey of unrequited love and gut wrenching heartbreaks, because that cute little girl you’ve been mooning over for months and leaving little notes for is in fact one vicious, bedazzled terrorist of a creature who was fathered by Satan and mothered by the Antichrist. There is no doubt that she would not hesitate for a second to claw your eyes out and bite you in the face just for daring to pollute her existence, and then going off to laugh with her spiky haired boyfriend about what a huge loser you are.

So give it up. No matter what you do, she will never, ever like you, and those freckles on your face that Mamma said made you look so adorable, in fact make you look like a genetic mutant freak of nature to the object of your affection and the rest of the real world.

Consider this your baptism of fire into a life of bitterness and loneliness, because things are about to get much, much worse. As women get older, they will have outgrown the physical biting and clawing your eyes out, because by then they’ll have mastered the art of psychologically screwing your mind over so badly that all that will be left of you by the time they’re done is a shell of a human being wrapped in a strait jacket, muttering incoherent thoughts in a padded room at the Sunshine and Happy Happy Home.

So, you can take this as an early lesson that women are not cuddly bundles of love, but are in fact hateful instruments of torture and destruction who will happily dance all over your carcass while playing suck face with their latest trailer park trash boyfriend who just made parole.

Learn this truth now my boy, and you can save yourself by writing off the female race altogether, and then throwing down a daily dose of Prozac to numb out your feelings so you’ll never fall in love again.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Let’s all get into the spirit of bashing and thrashing the most hated holiday of the year: Valentine’s Day!

For now I’m just putting out feelers to see how much interest this will generate, but if enough people participate, I will hand out two prizes: 1000 EC credits for bloggers who are members of Entrecard, and for nonmembers, a secret gift that will only be revealed the day after Valentine’s.

The rules are simple:

• Create a post linking back to the home page of my blog. Mention the contest to your readers and include a link to this post as well.
• Write about a former relationship gone bad, a story about unrequited love, or just about any experience you can think of that made you want to spit on love and romance and in the face of anyone who still believes in that crap. If you hate this holiday as much as I do, here’s your chance to unleash the venom!
• The contest will run through Valentine’s Day, at which point I’ll choose the post I like the best, and then announce the winner the next day with a link back to the winning post and blog.

Note, at least 20 people must participate in this contest, otherwise the prizes will be voided. If that occurs, you can check my Technorati stats afterwards to confirm that not enough people participated, just in case you don’t take my word for it.

Have fun!

I recently saw the movie Stardust on DVD, which I found to be a somewhat racy film, but one that had its tender moments as well. Here we had a guy who was doing his darndest best to win over the love of a beautiful (and shallow) town girl, but unfortunately, she sees him as nothing more than a lowly and clumsy shop boy. One night both of them witness a shooting star landing somewhere in the magical land of Stormhold, and desperate to prove his love for her, Tristan promises to retrieve the star and bring it to her as a birthday gift.

Ah, the things we do for love…

The star however actually turns out to be another beautiful woman named Yvaine. Apparently, learning that the star was actually a person didn’t seem to faze Tristan one bit, and he uses enchanted rope to tie Yvaine’s hands so he can take her with him:

Tristan: Now, if I’m not mistaken this means you have to come with me. You’re going to be a birthday gift for Victoria, my true love.

Yvaine: But of course! Nothing says “romance” like a kidnapped injured woman!

Too funny. As I watched the movie though, I was reminded of just how truly awful unrequited love can be. I’ve only been in love a handful of times in my life, and yet each time they’ve always been unrequited. I was never good enough for anyone I “loved,” and it broke my heart. If the film showed me anything though, it was that there was something inherently wrong in pursuing after someone who clearly would never reciprocate the same level of love and devotion you had for them. At one point Yvaine confronted Tristan with this uncomfortable truth:

Yvaine: The little I know about love is that it’s unconditional. It’s not something you can buy.

Tristan: Hang on! This wasn’t about me trying to buy her love. This was to prove to her how I felt.

Yvaine: Ah… And what’s she doing to prove how she feels about you?

Tristan: Well… [stares blankly for a moment ] Look Yvaine, you’ll understand when you meet her, all right? If we don’t get murdered by pirates first.

Yvaine: Mmm… Murdered by pirates, heart turned out and eaten, meet Victoria… I can’t quite decide which sounds more fun…

Finally, as Tristan and Yvaine’s initial dislike for each other melted away to reveal true affection, Yvaine declares her love for Tristan in what became my favorite scene in the entire movie:

Yvaine: Yes, I know that love is unconditional. But I also know that it can be unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, unbearable and strangely easy to mistake for loathing, and… What I’m trying to say, Tristan is… I think I love you. [begins to cry] Is this love, Tristan? I never imagined I’d know it for myself. My heart… It feels like my chest can barely contain it. Like it’s trying to escape because it doesn’t belong to me any more. It belongs to you. And if you wanted it, I’d wish for nothing in exchange - no gifts, no goods, no demonstrations of devotion. Nothing but knowing you loved me too. Just your heart, in exchange for mine.

Ah yes, only in a fairy tale could a woman offer a love like that. Meanwhile the rest of us in the real world have to bust our balls just to get the object of our affections to acknowledge our existence. For a beautiful woman to offer her love so freely… man, it’s just not something I’ve ever experienced, and there are times I wonder if it’s even still possible to find in this cold, cruel, materialistic world we live in. I can only hope the bitterness borne out of a heart that’s been broken so many times before won’t blind me to the day when a star of my very own might cross my path, willing to love me just as unconditionally.

“Linkie?”

“Yeah, Karen?” Karen was a co-worker of mine who worked in our firearms division. I’ve had a thing for her ever since she started working here…that is, until she passed me up and married another co-worker last January. Of course.

“Do you know what band sang the song with the line ‘broken wings’ in it?” She then proceeded to hum the song, her cute face partly visible as she leaned over the cubicle wall that divided us.

“Hmmm, not sure, but I can Google the lyrics pretty quickly for you if you want. You can check to see which band rings a bell.”

“Is Mick around? Maybe he knows,” she said, completely ignoring my suggestion. Her hands were on top of the wall now, the shiny wedding ring on her finger gleaming in the light. I cursed inwardly.

But it wasn’t just the ring that annoyed me. I also HATED it when people would initially ask me for help, and then quickly dismiss me out of hand in favor of someone else. Don’t even give me a chance here to prove I’m not the idiot they think I am. Sheesh.

Dammit people, I’m a @#$%-ing human being. Can I not be afforded some modicum of respect at least?

“Sorry, Mick went on vacation. Let me look it up for you though, I’m sure I can find it. I’ll let you know.”

“Ok…” she said, and her head dropped out of sight. I could still hear her humming the song from beyond the wall.

I went to Google and found the lyrics to several songs containing the phrase “broken wings”, so I jumped up to call Karen over and have her take a look.

“Hey Karen,” I said, peering over the wall, “I got a few hits here and…”

But she was already gone.

I just stood there, marveling over how easily this woman could still hurt me, even now.

“Take these broken wings,
And learn to fly again,
And learn to live so free.
And when we hear the voices sing,
The book of love will open up,
And let us in….“

Up yours Mister Mister.

Certain events in the past have played a significant role in devastating my pysche, which by themselves really don’t seem like anything noteworthy, until you consider the context in which they happened.

For example, when I first started blogging, one of my secret desires behind my decision to blog, was that by putting my thoughts online, it’d give me an opportunity to meet a beautiful girl who thought the same way I did. Eventually, a reader who fit that profile DID start visiting my blog on a regular basis. Gorgeous, young, Christian and a staunch conservative, she was a rarity who might have been perfect had she not lived so far away. So what happens? She meets someone through HER blog, and they get married a few months later. What I had hoped so badly would happen to me ,happened to someone else instead.

Shortly afterwards, I met a pretty female co-worker who had recently joined our division. Now over the years, I had always fantasized about meeting someone through my job, where we’d end up working together and eventually falling in love. I even envisioned over what she might look like: long brown hair, beautiful brown eyes and a healthy mocha skin. We’d share the same interests and passions, while one personality smoothly complemented the other. A match made in heaven.

So when a pretty girl with long brown hair, brown eyes and beautifully tanned skin suddenly shows up in my division, I couldn’t help but take notice, especially since she was the first young woman to get assigned here in a long, long time (the kind of job done here is mostly filled by much older women in their 50s or 60s.) So after so many years of plague and darkness, I wondered: could she be…the one??

Alas, what I envisioned in my mind could not have been more out of touch with reality. We had NOTHING in common, which may have been aggravated by the fact that she had NO interest in me at all. While my passion were politics and religion, her passion was….boats. While I enjoyed visiting museums dedicated to history, her idea of spending the weekend involved attending the latest Bon Jovi concert. If I liked watching Fox News every now and then, she religiously watched the Real World on MTV.

Trying to have a conversation with her was about as invigorating and welcome as performing hernia operation on yourself using nothing more than a wooden spoon. I always had to carry the ball when we talked. She never volunteered anything, and when I couldn’t think of anything more to say, the air would hang in a kind of dead silence that could only be found at cemetaries.

Obviously, there were no sparks here. But what irked me more than anything was her total lack of interest in me. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a nice person, but that I barely registered on her radar. I would have rather she had been interested in ME, and I’D be the one who’d have to turn her down, not the other way around. It’s an ego thing, obviously, but it would have felt good to know that for once, JUST EFFING once, a pretty girl would find me interesting and attractive. Nope.

I remembered thinking at the time that the only thing that could have made it worse, was that she would fall madly in love with another coworker and eventually get married.

Welllllll, guess what. Not 5 months(?!?!?) since she started working here, she meets another coworker, falls madly in love, and is now engaged. What I had hoped so badly would happen to me, happened to someone else instead.

Are you detecting a pattern here? Imagine 20 years of this, enduring these series of unfortunate events, and you get my life. You know, it’s one thing when people meet and fall in love. I accept that, but when it happens like this, I simply can’t handle it. It’s like God is playing mind games with me, putting me in these kinds of situations where I have to endure getting speared in the most cruelest fashion possible, and yet still I must believe and accept that He is a loving God who cares about me. Yeah, sure.

This is why I am so angry at God, and cannot speak or pray to Him. It’s cruel the way I’m being treated: absolutely, despicably cruel. Maybe I deserve it though: in fact, I know I do. But I have seen some pretty bad people in my life get blessed in obscene ways that make absolutely no sense to me. I’m still trying to figure it out… still trying to make some kind of sense of it all. But I can conclude nothing except that God must truly and utterly despise me.

When I graduated college, I was filled with high hopes and expectations about everything, but the last 8 years since then has done its darndest best to utterly crush my spirit and squeeze every last drop of hope out of me. Today, I am a broken, confused and lost soul. Yet I’m still trying to find my way, still trying to seek answers for why things turned out the way they did, still trying to see some reason for it all.

In the meantime, I have to deal with the bitterness and anger I’ve been left with now. I had hoped so much that by this time I’d be in law school, if only so I’d never have to see the brown-eyed bitch again. Instead, I have to be forever reminded of what a failure I am every day that I see her. I hate her, not for who she is, but for what she represents to me: the reality that I will always be alone. I will never have a family, or anybody to love, because no one wants to love me.

To hell with you all.