This is a collaborative entry on Valentine's' for The Ampersand Project. Figured I might as well jump on the bandwagon...

"Valentine's Day is coming! For many Taureans, this day for sweethearts dredges up painful memories. If you've faced tough times in love recently, take defensive action. And if you're happily enamored, count yourself one very lucky gal. Many other Taureans would love to be on good terms with Cupid right now." -Vogue

For around the first ten years or so of childhood, I actually liked Valentine's Day. Nobody gave a crap about that romantic stuff really- it was an excuse to get and give cards and candy and have a party in grade school. Any excuse for a party and candy was fine by me, but what I really liked about the day was that it was inclusive, for the most part. Even MY nerdish self managed to come home with a pile of cards. Everyone celebrated in a general way, not a whole lotta dissing of people (not in my recollection, anyway), and sugar highs. Like Halloween minus the walking and costumes. It may have been a pain in the ass for the parents, but hey, at least people don't feel left out.

That was about the last time I liked the holiday.

The middle school years were when people started having "boyfriends" and teachers stopped having parties beyond "hey, here's some Hershey Kisses for y'all." The chosen few perhaps got something (depending on the flakiness level of your middle school boy), but I don't remember ever seeing anyone get presents. I wasn't totally cynical yet somehow, despite having no romantic prospects beyond the absolute worst, dumbest and most annoying nerds (that's not an exaggeration) on my horizon. I still wore red and heart jewelry to school and things like that, but it just wasn't fun any more. It was just another day of the year. Whoopety doo.

Ah, the high school years. The years when people pass out stupid automated quizzes for everyone to fill out so they can find their perfect match and the questions are along the lines of "What kind of shoes do you like to wear?" The years where the cheerleaders carried around bouquets and balloons. The years where I started wearing black to school every Feb. 14 and started resenting how I spent those evenings going out to dinner with my parents instead of with anyone around my age. The years where I felt embarrassed to leave the house on Feb. 14 unless we were going to a fairly deserted restaurant in another town. That's when the bitterness kicked in.

The true pissiness about the day really kicked in during college, also known as the "adult" years where everyone's got someone, or so it seems. I continued to wear black and wear my BITE ME earrings and hide in my room as much as possible for those 24 hours. Alas, I had to leave to go to classes and work, where my boss's husband sent her enormous bouquets and a barbershop quartet.

I felt like I never won. If I wasn't with someone, I felt like an automatic, unwanted loser for those hours, bereft of all the ostentatious public trimmings that indicated that somebody loved you that wasn't your mommy, nothing better to do than sit at home. I would have loved to have had some kind of bitter anti-VD party, but my friends managed to have dates instead. I know some people champion sending Valentines to friends and family, and that's a nice idea, but it somehow never worked for me. I could never block out of my head after adolescence that VD was for adults in love with each other, not for everyone. In short, every gripy, bad stereotype of the day, I was it.

It didn't help much that even on the rare occasions when I was dating someone at the time, I still couldn't get a date for the day. One boy had to cancel on me because he got called into work (never date someone in the restaurant biz in February), another had to spend the weekend at a conference that I couldn't go along to. With that one, we "celebrated" the day about four days later, but it didn't work somehow. I still felt all left out and cranky because nothing happened on The Day.

This month's been a surprise, as you know. In January I was feeling my usual cranky pissy bitchy "oh GOD, I have to deal with THAT again and feel like a losah" self, with the one good thing to look forward to being that I wouldn't have to hear the barbershop quartet again this year, and presumably with no job, I could skip leaving the house entirely. Maybe I'd just go hide out at the parents' for a week instead. I didn't even really want a boyfriend this year, I wanted to avoid the issue. Then well, Stuff Happened.

On the surface, things are gonna be much the same as other years. Still got no date for the day, can't be managed. The boy lives out of town and I have work Thursday and Friday. No gushy trappings for me to haul around and show off to people, no reason to get dressed up and go out to dinner. Same old, same old.

But this year? Not even bothered at all by that. No whining Jen wanting presents and money spent on her so she can fit in with the rest of her generation. Presents? Dinner? I truly don't give a damn any more. If he doesn't get me anything, I am totally okay with that. He's enough, you know? Even if he isn't here on the day, it's all enough. It's just another day. And all those red bears and hearts and whatnot look so damn tacky and obvious anyway.

It's different from the previous fellows. With the first one, it was all "Oh my god, there's somebody out there who's actually similar to me, this must be The One," and total surprise about it. (I don't know a whole lotta people who are similar to me. Most of my friends are pretty opposite.) With the second, it was more like a whole lotta intrigue and amusement, followed by a whopping case of pedestalism. This time, it's natural. Like breathing. I'm happy, but I'm not insane or something equally PITA to deal with. Wow. Who woulda thunk it?

Harry: I feel like I'm growing.

Kid: You finish yet?

Harry: Hey I got a whole stack of quarters and I was here first.

Kid: Were not.

Harry: Was too.

Kid: Were not!

Harry: Was too!

Kid: Big jerk!

Harry: Little creep! (To Jess) Where was I?

Jess: You were growing.

--When Harry Met Sally.

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