Bitter

Have I mentioned lately that I hate February? Because I do. So much so that it causes me physical pain on occasion (and it’s not just the freezing rain). It’s always cold, wet, and dreary. Classes become a huge drag and midterms appear out of nowhere to suck the life out of me, like a large life-sucking machine. And I always get sick for at four days somewhere around the 21st. But no other occasion in this hateful month causes me more pain than everyone else’s favorite day: Feb. 14th, the dreaded V-day.

Every year the stores take on that tell-tale pink-and-red hue and I start to die a little inside. Soon, there are hearts everywhere, the jewelry stores kick the advertising into overdrive (“Buy her a ring or she’ll dump your sorry ass, you miscreant.”), and chocolate prices skyrocket. Meanwhile, I slowly develop a new ulcer and up my stockholding in Rolaids. Before you know it, the little themes of love are everywhere: hanging from the ceiling in the student center and The Market, on my RA’s door (“Give us money and we’ll give your special someone a painful, artificially flavored beverage that tastes suspiciously like goat urine!”), and even in the law library (In the form of heart shaped comment cards. Sigh.)

I’m not really sure why I hate the day so much. Do I really begrudge my fellow human beings one day of the year in which to honor their loved ones with a romantic gesture and/or a tastefully written Hallmark card? In a single word: Yes. I have apparently been in training to be a bitter old man for the last 4 years of my life. Soon you will see me in my room grumbling about the damn kids with their damn loud music and their damn lack of respect for common decency, dammit.

Crap, I already do that. Apparently, I am that bitter old man.

Moving on.

It’s not that I hate hearts, or people in love. I don’t long for Cupid’s head on a pike. It’s not the gross commercialism that pervades the very essence of Valentine’s Day (right there on par with Christmas and Arbor Day as most media-saturated yearly event that does not involve Janet Jackson’s breast) It’s not even the fact that I’m currently alone (in true bitter-old-man style). I didn’t liked it when I was all relationship-y and the hate endures through the single life too.

Hmm, suddenly I’m at a loss for an actual reason for the focused hatred. I fear for the cohesiveness of the column.

Wait, I got something. I just hate the message it sends. You’re not complete if you aren’t with someone. Instead of the normal pressure to pair up (the desire not to be alone at the key times in your life: the major holidays, your eventual death, and the first time you beat level 25 of Tetris) you get the pressure that you’re missing out on the fundamental driving force behind life, happiness, and capitalism. Which could arguably be true, but it’s not like it’s a do-it-now-or-die-alone situation. I’ve got lots of time to decide what I want to do, who I want to be with and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let the greeting card industry guilt me into something just so they can continue their quest to encapsulate every possible human emotion into a pithy quotation that fits into a 5×6 envelope.(For the loss of a beloved pet on Valentine’s Day: Unlike your cat, my love for you will never die…)

So in conclusion, screw Valentine’s Day.

And on a completely unrelated note, I’ve started my Significant Other Search of 2004 (still cleverly nicknamed SOS2004). The ad:

WM, 22, 5'9’', 148 lb, blue eyes, blondish hair, very quiet, occasionally witty, not too bright, sarcastic (although-no-one-can-tell), and less than graceful seeks someone who: recognizes the majesty of the beaver, the brilliance of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the savory nature of Dr Pepper. Must be okay with my eccentric geekiness, my LotR addiction, like to dance, and have a healthy sense of humor. Winos, derelicts, and lawyers need not apply. Actually, scratch the last sentence. Go ahead and apply. There’s no time like the present.