Valentine's 2008

Going from experience of Valentine's Day pasts, I knew not to get my hopes up this year. No, no best male friend of mine was going to suddenly tell me he's been in love with me for years. No ex boyfriend was going to return and say what a big misstake he's made for leaving me and that he's been beating himself up ever since. No secret crush was going to send me flowers to my place of work (yeah, I called to check: Um, hi, this is Nina, I freelance there a few days a week. Yeah...um, by any chance are there any flowers on my desk? No? Are you sure? Oh, ok then. Thanks).

Last year, my boyfriend had broken up with me just days before Vday. K, my wonderful partner in crime since grade school, came to my rescue since she was in a long-distance relationship and her man was on another coast. We got silly wine drunkey at 10th and Willow- a bar on the corner- then graduated to being shit-faced spinsters on Vday. Yup- we were those typical girls who sat next to 3 empty bottles of wine, alternating between laughing and crying- over a candlelit dinner. At least I wasn't wearing black, for once.

The year before that I was waitressing at a Thai Restaurant. At the time it looked like the job was going to turn into a career (yes, it was a very sad time)- and the other waitress, the daughter of the owner, was screwing up the table rotation, leaving me with fewer tables, and therefore fewer tips- my sole income. I unleashed on her. It went as so: "What the fuck do you think I'm working on Valentine's Day for? Just because I like serving shitty food to nauseatingly happy couples?! I just have this stupid fucking soft spot for this day and love cleaning up stupid wrapping paper, card envelopes, and rose petals from the tables?! I came here to make some goddman money you stupid whore! If you had any brains at all, which it doesn't exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out how to rotate tables between 3 waitresses, you'd realize that you're absolutely fucking me over!" You would think that got all my aggression out but it didn't so I went home and unleashed on my at the time boyfriend and then sobbed for the rest of the night. Obviously, blaming her for ruining my Vday.

The year before that I thought I'd be a good daughter for once. My mom was throwing her annual Valentine's party where all the guests have to wear red and since I could not come up with any alternate plans (i.e. no one asked me out) I decided to attend her party, knowing it would mean a lot to her. I wore black because I couldn't fully let her think I was going to follow all the rules- I needed the upper hand. To make a long story short, the night consisted of many Thai ladies, a disco ball, strobe lights, karaoke, bad dancing, lots of cackling, everyone asking me where my boyfriend was, and me sitting next to the senile husband of a mail order bride who was spitting up on himself. No amount of red wine could make me find the humor in that night. Read: total fucking nightmare.

The year before that I was a senior at Rutgers, single and rebounding (not a good combination), still absolutely heartbroken over a boyfriend who dumped me 5 months earlier, on the first day of classes (I didn't go- for 2 weeks). The girls at 65 Easton Ave a.k.a. the Female Frat House a.k.a Swine Pen decided to throw our first ever Singles Party with kegs and cupcakes. A sign on our door read, "Here's to being single, seeing double, and sleeping triple." Another, tacked on later by a smug guest, read "Welcome to the Gang Bang." We made kitchy nametags for everyone with names like "Meet me upstairs" and "Your bed or mine?" etc etc. Those pesty stickers could still be found on our walls and ceilings the day we moved out. One day, months later, someone sitting behind me in class had to pull a name tag stuck to the butt of my sweatpants that read "I love it in the ass." Classy moment. All in all, beer was drank, furniture was danced on, cupcake frosting was smeared all over, and we lived up to our reputation for throwing the best parties, even if some people still refer to us by the name on our tags.

This year, I find myself single yet again. Oh no big deal. Really. I was going to be making money at the bar, an underground hole where I don't have to see delivery men walking by with flowers for everyone but me, and I could still wear black without looking like those girls who are protesting the Hallmark Holiday by brooding or sending flowers to themselves. I got off work at 6pm, and my friend K who's home from LA came to see me at the bar. She's still with her man, and though they're no longer long distance, he was working last night. So lucky me, once again, I get to spend Vday, catching up with my best friend. Lots of talking and catching up, and 3 glasses (not bottles)of wine later, we get on the topic of past boyfriends, and go into giggle fits about some of the embarrassingly awful ones, reminding each other of the ones we've repressed in our memories. This got me to get up and get paper feed from the bar printer, borrow a pen from the bartender, and make a long (double sided) list of all the guys I've ever dated. We got so into this, scribbling away and cracking up, that were didn't even notice all the curious stares from all around as we wracked our brains tallying up these names. The lady next to us (a fellow spinster) finally had to ask what we were doing and when were told her she laughed, wrinkled her forehead, and then she too declared she was going to make a list. Finally, when we were slowing down a bit, the names no longer flying out of our mouths and onto the paper, we stopped, completely stumped. The number was high in the double digits but K was certain there were more. And then the bright idea dawned on us. Our friend C, whom we tormented the summer after we graduated college, because we found ourselves unemployed with no responsibilites and free to binge drink 7 days a week while she began a full time job at a big finance firm the day after she graduated, and we felt the dire need to call her every night, typically in the am hours, to tell her how much we love her, or to tell her a funny story, or to belt songs to her that the band was playing. Well it dawned on us, since she's also a wonderful friend who keeps tabs on all of us, "C would know!" And so, on Valentine's day, around 9pm- prime romantic dinner time- the message went as so:

(shouting) "Oh hey C! You're probably having a nice wonderful romantic dinner with your man. Hope you're having fun! (yelled in the background) But we were just wondering- do you remember all the people Nina has dated and/or slept with? We're making a list....a looooooooong list, at the bar, and we just wanted to make sure we didn't miss anyone. Happy Valentines day! Love you!!!!"

Looking at this list, 20 inches long (front and back) and full of memories, good and bad, I can't think of how lucky I am- to have lived, to be single, and most importantly to have amazing friends like K to share laughs with over multiple glasses of wine.