Great Tips for a Romantic Valentine’s Day

Or not. If you think you have had your Valentine’s Day ruined by a bad date, a flakey boyfriend who failed to fulfill your every wish and dream on the most romantic day of the year, or just a few glasses of wine too many, you are wrong. I win this one. Allow me to explain.

It all began when my uber-ex (as I like to call him) and I were drinking in his dorm freshman year. You know this is going somewhere classy just from the intro right? So as I was saying, we are drinking and scampering back and forth between people’s rooms, because we are freshman and the whole hall is community property.

Eventually the witching hour of 12 am rolls around and I am out (it should be noted, nothing has changed. I still pass out this early). Unbeknownst to me- as I was pretty drunk- uber-ex continues drinking for several more hours.

Around what I imagine to be 3 or 4 am he crawls into the tiny dorm room bed with me and passes out. Back to sleep for me…..until a few hours later- 8 am let’s say- when uber-ex rolls out of bed and starts ambling toward his desk.

Now let’s pause to give a bit of circumstance. This being February, it’s pretty cold out. So I have worn my ski jacket to walk over to uber-ex’s dorm. I place it over the back of his desk chair upon arrival as usual and don’t think about it for the rest of the night.

Back to 8 am. Uber-ex is clearly still drunk, I can tell by the way he’s walking. So he lumbers over toward the desk, which I find odd because the door to the hall (and thus the restroom, water fountain ect.) is the other way. I’m still a little tipsy and feeling less than ideal so I drop my head back against the pillow and start to doze off again when I realize there’s a very strange sound coming from the desk area. It sounds like dripping or….running water. I bolt upright practically shouting “Uber-ex. What the eff are you doing?”

Yes, that’s right, he’s peeing…on my jacket...my $200, brand new ski jacket. Honestly, I don’t think he’s even aware of himself at this point. He finishes relieving himself and stumbles back over to the bed. Horrified, I slap him across the face, let out a string of obscenities and go over to investigate the damage. It’s not a pretty site. By now he is awake and whimpering something along the lines of “What the…but what did I do?” The only logical thing to do is take revenge.

Without another word (and making sure to slam the door behind me) I take his wallet, car keys, a trash bag (to carry the now toxic ski jacket) and head to the dry cleaners where I drop off the jacket….along with a few other things I have been meaning to dry clean. Explaining the situation is humiliating but it must be done. I ask them to clean the coat twice for good measure. Alas, its only $80 but for the next 2 years of our relationship I bring this story up every time we get close to Valentine’s Day. It helps me have a more enjoyable and romantic holiday. I can’t say whether it did him any good or not.

So next year, when your boyfriend doesn’t take you to Del Posto or only gets you 2 new bra and panties sets at Victoria’s Secret, just think of young Stressed shivering in her boyfriend’s car on the way to the dry cleaners on Valentine’s Day morning and be grateful you have never endured such humiliation. You may canonize me now.

Cruel Intentions

Here we go again. This one has been a long time coming but I didn’t feel ready to write about it until just recently when a (somewhat) similar incident occurred just a few days ago, though on a less devastating scale.

This tale begins as they all do, I’m at a bar with my friends…and there’s a boy…and we are flirting. Ok, now that we’ve gotten through the obvious parts of this scenario lets discuss details. This person, hereafter referred to as the Defendant was the total opposite of anything I ever thought I could be attached to. He was in the army, he had been to Iraq, he had tattoos (on his ass!), he was wickedly conservative, and-of course- he was Catholic. If this isn’t a disaster waiting to happen I don’t know what is.

Anyway, we started hooking up right away…perhaps too quickly. But we were spending a good bit of time together. Probably 2-3 times a week we would hang out, drink, I’d stay out later than I wanted to too and roll into work around 10 the next day after running home to change my clothes. You see where I’m going with that right?

Before going on can we just pause to describe the Defendant’s room because I found it truly alien and extraordinarily bizarre. If you ever hook up with this guy, you will know it! The room sort of looked like it could have been a shrine to Sarah Palin. There, on the wall over the bed, was a framed canvas painting of George Washington, the founder of our great nation. As you looked around you could see the army medals, platoon flags, and – oh yeah- the mandatory giant American flag. Why oh why didn’t I run when I had the chance. (It should be noted that I am a rabid liberal who went to Quaker school, friend.)

But before you know it a month or so of seeing one another has passed, though I feel like I have been a little more aggressive about hanging out than he has…but oh well, this is the 21st century is it not? One night he’s showing me his yearbook – no idea how that came up - and he mentions that he’s going to this Army ball (I know, what the eff am I getting in to?!?!?) and I don’t know if I invited myself or if he thought of it all on his own, all I know is that a really awkward conversation takes place and about 30 seconds later I am committed to going to an Army ball in 4 days.

Fist though: What am I going to wear. Second thought: Will I be bayoneted through the gut when I refuse to place my hear over my heart and say “under God”? Panic ensues. I buy a dress that costs way more than I’d like to admit. It’s a prom dress/ bridesmaid dress from Macy’s. In excellent taste if I do say so myself. It’s long and has a white top (empire waste) with a nice satiny flowing black bottom. I love it!

As if buying a ball gown wasn’t enough, I’m now getting my hair done. My hairdresser verbally abuses me for having hideous hair (thanks lady!) and now I have an updo. I start to feel foolish, like I look as if I’m getting married. Oh well, too late.

We go to this event and its sort of a weird experience. Boozing and sitting at the table with the future army wives of America does not help me cope. Then comes a series of awards and so on…and then we all join in a rousing round of “God Bless the USA” or something like that. I mumble along as best I can. But overall, I think I’ve made my point. I look hot, I meet people I essentially consider to be his co-workers and bosses, we hold hands like a real couple. We are good, maybe great.

More drinking after the event ends. I am introduced to a bunch of friends and I feel like we are all getting along great. One girl even tells me “You and the Defendant are such a great match.” Good job Stressed, you are making inroads in the fight against singledom. The night ends on a good note and the next day the Defendant gets up early to go to work. We say goodbye and I say I’ll make something good for dinner if he comes over to eat it. He agrees.

And we all live happily ever after…

Wait what!??!? No, no, no. That’s not the end at all. If it were, do you think I’d be writing this? So he can’t come to dinner. Shit happens, fine. Then I don’t hear from him for a week. Not fine. So I text him. He’s minimally responsive and after I while I start freaking out and over-doing it. Then one night the following week my friend gets her hands on my phone after a discussion about the Defendant and sends him a message saying (and I can only guess at this) “Hey, if you don’t want to talk to me again you could at least let me know. I’m assuming you don’t want to hear from me anymore.” I am drunkenly complicit but even as it happens I know its a terrible idea. My thoughts the next day: ‘Life over…humiliation complete… I lose.’ Of course, he didn’t not respond to this message. How can I reconcile this situation?

Oh I know. Genius Stressed will send a new text explaining. “Sorry for the crazy friend. Long story but I hope we can hang out soon and I will explain.” No response. Effing great. I’m pretty confident by know that these texts have made it up on some embarrassing blog (I’m a hypocrite go ahead and say it) and all of New York now knows me as the “Mad Texter” or something like that. A few weeks go by and I come to realize that he has been seeing another girl and that’s why he dropped off the face of the earth (Eff you Facebook! I mean it! You ruin lives!)

Anyway, that’s pretty much where the story ends. The moral? My friends are crazy bitches, army boy are assholes, and I’m prettier than some other girl that’s probably getting laid riiiighhht…NOW! Whatever, I returned the dress (I know it’s unethical but it helped reduce the financial sting of this affair) and got a nice haircut a few days later. I think this is something on which I will forever look back with some amusement, more wisdom and a dash of consternation!

UPDATE: About 6 weeks after we stopped talking, the Defendant ended up getting engaged to this other girl, who it seemed clear he had been engaged to before he went to Iraq.  Gotta love being 'the other woman.'