This Valentine's Day Give Her Herpes... It'll Last Forever.

Joyce Brothers once said, "No matter how love sick a woman is, she shouldn't take the first pill that comes along." This couldn't be proven to be more true on Valentine's Day. How many valentines have you gone through in your life? I know I've been through a few. All a guy needs to do is give you flowers, take you to dinner, and tell you that you're beautiful. Sounds pretty simple, right? Wrong. For some reason, it never turns out this way--at least for me. Since the dawn of my dating career, I have been doomed to have the worst valentines ever.

I had my first real valentine when I was 15-years-old. At this point, I wasn't sure if I was allowed to date, so I kept it a secret and for the most part it was a relationship of convenience. He was old enough to pick me up from school and I didn't like taking the rape van my high school called a bus home, so I stuck it out for a little bit (And by "a little bit" I mean five years! WOOF!). Anyways, I ended up sneaking my much older boyfriend into my house after school when no one was home. We exchanged presents. He got me some sort of stuffed animal and a flower and I stole some visor from the mall (I really didn't care to spend money on him). Blah blah blah. My mother came home early from work and it got awkward. Knowing she wouldn't approve of my male guest, I had to think fast. My best idea at the time: he had to escape through my window. Throughout my high school career, I would become infamous for this. So much so that my mother found it necessary to rearrange my room in way that prevented me from accessing my window.

This is bad, but it gets worse...

Freshman year of college, I found out I had to get all four of my wisdom teeth out. My mother decides to schedule my oral surgery the morning of Valentine's Day. Groggy from the anesthesia, I felt like I was drunk/roofied for the majority of the day. Since my face was all swollen and my mouth was numb my mom decided that I be bedridden. My date that evening shows up and I'm still in my pajamas. He obviously couldn't take me out so we stayed at my parent's house, which was weird because hated him since, they found him under my bed a few times. I spent the rest of the evening watching The Notebook with Ramen noodles dribbling off my face and onto my Justin Timberlake t-shirt.

Kind of embarrassing, but given the circumstance... still really awkward.

Sophomore year, I started seeing a sophisticated upperclassmen while I was still technically dating my aforementioned boyfriend. He had recently moved to Florida, and I didn't want to make it work. I decided to tell him that I wanted to break on up with him the night before Valentine's Day. Relieved and thought to be in the clear, I finalized plans with the new boy for the big day and went to bed without a care in the world. Early the very next morning, I am bombarded with text messages from my ex-boyfriend telling me he is on his way to my dorm. Remember, how I said that he had recently moved to Florida? Yeah, I went to Loyola University in Chicago. He decided to take the first flight out of Florida and surprise me at my dorm. I know what your thinking and no, it was not romantic.

After grabbing all of my things, I staked out at my friends house across campus all morning and spent most of my day in class downtown without being seen. My ex-boyfriend spent the day in the lobby of my dorm from about 8 AM to 6 PM. He texted and called me all day crying and wanting to fix things. I remember him refusing to leave until he saw me in person so I could at least accept the flowers he got me. Since I didn't want to see him and had to get ready for my date, I had one of my G.P. (gay posse) go down there, get the flowers and kick him out. (Thank God for the gays.) Thankfully, he left and I made it back to my dorm just in time to get ready for my date.

Luckily, my regularly bitchy roommate was understanding/had a date with her one-eared man friend (a story for another time) and left our room so I could be alone with my date. He was a little put off by all the flowers in my room (my roommate and I also got some from my G.P. and some of our girlfriends). I told him everything that happened that day and he was really sweet about it. He also got me flowers (yes, they were nicer than what my ex had gotten me) and had a message written in binary code (Shut up! He was Computer Science major!), which I had to translate into English since he had it written in Tagalog. The note said: Will you be mine? (Aww.) It would've all been super sweet, but I was put off when he decided he told me he still had his "flower". Things got weird. We only dated for a few more weeks.

It was a pretty hectic day.

Going into Valentine's Day my junior year, I had an amazing boyfriend (at least I thought so at the time). He was much older than all of my other boyfriends and we had so much fun together. Blindly, I thought that this was it. I was wrong--so very, very wrong. (I'll probably explain why in a future post.) Anyways, he decides to tell me that he doesn't believe in giving a girl flowers or candy on Valentine's Day and for some reason, I accepted that. Instead, he booked a room at the Drake for us. I thought this was great since I had never been there before.

We get to the hotel and I thought it was fabulous. Everything was very rococo and old fashioned. I just wanted to relax in our fancy room. He didn't, but obliged and decided to eat some of the chocolate I got him. This guy was a choco-holic to the extreme, which is fine, except that chocolate made him gassy--and not just a little gassy. When this guy farted, it smelled like he had a dead skunk inside of him and its remnants came out of his ass through a rotten onion and poopy baby diaper scented air diffuser. Now that you have way too much information about that, I was taking a nap and he wanted to wake me up because he was bored. Now, there was a number of ways he could have woken me up, but he decided to wake me up by putting his hairy pasty ass in my face and farting.

The stench that came out of him was so wretched that I started tearing as soon as it hit my face. I screamed and pushed him away from me. He thought it was hilarious and I wanted to kill him. I was livid. I had to take a shower in order to feel clean again. The rest of our stay was awkward since I would not speak to him. Worst. Valentine's. Day. Ever.

Needless to say, this was bad, real bad, Michael Jackson.

Hearts, flowers, candy, and a baby shooting you in the ass so you fall in love? Poor marketing and an endorsement for child labor? That's all you got, Valentine's Day? To be honest, I'm not impressed. None of that truly embodies the actual chaos that ensues on this stupid day where you are obliged to celebrate this stupid thing we call "love".

On that note, Happy Valentine's Day! :)

Holy Missing Batman.

Loose Skin & Old Balls... Gross!

If you're like me, going to the gym can be somewhat of a drag. After a long day at the office, the abundance of caffeine that you had throughout the day is making you crash and burn. (Womp. Womp.) The last thing on your mind is working out. In most cases, you just want to have a drink at the bar and some chicken wings. No big. Let me tell you guys, that is not the answer. Your answer is at the gym. Trust me. Look passed the treadmills and the douchey personal trainers. Go beyond the weight room and the awkward men in spandex. Enter the locker room. In there and only in there, will you find the ultimate motivation: big sweaty naked old people.

Strange, I know, but true. Nothing makes me want to work out more than seeing a locker room full of awkward naked people because they are exactly what I don't want to look like au natural. It's awesome that old people work out, don't get me wrong. They have to get their blood pumping somehow since I'm not willing to accept the fact that they are, you know, "active" in the biblical sense. In fact, I say, more power to them. Live long and prosper or whatever it is you say to old people who are preventing dying at a reasonable age. I'm glad that they have such a positive body image and feel the need to flaunt it. I'm not glad that these awkward naked people feel the need to just hang out... well, awkwardly, while everyone is getting dressed. And if you noticed, these nudists are 40-years-old and beyond. Everyone younger than that is rushing in and out of the locker room and staring at the floor while these blue hairs are having tea. Saggy full frontal tea. (Yes, I hope you vomited in your mouth a little thinking about that because I did.)

I don't know what it's like in the men's locker room, but in the women's, there are big old naked ladies either doing their make up in all their glory or standing underneath the dryer to punish all the young people who have this image emblazoned on their retina for the rest of their lives. (Cringe.) These naked folk are always old and always big. There is a lot of floppiness and poor personal grooming. Things are saggy where they aren't supposed to be. And you realize that gravity is not... well, you realize how gravity can be an evil, evil bitch. 

If the sight of old naked people, literally, flopping around doesn't make you want to fix your own situation and prevent what is to come, I'm sure it will help you develop an eating disorder. You have my guarantee. (Thumbs up.)