Day One-Hundred-and-Seven: I’ve made my peace with Valentines Day

Image

Nothing says romance like a teddy riding a Hummer

My drive to the spice shop today (because you know, nothing says ‘I love you’ like chilli) took me past a florist. It was the usual thing. Nobody really notices there’s a florist there until it’s Valentines Day. Then you can’t get at that place for love or money (or love and money, as it were). And these guys were theming it hard. Apart from the fantastic signage pictured above, they had red streamers hanging from the awnings, teddy bears in the window, balloons-a-plenty, and a big sign reminding everyone who hadn’t yet realised that it is ‘Valentines Day! Roses $40208325805 a dozen!’

Ok, so maybe the roses weren’t that expensive, but when you can use hyperbole if not on V-Day? I love you so much I wanna punch a kitten in the face!

It’s one of those occasions where ordinarily-carefree men scramble in desperation to find a gift that says, “I love you. Like, more than usual. But this ain’t no birthday/anniversary”, and ordinarily-tough women turn to mush over a pink stuffed animal.

Yeah, I’ve always had a problem with Valentines Day.

When I was sixteen, I formed a club with one of my best friends. We called it ‘Fuck Love’. Pretty succinct. It had its own Myspace and everything. I don’t think either of us had really given up on the idea of love, but we were the two singletons in our group of four, and it made days like V-Day a bit more bearable. We’d listen to our friends describe their (what I realise now were totally juvenile, high-school) relationships and roll our eyes at each other over the table. “Fuck love,” we’d chant when the stories got too much.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the idea of celebrating love. I love love. It’s the best. Now that I’m in it, I can’t imagine life without it (lame lame lame). It’s just the expectations and pressure that this one day seems to put on people.

It’s a make-or-break day for relationships new and old. First V-Day together? Be afraid. You wanna get this right. But not go so far that your partner expects similar or grander things every year. Don’t use the diamond ring card, for example, unless you have a shit-ton of money and your girl/guy doesn’t feel that bending her/his fingers is particularly necessary (if you’re really that rich, it probably isn’t).

Those in longer-term partnerships might be starting to get into the comfortable stage (which I don’t subscribe to really – yes, I’m comfortable, but I also still want to jump your bones), and will see V-Day as some kind of chance to reinvigorate their passion. Or something. Either you both forget (we did until yesterday), one of you goes to more effort than the other, or the pressure to be romantic is so great you give yourself stomach ulcers.

There’s another option, of course: Use the day as a reminder to do romantic things, catch up with friends/family, and just appreciate your relationships a little more. Don’t put your partner in the doghouse if they don’t tell you they love you on Valentines Day; put them there if they don’t tell you every day. If you want to take your partner out to dinner, and send roses to them at work, that’s also fine. But do it because you want to, not because you have to. Put some thought into what little thing will say, “Hey, you there! I love you.”

For me, the little thing will be having a special meal ready for my boyfriend when he gets home from work (hence the trip to the spice shop). It’s picking up some things we need and grabbing a treat to share with him later. It’s spending time chatting and giggling and kissing. (Not to gross you out, but we’re that kissing couple. One of my friends timed us once, and said in a social situation it was roughly every thirty seconds that our faces drifted towards one another.)

So, to the guy I saw walking out of the florist carrying a bunch of roses and a look of sheer panic, chill out dude. Give her the roses, tell her you love her, and then bust out that copy of season four of Game of Thrones that you somehow managed to illegally obtain and had to kill, like, six armed guards to get (hint hint).

 

All my love,

Image

TB

Advertisements

Day Forty-Nine: Six things that suck about Christmas

I can’t imagine that I’m the only person who looked at the calendar today and thought, “Oh shit, it’s a week ’til Christmas!” The holiday season isn’t exactly the most relaxing time of year (unless you’re smart like my family, and you escape it all to go on an actual holiday). I can certainly see the good side of Christmas–giving, eating, spending time with loved ones–but there are just as many parts that make me want to… well, you can read for yourself:

 

ImageWhat it is: Christmas shopping.

What it feels like: Supervising a candy convention for toddlers.

What it makes me want to do: Assume the foetal position in the centre of Target and hope that everything just sorts itself out.

What I would rather do: Give my friends and family each a $50 budget (and they can do the same for me) to spend on whatever they actually want. They can even wrap it and write that it’s from me if they can’t let go of the whole ‘opening presents on Christmas day’ thing. Essentially we’d just be buying ourselves an awesome present with our own money, instead of wasting it on buying a crap present for a friend. Genius.

 

ImageWhat it is: Listening to celebrity Christmas carols/albums.

What it feels like:  Every pop star in the world participating in a giant circle-jerk.

What it makes me want to do: Release an album of Easter-specific songs and see how they like it.

What I would rather do: Hear a few carols sung live by a decent choir. Also, get the word out that warbling on each note for five seconds and increasing the length of Silent Night to 14 minutes is a total dick move.

 

ImageWhat it is: Putting up a Christmas tree and lights.

What it feels like: Somebody found a way to knot 65 Rubik’s cubes together and threw them in some boxes in the garage.

What it makes me want to do: Bury the items in the yard, and feign confusion when I can’t find them later.

What I would rather do: Print a picture of a tree (any tree) off the internet and put it on the fridge. Actually, that may create a tripping hazard in the kitchen, what with all the useless gifts that will no doubt appear under it. Perhaps I’ll stick it to the TV, to remind myself that Summer programming is not worth my time.

 

ImageWhat it is: Reading thinly-veiled Facebook Christmas booty calls (All I want for Christmassss is youuuuuu! *wink*)

What it feels like: I’m reading an especially whingey entry in your diary.

What it makes me want to do: Steal someone’s loved one and mail them back piece by piece, beautifully wrapped. (That’s a joke, by the way. I’m terrible at wrapping presents.)

What I would rather do: See a whole bunch of posts between song-lyric-posters and their objects of desire that simply read, ‘DTF for xmas?’ So much less cryptic. If they’re embarrassed about airing their lust in a public forum–they shouldn’t be, given that they’re happy to post passive come-hithers to the greater internet–maybe they can try this thing called the phone. Or sexting. The kids are really into that.

 

Image

Not sure if racist…

What it is: Being served a buffet of fruit mince pies and Christmas puddings.

What it feels like: “Here, eat this ancient dried fruit that I’ve stuffed into a brick.”

What it makes me want to do: Stick a fork down my throat ’til I spew, then excuse myself. Alternatively, take a single bite of a fruit mince pie, spew, then excuse myself.

What I would rather do: Gee, I don’t know. How about enjoy all of the fresh fruit that Queensland has to offer at this time of year? While we’re at it, let’s reconsider roasting up a turkey and vegetables in the 40 degree heat, and just stick to some cold meat and salad. It’s so untraditional to celebrate Christmas in a way that actually caters to your climate though, right?

 

ImageWhat it is: Getting a photo with Santa (or watching some kid get a photo with Santa, given that I’m probably beyond my knee-sitting years).

What it feels like: Taking/forcing your small child to nestle into the lap of some dude you’ve never met. (Actually, that should be under ‘What it is’.)

What it makes me want to do: Call the cops and report a strange man in unusual garb inviting children to sit on his knee at the local shopping centre.

What I’d rather do: Not line up for an hour with parents and their shrieking angels only to have the kid in front baulk at the clearly terrifying huge bearded dude up on the throne and burst into tears–so his mother has to pluck him up and deliver him directly to the object of his terror for a gorgeous happy snap that they can send to all of their family and friends. Or, you know, just get one of the males in my family to dress up and take a pic on my phone. (I don’t have kids, by the way, but you just know I’m just going to nail the whole parenthood thing, don’t you?)

 

The best part about Christmas in my family is that our holiday is the present. There’s always the shopping to be done for the ‘in-laws’ and any friends who haven’t already received notice of my ‘let’s just not do this’ policy, but getting away for Christmas and focussing on the three Fs–family, food, and forcing my parents to wash and cook for me again–makes the whole thing a lot easier to deal with.

I’ll leave you with a lovely carol:

Haaaaaaaaaave yourseeeeeeeeelf a merrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyy liiiiiiitle Christmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas…. (Track length: 24:15)

 

TB

Day Forty-One: The graduate (in a totally non-sexual way)

Image

I graduated!

I felt a little ripped off actually, since there wasn’t any hat throwing involved. I did have the good fortune to witness another graduate attempting to get a photo of her throwing her (what I hope was not hired) mortarboard into the air in celebration. Let’s just say that the thing had many close encounters with the ground before they got the shot (or gave up, more likely).

Things that were awesome about this day:

Looking like we were in Harry Potter
Being the centre of attention
Receiving graduation gifts (I didn’t even know that was a thing until my mum started talking about my grad present a couple of months ago–score!)
Listening to the effing huge pipe organ play awesome academic-y songs while people entered the hall
Listening to the effing huge pipe organ play the Star Wars theme when it was our turn to exit the hall
Being bought champagne
Epic Turkish feast post-grad
Being the first of my siblings to graduate from university
That piece of paper that says I’m now qualified to do this writing stuff professionally

Things that were less awesome about this day:

The 34 degree sticky heat
Wearing a thick robe and hood in the 34 degree sticky heat (the air-con inside made this just bearable)
Fumbling to keep on a robe that is one size fits all (where ‘all’ is someone with wider shoulders than most women, and those who are accustomed to shoulder pads from their time in the ’80s)
The heavy mortarboard making me feel like my head was drooping to one side
The tassel on the mortarboard getting stuck in my eye (I kid you not–I flicked my head and blinked at a really bad time; it hurt)
Concentrating so hard on not tripping as I received my parchment that I have no memory of the moment where I actually received my parchment

 

So, here I am: a graduate. Enjoy the following cliched graduation photos that I pilfered from Google:

 

ImageImageImageImage

But mostly just this:

Image

TB