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But I'M NOT BITTER...
The Goddess of battle, strife, and destruction explains it all for you

Valentine's Day? - Bah!

by

February 6, 2009

Iíve always hated Valentineís Day.Even when I was a little girl and all the other little girls were planning their weddings, Iíd be off picking fights with the boys somewhere.But how the other girls would swoon when the 14th rolled around.I donít remember ever doing that.Or planning a wedding, for that matter.My entire wedding Ė including dress and reception Ė cost $300.None of this white dress nonsense:I got married in the courthouse, right beside bail court.

At the time, the irony of that escaped me.

I donít remember ever getting a valentineís card either.To this day, my dad sends me one which he signs (in his very distinctive handwriting) ďwith love from your secret admirerĒ.It gave him such a pang to see me left out all those years ago that he started this little tradition and heís been at it forever.(How sweet is that though, eh?)

But bah, I still hate it.Not because I still donít get any valentines but because itís contrived and artificial (AND I donít get any valentines).Plus, more than any other day, it reminds me of the trolls and losers that litter the landscape of my romantic past.

Before we begin, everybody check this out:http://sorry-mom.com/

Itís one of my new favourite sites.And letís be honest girls:we could ALL post a few up there, couldnít we?

Along with Ginger (author of the "Diary of a FreakMagnet" blog), I am an absolute magnet for freaks and losers.I never stoop to banging Ďem because there are depthsto which I will not sink no matter how much alcohol you pour down my throat, but they tend to fall in love with me.I donít know what it is.My friend Christine calls it "my special gift".And what a gift it is.

Where do I begin?

How about with the guy I was supposed to marry and was perfectly prepared to do (while I was still in my teens) just to get out from under my motherís thumb?Yeah.Never laid a finger on me but it wasnít until he ran off with the best man two weeks before the wedding that I finally realized it wasnít just respect and Catholic boy restraint that was keeping him from mauling me.

As a consolation prize, he seems to have sprinkled me with fairy dust before he flitted off, as Iíve been attracting closeted gay men ever since.Itís astonishing.Nearly my entire romantic history is FILLED with men who have absolutely no interest whatsoever in having sex with me.††† Iím still not entirely convinced that this isnít just a big conspiracy cooked up by the nuns and my mother.I ainít lyiní:I couldnít get laid in Millhaven.

OK, so thatís a bit of an exaggeration.I attract straight men too, but theyíve all got wives, substance abuse problems and/or mental health issues.Itís a bit of a mixed bag.These are not men with whom it would be wise to become carnally involved, lest I find myself being throttled by a jealous wife or wake up with my hands duct taped behind me in the trunk of some car.

Itís brutal.I donít know what it is, but if thereís a loser within 100 miles, heíll hone in on me as if I were emitting a GPS signal.

Liars like me too, probably because Iím so gullible.The obviously psychotic are similarly besotted but likely only because they sense that Iím a kindred spirit.

Just in case youíre losing the thread, the following types appear to populate my dating pool: (a) gay men (b) married men (c) losers (which in my world includes anyone "recovering" from anything like alcoholism, drug addiction or Catholicism) (d) hardened criminals (e) drunks (f) guys who look like they may have fleas (g) liars (h) guys who arenít even subtle about talking to my breasts or (i) any combination of the above.

God, this is just depressing.I may as well just officially call it quits right this second and go out and get myself the biggest frigginí vibrator I can find.One that plugs into the outlet for the dryer.Love has no pride, and I suppose thatís doubly true for self-love and since thatís all Iíve been getting since Christ was a cowboy, I might just splurge and get myself a back up generator in case I incinerate the power grid.

I havenít quite reached that point yet, but weíre getting close.Awfully close.The Marathon of Hope continues quite unabated and itís been pretty grueling this time around.When you start hearing news reports of inexplicable rolling brownouts throughout Ontario, youíll know.Yeah.Thatíll be me, finally throwing in the towel and firing that sucker up.And once you start down that path, itís a slippery slope.Iím already risking my immortal soul as it is - Iím Catholic.†† Self abuse has all sorts of nasty consequences for us.

It should be entirely obvious by now why I write under a pseudonym but if I bow to the inevitable and, say, respond to the spam I just got advertising something called "the Jack Rabbit vibrator" , Iíll be easy enough to spot.Iíll be the blind one with the really hairy palms.

And just as an aside, what is it with vibrator manufacturers and bunnies? To whom are they marketing these devices?Surely to God youíd think theyíd sell more of the things if they stopped naming them after rodents.

Think about it: if youíre desperate enough to have to resort to a machine, youíve pretty much admitted to yourself that youíve hit the wall.That being the case, who strikes you as being more likely to show you an electronic good time - Peter Cottontail or Secretariat?

Sadly, my budget will not stretch to a battery operated boyfriend but by the same token, Iím not spending anything on manicures either.

Yes, itís a sad, lonely pastime (especially when performed in your motherís house) but itís all Iíve got.

Till next time,

 

M.

PS.Happy anti-valentineís day!

 



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