Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Non-Man Mornings and Why Valentine's Day Has Been An Epic Letdown For Me (This Is Not A Man Hating Post But An Entirely Too Elongated Title-Google Will Thank Me)

Whew. Typing that was as painful as reading it. I wonder if it will meet the longest blog post title in history. I am sure it won't win me a Bahamas getaway vacation.

My mornings are usually chaos:  Dogs to potty. Potty myself.  Turn coffee pot on. Tasmanian devil child to wake up. Coffee. Check Facebook and Email. Dogs to potty. Shower. Get ready. Pack lunch. Feed dogs. Coffee. News. Workout bag. Purse. Dogs to poop. Pee pee dance=potty self. Make sure kid is getting ready for school. Pet dogs. Clean up bowls from dog's breakfast. Get mud room ready for dogs. Pet dogs. Coffee for road.

That is just a typical day with no work projects to concern myself with or classes after work. I do all this in an hour, sometimes I allot an hour and a half if I am generous. Usually that depends on how hot the news has been and if there is anything pressing in the world. Sometimes I even try to look nice, so I need that extra half hour. I am not high maintenance like the princess teenager who needs over two hours of primping.

You will notice missing in there is a man. No man. No morning tents or farts or snores or shorts on the floor or toothpaste tubes open on the sink.

Even my dogs sleep quietly. Never would I have a dog with nasal problems like a bulldog or a pug. I think they are cute, just in someone else's house. I have to have silence at night and during nap time. No fan, no TV, no snoring. Ask my husbands (yes, I had two). They would tell you I subconsciously beat them at night like Pavlov's dog when a snore happens. Whack. The reason? My first husband said he wanted me to smack him in the night when he snored and maybe that would cure him. I really thought I was going to be in jail because he snored a lot. I think. If not, I hit him for other reasons. Subconsciously, anyway, and that is what I would tell the judge. Anyway, it became a reflex and the second husband about sent me through the wall. Lesson learned.

Yes, I know. I am fussy. Most definitions associated with "fussy" are words like "picky" or "persnickety" and are negative in connotation. I like to think of myself as selective or quirky.

So, I have had a man or two in my life. Maybe more. I like men. I don't have anything against them.

Disclaimer: If you are not interested in some unusual talk right now, you might want to stop reading. If you like quirky, you might continue on. This topic will move away from my crazy non-man mornings into my view on Valentine's Day.

Back to the Non-Man Morning...

Usually, I depart to work with a "have a nice day" exchanges with my daughter and pets and wags from the dogs. I pet. They wag. Sometimes I like to wag, but they don't pet me. We have wagging contests. It's how I learned how to twerk.

Yep. There is a butt in the air for you. I think she had implants. I do mine with a little more class and perhaps combine a little Elaine Benes: 

Anyway...they are the men in my lives. I love them so.
Who doesn't want to twerk next to Chewbacca?

Today, I got no good-bye greeting from the pups. I walked slowly to the door to the mud room and no butt sniffers. There was a little letdown and emptiness in my heart. I turned to close it part way when I heard a herd (nice play on words, right?) of elephants coming my way...and then a slide...and bam! A red fuzz and a brown fuzz went by me right into the closet door. The two yahoos slid by me just like Tom Cruise in Risky Business minus the clothes (because they are nekkid dogs)watched me watch them go by and slam into the door. They moseyed back to the door and stood facing me, awaiting their pets with wags a wagging. I love my dogs. Of course, I petted them on the head and kissed their butt sniffing faces.

Moving on to the next sorta non-related topic...

Why Is Valentine's Day A Letdown? Let me count the ways. 

All my life, I thought I would have fairy tale days of bliss and romance. I got one Candygram in high school from Shawn Miller but he was just my friend. There was no romance. I had no boyfriends. My friends got a lot of Candygrams from boyfriends and admirers with "I love you" or "Will you be mine?" on them. Mine said: "To: Kathryn -From: Shawn- Happy Valentine's Day." That was it. One. Most years I had the only empty desk when they were delivered. Maybe he felt sorry for me. I don't know. I ate the candy and I was glad to get one of those Russell Stover strawberry cream filled chocolates. It was nice. Yet, there was no spark of Valentine's Day.Once I was on the committee, I delivered them to everyone else, but no one bought one for me. I thought about buying a couple and putting a really mushy gushy sentence on there to make everyone curious, but I did not. Nope. It had to be real. No fake Valentines. My mother had gifts for my brother and I at home. It was very nice. She still carries on the tradition. 

College was really depressing with the dorm aligned with bouquets of flowers and candy for all the girls. Like hundreds of them lined up in the front office by the mail boxes. Fuck you, wanted ones! My heart always longed for the same. I wished I had a secret admirer. I did not. I wished I had a boyfriend. I did not. I had a date once in a while. Usually, they turned out to be schleps and it was "one and done." I always day dreamed of having one of the football players as my boyfriend. They had clout. Or so I thought. And they were handsome. But they grew up to be fat and broke.Yep. Even though I hung around a lot of them, it didn't happen. I was ugly. I was sometimes fat and sometimes skinny. When I was skinny, they still had no interest. I didn't realize until I was older that I needed to be a slut to be with them. Oh, I could have changed my future if I only knew how awesome sex was. I was a virgin until I was 22 years old. I know. I was the last campus hold out. I should have worn a t-shirt with those very words. Very few of the football jocks went out with nice girls. Why? Because they didn't have to.

Actually, I think Cupid was a shitty shot with that bow and arrow. He was no Daryl Dixon. 

So, my dad felt sorry for me. At least I believe so, because I talked to him about men. He told me they just want to get down my pants and a special one would come into my life when I least expected it and I would be blessed with someone who would treat me with respect, love, and kindness. I would be given red roses because red roses were a symbol of love. Angels would sing. Trumpets would blare. He lied. 

Anyway, after that day, he made Valentine's Day magnificent for me. I got the prettiest bouquet of flowers and a chocolate chip heart cookie with frosting as big as the football field. The next year I got flowers and special chocolates.I carted it up to my dorm room with pride. It was not inappropriate in any way...just a father's love and wish for the day to be special for his daughter. He made the day a big deal and said someone would take over for him someday. Then he died. 

All Valentine's Day celebrations came to a big halt. Sigh.

Along came the first husband. He was a geeky looking thing with big teeth but had promises of growing up to be handsome. And he did, in fact, become handsome. He bought me a cardboard box of those sweetheart candy things. You know the ones that say words on them and they taste like chalk. To: Kathryn. From: Corey. Yeah. He didn't even take the little hearts and spell out something fun or write a sentence with them. That was it. Twenty-two more years did not produce any more spectacular results. Then we divorced.

My second husband came along. He was one of those prized college football players turned NFL pros I dreamed about. However, he revealed himself to be an asshole. I knew him in college pretty well. We had mutual friends later in life, but we did not know each other after college. I did watch his fame and fortune rise up and appear to go down in flames with a career ending knee injury after 4 years. Then, I moved on to other University of Wyoming pro stars. Actually, I moved on to other television because after my first divorce, I was not made to suffer watching sports all day long. Until the second husband. He forced me to watch sports all day long as well. Not only games of any sports, but sports news casts as well. Shoot me now. 

Anyway, Valentine's Day with him consisted of a fabric rose from the gas station nearby. It was the most romantic gift of all presented in all its glory laying on the counter with a "Look at that, babe. Happy Valentine's Day," quip from the lips, followed by, "You were right when you said I wasn't romantic and I think I need to up the ante." I shit you not. He wasn't even being a smart ass. And sports and two and three and change the channel and three and four. Oh, believe me, I raved about it and gave generous thanks. Mostly, my thoughts were kept thoughts. 

The next year at Valentine's Day...I got a fabric rose from the nearest gas station along with Dollah Gentral votives by the bed lit and everything and those chalky sweetheart candies spread all over the bed. He really extended himself. Then he expected me to fuck him good because he put out the extra effort of romance. What a guy! Well, I can fake blissful sex just as much as he faked romance. And one and two and three and done.

There were no more Valentine's Days to come. Yep. Shortest marriage in history and not because of Valentine's Day. February 14ths with him were perks of the marriage and the "up" days. Again, I shit you not. It was the way it was. In those days, I am pretty sure Cupid went blind. I only wished he had shot me through the heart or the vagina so I could die and go to heaven.

And that is my experience with Cupid. 

You know, come to think of it, he is just an ugly naked fat fucker. 

I think I will celebrate it this year in the original religious commemoration and toast to St. Valentine with wine. In fact, my boss gave me a nice bottle from Larry Bird's winery for Christmas. I must entrust it shall be Celtic good. Raise my glass up, yes, indeed. Several times out of pure joy and respect for courtly love, in fact. Not really. Well, sort of. Actually just four. I can only get four glasses out of a bottle. 

In Lutheran religion, it is also an official feast day, so I might add that in, too. Food is always good. We must have some type of entertainment or festivity: twerk contest with the dogs. I can practice my Elaine.

We will not be celebrating Valentine's Day at The Harry Potter House in massacre fashion, if you were going there-kill those thoughts. Literally. I might massacre a box of chocolates. 

Yep, I still think Cupid is a dumpy little shit. I don't think any amount of wine is going to change my opinion. However, I might for once honor him by prancing around naked in my house like a dumpy fatso with my wine glass and chocolates. Maybe not. Maybe flannel pj's are in order. I have a kid. And no one needs to see my hot mess.

I don't hate Valentine's Day. It's just no one has charmed me with romance as the day is intended. So, I have a tendency to bypass the aisles at stores and ignore all the ladies receiving flowers at the office. It's like a funeral. Cupid is dead. 


  1. I've boycotted V-Day since 1st grade, so it's been over 60 years. If a man can't cherish me, respect me, love me and make me laugh all year long, he's not going to get any points 'performing' on a commercially hyped holiday.

  2. Just another day. You make it out to be more than it is, you are creating your own misery. Think Happy... I loves ya everyday of the year.

  3. Hey Momma Fargo,

    I never cared for Valentine day in school, since I was one of the unpopular kids, I never got any except the "pity" ones...FMITA(Yes I shamelessly ripped that one there...:P )...I can't stand pity ones.....I'd rather get a bag filled with dog poop than get one of those. My luck didn't change in high school.....I guess it kept me humble...I appreciate stuff like that from sincere people and don't take it for granted. I keep equating Valentine's day with Al Capone......what can I say..I like history. Well I still have a poor opinion of Valentine's day..I consider it a commercial holiday. If you can't treat your significant other with class the other 364 days of the year..than you have a problem.
    I would send you a valentine card/flowers but that to me would be equating stalking and I don't want you kicking my ass....So I will wish you happy Valentine's day from afar.....;) And Coffeypot is correct, don't create your own misery.

  4. Momma Fargo:
    Gotta run w/ Mr Garabaldi here, too...I have put aside the (commonplace) Val-Day gig for the most part...I do much the same the other 364 days.
    It is too commercial a holiday for something people should display a lot more often.
    (does that make me an old fogey? Cripes, I hope not...LOL).

    Great post and comments.

    Roll safe down there, Kiddo.