Hello! I'm thrilled to introduce Big Apple Angie's first ever guest blogger - Antoinette! We've recently reconnected after a five or six year hiatus. Antoinette and I spent a great deal of time ruling Middleburg High School, creating a championship children's art program for FCCLA State, studying for the AP French exam, creating a memorable 20th anniversary edition of the MHS Yearbook and driving around rural Florida passing out Thanksgiving gift baskets to the supposedly less fortunate - who actually had bigger TVs than we did. A graduate of UNC, she currently makes a daily difference in the lives of North Carolina's children.
Please give a warm, Big Apple Angie welcome to Antoinette!
I’m honored to be your guest blogger, and what topic could be more appropriate for a February rant than the two most dreaded words in the English language? No, it’s not “bird flu” or even “last call.” Those two dreaded words are “Valentine’s Day.”
Ahh, Valentine’s Day - the most useless holiday on the calendar. Now, before you write me off as a “dateless love hater,” hear me out. What is the point of Valentine’s Day - to celebrate “love?” Don’t we already have holidays that celebrate love? Isn’t that why we celebrate birthdays and anniversaries – because we love? Heck, even the 4th of July celebrates love of our country. But just in case you slept through the last 364 days, Valentine’s Day is there to help show you care.
So, for the “lovers” in the blogosphere, I’m going to share some Valentine’s Day wisdom. “What qualifies me to give love advice,” you may ask. I’ve been known to attract a various assortment of “lovers,” young, old, jealous, new-to-the-country, jobless, lovers of themselves, ugly, uglier, baby’s daddys, psych ward escapees, stalkers, booger-pickers and, most recently, a one-armed man who had as much of a chance with me as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest. I’ve been proposed to three times and yet, I’ve never walked down the aisle unless it was in an expensive bridesmaid gown. (Reasons for denying the proposals: one is now serving a life sentence in prison, one I’ve never met in person and one proposed after two dates.)
If nothing else, I’m qualified to tell you what not to do. So, here are three helpful hints for the “lovers” on Valentine’s Day.
3. Men: Approach women in your league. If you have greasy hair, B.O. and your teeth are lined up like they’re about to run a complicated football play, do not ask out the supermodels in your world. Attractive women want to date…attractive men. Should you land a date with a pretty girl, it’s not because your “are those space pants you’re wearing because your butt is out of this world” line was even bordering on original. More likely, your hot breath was bordering on nauseating and she said “yes” to shut you up.
2. Women: It's not your friend’s job to solve your relationship problems. Chances are your BFF told you your man was CCC (Crazy, Cheating or Couple cards short of a full deck) before you started dating him.
1. Couples: Do not patronize your single friends. Save your cheesy “friends make the best valentines” e-cards. We are not jealous of your trainwreck relationship. It’s like when you were in 7th grade and your parents told you that the other kids only made fun of you because they were jealous of you. News Flash: The skinny, blonde, athletic, attractive kids with the latest fashions are not jealous of the overweight, pimply, brace-face, discount-bin-clothes-wearing kids with overactive sweat glands. What planet of adolescence did your parents live on? Likewise, we are not jealous because February 14 is the only day of the year that your partner actually shows that he/she cares.
I hope you see that these tips come from genuine concern and not bitterness from singleness. I’m sure in five years, when I leave my 20s, all the cynicism will wash away and I’ll be ready to settle down. Until then, I’m completely happy being single and, on days when I’m honest with myself, I’m mostly happy being single.
So, have a happy Valentine’s Day. I’m going to spend mine searching for the honing device that alerts ugly, jobless, crazy and one-armed men in my zip code that I’m out and about, signaling that they should track me down to ask for my number—or, my hand in marriage.