VD: Something Worth Experiencing?

The most common association with VD would be venereal diseases. I suppose that is what most people think of when first seeing those two letters strung together. But for me, VD stands for something a little different. But, what it means to me is just as frightening, irritating and uncomfortable; Valentine's Day.

Yes. How typical for a single girl to compare the symptoms of serious diseases to a tradition that is suppose to stand for love and romanticism between two people. I actually had started a different post yesterday because I thought posting about this blasted holiday was too predictable and contrived. That was until I went to the local grocery store for my weekly stock up.

Now before I recount this story, I would like to note that I wasn't totally unaware VD was coming up. I saw the signs; the creepy, misogynistic diamond commercials, the FTD commercials, the hearts everywhere. Just small reminders that VD was fast approaching. But As I walked through the doors of my grocery store, making a strategy of how to navigate the usual busy Sunday shopping crowd, I was immediately bombarded with VALENTINE'S DAY. It appeared that little baby cupids had been massacred all over the front of the store and that Love had actually thrown up all of its mushy gushy insides. And I can't say I blame Love for vomiting as that was my initial reaction, too. My retinas burned from all the bright blood red, neon pink and glitter. My nostrils stung from the pungent onslaught of roses, carnations, and tulips. It was sensory overload.

Despite the confusion and disorientation I felt from this full on attack, I successfully made my way to Produce to gather myself amongst the eggplants, artichokes and turnips. It was at this point, surrounded by the despised, neglected vegetables, that the desired effect of Valentine's Day's agenda hit me; my poor little chronically single heart felt a spasm of loneliness and longed to be brought to life by LOVE.

This moment of weakness brought with it a vision. A vision of a gorgeous man in tweed, who loved me and respected me. He was down on one knee, declaring his undying love for me and asking me to spend the rest of my life with him. He presented a ring pop. After I of course said yes, we sat down to a romantic dinner of cream cheese pizza. He then brought out dessert, Chubby Hubby ice cream, which was thoughtful as it was my favorite ice cream and clever as he would soon be my hubby. Then we had incredible sex.

After this wonderful fantasy, I looked at the disgusting vegetables I was around and felt a sort of connection with them. We were good for people, worthy of love, but here we were, alone and despised. I then made a beeline for the Frozen Food aisle. It was there that I bought myself my own damn Chubby Hubby ice cream.

So, in an effort to take a stand in the on going war I have with Valentine's Day, I ultimately decided to post about it.

Valentine's Day and I have a complicated history. Which is true for most people I would say. Yet, to illustrate my point as I always feel the need to do, I will share some of the more memorable VDs of my life. And they'll be in chronological order as I am OCD.

1. Will You Be My Enemy?
In grade school, we all take part in that wonderful tradition of turning a normal, ho-hum shoe box into an magical Valentine mailbox. It's covered in hearts and glitter and lace. You spend extra time to make it stands out so you can be sure to get the good Valentines. The ones with candy or Lisa Frank stickers. Fourth grade was about the time my class started having boyfriends and girlfriends, so the stakes that year were extra high. The day finally came for our Valentine's Day party. We played lame games, consumed mass amounts of sugar, and then came the time to read our Valentines.

I was all hyped up on the 2 cups of punch and 3 cupcakes I had, so I tore open my shoebox like it held the boobs I kept hoping I'd get soon. There they were, a plethora of Valentines from my peers. I started reading them, anticipating there would be some pledge of love from a boy. Any boy, like the other girls in my glass seemed to be getting. Instead, mixed among the typical "LYLAS" messages from my girl friends, were Valentines from boys stating how ugly I was and how they despised me. One was even threatening, saying this boy hated me and that I should watch my back. My little heart was crushed. I never told anyone, not even my Mom. I went straight home and discarded that lame box of hatred in our garbage can, salvaging the candy and Lisa Frank stickers to console myself with.

The next year, fifth grade, was much the same. I received odd threats and notes of despise. That was also the year when my 'boyfriend,' after giving me a huge chocolate kiss, broke up with me to date my enemy. Again, I went home with that kiss, and silently cried in my bed, eating the chocolate and asking my Ty Beanie Baby Seymour how this could have happened to me.

2. Secret Admirer
8th grade came, and with it came those boobs I had always been longing for. I was still not Miss Popular, but gone were those evil boxes and Valentines. I thought the terror of VD was over. But I became aware of a new, horrible facet of VD; Yearbook Roses. A person could buy a rose from the Yearbook people and they would deliver it to your sweetie on VD. I was still single after the whole 5th grade break up fiasco, so I wasn't expecting anything. Maybe just a pity rose from my Mom and Dad. I was in choir when it happened. The Yearbook people came in and started handing out roses. My girl friends, who did have boyfriends, were cooing and awwing. I felt like vomiting, by then they handed one to me. I was confused, and looked at the rose with skepticism and awe. Usually they have a message attached to them, but mine was missing one. I asked who sent it, but the person just told me they wanted to remain anonymous. I was flattered and my brain started turning as I tried to figure out who sent it.

Then the boys in my class started to snicker. The alpha male asked who sent me a rose. I replied I didn't know. He just smirked and said, oh, we know who did, and then they just all snickered some more. It was then I was convinced that either a) they had done it themselves, just to see my face when I thought that I might actually be admired or desirable so they could crush it or b) they had convinced someone they knew would be social suicide to receive a rose from to send me one.

In the end, no one fessed up to it. I brought it home and explained the story to my parents. My Mom was convinced that it was from some secret admirer and made me put it on the bookshelf in the living room so everyone could see it. I think for her it was a symbol that I wasn't a lost cause in the boy department. She refused to throw it way, so one day, when it had long past died, I was cleaning and just chucked the thing in the garbage, to follow the dreaded box from the past. But, I think her hope (and admittedly, my hope) of me being lovable slowly withered and died just like that damn rose did.

3. Material Misrepresentation
I've only had one VD where I was in a serious relationship. It was in college. I was somewhat excited as I loved this boy and I was hoping that this VD would validate the reason why people kept celebrating it. It was for those in love, and finally, I was a part of that exclusive club. But, something interesting happened. I found that there was more to this holiday then I expected. It wasn't just enough to be in love and spend extra time with your boo on this day and do something special. Oh, no. You had to show your love through material goods. This was crucial. One false purchase could lead to relationship failure. I thought I had done well. He wanted a KU jersey and I had saved up to get it for him. But he blew it out of the park. I had to ask him what he wanted, he just knew what I wanted. He got me a cd I had been talking about and he got me a movie that I had seen with my sister and told him how much I loved it.

Don't get me wrong, this was by far one of my best VDs. But, I just can't help but reflect on how the rest of the night I felt that my gift just wasn't as good as his. I felt that somehow, this had to be a reflection of our relationship. Was he really more in tune with 'us' than I was? Of course, I over analyzed the whole exchange of gifts, but this VD drove home the point that VD for grown ups is all about the material representation of love. And that's a scary, scary thing.

4. Anti-Valentine's Day Day
During college, my best friend Allision and I decided to celebrate being single on VD instead of feeling sorry for ourselves for being single or beating ourselves up for not having a boyfriend. This consisted of us going to Chili's to stuff our faces, going to the liquor store to stock up on the essentials, and then going back to her place to drink and be merry. We invited over some single fellas, too, and we all just sat around, laughing and drinking, enjoying each other's company.

This is probably the best VD ever for me. I was surrounded by people I loved and had a great time just hanging out. No one sent me a Valentine of hate, no one sent me a mocking rose and no one had to show their love to me through a material exchange. It was simple and perfect.

I guess in the end, all of these experiences have taught me that VD only has as much power as you give it. I don't beat myself up because I don't have someone special on VD to share a "Lady and the Tramp" moment with over a meatball . I avoid feeling worthless or unloveable come February 14th just because someone didn't go to Jared's for me or buy me a VS push-up bra.

These experiences have also taught me that elementary aged boys are little assholes and that chocolate is amazing.

Now I'm off to go eat some Chubby Hubby and dream of a man in tweed....