Valentine’s Day Manifesto: or, I am hungover and I want to make love to this bagel

First things first: yesterday as I sat down at the bar while waiting for a table for my birthday dinner, I reached up to check my awesome anatomical-heart necklace was in place, and one of the links near the clasp broke. I heard something go clinking to the floor. This is a rather complicated sterling silver necklace with a big charm that looks like a real human heart, another, small, red jewel-like charm, and a clasp that is another heart with a hole in the middle, and a knife that goes through the heart and keeps the whole thing closed. It was from my bestest friend ever and I love it. So as soon as this happened, my friends started scouring the floor for the missing piece, which I soon discovered was the knife part of the clasp. Pretty soon, everyone in the bar was getting out their phones and flashlights and looking around. I had to explain it was a knife-clasp, and everyone got all “That is AWESOME!” over my necklace. It was adorable to see all these strangers scouring the floor for my lost piece of jewelry. Nobody found it, but the sight was heart-warming.

When I got home and got naked–clink! The damn thing had been IN MY BRA all night.

This is the necklace's clasp.

And so my thirties begin. With that and a hangover, and an incredibly delicious whole-wheat everything bagel with sun-dried tomato cream cheese AND A BASIL LEAF because we do not fuck around with our bagels in this great city.

So anyway, I think I was going somewhere with this… oh right, happy birthday to me and happy Valentine’s Day to you all! I know this holiday gets lots of hate from people who aren’t in relationships or who just hate the wild consumerism of it all. I’ve always been biased toward it because on the day after my birthday, I wanna be in a great mood no matter what. And after the awesomeness of this year’s birthday (so far I’ve been blessed with birthday wishes from somewhere around a hundred people, had dinner with my besties, and pulled in three bottles of liquor, a pair of tickets to NEWSIES on Broadway, an AMAZING seahorse necklace, bacon-chocolate-chip pancake mix!!!, and a REAL-ASS wakizashi named Tracy–more on that later), I want to spread some love. I suppose the fact that I don’t have TV helps me avoid the obnoxious, Hallmark-infused, sugar-coated “you must have a relationship that looks like THIS” message that goes out every year in February, so my confusion about people’s bitterness about Valentine’s Day is based somewhat in blissful ignorance. But, like, seriously. So what if jewelers are trying to make you want diamonds, and car companies somehow think a new overpriced sedan is the perfect gift for your incredibly attractive, upper-middle class, suburban, white, heterosexual mate? That shit is ridiculous. And it doesn’t mean that setting aside a day to be extra-appreciative of the love in your life, no matter what it looks like or which form it takes, whether it’s the unconditional adoration of your dog or the bored gaze of your iguana or the support and understanding of your friends or the compassion of the universe or the embrace of a lover, is a bad idea.

I say, take Valentine’s Day not as an opportunity to be angry that your life doesn’t look like the ugly gift-wrapped teddy-bear baskets on sale at CVS, but as a chance to take stock of the love all around you. Wrap yourself up in it, and a blanket, and have some wine, alone or in company. Those grapes love you. The earth loves you, and that’s why it made you the grapes. It’s all so, so good.

Oh, also, be sure to get laid, whether it’s by someone else or yourself. Love yourself. Happy Valentine’s Day!


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