Bad Valentine Short Short Essay Contest – Sponsored by Flytrap

 valentines-contest

Why should you enter the FnS short “Bad Valentine” short essay contest?!?

  • You could win 1st or 2nd prize from Flytrap Greetings & Gifts.
  • Your entry could be featured with the top 5 essay submissions on FnS in February.
  • Because bitching about past Valentines is fun.
  • And don’t forget everybody’s favorite…revenge on your ex!

 Prizes:

1st Prize Flytrap Package: A Flytrap Card, a Sticky, a Littles and a (gasp) Boink Journal!

2nd Prize Flytrap Package: A Card and some Littles!

Rules and Writing Criteria:

  1. Essays are to be 150-450 words long to be considered. The title for everyone to use is Bad Valentine. The words “Bad Valentine” can be interpreted in any context. You can write about true events or fiction.
  2. Judging criteria are funniness, good writing and creativity.
  3. Essays will be judged by FnS publisher Jacki Schklar and announced on February 1st.
  4. Essays must be submitted by midnight Eastern on Monday, January 30th 2012. Submit your entry simply by adding it to the comments section below! You can write up to 3 entries/submissions.

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Comments

  1. Cammy May Hunnicutt says:

    Are published things OK?

  2. Bad Valentine

    It was supposed to be a romantic evening on this special Valentine’s Day.
    My sweetheart and I had organized our first, ever, dinner party. Candlelight, soft music. The works.
    We had invited another couple who were in the early stages of their romance.
    Good friends. Good conversation. Good food.
    A tested and dependable recipe to make love grow and abound!
    Things started out well. Drinks before dinner. Pleasant conversation and much laughter.
    Then . . . THE MEAL.
    I had spent much wrinkle-browed thought on what dishes to serve and was especially happy with the results.
    For the first time, things didn’t burn, stick or boil over.
    Cupid was obviously in charge.
    I proudly carried in a tureen of the main course. Beef Stroganoff.
    Without warning, the side of my beautiful, new bowl broke, upending the entire steaming contents into the lap of one of our guests.
    Frantically, we pulled her to her feet and began scraping.
    Unnoticed in the excitement, our sheepdog pup, at that moment, wandered into the dining room and started lapping.
    Cleaning, doggy style.
    When we finally noticed her, we yelled, whereupon she scurried under the table and proceeded to . . . regurgitate everything she had eaten.
    Onto our other guest’s shoes.
    Horrified, my sweetheart grabbed the pup’s collar and proceeded to pull her towards the door.
    The now quite-terrified dog decided it was time to perform what we have affectionately dubbed the ‘submarine manoeuvre’.
    Blow all tanks!
    She left a . . . rather noticeable trail behind her.
    All the way to the door.
    After that, no one felt hungry.
    Or romantic.

  3. When I saw the topic of this essay contest I had to laugh and I immediately thought of my first love. I felt so intensely about this boy when I was sixteen years old that if he had suggested it, I would have run away and married him. He was, I guess, my first valentine. But, as you will soon find out, he was a bad valentine.

    I came home one day last summer and when I opened the door to our house I got a faint whiff of basement mildew because of the stifling humidity and an unfortunately timed dehumidifier leak. As soon as it hit my nostrils, the first thing I thought of (fondly) was my teenage boyfriend, Jake LaValley, because he always had a slight case of mildew smelling body odor and back then I was so in love with him it smelled good. I dreamily my husband that it smelled like my old boyfriend and he said, “He was……..Musty???”

    Normally I would never call out a person on the Internet using both their real first and last names and blabbing about their strange teenage body odor twenty-some years after the fact, but as far as I know, Jake LaValley fell off the face of the earth because although he was self-confident enough to have a Que Sera Sera attitude about his own B.O., he wasn’t self-confident enough to break up with me face to face. One day he was there, and the next day he was gone. He drove off to Montana and called me a few weeks later to tell me he left. (classy!) He was my first love and my heart was broken into tiny, jaggedly shredded, bloody, infected shards.

    So he’ll never know I wrote this because who knows whatever happened to him? He successfully vanished. I’m over it now (I really am) but it took a LONG time. I seriously thought I would marry him. I overlooked the fact that he shushed me once while he was totally mesmerized by that Whitesnake video Here I Go Again with Tawny Kitaen crawling all over a car (gross).

    I also overlooked the fact that whenever we made-out his bucky teeth would give me disgusting hickeys in about two seconds flat. On the up side, I learned that a cold spoon and a comb will make hickeys go away a lot faster than natural healing. Seriously, it works. He would give me a totally innocent peck on my forehead and boom: hickey. Hey thanks! Can’t wait to explain this bruise to my parents. A turtleneck in the summer is strange, but a turtle neck covering your entire face is something people will ask you about.

    Love really is blind.

    I haven’t thought of Jake in a long time but last summer, when I was watching TV in my stinky basement, I couldn’t seem to get him out of my head. Aside from the alluringly unique B.O. and the bucky teeth, what really hooked me was the fact that he was so funny. He made me laugh every day. (I mean, of course, except the day he vanished. I wasn’t laughing much that day.) What I learned from him is that funny is important, hickeys are gross, orthodontia: not such a bad idea, and deodorant is a must.

    Hey,… revenge IS a dish best served cold!

  4. Bad Valentine

    On the morning of February 14th, I rolled over, looked him dead in the eye and asked, “Are you going to be a good Valentine or bad Valentine this year?” After a brief, vacant stare, he closed his eyes, buried his head into the pillow and was back to snoring in a matter of seconds. Ignoring me seemed to be our new morning routine and gone were the days when we used to cuddle before work. My recent early work schedule had me leaving the apartment while it was still dark, so most mornings I just kissed him on the head and whispered goodbye.

    My work day consisted of several interruptions from the local florist, who brought bouquets of roses for the giggling girls in the back office. I spent much of the morning trying to ignore their constant bragging about gifts and romantic plans for that evening. As that snooty girl from Accounting passed my desk after lunch, she sarcastically wondered out loud, what my Valentine would be giving me this year. I smirked in response, but secretly wondered the same thing. Apparently everyone seemed to know about the “gift” I received last year. I spent the remainder of the day hidden in the conference room trying to avoid Valentine’s Day altogether.

    As I arrived home, I paused at the door wondering what would be waiting on the other side. A nice kiss would be welcoming. As I put my key into the lock, I could hear my Valentine hurrying toward the door. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open only to find him standing in front of me with my favorite pair of Louboutin shoes in his mouth. I dropped my keys, and yelled, “Bad Valentine! You are a naughty, naughty dog.”

  5. I’ll try to keep this brief. When your 16 and you’ve been dating someone for like more than three months it is SERIOUS! Even if second base ( or first?) was as far as it went. So when Valentines day rolled around I thought that I would get him a CD or something and a card. When he showed up at my door he just said ” hey” then sat down on the couch. I was all giddy to give him my lovely gift with the card that sid I love you. He said ” thanks” but it didn’t sound like he was too happy. As I wondered what was up he handed over the card he bought me. Well I got the message when the card read ” to a good friend”. Umm I guess we’re breaking up for Valentines day? He said sorry and left. Then my parents walked in the room and said ” hey, where’d your friend go?”. Ah l’amour…

  6. Bad Valentine: An Ancient Twist for the Modern Couple



    Are you bored with the usual Valentines Day activities? Looking for a way to spice up your night, and really surprise your sweetie? Want a Valentines story guarantied to out due your friends? How about a good old fashioned 44BC style Valentines Day celebration!
 


    Back in the day the Roman Gods had full monopoly of the western world and the Romans being the badass worshipers they were would have their whole cities get together and party like the continent conquering SOB’s they were. And when you get a bunch of dudes who spend their days walking around in togas, and getting together for group bath time, and add a lot of wine and a little opium, you know some crazy-ass fun shit is going down. And few parties were wild as the 3 day rager known as the Lupercalia Festival, or the original Valentines.



    So why not take a cue from our Ancient Roman friends and and try these 5 Lupercalia inspired ideas to make sure your holiday is memorable!


    1. Make Cave Reservations: That’s right, original Valentines festivities happened in caves. Forget restaurants and five star hotel rooms, nothing says love and devotion like deep, dank, dark cave! Think tunnel of love, but without the swan boats.

    2. Getting Pimped Out in Goat Skin: Awe, yeah. Them Ancient Roman priests were a bunch of bad mamma jammas who liked to flaunt what their position any chance they got and on Valentines nothing said “BOSS” like wearing the hide of newly slaughtered livestock. So ladies, forget the candy, watches and cologne! Wow your man with a suit made of genuine goat skin!

    3. Blood and Milk Facials: It just isn’t the “Wolf Feast” without paying mad respect to the Gods, so get yourself a pair of goats and a dog and get your ritual sacrifice on! Afterward make sure to smear some of the blood on your foreheads with a milk soaked piece of wool.

    4. Romantic Feast: Don’t let those animal sacrifices go to waste. Enjoy a candle lit feast of Roast Dog and Ground Goat with of lots of wine to wash it down just like your Roman ancestors.

    DYI Bondage: Romans babes used to line up along the city streets hoping to receive a lashing or two to improve fertility. Go ahead and use your goat skins to make some sexy whips and toys for the night. You can either have a run of the streets or enjoy them in the privacy of your own home.

    So ladies’s get out there and celebrate the lover’s day Lupercalia style!


  7. “Bad Valentine”

    Nothing is sacred.

    I try so hard to be good, yet it calls my name. The loud whisper echoes through my townhouse over mounds of dirty laundry and a sea of dirty dishes (and whatnot). It freaks me out, man. It makes me feel like I’m stuck in a bad SyFy guilty pleasure made-for-TV movie or something. I try so hard to be a good mother and not touch it, not do it—but those whispers taunt me. They encourage me. They laugh at me when I’m wearing my retainer.

    To be fair, I can’t help that I have a sweet tooth. It’s genetic, yo. The way I see it, there’s nothing a good bowl or three of Fruity Pebbles® can’t soothe. So when any given sweet-eating-enabling holiday rolls around, I climb right on board that cavity train. Slap me on the arse and call me Cap’n! (Wait…train engineers aren’t called captains, are they? Or are they? Whatever.) Again, don’t tell my ten-year-old, but…nothing is sacred.

    Holy crap, I’m the worst mom!

    Late at night when I’m watching repeats of Hoarders—because who doesn’t love Hoarders?—I can’t help but sneak down to the pantry to grab myself a handful of Halloween, Christmas, Easter, or Arbor Day candy. I guess I could justify it by stating I’m actually doing my child a solid by keeping him from inhaling so many said sweets. After all, I did buy them by the truckloads—you know…for Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Great Pumpkin.

    So when Valentine’s Day rolls around, I head on down to Albertson’s (I purchase all my treats at the grocery store because I’m classy like that) and buy some “fine” candy, and usually make a homemade card with lots of xxxoooo’s and hearts and all that goofiness. It’s genuine. I love my little guy, and I want to show my affection. So why am I such a bad valentine and swipe the candy back when he isn’t looking in the middle of the night? Why, oh why?

    Is it really necessary to get my jollies on finding out whether my little candy heart says Be Mine or U R Cute? Yes. Yes it is.

    I blame those loud whispers.

  8. “Bad Valentine”. A sonnet by Wilhelmina Shakespeare.

    Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
    Thou art just as sweaty and akin to the hairy-backed man at thy community pool.

    Shall I compare thee to my ex-boyfriend?
    Thou dost not have nearly as nice a car and thou does really need to work on thy kissing.

    Shall I compare thee to a nice meal and a really good glass of wine?
    No.

    Shall I compare thee to my Dad?
    Uh, my Dad who called me “Princess” and was faithful to my Mom for 50 years? Not a good idea.

    Shall I compare thee to the alternative which is being alone and being called “an old maid” or a “spinster” not that anyone uses those words anymore but if they did they would call me that?

    I think I love you.

  9. Cammy May Hunnicutt says:

    WRITING FROM THE HEART

    The Valentine’s Day When I Became A Writer was when in Eighth grade. And not as glorious as you might be thinking. And even got censored.
    I wasn’t that crazy about Valentine’s Day in school anyway. It always seemed to involve boys. In fact they would draw names out of a decorated hominy can and we’d have to buy a card for some random member of a much-despised gender. However I felt about that, “love” was not the first word in my mind. Especially since I’d get them some really nice little card with Strawberry Shortcake or something on it and end up getting back a scuffed up envelope stained with chocolate (or worse) with some killer robot or obnoxious cartoon character. And personalized on the back. As personal as you want to hear from seven year old boys, anyway. Something sweet like “Girls are booger butts”, or “I hate Cammy’s gopher guts.”
    But I eventually figured out how to get back, and it was writing that saved the day. You could get a pound of those little hard candy hearts with funny slogans on them for fifty cents down at the Piggly Wiggly, and I’d always admired them. People today think Twitter is cool with their 140 character limit, but somebody was out there, trapped in a Chinese cookie factory or somewhere, communicating love with only a couple of words. I used to fight with my sisters, high-grading out the good ones to give to people. Stick little Bethany with all the lame ones like “Bee’s Knees” and “Hep Cat”.
    But some of them seemed pretty cryptic. I remember one said, “You Rock”. And I was like, what? “Me paper, scissors”? Or “Them Eyes”. WTF? “Come On” didn’t seem that racy at the time And what does “Get Real” have to say? Go get your own real, sport. I had my eyes out for one that said, like, “Aorta”. Or “Transplant Me”. They didn’t have any that said “U Bite Boogers 2″ or anything useful, but I figured out I could just make my own. The first literary project of my life was licking words off little pastel hearts and writing in my own slogans. With toxic ink, now that I think about it, but that was in keeping. So I was actually doing rewrites prior to being a writer.
    I had some great ones, like, “Boys Barf” and “Blood Feast” and “Be Dead Now” and “Your Face, My Butt” and they went over reasonably well, In fact Raeford Cole snatched a bunch of them up and put them in his mouth all at once. When I was making a second batch, secretly pleased that Rafe and his pals had eaten something I had licked on, Gram caught me at it and went into one of her Old Testament seizures. Snatched up all my literature, jabbering, “That mess is toxic, Camelia May. Meaning it’s pure poison and could do a body harm. You’re whipping up a plague here.” Which tickled me to pieces, though it turned out Rafe never even felt poorly. But it’s interesting (or maybe prophetic) that my first public writing was turning candy into hubba messages to boys. And that they didn’t even read them, just gobbled them up. Sort of a foreshadowing for my future career modeling lingerie.
    But the point is, I wrote my way to triumph. Or whatever you’d call betting those little snots to eat my lickspittle. I’m realizing lately that I can also get some revenge for later insults I took–also frequently couched as “love”, incidentally–in my modeling career. I’m going to write about it.

    (This story rewritten from the piece I recently had published in the “My Funny Valentine” anthology.)

  10. “Bad Valentine”
    I am a difficult woman to shop for. I don’t deny it, and I don’t pity the man who has to shop for me, like, well let’s call him Magnum. Magnum “I wasn’t man enough to dump you and eventually married a girl that looks a ton like you” Magnum. You remember him. You dated him too.

    It was our first Valentine’s together. You know before I realized I would eventually have more fun celebrating alone with two hits of pot and a Meg Ryan movie. It’s always such a hard thing to buy a gift for a new lover. The stakes are high. If he buys the wrong thing he WILL NOT get laid, and has to suffer through the teary conversation about “how he doesn’t know me at all”.

    Things that were on Magnum’s side. He knew I liked flowers. He knew I liked being practical. He knew I had a soft spot for social causes. He knew my vibrator was dying.

    First Try:
    Magnum had a sweetheart rose plant delivered to my office, an incredibly nice gesture. Except the plant looked bigger online and was really a tiny shrub. The girl in the cubicle next to me had a bouquet that filled her cube so much it made it difficult for her to sit down. I know that shalt not envy thy neighbor’s bouquet, but come on! In my defense, when he saw my shrub even he was disappointed.

    Second Try:
    He felt so bad about the shrub, that he decided to surprise me with something else. So a few nights later he told me to close my eyes for my gift. Into my right had he put paper, and into my left plastic. I opened my eyes and saw in my right hand $20 bills and in my left hand a new vibrating bullet (You know THAT kind of bullet).
    “Umm you’re giving me money and a new vibrator?”
    “Yes, but listen the money is for you to give away however you want. You know to help people. Give it away to the homeless guy, or a charity whatever you want to do, and then the bullet is you know for us.”

    Post Game Analysis:
    It was very sweet and he really tried, but in the end it was a wad of cash and a vibrator. I did use the money to pay for half of a cleft palette surgery for a kid in a developing country. So somebody won.

  11. Jeanne Lee says:

    The year was 1978; I asked my first boy out to a Sadie Hawkins-style, Valentine’s dance. He was in my friend, Pam’s church group, and he was a “college man”, three years older with long dishwater brown hair and a beard. So cool! He accepted and my romantic night was set in motion. He came to pick me up (in his matching sweater that I bought him, natch!), and when my younger brother answered the door, he screamed, “Oh, my god, Jeanne’s dating Jesus Christ!” That set the tone for what was to come. We got in the college man’s souped-up, old beater car and he proceeded to spend the next six hours talking non-stop about car stuff…pistons, engines, horsepower. He barely took a breath. When we finally, thankfully, pulled up to my driveway, he proceeded to lean over and give me my first French kiss. Wow. It was the worst kiss I’ve ever had in my entire life. His tongue attacked my mouth; it was like a starving dog looking for a crumb of food, like he was flossing and water-picking my teeth.

    Needless to say, Jesus and I parted ways that night.

  12. Shiane-Myrih says:

    Bad Valentine. “Where are you?” I asked, hoping she was just maybe running late. The phone was silent. “Hello, baby, are you there? Are you on your way?” She reples, “Did you get the flowers, the chocolate, the teddy bear and ablloons?” “Yes, baby, thank you. You really overdid it!” I exclaimed. “So, are you on your way? I made our reservation for 6pm, and it’s quarter to.” I asked. The phone is silent. “Babe, we can’t go out for Valentines Day. I’m sorry. Well, at least, not that restaurant.” My heart sank. “But babe”, I was almost in tears, “It’s our first Valentines Day. Why can’t we go?” She replies, “Well, my sister and her husband are going to the same place. And…well…she doesn’t know I date girls.” Silence. “You are thee most homophobic lesbian I know!” Click. I hang up the phone. Bad Valentine!

  13. The first V-Day after my daughter’s birth, my husband was rehearsing a
    community theater production directed by an overzealous guy who called them all
    “thespians,” so he wasn’t even home to share it. I think I ordered Chinese food and
    watched a Queer Eye for the Straight Guy marathon, trying to be all “lemons into
    lemonade” about spending the evening alone.

    But then the baby went on an interminable crying jag which ended in her very first
    ever episode of projectile vomiting, after which she face planted into the mess like a
    teeny Sid Vicious. There’s no page in the baby book for that milestone, nor any
    Hallmark card bearing the message “Thinking Of You As Our Baby Spews.” Pity.

  14. Dear Bad College Valentine:

    Remember when our dorm had a “Secret Valentine” pick-a-name-out-of-a-hat thing, and you

    were certain, despite the overwhelming odds your Statistics major should have made clear, that your

    secret crush had drawn your name?

    Um, no. It was just me. I was the one making the stupid heart-shaped brownies.

    And you were the one concocting an increasingly elaborate erotic fantasia of what

    (who?) would go down once your valentine revealed herself to you. But dude? At that big party

    during which we all revealed ourselves by giving out one last present, and the rusted, glacially slow

    gears in your brain finally registered that I was your Secret Valentine and not merely your crush’s

    unfuckworthy messenger, did you really have to make that face?

    I’d just given you a plate of heart-shaped Rice Krispy treats, not a bag of baby seals clubbed in

    sacrifice to your Flock of Seagulls-haired self. You could have at least said “thanks” before deflating like

    a spent balloon.

    Not that I’m bitter,

    K A B L O O E Y

  15. Bad Valentine
    I am a bad Valentine. Divorced for 18 months, I care little for dating right now. There is not much use I have for a man in my life other than taking down the Christmas tree and some other heavy lifting.

    I have had 1.5 dates in the last 18 months. Of course, there have been physical encounters, I’m not saying that. I am a mammal, right? But a real live “do you think you might like me” date makes me think I might better enjoy the evening in an algebra class.

    My ex-husband of course, moved a young lady in his house 12 years my junior within a few months of us separating. Is anyone shocked about this?

    My last date was nice, smart, and handsome, and all I kept thinking as I was “listening” to him at dinner was, which one of my friends should I set him up with? Am I incapable of dating, or do I believe that I am just that self-sufficient? Romantically, I am a Roomba. No need for a hand pushing me across the floor. I got this.

    The other date, and I use the term loosely, lasted about one cocktail. He had a string of spit connected to his lips that I could not stop staring at and asked me if I was on birth control within a few minutes of meeting. The date might have lasted longer than 20 minutes if he had asked me something more fun like, “Have you ever been date raped?”

    One other requirement about being a bad valentine is that you have to not care that much about this “special” day. I qualify here. It is fun though, to go on Facebook on that day and read the hideously cheesy or cynical romance haters posting their rants. In that respect, it is one of my favorite holidays.

    This year, readers who have made it this far, I promise to be better. I promise to listen to my Valentine date. I promise to not be skeptical, stand-offish, and romantically challenged. I will be open and give real thought to whether a relationship can form. I promise to… Oh who am I kidding…? I’m a Bad Valentine

  16. My bad valentine was my ex-boyfriend. We had been together for almost 6 years. We had our share of ups and downs, sure. But..he said he had changed. And, to prove it, he wanted me to meet him at this glitzy restaurant in Detroit. You know…so he could propose. It would be great, he said. Fabulous. Now..he had recently gone through a mid-life crisis. And his cure had been 25-yr olds. Lots of them. So..naturally I was skeptical. VERY skeptical. So much so that I texted him and told him that I was running late from my daughter’s basketball tournament, but I was still planning on being there. He got mad. Very mad. And told me to just forget it. (Really? Forget a Valentine’s date? Where he was planning to propose?) Well, OK, fine. I went home and the kids and I made a great Valentine’s dinner for ourselves.

    Two days later, a friend emailed me his latest FB picture. It was him, at the restaurant he was supposed to have taken me to that night. He had some young girl sitting on his lap. Glad I didn’t show up. I’m not sure there would have been room for both of us on his lap.

    FYI…we are NOT still together.

  17. Bad Valentine

    When I was a senior in high school, I decided that I was in love with my best friend. I decided to tell him because a) at the time I was impulsive, but more importantly b) I knew he’d respond positively, and I very badly wanted a boyfriend to lose my virginity to.
    Perhaps by coincidence, or maybe because of my not-so-subconscious desire to have sex as soon as possible, I confessed my feelings for him during the first week of February.
    We quickly entered the world of coupledom, as expected. We already had every class together and drove every day to school together, but suddenly all departures from each other’s presence were punctuated by a quick kiss. We went ice skating in Central Park and held hands, ate spaghetti in Little Italy and held hands, and even on crowded subway rides, we held hands.
    The term “holding hands” is not a euphemism here. “Holding hands” meant just that—fingers laced, palms pressed together, and maybe a gentle kiss on our wrists or knuckles.
    I didn’t want to hold hands, though. I wanted—to be blunt—for him to rip my clothes off and fuck my brains out.
    But the opportunity came. Cab rides were too short, our parents were always home, and cars maneuvering through New York City traffic are anything but private.
    And then, as if by some miracle, the perfect moment arrived. We had a snow day from school. On Valentine’s Day.
    I woke up and excitedly texted him that he should come over because my parents were gone. Then I showered, shaved off all my public hair, and ran out to buy the sexiest underwear I could find at short notice. I was just putting it on when I got a reply telling me that it was too snowy for him to leave his apartment.
    Too snowy? I would go to his house then, but he already had friends over to play video games. I tried calling, but he was too busy to talk. Should I just show up, wearing nothing but a puffy jacket and my new lace lingerie? How could he not want to take advantage of me and this serendipitous situation?
    As one last desperate attempt to seduce him, I sent him a text that read:
    Tell your friends to leave so we can have sex.
    By the time he finally called back six hours later, I had consumed half a batch of brownies and watched Love Actually from start to finish. I’d already decided that I would have to break up with him on the way to school in the morning.
    Then, on February 15th, I purchased my first vibrator.

  18. You’ve been a bad, bad Valentine. You didn’t even notice me standing there while you were walking down the hallway – you have the perfect stride and ass in those jeans. You always walk and laugh, smiling and casually wiping the hair out of your eyes with a light toss of the head. I’d give anything to be the one making you laugh or at the very least able to laugh alongside you. I did overhear your laugh. Once. I walked past your dinner table while you were on a date with Jessica of all people. Jessica, really? She graduated with all C’s because I heard she had a professor fetish (or professors had a fetish for her) and she’s strawberry blonde, not what I considered to be your type at all. I thought you’d like the more strikingly-attractive-once-you-get-to-know-her-personality types. But of course those types usually come with an excess of 15 pounds. Ok, maybe twenty. But as I watched you kissing her goodnight on her doorstep I wondered what she had that I didn’t besides muscular calves and then I thought I’ll get calves for you. I’ll die my hair strawberry blonde and sleep with a professor except ironically all my professors this year are women but I might be able to wrangle up a C from my remedial algebra professor but if it would make me experienced and daring like Jessica I would do it if I could just feel your lips. If I could be the one to tell you there’s food in your teeth and fix your tie before your interviews, the one that tried to change the station in your truck and you’d playfully say “Don’t make me listen to Rascal Flats again” and then we’d laugh, the one that brings you a towel when you get out of the shower and reminds you to call your mother – I’d do anything. Instead I’m just outside your house watching you stare in horror at the candy hearts I specifically ordered with “Robert loves me” next to the huge overstuffed bunny sprayed with my perfume and the card that says I’ll be watching you. And I think I heard you tell the cops you didn’t know anyone that could’ve done such a thing as I drove away. Wonder if you’ll be wearing those jeans I like tomorrow.

  19. Bad Valentine

    So here I am sitting at my kitchen table thinking on this wonderful topic, I so then have to share the most wonderful Valentine Day ever. I was 16 and totally over the top in love with the person we will call the Marine Jock. The Marine Jock was the pride and joys of our school, town and county. The star football player that was going to the Marine Corps and going to put the whole town on the map don’t you know.

    I was considered the luckiest girl in the world since we were dating and I had been giving the grandest of all pleasers which was just to bask in spotlight and glory. Soooooo…….for the Valentine’s Day of 2006 everyone else was getting flowers, balloons, candy and all of the other assorted things one gets for Valentine’s Day. The lobby at School looked like the stage for one of the greatest floats to ever grace the Rose Bowl Parade. Everyone was abuzz with who got what and from who and of course the more you got the better off you were in social standings in teenager hell. So finally someone had asked what I had gotten from Mr. Marine Jock God extraordinaire, my reply was nothing! So this caused a stir right up to even getting the attention of our school newspaper editor and the “why?” or was it that he had gotten me something so grand that it wouldn’t do justice for being giving at school. So finally at the end of the day his friends were so in awwwww, that they finally decided to ask what was he waiting on……he said in a very calm voice “ Well, I did and she got pissed at me!” Then a friend of his said “What the hell did you do?” Without missing a beat Mr. Marine Jock said “I got her flowers out of the dumpster at the Funeral home, you know the one there by the cemetery, I am still confused as to what I did wrong.”

    This should have been a clue to not marry this person, but I did the year I graduated from High School only to find this same person dumpster diving into the nastiest woman to ever grace the human race 7 years later. So I decided that even the Uniform looks that damn good……Divorce was the greatest thing ever. That is my worst Valentine ever.

  20. Dear Bad Valentine:
    Roses are red, violets are blue, but Valentine’s Day sucks,
    so to all the men out there on this God-awful holiday: Fuck You.
    Fuck you to the boy who thinks that of him I took advantage,
    it’s not my fault we fooled around and caused your relationship some damage.
    Fuck you to the guy who insisted that he was from France,
    pretending your lisp is an accent will not get you into my pants.
    Fuck you for staring at me while you make out with another girl,
    that you then brought her to my party just makes me want to hurl.
    Fuck you for sneaking out in the morning while I was asleep,
    I thought we were actually friends, but I’ve realized you’re just a creep.
    Fuck you for tricking me into saying I was in love,
    now no matter how much you apologize, it will never be enough.
    Fuck you for kissing me, then hitting on my best friend,
    after trying to play the two of us, you really thought I’d give you head?
    Fuck you for lying and saying you’d been tested,
    guess it’s good that it wasn’t in you but in condoms I invested.
    Fuck you to that boy who turned out to have a girlfriend;
    it doesn’t matter that you “cared” for me if you stayed with her in the end.
    Fuck you to my ex-boyfriend who said he’d never get over me,
    your needy tears turned me into a person that I never wanted to be.
    Fuck you to the older man who claimed he wanted to keep it simple,
    if I ever see you again, I swear I’ll pop you like a pimple.
    Fuck you to the guy with dreadlocks, I don’t know why you seemed so hot,
    you’re just another horn-dog, so don’t pretend that you are not.
    Fuck off to all those guys from Austria, Israel, and Mexico,
    this is one American girl who is not about to blow.
    Fuck you to my high school boyfriend who made me afraid to feel,
    although I really am sorry for towering over you in heels.
    If you’ve ever cheated, lied, or messed around with me in any way,
    then this poem is from me to you, wishing you a shitty Valentine’s Day!

  21. Bad Valentine
    I was looking through Valentine’s Day cards the other day trying to find just the perfect ones to give to family and friends when I became totally disgusted at how expensive they were–five bucks for a card–I don’t think so. Anyhow, being the somewhat intelligent and extremely clever person that I am, I remembered getting valentines when I was in school for everyone in my class and they all came in one box.

    Voila!

    What a great idea! They each came with their own envelope and were generally large enough to be sent through the mail. The sayings might be seen as childish, but others might think they were cute and I could always insert a heartfelt hand written note inside. Plus, there were usually thirty cards in a box and they came relatively cheap. It sounded like a good idea…

    …but?

    …but?

    I didn’t know it would be so damn hard to find a box of ordinary old-timey valentines. Geesh! Here I was at Wallyworld and the only thing I could find was Hannah Montana, Jonas Brothers and iCarly, and they weren’t even regular valentines; they were stickers and activity sets. No, thanks. You can keep them! I left there and went to another store, then another and finally ended up at Dollar General, where I struck gold, or, so I thought.

    They had boxes of valentines but the cards didn’t come with any envelopes. Crap. I reached further down into the display where the cards were and I pulled out the very last box of valentines that had envelops. I was excited that something had finally gone my way, made my purchase and tore into the box of valentines as soon as I got into the car. It wasn’t too long before my excitement began to fade as I realized that all of the cards had the same picture on them: a skunk.

    Have you ever received a skunky valentine?

    If I remember correctly, the skunk valentine was given to someone that you didn’t like and for some reason I received quite a few. What does that mean?

    Do my family and friends really want to receive a Valentine’s Day card that says “I love you…and…you’re a stinker too?”

    Happy Valentine’s Day!

    …Stinky!

  22. Emily Epstein says:

    Bad Valentine

    I’d just started dating this guy, and by dating I mean that we’d finally given in to our longstanding untapped sexual chemistry. So we’d hang out and make out, but we hadn’t had the conversation as to whether we were dating other people. When Valentine’s Day rolled around, I wasn’t sure if we had plans, but I hoped so. During my senior year of high school, one of my close friends had died of a brain aneurism on Valentine’s Day. So it wasn’t that I needed big plans, but not being alone was definitely preferred.

    At the last minute, he asked if I wanted to do something. I decided I should bring him a gesture. Using office supplies I made him a homemade card. The genre I was going for: grade school valentine. With my awful handwriting, I wrote in Sharpie on the front of an oversized heart: Great seeing you naked last night, but you’re no one night stand. Let’s do this again soon. I’ll bring the 6-pack of Sam.”
    Later that night I handed over my valentine which he promptly put on the refrigerator, just where it should be. He had nothing for me. No problem. We went to dinner at a crappy little Chinese restaurant. “You mind getting this?” he asked. “Kinda low on cash.” I’m a liberated woman. I wasn’t pleased, but it was cool.

    We went back to his place and the sex began. At least something was going according to plan. After we tired ourselves out, our throats raw from yodeling, he asked if I wanted to stay over. This was new. I accepted.

    I learned a lot about him that night: he has a pair of superman pajamas that he wears with unabashed glee and he snores like a racehorse. Additionally, I learned that that is not a suitable sleeping arrangement for me. But I decided to tough it out.

    And then sometime around 5 am, I hit my bad date threshold. That’s when he stopped breathing. The snoring stopped, and I didn’t feel his chest rise. And I began to panic. Maybe he’s just in a really deep sleep, I thought. But it had been a while. Goddammit, I can’t lose another person on Valentine’s Day! And when I was just about to give him CPR, the loudest snore in history came out of his mouth.

    “What the hell just happened?!” I exclaimed.

    “Did I forget to tell you that I have sleep apnea, babe? Yeah, it’s really bad. Sorry about that.”

  23. Jeanne Lee says:

    Bad Valentine….

    So, you know how everybody has a “list”, a priority list. It can include family, then friends, a hobby, career, children, community service, and everyday it can change. One day, career is in the number one position, but on day two, it’s moved to the number five position. The list is fluid.

    Well, near the end of my 16 year marriage, one of my chief complaints was that I wasn’t even breaking the top ten of my ex-husband’s list. It bothered me to no end. So, in what was to be our final year of marriage, we made a date on Valentine’s day to go out to dinner, talk, feel like a couple again. Then, the phone rang. “So, I’m going to be late; I’m sorry.” Naturally, I was concerned. “What’s wrong?” “Well, my friend’s dog died and it’s a gigantic dog; he was the size of a small pony, and, well, I told her I would help her move it.”

    That was the moment I knew my marriage was truly over; on the “list”, I was now after “moving a dead dog”.

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