Confessions of A Naughty Girl

My Funny Valenstein

Well kids, my second least-favorite holiday is upon us: the dreaded Valentine's Day. (The first, of course, is New Year's, although 2006 was so good it may just have bumped Valentine's Day into first.)

I cannot emphasize how annoying I think Valentine's Day is. All of the grandiose, romantic, one-day-show of affection is almost enough to make me turn away from my laptop right now and regurgitate the Little Debbie snack and glass of milk I just consumed.

Let me be the first to admit that Valentine's Day makes me jealous. And pissed off. For whatever reason, every relationship I've ever had has managed to evade this holiday. I do not think that this is a coincidence. Of all of the guys I have dated in the past, I am pretty sure that I have only celebrated the holiday in 1996, 2000, and 2001 - and only one of those years was good ('96 - courtesy of a ring, a box of chocolates, and a mixed tape featuring Beck). Every other year I've just been single, brokenhearted, or both. And I don't have recorded proof, but I'm pretty sure that in the last five years, I've been drunk on this day. Drunkity drunk drunk.

Many of my friends, particularly at work, are married or practically married, so everyone is going to be getting flowers or some shit on Monday. My desk will be filled with the usual - colored Sharpies (to make myself feel important), files with television and radio buys for 2006 (strategically placed to make me feel important), and my Office-Space-Milton-worthy trusty stapler. No flowers, no chocolates, nothing. The only thing I'll have to keep me warm at my cube is the red Clifford Beanie Baby my supervisor gave me as a joke, and the two bottles of unopened Biltmore wine that are still sitting in my cabinet from the holidays. Now that I think about it, if I slip some into my red coffee thermos I'm not sure anyone would notice that I was drowning my sorrows in a nice Merlot during the workday...

Actually, I forgot. One of the guys I work with, who is good-looking and sweet and otherwise engaged (no, literally), offered to buy me some chocolates. I politely refused, because although it was an incredibly nice gesture, my ass could do without the pity truffles.

Now I hate to bring religion into this, and I try to stay away from it because a) I don't want to alienate any readers, and b) I'm still not sure how I myself feel about the whole topic of religion, but this year, Moses will play his hand in my Valentine's Day Celebration.

Oh yes.

You see, this very weekend, I will be attending a "Valenstein's Day Bash".

My Wife's friend, who insists on going to every Jewish singles event in Atlanta (and possibly elsewhere), gave Wife an ultimatum - get crunk with the Jews on Valentine's Day or else. Wife, being the sassy little bitch she is, threw a counter-ultimatum - either I go with her, or she won't go.

Ordinarily I would shy away from these types of things, but since my parents are going to be in town, and spending three consecutive nights watching "Dancing With the Stars" on TiVo at my sister's house does not seem appealing to me, I figured I'd approach Mom and ask to bail on whatever family plans we have on Saturday night in order to attend.

When I asked her about it earlier this week over the phone, you'd have thought the Messiah had landed on the doorstep of my parents' condo. "Of course you can go!" she said. "Maybe you'll meet a nice Jewish guy."

Note to Mom: A nice Jewish guy? How about a guy with two legs? The way my mojo is working these days, it seems I can't swing the obnoxious, ginormous Louis Vuitton bag I begged her to buy me for my birthday last year without knocking ten losers over at the bar.

Admittedly, I used to want to marry within my own religion. A part of me still thinks it's smart. Why not? It would certainly make it easier when you start shooting off babies and whatnot. But in recent years, I've come to realize that religion is not necessarily a big part of my life, and that if Seth Cohen celebrated Chrismukkah and turned out alright (although he is definitely a fictional character, but that's beside the point), then as long as I found someone who could put up with my shit, and someone who I felt I could sleep with exclusively for the rest of my life, then what difference did it make if he prayed to Jesus or the Jolly Green Giant?

Yet here I am, trying my hand at meeting some quality guys of my own Tribe. I have no idea how this is going to turn out, but I can predict that it will be a waste of time, seeing as (with all due respect to the men of my religion), I am attracted to maybe 1 in every 100 Jewish guys. Emphasis on the "maybe".

So while I'd like to think that I'm at least openminded enough to go to this thing, I would gently remind all of you that it's going to take one hell of a hot, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, not-really-religious, Aryan-looking Jewish guy to make this worthwhile.

The Valenstein's Day party (and yes, it is literally called this...I wish I was clever enough to have come up with it myself) is supposedly a "cool" event for young, single, professionals to meet and hang. The invite even states that admission is 1/2 off if you have a "stein" in your last name. Unfortunately for me, I do not (although I do have an "e" in my last name somewhere), so with $10, a thirst for vodka tonics, and two other ladies, off I go.

I'll expect to have some interesting stories. Or not.

Until then, Happy Valenstein's Day to all. I'll be back early next week.

posted by KA @ 10:50 PM