Thursday, February 13, 2014

Valentine Box

I think Valentines Day is a crock of shit! I will proudly admit to being bitter, so there is no need for you to wonder. I fucking hate the day. The roses, the candies, the barf-inducing, sappy cards. Of course I've had many memorable V-days... It's just that they are memorable in the wrong ways.

My first real boyfriend showered me with flowers. He gave me the biggest teddy-bear I'd ever seen. I was thrilled! Thrilled 'til I learned that he had stole it. All of it. Like straight out of a store in the middle of the night. Nice, huh?

My next boyfriend did not celebrate anything. Not a birthday, not Christmas.. and of course not Valentines Day. That is... until he did. I walked into my job to find a huge basket filled with stuffed animals & chocolates topped with a huge balloon. (Think mini-hot air balloon.) I was shocked! Surprised! Excited! Until he admitted that he, too, had used his 5-finger discount. Seriously?! More stolen shit? This was years after I received the other "hot" goods. Different time, different man... same lame result.

After 5 years with boyfriend B, I moved away to start a new life. He was not happy with that choice. Not at all. He told me I ruined his life by making that choice. He told me that I was stupid for making that choice. He "promised" that he was the only one that would EVER love me... So by making that choice we broke up. We broke up for about 48 hours. (Funny thing about choices, huh? If only I would have made another...)

A year and a half into our long-distance relationship Valentines Day came out to play. This time I worked in a bank. I was a professional in a professional environment. I was in the lunch room when I got a frantic call from the front line. I was needed in the lobby. Immediately. When I got there I saw 5 co-workers standing in a circle; they were all staring at a huge box.

The box was addressed to me. The box was big enough to hold a person; or two.
The box had drawings, obviously done by a child, on one side. (To be honest it looked a little sadistic.) The box's three other sides were plastered with ads from a department store. What department? Oh... the underwear one. Like no shit: bras, panties, nighties... Horrified me and my pal pushed the box into a side office. Everyone gathered around. They wanted to see what was inside!

Embarrassingly, the box gets opened. One helium filled balloon floated out slowly; it was attached to 2 limp ones. There were brightly colored sweat suits covering a home bath spa, some candy, a card with no envelope, and several photos; photos that I had when I moved away from him. (They were missing when I un-packed.) Stolen things yet again. W.T.F.

The card had writing in it. A poem. A real intimate one describing sexual acts and expressing feelings. It was not signed... nor was it written by him. It was in cursive, female handwriting; that of my former bff that was now living with him. (That's a whole other story.. maybe I'll tell you later.)

I was furious! How tacky is this fucking box?! I ran back to the break room to make a call. It went something like this:
Me: What the fuck is with this box?!?!!?
Him: What do you mean?
Me: Are you fucking serious right now with the naked women on the outside of it and the card and...
Him: Shut the fuck up you ungrateful bitch! I spent $50 to have that shipped so you would get it today! You're such a fucking bitch! You don't appreciate shit!
CLICK - He hung up.

I didn't know what to do with myself. When I got home that night I was still embarrassed, still pissed off. I took pen to paper (my natural outlet for angst) and wrote my own poem. I few days later we finally talked and I read it to him. He didn't like it.

Yes. This was years ago. Ten years ago to be exact. Have I celebrated Valentines Day since? Sure.. I've had dinners with my friends, etc. But no memory, no amount of friends or fun can erase what this "holiday" means to me. In short, it means jack shit! Sorry if that offends you romantics. But to my fellow cynics I'd like to say: Cheers! Keep on hatin' I am right beside you!

Here's the poem I wrote... I can't believe he hated it.


Valentine Box
 
 
         I could almost be paranoid enough
                        To think you’re trying to kill me.
 
A gift for my bath that plugs into the wall?
Knowin’ water  &  ‘lectricity don’t mesh at all.
 
The chocolate to eat could be ten years old.
It’s hard as a rock and covered in mold.
 
The balloons filled with poison air?
Two deflated inside there!
 
A poem to make my heart beat with love.
I could almost be paranoid enough………….
 
My heart attacks with anger
It’s the worst k i n d  o  f    p   a   i   n      u    h!
                        I think you’re trying to kill me.
 
                        You should know by now, that gifts ain’t shit
                        A personal touch makes loneliness quit.
                        A thought wrapped in intimacy
                        That’s the kind of present I need.
                        I don’t need a reminder
                        That you lay down beside her.
 
My body attacks with anger
It’s    t h e      wo   r  st      k  ind       of       pa   i        n                       U        H!
I think you’re trying to kill me.
 
 I don’t know you.
From the way you wrapped it up,  to what you put inside.
I’m so confused
I stumble through... wondering
                            
 I don’t trust you.
From the way you wrapped it up,  to what you put inside.
I am a question mark....left pondering
 
 I don’t believe you.
From the way you wrapped it up,  to what you put inside.
You’ve overstepped your boundary
 
I know you're trying to kill me
 
(c) 2003