The Broad's Side

With today being Valentine’s Day, I decided that I was going to attempt to adjust my horrible attitude towards this made-up, bullshit ‘holiday’. So, I headed out this morning with a cheesy smile and practically had rays of sunshine shooting out of my butt. “You can do this, Jen” I told myself. Both the guy at Speedway and the lady at Dunkin’ Donuts were unreceptive when I told them I loved them and gave them candy… maybe because I gave them those crappy conversation hearts that taste like sidewalk chalk? Live and Learn… that’s my motto. Well, for today anyway. I wasn’t going to let these two jerks hold me down.

Next stop was the license bureau, where I had to re-new my plates. Typically, this would really piss me off. I try not to make eye contact in that place because I’m convinced that this is where rapists hang out between rapings. Everyone in there looks seconds away from a shooting spree. New attitude Jen was delightful though, I must say. I made small talk with strangers about crap I don’t care about and laughed at their awful attempts at humor. I was a regular Miss Congeniality. An elderly black man was so enamored with my fake ass personality that he told me how pretty he thought I was. YES! I’m awesome, I thought to myself. This was just the ego boost I needed on a day where nobody bought me flowers or candy. I was feeling amazing… until the old fart promptly failed his vision test. WHAT? How the hell can you not tell a W from an I? On the top row! Well, thanks a lot for the compliment, Ray Charles. They were still talking about revoking his license as I sulked out of there.

Why is it that I need affirmation? It’s getting to the point where I’ll take it wherever I can get it. Just last week at work, I had an incident that most people would find alarming. A sweaty, panting man approached me and nervously advised me that he had been watching me ‘for a long time’. A long time? Umm, like 20 minutes or a couple of years? I didn’t have an opportunity to ask because he handed me a Burger King napkin with his name and phone number scrawled on it in what I like to call ‘serial killer font’ and literally ran out the door. My initial response?… “Yep. I still got it!” To be fair, I don’t think he’s actually a serial killer. Yet. This guy is probably still drowning squirrels in mop buckets in his garage. He’s miles away from dismembering people in his bathtub. I’m still stalkable, and I think that’s great news. The day I’m no longer worth a good dosing of Rohypnol will be a sad day. No, I do not WANT to be roofied. Relax. I’m not advocating date rape. Or rape in general. I’m wearing my ‘rape is bad’ t-shirt right now, as far as you know.

So, Valentine’s Day still sucks. That’s what I learned today in a nutshell. At least tomorrow brings brighter things, like 50% all the Valentine’s Day candy at Target. Perhaps, I’ll buy myself some chalky conversation hearts and compliment myself via their messages all day. You’re right, little message on a piece of terrible tasting candy! I do rock!