I was never pissy about Valentine’s Day.
Yet, getting a rose from the ex was a very beautiful thing which made me very happy. He did it on other days during the year as well.
Another hetero female checking in. The only person to ever get me cards and chocolate on Valentine’s (And I find VD to be a poor abbreviation) is my mother when I was a kid.
Now, mr. jar and I might get each other a DVD or a book and then we’ll go out and have drinks. Just another lovely Friday!
Every other day?
Do you have a time-share girlfriend, or what?
I have never had a sweety on V-day. Only one guy has ever called me up to wish me a happy v-day and I try and call up my friends to tell them the same thing.
Personally for v-day all I want is someone to snuggle with, have a nice dinner and some good fun sex… before I have to go to work.
Cuz, oh yeah. I work V-day. Just like I do every other Friday.
Why do so many women like getting the hearts/flowers/chocolates routine? And why is there a “special day” to celebrate this idea of tangibly showing your love for your SO?
Is that what the gripe is about?
I agree with the gripe in part, that part that says that holidays are waaaaay overcommercialized and seem to benefit the vendors more than the customer.
But insofar as a person showing (tangibly, that’s the important part) that he/she cares for his/her SO? That’s a good thing.
Why do girls (usual disclaimer here regarding of course not everyone feels this way) love getting flowers etc at work?
Well, for the same reason that guys (insert disclaimer) love showing off how much horsepower their hotrod has, or how fancy their new stereo/computer/insert gadget of choice is.
We can be competitive too, and it is nice to have visible “proof” of how much your guy loves you, by way of flowers and such delivered to one’s office!!!
Now, that being said, I personally much prefer practical stuff (flowers die, chocolate disappears before the day is out, I prefer lasting “stuff”). My boyfriend bought me a great computer book one year, he did put it in a fancy gift bag though, and it was quite a bit more than a dozen roses. And the other girls in the office still envied me for what a thoughtful guy he was, I’d been talking about wanting that particular book for a long time!!
Neat! A guy who gets a gift AND listens to what a girl wants.
I’m with the folks who don’t need a special day for exchanging gifts and showing love. The other night I was coughing up a lung and my husband got up off the couch at midnight and got me cough syrup, cough drops, and ice cream. Without being asked. Keep your flowers and candy- I got those aplenty when I was dating. I much prefer the acts of love in my marriage then an obligatory gift.
I agree completely. But it has nothing to do with gender OR gender roles. That’s all I’m saying. 
My husband is having two teeth pulled Saturday, so we can’t even enjoy a nice dinner together. He gets a card. I get control of the remote. Works for us!
Obsidian:
you say you just want the cuddly stuff, and you probably mean it. That is until you have that on a regular basis, then it somehow gets twisted and taken for granted and you want just the right card to commemorate the occasion.
OK, maybe not you specifically, but it happens.
the thing is that no matter how much a guy does all those things the 364 rest of the days of the year, he’s screwed if he doesn’t do it on THIS day. And the expectation to do so has nothing to do with the relationship history. Just a day someone picked, called it this, started some traditions, and then the marketing predators attacked.
I just don’t like being forced to do something that I would have done anyway. It robs me of the intrinsic reward I would have recieved. Now I’m being romantic just to keep up rather than to be romantic. I’m forcing what comes naturally.
Like being ordered by the police to eat a whole carton of ice cream while they yell at you to eat faster and enjoy it.
Out of curiosity, why are you dating somebody whose expectations and values are obviously different from yours, and who evidently expects you to cater to her desires no matter how you feel about it? I swear, sometimes I think the entire purpose of Valentine’s Day is to remind us terminally single types how lucky we are…
Hey greck make it about what you want. Sure get her chocolates and a nice card but also get her that french maid or cheerleader costume as well.
I’m married to her.
She started out with the whole “oh, your love is all i need” rap, but they change…
I love my wife, I just don’t want to be forced to tell her so by hallmark.
Lasr night, our thermostat went out and we went to Home Depot to get a new one. As we were standing at the register, my husband turned to me and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Honey.”
Brings a little tear to my eye as I remember it.
It was 1994. I was working as a waitress in a little pseudo-Caribbean mini restaurant chain (3 stores) down South. This place had great employee Christmas parties (yes, there’s a point . . . ).
And at the last one I’d fallen in love.
LOVE, I tell you, with a fella who worked in one of the other stores. I saw him at the company Christmas jamboree and was floored by his stunning big nose. (Yeah . . . I’ve got a thing for those. Carl Malden, no, but Crispin Glover or Joe Morton? Woo-wee! This particular nose was more the Crispin variety.)
The very next day, while nursing a killer hangover during the lunch shift, I found out that The Object of My Affection (hereafter known as “The Ob”) would be transferring to my store in two weeks!
Surely it was a sign.
Well, transfer he did, and my love for him only grew from there. I mean this was pure, unadulterated, Wanna-Crawl-Up-His-Butt-And-Sleep-There love.
It was also SILENT love, because I was too freaked out in his presence to actually talk to him. So usually I just stared, jittered, sighed, and counted our future dogs (I’ve never wanted kids, even in love).
The night before Valentine’s day, The Ob and I worked a dinner shift together, and much to my dismay, my ex boyfriend (with whom I was still on friendly terms) came into the restaurant drunk, with friends, to visit me. I tried to remain civil but detached, for fear that The Ob (who surely wanted to crawl up MY butt, too, I just knew it, even if we’d yet to utter more than a six-word, condiment-related sentence to each other) would think that this drunk guy was (still) my boyfriend (a reasonable assumption that would be, since the drunken ex kept touching my ass). Unfortunately, my utter twirliness in the presence of The Ob completely prevented me from thinking of a way to remedy the situation before the night was through.
Then Valentine’s day came. The Ob and I wrapped up the lunch shift together, everyone else having been sent home already by the manager. I was next to go, but couldn’t bear to leave him, so I ordered lunch for myself and sat at the bar eating it, hoping against hope that some opportunity would present itself whereby I might explain that the drunk guy from the night before was NOT my boyfriend . . .
At long last, as I gazed forlornly at my half-eaten bacon/cheddar/bleu cheese burger (hey, I was 23 and had the metabolism of a goddess), I had one of those Moment O Claritys wherein my inner rational thinker blurted, What, he’s just going to come up to you, the freaky (and, according to all available evidence, MUTE and mildly autistic) twirl-a-thon that you are, and strike up a conversation? What, is he going to just walk over here and ASK you if that was your boyfriend last night? WHAT DO PEOPLE EAT ON YOUR PLANET, DORK??? Give the hell up and MOVE ON!!!
Thus enlightened, I dumped my scraps, gathered my things, and headed out the back door.
I passed him on the way.
“See ya,” he called after me.
“See ya,” I called back (thinking how it was a damn shame I’d given up on him, otherwise I’d be really excited that HE SPOKE TO ME).
“So, um . . .” he continued, following me towards the back door, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Yeah, Happy Valentine’s Day,” I smiled (still not daring to let Hope out of its firmly nailed coffin).
“So what are you doing tonight?” he asked.
Hope appeared to have a crowbar up in that summabitch.
“Nothing,” I shrugged, backing towards the door in hopes that I could get to my car before that last nail went pinging onto the floor.
“Let’s go out,” he suggested lightly.
A creak of hinges, and all Hope broke loose.
Before I could respond, he continued, “Tell you what–we’ll pretend like we’re valentines; I’ll buy you flowers, you can buy me chocolates.”
“Actually, I prefer chocolates to flowers,” I replied (yep–that was all I could come up with in the way of wit).
Anyway, long story shorter, I gave him my number (I made him write it down because I knew that my violently quaking hands weren’t up to the task) and sauntered out the back door of the restaurant (at last!) . . .
. . . and then I screamed all the way home (after I got my car out of its parking space, which took a good 5 minutes, because I was so freaked out). When I arrived home (amazed that I’d made it safely, what with the massive coronary I’d experienced on the way), I immediately called my roommate at work to tell her the news.
“What is it?” she wondered. “Did you get flowers?”
“I got a date,” I replied, trying Biofeedback techniques to remain calm.
“With whom?” she wondered.
I was silent. I was still thinking maybe I’d hallucinated. Turned out, though, that I didn’t need to say anything at all . . .
“You’re KIDDING!” she screamed after about 5 seconds of silence (I’ll love her forever because of that moment).
She left work EARLY to come home and help me pick an outfit (oh, and that moment, too).
Then we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I think you can see where this is going, can’t you?
My roommate ended up taking me to my favorite Thai place as a consolation prize. Then we came home, and my roommate made a bee-line for the answering machine.
“There’s one message,” she said dramatically, with a somber gaze.
It was the same ex from the night before, calling to wish us “Happy VD!”
After that, we broke open the box of Chocolate Covered Cherries I’d bought that afternoon for The Ob, and didn’t stop eating until each and every one had been devoured.
So yeah, I’ve never been a big fan of VD myself, although I always enjoy getting hokey gifts from my mom, and ironically, I like V-Day a lot better since The Ob Incident, because heck, it certainly can’t get much worse than that . . . 
VD Day??? :eek: :eek: :eek:
Hallmark is trying REALLY hard to make more money…
Seriously though, wasn’t this holiday invented by the Hallmark corp?
Male, hetero here.
I too have never had a GF on Vals Day. Even when I’ve had long term relationships, we’re usually broken up for it…
This year, however, I’ll be celebrating V-Day with 3 really hot girls that also don’t have a “valentine”
I don’t get this perfect gift stuff. Why blow the whole thing out of proportion? And what’s so wrong with getting someone something. It’s fun. It doesn’t mean you can’t get gifts for people other times of the year (for no “special” reason) too.
What bugs me a little are the whiners that don’t have a person in thier life, then blame Hallmark making them feel bad.
Well, I like to use Valentine’s Day as an excuse to lobby for flowers. And lobbying is exactly what I do. I love my hubby with all my heart and soul, but if I relied on his ability to pick up subtle hints, we wouldn’t even be married yet, just dating for, like, 18 years, lol. So, starting about a week before V-Day, I’ll say something casual, like, “you know, I read a study that 9 out of 10 wives love to get flowers on Valentine’s Day”. Then, I have the kids start on him, suggesting flowers, pointing out flowers in the stores, etc. They don’t have to be fancy from a florist, a $5.00 bunch of tulips will do just fine, thank you very much, and I cetainly (as you can tell) expect him to be able to read my mind. But I sure do like flowers for Valentine’s Day. 
Obviously, I meant I don’t expect him to be able to read my mind.
It’s my Birthday, but I’m XY. My wife knows what the answer to “what are we doing for Valentine’s Day” is going to be, so she doesn’t bother asking anymore.
(“Celebrate my Birthday.”)
<mild hijack>
I dislike Mother’s Day even more. I feel sooo pressured into sending a sentimental card and I feel like anything I get from my kids is just the result of pressure. YUCK. And now “they” have created Sweetest Day as another gift/card ripoff/expectations day. GRRRRRRR.
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