I bought an etiquette book last weekend because I’m kind of punk rock.
T.S. Eliot once said, ”It’s not wise to violate the rules until you know how to observe them.”
There’s nothing worse than pink and purple heart decorations and things covered with glitter. Paying obscene amounts of money for fancy underwear and overpriced restaurants is stupid. I hate flowers and I think conversation hearts are gross, but I’m going to come right out and say it:
I like Valentine’s Day.
I really do. Every other day of the year it’s uncool to tell the people you appreciate, even platonically, how much you like them. Try telling someone you think they’re awesome on Arbor Day– it won’t go over well. Confess your undying love on Rosh Hashanah and you’ll see what I mean. People are weird and standoffish every other day of the year, but on Valentine’s Day it’s totally cool to walk up to your friends and family members and say, “Hey, here’s some candy that tastes like chalk! Please don’t take the flavor personally, because it means I like you. Isn’t that cool?!”
There’s something I need to acknowledge. It’s taken me a long time to accept it about myself, but it’s time for me to come out and admit it. I… am a hot damn mess.
Gross May Be An Understatement
- My morning breath is awful.
- If I didn’t shave my legs, there’s a distinct possibility I’d be mistaken for a chimpanzee.
- I Hulk out when I forget to eat. Not in a cute, green-tinged, cutoff-pants kind of way, but in an incoherent, zero-to-psycho in 3 seconds flat kind of way.
- I once listened to the same Ke$ha song 23 times in a row. (She’s catchy. I hate her.)
- I made three people cry with sarcastic comments… last month.