Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Protest
I fucking hate Valentine's Day. Even when I was in love and in a relationship I hated Valentine's Day. There's so much pressure to get crappy cards and presents and candy and all sorts of bullshit if you're in a relationship, and so much pressure to feel bad about yourself if you happen to be single. Valentine's Day should be renamed "Single People Pity Party Day", because I was at a bar tonight and the waitress could not stop trying to shove Guiness, Heineken, and mixed drinks involving lots of rum and splashes of fruit juice down our throats with this extraordinarily, obviously accomodating air. I was at this bar because it was my friend RefractometerThief's birthday, her husband is India on business, and she wanted to down some Heinies, not because I wanted to drown my sorrows. Besides, it snowed today, and that seemed like a good enough excuse to leave work early and consume beer. However, between the waitress, the sappy-ass bar soundtrack comprised solely of Celine Dion and Barry Manilow (what, no Lionel Richie? COME ON!), and people saying shit like "Do you have a Valentine...besides J-Sexy?", it's impossible not to notice that motherfuckers are expecting me and every other single person in sight to lament their non-coupled status.
I'm not going to feel sorry for myself in spite of the Coogan's waitress and society at large's best efforts, and I'm doing the most loser thing possible on V-Day: sitting around by the phone, semi-drunk alone, waiting for my mom to call with my uncle's latest colon report. My uncle, a self-proclaimed "mean S.O.B." and retired Boeing machinist by trade (his CB handle is "Toolmaker") finally caved to medical pressure and let them stick a scope up his ass a few months ago. He's survived a host of serious fucking problems: prostate cancer (twice), having a valve put at the base of his weiner to regulate his urine flow, a stroke, subsequent brain surgery, bacterial meningitis, and hearing loss in one ear. He still has the nuts to spend much of the Christmas holiday bitching about the pussy liberals who say negative shit about George W. Bush and who don't drink MacNaughton's. Well, when he finally conceded to his many doctors' requests to get an eyeful of his colon, they realized that he had over FIFTY polyps in it. They biopsied a few representative polyps, and the pathologist was promptly like, "Why doesn't he have colon cancer yet?" My uncle thus decided to have his ENTIRE COLON removed, and the entryway to his large intestine attached directly to his asshole. This is a major fucking surgery, and it will mean that he has to make major lifestyle changes to accommodate his new need to shit fifteen times a day. He's having all sorts of post-surgical complications, including renal failure, severe dehydration from the issues with his plumbing, and "reactions" to his medication, so I'm waiting for my mom to call and give me the update. There could not be a lamer way to spend Valentine's Day, but I've gone all-out to ensure that my Valentine's Day is as pathetic as possible.
In addition to waiting for my mom's call with the colon report, I am watching a show on the History Channel called "Siberian Apocalypse" about the mysterious explosion in the Tunguska Forest during the early part of the 20th century. According to the channel guide, it was supposed to be a show about the St. Valentine's Day massacre and Al Capone's involvement in the same, but I guess the History Channel figured that anyone home watching the History Channel on V-Day would rather hear about the Tunguska Blast of 1909. Apart from several other vague and relatively uninformative History and Discovery Channel shows about this incident, the main information I have about it was when Dan Aykroyd cited it as a historical paranormal incident in the sublime film Ghostbusters. Thus I can add "excited about History Channel show regarding an incident nobody really cares about" along with "sitting by myself", "waiting by the phone for my mom to call about bowels", and "drinking beer alone" to my list of Valentine's Day loserishness. But rather than indulge in self-pity, I'm going to revel in my bachelor status.
If I had a boyfriend, I'd probably have to spend all day shopping for some piece of shit watch or tie or whatever to give him and then fight for a table in some restaurant, neglecting my dogs and the Heineken in my fridge in the process. And why? Because some dumbass in the third century couldn't keep his Jesus love to himself and wound up on the business end of a Roman archer firing squad, and the church decided to strike back by making up his holiday on the same day that the pagans celebrated Zeus/Jupiter doing it with Hera/Juno. What a pointless fucking obligation. I'm not going to let the early Christians or Hallmark convince me to celebrate this bullshit by feeling sorry for myself. If I was going to sit around feeling lonely and desperate because Russell Stover, the DeBeers family, and the greeting card industry think I should, I wouldn't be able to chat it up with la madre and watch the (awesome) History Channel. I could not be more excited about spending my V-day in this way, because doing your basal alone behavior and enjoying it is the best protest against this stupid fucking holiday. I hope that every single person is doing their equivalent and loving it right now too. Fuck Valentine's Day!
I'm not going to feel sorry for myself in spite of the Coogan's waitress and society at large's best efforts, and I'm doing the most loser thing possible on V-Day: sitting around by the phone, semi-drunk alone, waiting for my mom to call with my uncle's latest colon report. My uncle, a self-proclaimed "mean S.O.B." and retired Boeing machinist by trade (his CB handle is "Toolmaker") finally caved to medical pressure and let them stick a scope up his ass a few months ago. He's survived a host of serious fucking problems: prostate cancer (twice), having a valve put at the base of his weiner to regulate his urine flow, a stroke, subsequent brain surgery, bacterial meningitis, and hearing loss in one ear. He still has the nuts to spend much of the Christmas holiday bitching about the pussy liberals who say negative shit about George W. Bush and who don't drink MacNaughton's. Well, when he finally conceded to his many doctors' requests to get an eyeful of his colon, they realized that he had over FIFTY polyps in it. They biopsied a few representative polyps, and the pathologist was promptly like, "Why doesn't he have colon cancer yet?" My uncle thus decided to have his ENTIRE COLON removed, and the entryway to his large intestine attached directly to his asshole. This is a major fucking surgery, and it will mean that he has to make major lifestyle changes to accommodate his new need to shit fifteen times a day. He's having all sorts of post-surgical complications, including renal failure, severe dehydration from the issues with his plumbing, and "reactions" to his medication, so I'm waiting for my mom to call and give me the update. There could not be a lamer way to spend Valentine's Day, but I've gone all-out to ensure that my Valentine's Day is as pathetic as possible.
In addition to waiting for my mom's call with the colon report, I am watching a show on the History Channel called "Siberian Apocalypse" about the mysterious explosion in the Tunguska Forest during the early part of the 20th century. According to the channel guide, it was supposed to be a show about the St. Valentine's Day massacre and Al Capone's involvement in the same, but I guess the History Channel figured that anyone home watching the History Channel on V-Day would rather hear about the Tunguska Blast of 1909. Apart from several other vague and relatively uninformative History and Discovery Channel shows about this incident, the main information I have about it was when Dan Aykroyd cited it as a historical paranormal incident in the sublime film Ghostbusters. Thus I can add "excited about History Channel show regarding an incident nobody really cares about" along with "sitting by myself", "waiting by the phone for my mom to call about bowels", and "drinking beer alone" to my list of Valentine's Day loserishness. But rather than indulge in self-pity, I'm going to revel in my bachelor status.
If I had a boyfriend, I'd probably have to spend all day shopping for some piece of shit watch or tie or whatever to give him and then fight for a table in some restaurant, neglecting my dogs and the Heineken in my fridge in the process. And why? Because some dumbass in the third century couldn't keep his Jesus love to himself and wound up on the business end of a Roman archer firing squad, and the church decided to strike back by making up his holiday on the same day that the pagans celebrated Zeus/Jupiter doing it with Hera/Juno. What a pointless fucking obligation. I'm not going to let the early Christians or Hallmark convince me to celebrate this bullshit by feeling sorry for myself. If I was going to sit around feeling lonely and desperate because Russell Stover, the DeBeers family, and the greeting card industry think I should, I wouldn't be able to chat it up with la madre and watch the (awesome) History Channel. I could not be more excited about spending my V-day in this way, because doing your basal alone behavior and enjoying it is the best protest against this stupid fucking holiday. I hope that every single person is doing their equivalent and loving it right now too. Fuck Valentine's Day!
Labels: History Channel, ranting, Razzification, scathing indictments
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