The sitcom stereotype goes like this: Guy is always horny, guy tries to have sex with girl, girl shoots him down. But as Siobhan Rosen tells it, the script’s been flipped. And now there’s an awful lot of young, perfectly sex-capable dudes who won’t get off their asses to, well, get some.
My parents have been married for thirty-five years, and not once have they celebrated Valentine’s Day. I didn’t come upon this fact until last year when I stopped by their house to say hello and asked my dad what his plans were for February 14th. “Probably take the dog for a walk,” he responded as he stood in the kitchen, surgically preparing an orange for eating.
“You’re not gonna do anything with mom?” I asked.
“She might come on the walk. Although lately the dog’s had the shits and she ain’t a fan, so it might be a solo endeavor.”
“So you’re not going to dinner or anything?” I asked.
“Yeah, I get it. It’s a made up holiday anyway,” I replied.
“They’re all made up holidays, genius. You think Easter sprouted up from the fucking ground? No. Somebody had to say, ‘I’m a big fan of Jesus and I got a ham and some time to kill on a Sunday.’ “
“But you celebrate Easter,” I said as I grabbed an orange slice he handed me.
“I like ham,” he replied as he grabbed his plate full of fruit and moved into the dining room.
“So then why don’t you celebrate Valentine’s day? I don’t care. I’m just curious,” I pushed.
“That’s the definition of caring, dum-dum. You know why human beings are here on earth? To fuck each other, make babies, then take care of those babies just long enough so that those babies are able to grow up and fuck each other and make more babies. That’s it. That’s our purpose in life. And if you don’t believe me, take a good look at yourself in the mirror right after you’re done jerking off next time and try to come up with a good reason as to why in the hell you just spent fifteen minutes doing that.”
“I would rather not do that.”
While all holidays have their detractors, nobody quite wigs out over the others like they do for Valentine’s Day. In fact, people seem to like Thanksgiving (except for the travel), Halloween (except for having to be nice to children and hos), the Fourth of July (except for dogs), St. Patrick’s Day, New Year’s, Labor Day, and so on. I think the thing that they all have in common is booze.
This is why I’ve learned to treat Valentine’s as an unofficial drinking holiday.
Think about it for a second.
People love drinking holidays because your only obligations are to make sure you eat enough dip and don’t take your top off. The best drinking holidays are the ones where you don’t have to see your parents, and are instead encouraged to parade around with other drunk people in some kind of dumb hat. There’s no anxiety about being alone, because you’re not alone, you’re with that guy in the oversized sunglasses and the Dr. Seuss hat. He’s fun, and you think his name is Greg. Single people have known this for years, but it goes double for you couples, whether your relationship is fresh or comfortably shopworn.
I know lots of women and men who agonize over Valentine’s Day, when they should just be celebrating the gropiest part of their relationship. You don’t need to come up with some elaborate homespun craft or suspendered crotchless number—just go to a dark hotel bar and drink martinis until you do things you tell stories about at brunch.
And please, don’t. Full review here.
New Year’s Eve feels like the movie adaptation of a vodka ad. There’s an orgy of pretty people wearing sparkly clothes, spewing lines of dialogue composed by a committee seemingly intent on selling things. They’re slogans, really. Like: “How do you explain the entire world coming together on one night?” “The countdown begins!” “Let’s do it!” “Somebody’s gonna have a happy New Year tonight!” “Are you amazed yet?” And “You may have just found The One.” Don’t tell me you can’t see every single one of these sentences on the side of a bus, printed in bold letters beneath a picture of a sweating bottle of vodka. Or hear them in the chorus of a Black Eyed Peas song—the auditory version of a vodka ad.