Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Don't Even Get Started on President's Day

First of all, for those of you whom I told that Ash Wednesday was the same day as Valentine's Day this year- whoops. Sorry if you cancelled on your sweetie to go make good with God. But really, when you think about it, what is Valentine's Day, other than a special day set aside for women to let the men in their lives know just how badly he has fucked up?

I know a guy who took his longtime girlfriend out to lunch at a fancy DC establishment- one that makes you get reservations way in advance and whatnot. Then, he took her out to dinner- again at one of those reserve-several-months-in-advance kind of places, where he gave her a lovely bouquet of flowers and some really nice fancy, expensive chocolates. We're talking better than CVS brand.

Apparently, somewhere between fancy meal A and from-a-choclatier-chocolates, he fucked up badly enough that they had to have a Deep and Meaningful until 3 in the morning about just how dedicated to the relationship he was. You know what she did for Valentine's Day?

She made him a PowerPoint. About their relationship.

Clearly, she loves him more.

Women of the world: if you are one of these types of women, this business has got to stop. You are ruining it for the rest of us.

Look, I don't need the Object to get a card for me to prove his undying love- he demonstrates his affection every day through little things. You know, like stealing the covers from me because he knows I like to sleep in the cold (at least he told me that's why he does that), or making me laugh at really inappropriate times by pretending to be Truman Capote. But I would not have minded a box of chocolates. Or better yet, sour jelly bellies. But when the peoples hear the tales like that of the unfortunate chap above, they feel compelled to take a stand against such termagant behavior. And of course the blame extends to the entire holiday for being a manifestation of bad female behavior. This is exactly what the Object did- after I took him out for Valentine's Day (a very confusing three days before the actual holiday).

So thanks a lot, you crazy shrews. I just wanted some jelly bellies and maybe a couple of those chalky conversation hearts. And a new iPod. But a few bad apples on the double-X side have impossibly high standards that now have forever sullied a sweet gift-getting and giving opportunity. Look, a holiday has as much weight or importance as a person allows it. Putting so much gravitas on being able to prove in one short day the entire breadth and depth of a complicated, multi-faceted relationship does seem pretty daunting. I can't so much blame the Object as I can empathize with him- if his gender expected that of me, I'd give up on the whole damn day, too.

Sigh, sometimes I long for the days when Valentine's Day was just another excuse for single women to get trashed and sob into their pillows to try and dispel the soul-crushing loneliness. Or maybe just an excuse to get really trashed and party with all your girlyfriends. Either way, good times.

Anyhoo, let's move on, because Valentine's day was last week, and apparently, Mardi Gras is today.

Despite the fact that I'm a practicing apostate, I still try and observe Lent- not so much because I like the idea of trying to live a more ascetic life (new iPod! NEW IPOD!), but more because I'm so undisciplined that any tiny measure of regiment is immediately noticeable, thus making me look better- that whole moral high ground business.

Today at work, Ginny brought a crazy delicious King Cake from New Orleans. Cream cheese and everything. Since I had about 12 pieces, the odds were in my favor that I'd win the baby- and whaddaya know, I did! First of all, the whole thing was not a little scary- mostly because at first, I thought I was biting down on my crazy expensive stick-on tooth. It got even worse when I realized that I was essentially eating an effigy of the baby Jesus, and regardless of whether or not you believe in him, that's the sort of thing that's going to come back to haunt you in a horrible, horrible way, probably with vicious killer baby lambs.

Now here's the thing- I'm a little confused about the rules here. I know the baby means I won, but I'm unsure of exactly what I've won. So I have two questions:

1. If I remember my time in New Orleans during Carnival (which, really, I don't), this means I have to show my tits to get the prize. Can we just skip that part?

2. Can the prize be a Get-Out-of-Lent-Free card? Because then I could give the li'l Jee-sus effigy to someone who actually believes in the whole thing. Check it: a non-heretic gets a useful negotiation chip for finagling some divine favor, and I get my Lenten lip service. And then no one has to see my tits. Everyone wins!


Anonymous Chris Chan said...

According to Jennifer Paterson and Clarissa Dickson-Wright, stars of "Two Fat Ladies," the greatest cooking show ever made, the person who finds the Christ Child doll becomes King (or Queen) of the Carnival and gets a golden paper crown, although the tradition varies a little depending on regional factors.

11:10 PM  
Blogger Brunch Bird said...

Good news: Getting the baby means you'll have good luck all year.
Bad news: Getting the baby means you have to buy the king cake for everyone next year.
The girl who had to schlep two of them on her lap on a plane from New Orleans through Atlanta to D.C. last week.

12:43 AM  

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