Part of the ongoing series “I Know What You’re Thinking… (No, You Don’t)”

I hate this day.  

I absolutely fucking hate this day. (cough cough Valentine’s cough Day cough cough)

There are several reasons as to my loathing to this particular day designated as one where couples far and wide are reminded to pronounce or rekindle their love with the significant other they so luckily have.

1) I’ve never had a girlfriend.

2) I’m already a bitter person. EX. In high school, a girl during Honors Algebra 2, doodled a representation of my being as a sad bunny stabbing itself beneath a rain cloud.

3) Most of I’ve ever gotten out of women: You’re a really good friend. 

4) On top of all that, I’m a comic.

Almost needless to say, I’ve never had someone “be my Valentine” and have always chosen to deal with fleeting demonstrations of deep public affection between people for the duration of Valentine’s Day by purposely being alone like it was some badge of honor, though I’d grumble about the whole ordeal like the bitter old man that uses his cane to shush younger people living above or below him that I sometimes think that I am.

This behavior was magnified probably 10-fold since becoming a comic as a large component of comedy is finding the accepted inconsistencies within society and then essentially complaining about them.  Thus, I’ve become even more prone to being critical of the happiness of people in relationships.  EX. I’ve made such proclamations on stage that I’d simply like to yell at people holding hands and that there is no such thing as love; there’s only settling.

Last Thursday, I saw the lovely, talented, and hilarious musical duo of Garfunkel and Oates at Largo and heard their song “I Would Never (Have Sex with You)”, which is about how being “just" friends between men and women will never amount to anything.  This is basically every extended amount of interaction I’ve ever had with women and, as such, you might think that I was horribly offended by such a song.  Though it was painful hearing the lyrics, "Remember the time we went to Dave and Busters and played Dance Dance Revolution until we won a keychain?  Let’s do it again… but there is a bigger problem… I would have never sex with you,” I laughed so hard that I nearly broke into tears (emphasis on nearly).

It wouldn’t be fair to say that I’ve turned a new leaf completely as I’m probably going to end up eating pancakes and tweeting in some 24 hours diner tonight, but instead of perpetuating my own misery in single-dom, I’m now looking to “take the high road” and trying to eschew my own negativity (emphasis on trying), wishing the best to those in love.  I realized that spreading contempt, even ironically, in the end, only comes back to the person originating and the happy couple will just move on. 

So to those comics out there spending Valentine’s Day alone in this vast disconnected metropolis, I’d urge you to hold off from knocking back a tall boy with your eggs and watching 500 Days of Summer after watching the lesser known dark romantic comedy Dedication (NOTE: I’ve only done these things on separate occasions) because it’s only going to make you lose followers on Twitter and leave you still feeling miserable flirting with suicide. Instead, if a pair that seems particularly beaming after they just finished engaging in arduous embrace makes eye contact with you, just smile.

With all of that being said, I still hate this day.