Boy, I hate this holiday.
Not for the feeling of loneliness or the cupid imagery. But for the roughly 407 “I hate Valentine’s Day” columns.
Let it be known, I love my paper here. But if I see one more “Valentine’s Day is an over-commercialized sham and hopefully pointing this out will get me girls” column, I just might step into oncoming traffic.
This is a day of love, people! Not necessarily of a significant other or hate sex partner, but loving whatever you want. Can-can dancing, hot wings, Slavic folk religion, what have you.
Seems that’s just not enough for most people to like the big “V” though. Seems if you don’t have a partner for this 24-hour Barry White song, the only alternative is a quart of Cherry Garcia and a blender full of anger.
Have we forgotten there are tons of other bitter, ice cream-pounding souls out there too? Could it be people just don’t understand the “rules of engagement” when it comes to trying to find that someone, that hook-up partner, that gardening tool (hey, desperate times…)?
If this Friday leaves you feeling passed-over like a lemon Starburst, here’s a few sports-oriented guidelines for what hopefully will be a weekend filled with less Ben and Jerry’s and more hanky panky (or maybe a combination of the two!).
Illegal motion: Whoa there, stallion. What she said: “Can you make me another White Russian?” What you heard: “Can you check if my thong is still aligned?” Better check the batteries in that translator, pal.
Delay of Game: You’ve found Ms. right and you’re beginning to work the mojo but your conversation is constantly interrupted by that “Hey, I’m drunk, annoying and right next to you!” guy. You know that guy. Don’t be that guy. Ever.
Icing: The gang’s all around, the shot glasses are up, the mood is high. Leave it to you to ruin it all. Similar to Chris Farley’s “Kill Whitey!” in “Black Sheep,” you drop the verbal turd in the punch bowl.
Something along the lines of: “We have so many shots at this house … that they should turn it into a shot factory. Cause we have so many, see.”
This effectively “ices” the mood of everyone around you, as well as your chances with any females within three blocks (word spreads quickly).
Traveling: Making the rounds, mingling here, mingling there. Sounds like a surefire way for party success. But often it can spread even the strongest party-goer too thin.
A good player knows to survey the field then hone in on two, maybe three consistent targets for flirtation and possible “interaction.” Our world is not like that of the gibbon or lemur. While our instinct is to spread the love, the sooner you narrow your options, the better off you’ll be.
Man-to-Man vs. Zone: OK, sometimes in our college years, we ARE permitted to act like lemurs. Where man-to-man is the more traditional method of making out, this three-way kiss that all the kids are talking about sure sounds fun, don’t it? Enter the zone attack — many people to cover one area. Probably best not to involve real lemurs here.
Forecheck: As males, we are stupid. And being that we are stupid, we can sometimes put forth a front or “forecheck” when first meeting an attractive lady. This, in essence, works as a facade to make us seem cooler (or at least less stupid).
Remember in “Superman II” when Superman is constantly flying in and out of Lois Lane’s apartment and switching back and forth between Clark Kent and himself, all to keep the dame clueless? Same basic idea.
We can all learn from Superman’s mistakes: being yourself is the best policy.
The golf principle: A 400-yard drive off the tee counts as much as a 4-foot putt on the green. In essence, you don’t always need to hit a home run to make your mark.
Sometimes all it takes is a glance or a smile to say what 1,000 Words cannot: “Darling… let’s bone like lemurs.” Now that’s a Valentine’s Day everyone can enjoy.