V DAY: The D Day of my Heart
For the first time ever, I had a proper Valentine’s Day. Which I inevitably ruined, as I often do with proper things- I woke up naked in my bathtub, but I’ll get to that in a little. My last “real” Valentine’s Day was my freshman year of college where I had dinner at 10 PM and received flavored lube for a gift. To this day I cannot eat anything blueberry flavored.
At 5:30 we had a fancy grown up dinner where I successfully followed The Millionaire Matchmaker’s rule of 2 drink max and at no point unbuttoned my pants to eat more. Then we went to a special v-day “Paint and Pour” class. Background: Paint and Pour is a 2 hour art class where a hipster who stores paint brushes in his beard teaches participants for $35 how to paint a sunset with primary colors while getting blind drunk on boxed wine. It was like art school senior year all over again.
Here my friends, is where the trouble began. Class ended at 10:00 PM and we went back to our apartment where the boyf put on “House of Cards.” The only way you could get me to watch that overrated Netflix series is if it had a double cross over (a criss cross over?) with Scandal, The West Wing, and I was drinking champagne with the Real Housewives of Orange County. Sorry I’m not sorry. So I left and went to my sister’s house party. Since I’m as old as King Tut’s balls I didn’t exactly fit in. I missed the memo on wearing skirts as dresses and arrived in yoga pants, a sports bra, and a shirt with a giant glittery heart that said “SO OVER IT.”
I argued with some guys born in 1992 that they can’t be 21 when they looked 13 and sucked at beer pong. Did a celeb shot. Missed. Once I realized they actually were 21, I just suck at math, I ran away. I carried around a bag of wine. Did Jell-O shots by some pictures of One Direction alone in a corner. How many shots you ask? Enough to blackout mid walk home and take 123 selfies in U of M’s diag. Enough to get lost in a parking structure that did not belong to my apartment building. Enough to think it was a good idea to deposit $80 in cash at a street ATM. Enough to apparently stand in long line at a pizza place, pay in exact cash, and then sit alone in a booth to eat it.
It’s maybe a 25 minute walk from my sister’s house to my apartment. I took me an 2 hours. My boyfriend thought I was kidnapped. If I am ever kidnapped there is a 90% chance they would be like, “oh fuck this, she is too annoying and keeps changing the radio station,” and then drop me off at a McDonalds.