Of all the Valentine’s Day celebrations I’ve had, my most memorable was spent as a single girl. Let’s be honest, being single on a day dedicated to love and relationships can be depressing. I was recently single at the time after ending a particularly tumultuous long-term relationship. Fortunately for me, misery loves company. My best friend and college roommate was also a single girl and together we planned our “Single Girl Valentine’s Extravaganza”.
Who needs a man when you’ve got TV, vodka, and your best friend?
Michelle & I were meticulous with our preparations for the single girl holiday. We stocked up on our favorite cheap vodka and plenty of mixers. We scoured the TV Guide and carefully planned a 24 hour lineup. We sent the obligatory “I’ve caught that terrible stomach bug” email to our professors. We stocked up on our snack necessities: chocolate, chocolate, and chocolate. We picked our poison from the Papa John’s delivery menu. We planned our sexy outfits: sweat pants and baggy t-shirts. A sign on our dorm door and posts on Myspace and instant messengers warned friends to stay away. We were armed and ready.
I’d like to say we spent the day cuddled in our respective twin beds, watching lame made-for-television movies and alternating shots of vodka with chunks of chocolate, but something went very VERY wrong. We started out with the worst morning talkshows including Jerry Springer. We mixed our first drinks. We turned off our computers and cell phones. We bitched about our lives. We were off to a great start until we had the brilliant idea to start doing shots.
The cheap vodka hit us full force around noon. Computer and cell phone activity resumed. We started to drunkenly text everyone in our phone contacts. There were absurd phone conversations with our mothers. The calling of the ex-boyfriends began around 1:00. I vaguely remember one of my exs saying “Are you drunk or stupid? I’m trying really hard to make a handmade card for my new girlfriend and you are making this impossible. I’m also giving her my favorite shot glass, the one with that glows in the dark. You know, something from the heart instead of from the shelf at Walmart.”. Nothing says Happy Valentine’s Day from your new boyfriend like a handmade card and an old sticky shot glass. Obviously ditching that loser was one of my finer decisions. The rest of the day, however, my decisions were questionable at best.
By the time the Papa John’s delivery man showed up, we were outside smoking cigarettes we had bummed from the creepy guy who lived down the hall. Neither of us remembered what we had agreed to do in exchange for the cigarettes, but let’s just say it led to an awkward encounter a few weeks later. The Papa John’s guy was startled by our screams as he walked toward the dorm and outright horrified when my roommate kissed him on the lips as she grabbed the pizza and breadsticks. I can’t remember if he received a tip, or even enough money to cover the bill, but I do remember him yelling that he hated his job as he sprinted back to his car.
After devouring our feast and more shots of vodka, we decided to have a dance party in our room. Apparently our neighbor was trying to study for a major test. The first knock on the door was followed up a simple request for us to be quiet. The next visit included banging on the door and some vulgar words for us to shut up. The third visit was cut short when Michelle and I did the screaming and slammed our door in the girl’s face. Eventually we took our dance party into the hallway and started a conga line. Unfortunately, the conga line only ever consisted of the two of us and the creepy guy down the hall.
Luckily for everyone involved, we both passed out by 4:00 p.m. We woke up around 7:00 and the situation was not good. We both had the icky feeling that comes between being drunk and being hungover. Most people have the blessing of being asleep for this icky period, but of course we were wide awake. Obviously there was only one cure for this: Chinese food. Paying no attention to wild hair, unbrushed teeth, or vodka and pizza stained clothing, we threw on our shoes and walked 7 blocks to the local Chinese buffet. Even the always non-judgmental waitresses were looking at us with a mixture of fright and pity. After stuffing ourselves with oriental delights, we trekked back to our dorm and finally fell asleep.
The next morning our neighbors had shocking stories which we were too drunk to remember. I dumped ice cubes all over the stairwell causing four people to slip and fall. Michelle and I had taken turns stomping on flowers that had been delivered for three girls in our dorm. We ripped decorations off the walls, we threw a pizza box out of our window, and there were disturbing pictures of us kissing and hugging the creepy guy down the hall. I spent the next few days apologizing to everyone from ex-boyfriends to classmates to my mother for stupid text messages and phone conversations. I spent the next few weeks being mocked by everyone in the dorm because somehow our sleazy photo session with the creepy guy ended up online. Yet, it was honestly the best Valentine’s Day I ever had (until I met my husband, of course!).