Showing posts with label valentine's day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label valentine's day. Show all posts
Friday, February 12, 2010
NYTimes Gets Ultra Romantic
Because nothing's more romantic than a tragic accident, The New York Times is celebrating Valentine's Day by posting a photo of an Olympic hopeful DYING IN A LUGING CRASH as the feature photo on its home page.
Another Gawker Story... So You Don't Have to Page Through All the Boring Ones Yourself
Picture it ... Valentine's Day 1991. I'm a sophomore in college and have been dating the hot guy who lives across the parking lot in my apartment complex - we'll call him G. We've been making out for a while and casually dating ... and then decide we'll move it into more serious territory, just in time for Valentine's Day.
He wakes up early to put a rose on my car before I have to leave for my first class. Awww. We have a makeout session at his place that afternoon, where we express our feelings and remark how special we are to each other. It's touching. I've only had one boyfriend for Valentine's Day before, and he turned out to be an abusive stalker. This is my first healthy relationship in almost two years, and I'm over the moon. I decide to cook him an awesome spaghetti dinner ... and then we'll finally consummate our relationship.
I decide to make the meatballs from the freezer that my roommate had purchased. I make a fantastic dinner for two, complete with candles and a nice peach sorbet for dessert. We head upstairs to begin our wonderful night together. I'm so nervous, because it's our first time together and I haven't been with anyone new in years.
After making out for a while, he excuses himself to use my bathroom which was attached to the bedroom. He proceeds to have what appears to be EXPLOSIVE diarrhea from what I can hear from my half-naked position on the bed near the bathroom door. There's grunting, swearing, panting, and soon cries to God are pouring out of him as freely as the dinner he's ingested less than an hour before. I'm not sure what to do ... do I call attention to his pain by asking him if he's OK, or just let him wait it out? He's got to be embarrassed, because I'm completely mortified.
After what seems to be an eternity (and was probably about 45 minutes), he emerges from the bathroom completely pale and very sweaty. He's a trouper, though. We proceed to have not-so-energetic sex and he hobbles across the parking lot back to his house. Within twenty minutes, I am the one in the bathroom, cursing my ancestors, the shower curtain, the sorbet, and bargaining quite ineffectively with God.
Two days later, my roommate returns home from her trip and I tell her about my disastrous evening. I tell her I've used her ground chuck to make the meatballs, and she exclaims, "OMG... I bought that when we moved in!"
Which was the previous June.
G and I continued to see each other, for some months afterward, but it didn't work out. I never cooked for him again. Luckily.
He wakes up early to put a rose on my car before I have to leave for my first class. Awww. We have a makeout session at his place that afternoon, where we express our feelings and remark how special we are to each other. It's touching. I've only had one boyfriend for Valentine's Day before, and he turned out to be an abusive stalker. This is my first healthy relationship in almost two years, and I'm over the moon. I decide to cook him an awesome spaghetti dinner ... and then we'll finally consummate our relationship.
I decide to make the meatballs from the freezer that my roommate had purchased. I make a fantastic dinner for two, complete with candles and a nice peach sorbet for dessert. We head upstairs to begin our wonderful night together. I'm so nervous, because it's our first time together and I haven't been with anyone new in years.
After making out for a while, he excuses himself to use my bathroom which was attached to the bedroom. He proceeds to have what appears to be EXPLOSIVE diarrhea from what I can hear from my half-naked position on the bed near the bathroom door. There's grunting, swearing, panting, and soon cries to God are pouring out of him as freely as the dinner he's ingested less than an hour before. I'm not sure what to do ... do I call attention to his pain by asking him if he's OK, or just let him wait it out? He's got to be embarrassed, because I'm completely mortified.
After what seems to be an eternity (and was probably about 45 minutes), he emerges from the bathroom completely pale and very sweaty. He's a trouper, though. We proceed to have not-so-energetic sex and he hobbles across the parking lot back to his house. Within twenty minutes, I am the one in the bathroom, cursing my ancestors, the shower curtain, the sorbet, and bargaining quite ineffectively with God.
Two days later, my roommate returns home from her trip and I tell her about my disastrous evening. I tell her I've used her ground chuck to make the meatballs, and she exclaims, "OMG... I bought that when we moved in!"
Which was the previous June.
G and I continued to see each other, for some months afterward, but it didn't work out. I never cooked for him again. Luckily.
That Dinner at 1789 Isn't Gonna Pay for Itself!
A post on Dealbreaker wonders if men only care about money, success, and, apparently, literacy because it helps them get girlz.
We don't think it does. The stereotypical power-hungry capitalist pig likes to buy toys to one-up the other men in his life, and he likes to fuck women, not marry them.
Maybe the nicer guys always keep one eye on the altar, but they don't tend to be as ruthless in the pursuit of money and/or prestige.
The question is: what drives women to succeed?
We don't think it does. The stereotypical power-hungry capitalist pig likes to buy toys to one-up the other men in his life, and he likes to fuck women, not marry them.
Maybe the nicer guys always keep one eye on the altar, but they don't tend to be as ruthless in the pursuit of money and/or prestige.
The question is: what drives women to succeed?
My Bloody Valentine
Taken from Gawker's Valentine's Day horror stories, though we kind of doubt the fact-checkers are working round the clock on these ones.
I was 25, recently out of law school and a relationship I was sure would end in marriage, and I was working in a firm that I absolutely despised. I was heartbroken, disenchanted, and, at a fundamental level, bored with life. So I signed up for an online dating service.
After a number of forgettable dates with various mid-level managers, radiologists, IT guys, technical writers, and random other guys lost in the same sort of personal and professional morass of their 20s, seeking some sort of connection, I met a guy who was totally not my type. He’d recently quit his corporate job to start his own business, was about a decade older than me, and couldn’t properly conjugate the verb to take, leading my best friend to call him Captain Tooken.
The Captain and I saw each other irregularly at first. I was still drinking at the time, and in retrospect he was a second or third generation alcoholic, so our dates generally consisted of hanging out, drinking a lot, and not much else. Eventually a pattern emerged- we’d go out, see a movie or a show, have dinner, maybe hang out at his place, and at the end of the night he’d put me in my car and say goodnight, without even a kiss. (Drinking and driving is bad, children). After the fourth or fifth time this happened, it started to intrigue me that the Captain hadn’t made any sort of physical move, and this intrigue kept me in the quasi-relationship. As I mentioned above, I was feeling pretty jaded and numb, so anything out of the ordinary was enough to catch my attention. I had a blog at the time and would detail these dates, and had a crowd of internet strangers weighing in on why the Captain hadn’t tried anything physical yet. Some thought gay, others thought he was recovering from a bad relationship, I didn’t really care because suddenly I had something vaguely novel going on in my life.
Fast forward six months (yes, really). Captain Tooken still has not so much as kissed me, and is still walking me to my car after every date- now once a week or more- and hugging me goodnight. Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, and I wonder if this is going to change anything in our chaste goodnight dance. The blogosphere is getting restless, and encouraging me to take him down in the street like a wildebeest, all tongue and sexual frustration, the next time he walks me to my car.
The Captain tells me a few days before the big day that he will be away with his dad, so can’t do anything, but would like to make it up to me by taking me out a few nights before. We go to a notorious dive bar in our city for blues and PBR tall boys. It was an inauspicious time of the month for me, but I didn’t think anything of it given the nature of our relationship. His brother, sister-in-law, and mother all come to the bar that night, and pretty soon I am absolutely wasted (as is the rest of the family) and basking in the drunken warm feeling of being introduced to his family and everyone liking me, and all of us ordering next round after next round.
I wake up in the cold light of earliest morning in a room I don’t recognize, no clothes, my head banging with pain, with that absolutely certain feeling that I have done something I will regret. I turn my head an inch, despite the screaming hangover, and there is the Captain in bed next to me. The situation hits me in a rush. I lift up the sheets and see blood, everywhere. It looks like someone has slaughtered a pig on the bed. I slip out of the sheets and sneak off to bathroom to clean myself up, passing our clothes in the hallway, on the stairs. I realize I can’t even sneak out to my car and drive home because we’ve left my car at the bar on the other side of town. I do my best in the half bath and then slip back into the bed, careful not to wake up the Captain.
I feign sleep until he wakes up, looks around, gasps, and heads for the shower. I commence to stripping the bed (the mattress is in the condition you would expect), stuffing the sheets in the washer, finding his linen closet for fresh sheets, realizing the only other set of sheets he owns are twin size and won’t fit the bed, and eventually just throw the comforter over the worst of the scene and get dressed. It doesn’t dawn on me to flip the mattress until he has already turned off the shower and I don’t have enough time. By the time he comes out of the bathroom I’m downstairs on the couch, fully dressed, ready to get the hell out of dodge. We make small talk and he repeatedly asks me if I’d like to take a shower, and eventually we go to breakfast, all because I am trying so hard to not acknowledge the abattoir conditions I woke up to that I can’t manage much else, and at long last I am free and go home and fixate on what the hell.
We end up dating for another year, and neither one of us ever mentions our Valentine’s Day massacre. I never have the nerve to ask if he bought a new mattress or not.
I was 25, recently out of law school and a relationship I was sure would end in marriage, and I was working in a firm that I absolutely despised. I was heartbroken, disenchanted, and, at a fundamental level, bored with life. So I signed up for an online dating service.
After a number of forgettable dates with various mid-level managers, radiologists, IT guys, technical writers, and random other guys lost in the same sort of personal and professional morass of their 20s, seeking some sort of connection, I met a guy who was totally not my type. He’d recently quit his corporate job to start his own business, was about a decade older than me, and couldn’t properly conjugate the verb to take, leading my best friend to call him Captain Tooken.
The Captain and I saw each other irregularly at first. I was still drinking at the time, and in retrospect he was a second or third generation alcoholic, so our dates generally consisted of hanging out, drinking a lot, and not much else. Eventually a pattern emerged- we’d go out, see a movie or a show, have dinner, maybe hang out at his place, and at the end of the night he’d put me in my car and say goodnight, without even a kiss. (Drinking and driving is bad, children). After the fourth or fifth time this happened, it started to intrigue me that the Captain hadn’t made any sort of physical move, and this intrigue kept me in the quasi-relationship. As I mentioned above, I was feeling pretty jaded and numb, so anything out of the ordinary was enough to catch my attention. I had a blog at the time and would detail these dates, and had a crowd of internet strangers weighing in on why the Captain hadn’t tried anything physical yet. Some thought gay, others thought he was recovering from a bad relationship, I didn’t really care because suddenly I had something vaguely novel going on in my life.
Fast forward six months (yes, really). Captain Tooken still has not so much as kissed me, and is still walking me to my car after every date- now once a week or more- and hugging me goodnight. Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, and I wonder if this is going to change anything in our chaste goodnight dance. The blogosphere is getting restless, and encouraging me to take him down in the street like a wildebeest, all tongue and sexual frustration, the next time he walks me to my car.
The Captain tells me a few days before the big day that he will be away with his dad, so can’t do anything, but would like to make it up to me by taking me out a few nights before. We go to a notorious dive bar in our city for blues and PBR tall boys. It was an inauspicious time of the month for me, but I didn’t think anything of it given the nature of our relationship. His brother, sister-in-law, and mother all come to the bar that night, and pretty soon I am absolutely wasted (as is the rest of the family) and basking in the drunken warm feeling of being introduced to his family and everyone liking me, and all of us ordering next round after next round.
I wake up in the cold light of earliest morning in a room I don’t recognize, no clothes, my head banging with pain, with that absolutely certain feeling that I have done something I will regret. I turn my head an inch, despite the screaming hangover, and there is the Captain in bed next to me. The situation hits me in a rush. I lift up the sheets and see blood, everywhere. It looks like someone has slaughtered a pig on the bed. I slip out of the sheets and sneak off to bathroom to clean myself up, passing our clothes in the hallway, on the stairs. I realize I can’t even sneak out to my car and drive home because we’ve left my car at the bar on the other side of town. I do my best in the half bath and then slip back into the bed, careful not to wake up the Captain.
I feign sleep until he wakes up, looks around, gasps, and heads for the shower. I commence to stripping the bed (the mattress is in the condition you would expect), stuffing the sheets in the washer, finding his linen closet for fresh sheets, realizing the only other set of sheets he owns are twin size and won’t fit the bed, and eventually just throw the comforter over the worst of the scene and get dressed. It doesn’t dawn on me to flip the mattress until he has already turned off the shower and I don’t have enough time. By the time he comes out of the bathroom I’m downstairs on the couch, fully dressed, ready to get the hell out of dodge. We make small talk and he repeatedly asks me if I’d like to take a shower, and eventually we go to breakfast, all because I am trying so hard to not acknowledge the abattoir conditions I woke up to that I can’t manage much else, and at long last I am free and go home and fixate on what the hell.
We end up dating for another year, and neither one of us ever mentions our Valentine’s Day massacre. I never have the nerve to ask if he bought a new mattress or not.
Missed Connection of the Day: Charlie, aka Birdobot, Funktron1, Tim Finnegan, The Funk - w4m - 33 (Fairfax County)
Apparently, Craigslist attracts the crazies (who knew?).
Hi Charlie! I know where you live, and I have your number, but your wife won't let you talk to anyone. All I can say about that is "Charlie? Pre-nup, okay Charlie? Pre-nup."
I just wanted to let you know that you're a really awesome, totally special dude, and a lot of people miss you and your special sense of humor and friendship and enjoyment of life (as the French say, "joie de vivre.") We miss you Funk!
The next time you're feeling down, please sing this to the tune of "You Are Not Alone"
"YOU ARE NOT ALONE, ALIENS ARE HERE WITH YOU, Charlie"
I also am writing this to let you know that nobody can WHIP IT, WHIP IT GOOD! ("it" meaning a door and by "whip" I mean strike with a belt) like you. Did you finally find the belt of a lifetime?
Come over and see my baby! She plays hide and seek and growls in a beast voice! Ok, ok, I am good guy. I hope your woman doesn't send me hatemail.
Hi Charlie! I know where you live, and I have your number, but your wife won't let you talk to anyone. All I can say about that is "Charlie? Pre-nup, okay Charlie? Pre-nup."
I just wanted to let you know that you're a really awesome, totally special dude, and a lot of people miss you and your special sense of humor and friendship and enjoyment of life (as the French say, "joie de vivre.") We miss you Funk!
The next time you're feeling down, please sing this to the tune of "You Are Not Alone"
"YOU ARE NOT ALONE, ALIENS ARE HERE WITH YOU, Charlie"
I also am writing this to let you know that nobody can WHIP IT, WHIP IT GOOD! ("it" meaning a door and by "whip" I mean strike with a belt) like you. Did you finally find the belt of a lifetime?
Come over and see my baby! She plays hide and seek and growls in a beast voice! Ok, ok, I am good guy. I hope your woman doesn't send me hatemail.
Valentine's Day Smorgasboard
The blogs are ablaze with stories of just how much Valentine’s Day sucks.
Because we’re not feeling particularly Grinchy today, we thought we’d let everyone else do the dirty work for us. So we’re going to post highlights throughout the day: some for the lovestruck, and others for the embittered.
Because we’re not feeling particularly Grinchy today, we thought we’d let everyone else do the dirty work for us. So we’re going to post highlights throughout the day: some for the lovestruck, and others for the embittered.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Survey the District: A Valentine's Dilemma
Dear Date the District,
My boyfriend and I became official very recently (as in, a few days ago). Shortly after, he said how he was going to have to do something really really nice for me for Valentine's Day because I'm his girlfriend, at which point I said that we should just do something fun together. He then
said he still had to get me something, at which point I said maybe something very very little.
That is cute of him BUT I obviously have to reciprocate to some degree but don't even know where to start...
Is there anyone out there who actually enjoys Valentine’s Day?
All the single ladies spend the night eating their feelings, and all the couples feel so much pressure to make the night “really special.”
It’s sweet that your boyfriend wants to do something nice for you. But it sounds like you’re not ready to exchange gifts (and if you’ve only been official for a few days, we don’t blame you).
It’s hard to pick out a present for a boyfriend, and it’s even harder when you’re still trying to get to know each other.
Why not suggest going out instead? Say something like, “Look, I know we were talking about Valentine’s Day last week, and I think it’d be fun if we went out to dinner, but I don’t want anything.”
If he wants to get you flowers, it’s a nice gesture that definitely doesn’t require reciprocation. Every guy knows to get a girl roses for Valentine’s Day, but they don’t expect to receive anything in return.
If you’re really uncomfortable with the idea of receiving a gift without giving one, make him some baked goods ahead of time and wrap them in a nice box. Tell him to pick you up at your place on Valentine’s Day. If he shows up with roses, give him the cookies. If he’s empty-handed, save them for your roommate.
If he pulls out a gift after dinner, wait to open it and see what it is. If it’s big enough that you feel like you have to give him something in return, say, “I was going to wait to tell you this, but I found you the perfect gift online, and it’s not here yet.” Guys can be pretty oblivious when it comes to stuff like this, and even if he does see through it, he probably won’t remember and/or care.
If you do end up having to rush home and splurge on overnight delivery, don’t worry about making sure the price tag matches what he gave you.
Exchanging gifts with an S.O. comes with a certain amount of expectations, one of which is that the guy will probably end up making the bigger dent in his wallet.
Try to find something that fits his personality, but keep it pretty neutral/impersonal. Think Brookstone, Borders, etc. If you’re really stuck, pick up a copy of GQ—they always have great gift and gadget guides, though their suggestions are rarely budget-friendly.
But try not to worry too much. Guys know that Valentine’s Day is about girls, not guys. And as much as you might love a box of expensive chocolates, he probably can’t tell the difference between Pierre Hermé and Hershey.
My boyfriend and I became official very recently (as in, a few days ago). Shortly after, he said how he was going to have to do something really really nice for me for Valentine's Day because I'm his girlfriend, at which point I said that we should just do something fun together. He then
said he still had to get me something, at which point I said maybe something very very little.
That is cute of him BUT I obviously have to reciprocate to some degree but don't even know where to start...
Is there anyone out there who actually enjoys Valentine’s Day?
All the single ladies spend the night eating their feelings, and all the couples feel so much pressure to make the night “really special.”
It’s sweet that your boyfriend wants to do something nice for you. But it sounds like you’re not ready to exchange gifts (and if you’ve only been official for a few days, we don’t blame you).
It’s hard to pick out a present for a boyfriend, and it’s even harder when you’re still trying to get to know each other.
Why not suggest going out instead? Say something like, “Look, I know we were talking about Valentine’s Day last week, and I think it’d be fun if we went out to dinner, but I don’t want anything.”
If he wants to get you flowers, it’s a nice gesture that definitely doesn’t require reciprocation. Every guy knows to get a girl roses for Valentine’s Day, but they don’t expect to receive anything in return.
If you’re really uncomfortable with the idea of receiving a gift without giving one, make him some baked goods ahead of time and wrap them in a nice box. Tell him to pick you up at your place on Valentine’s Day. If he shows up with roses, give him the cookies. If he’s empty-handed, save them for your roommate.
If he pulls out a gift after dinner, wait to open it and see what it is. If it’s big enough that you feel like you have to give him something in return, say, “I was going to wait to tell you this, but I found you the perfect gift online, and it’s not here yet.” Guys can be pretty oblivious when it comes to stuff like this, and even if he does see through it, he probably won’t remember and/or care.
If you do end up having to rush home and splurge on overnight delivery, don’t worry about making sure the price tag matches what he gave you.
Exchanging gifts with an S.O. comes with a certain amount of expectations, one of which is that the guy will probably end up making the bigger dent in his wallet.
Try to find something that fits his personality, but keep it pretty neutral/impersonal. Think Brookstone, Borders, etc. If you’re really stuck, pick up a copy of GQ—they always have great gift and gadget guides, though their suggestions are rarely budget-friendly.
But try not to worry too much. Guys know that Valentine’s Day is about girls, not guys. And as much as you might love a box of expensive chocolates, he probably can’t tell the difference between Pierre Hermé and Hershey.
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