It's been a rather intense weekend. And there's still more to go...
Thursday night I ended up meeting mostly the same crew from Monday night, Professor Awesome included. This time I managed to go the whole night without disremembering, falling, or otherwise injuring myself. I did spend money that I really shouldn't have, but besides that it was fun. I kind of wish I'd gotten to know my classmates a little sooner.
Unfortunately this led to another day of sleeping and being useless on Friday. I managed to be well rested and ready for work this morning though, so again, yay me!
This is where things get a bit schizophrenic. My shift started pretty well, actually. I got my assigned rooms (a reduced number since I was basically starting back at square one after re-training) and actually got them all done two hours before my shift was due to end. I was quite proud of myself. I offered to help out with anything outstanding since I was scheduled to be there a while longer, and was assigned another room.
That's when it all fell apart.
Basically, everything that could go wrong with the room did. I could not get the fucking duvet cover on properly, so it took me ages to do the bed. That was the first time my supervisor popped in and told me I needed to go faster. Then the vacuum (sorry, Hoover) barely worked. Then my back tried to give out on me while I was cleaning the tub, so that took longer than usual as well. By this point my supervisor had been in two more times, making sure to say "you need to go faster" at least once or twice per visit. Finally one of the spray bottles of cleaner fell apart in my hand and spilled all over the carpet.
I still managed to hold it together, in spite of my supervisor lurking and making sure I knew I had to move faster.
Finally all I had to do was put away the trolley (the stuff with all the linens and whatnot that maids drag around the halls to avoid running back and forth to the linen closets) and vacuum the hallway. Unfortunately the porters hadn't bothered to empty the thing of dirty linen the entire day so it wouldn't fit in the closet until I called to get someone to clean it out already. Meanwhile I ran back to my section to finish the vacuuming while the porter emptied the trolley, which was where I was confronted yet again by the supervisor, telling me I need to go faster.
If anyone heard a CRACK around 5:30pm GMT (that's 11:30am back home), that was my sanity giving way.
A meltdown ensued involving lots of crying and several other supervisors trying to convince me not to quit. To be honest I have no idea why they even cared if I stayed or not... the only feedback I've ever gotten from this any of them is that I'm not fast enough. Even the assistant head of housekeeping got involved and basically tried to prop me up by saying that he knows it's a stressful job, but that's good because it prepares you and makes you stronger.
Uhm. Ok.
What I wish I'd said at the time is: "Seriously? If that were true, I'd be the motherfucking Hulk by now. Stress =/= strength, stress = more and more anxiety until I end up in an institution screaming HULK SMASH at the motherfucking orderlies."
Instead I told him I'd think about it and get back to him. Not that I plan to do either. I'm so very gone from that place.
So, I'm unemployed again. Now I just have to figure out What To Do Next. Fortunately I have a list started, so I'm on the way. Number One is to concentrate on getting my end of term papers done. Once they're in the bag, I'll intensify the job hunt and make a very careful budget for the next month or so.
Also at the top of my list: pretending that I do not have a sore throat or a mouth full of cold sores. (HULK SMASH!)
Showing posts with label fail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fail. Show all posts
December 15, 2012
December 12, 2012
(Sort of) Movie review: Magic Mike
(Things get a wee bit ranty up in here, but I tried to keep it somewhat light after venting off all The Rage in my first draft. Enjoy!)
After a day of stuffing film theory in my head, I got a text from the roomie: "Was thinking Magic Mike, tomato soup, tuna melts."
My response: "OOMG YES PLS." (sic.)
Much amazing food was had and I even managed to get a bit more studying in during the snore-inducing "plot" scenes. I also became kind of curious about the movie, so popped onto IMDb to check it out, which was when I stumbled onto a thread honking about the "double standard" of the movie.
Seriously you guys. I could not stop laughing.
Basically the arguments against the film and the primarily female audience's reactions were made by men crossing their arms and HRMPHing something about how if someone made a movie about female strippers and they made such a big deal about seeing it, women would have an absolute snit.
First of all, at least three movies about female strippers spring immediately to mind. Showgirls, Striptease, and Dancing at the Blue Iguana. Those are just off the top of my head. Already these poor men are losing the battle.
Second, cry me a river. For real. If there isn't a single man out there decrying this film as the direct result of a bruised ego, I'll eat my laptop. They can wave their double standards! flag all they want, but if they conquered their discomfort long enough to watch the film they'd see how misogynist it is. Women are portrayed as either pathetically screaming and waving money around or ready to leap into bed with the object of their lust without a single thought. The male strippers in the movie love their jobs, because they spend their working hours having their egos stroked and their off hours having their dicks stroked, both by slathering fangirls. The one "normal" woman in the film is so shrewish in her rejection of the lifestyle that she swiftly becomes intolerable.
Does this detract from my enjoyment of the film? Hell no. Especially with the DVD release, which allowed me to skip right past all that pesky plot and just watch the dance scenes. I did see it in the theater as well and although I did not witness any of the screaming exuberance that seems to irk so many of these harping men, my friend and I joked throughout about throwing quarters at the screen and get to the damn dance sequences already. And also Matthew McConaughey because he is fucking hilarious in this movie. Alright alright alright indeed.
Most guys I know probably do not feel this way. I'm sure most of them are perfectly fine with the women in their lives, be they wives, girlfriends, sisters, or friends, appreciating the, er, aesthetics of the movie. They may be a little threatened by our attraction to the film's stars, but most of them understand that we women feel the same way when our significant others' eyes start to fall out of their heads during trailers with Angelina Jolie in them. And if we women celebrate the existence of Magic Mike a little more vocally than men are "allowed" to cheer on the lovely Ms. Jolie's topless scenes, it's because women have spent so much time in the passive, "looked at" role and men in the active, "looking" role. If you don't believe me, I have reams of film studies essays to back me up. When this position is ever-so-rarely reversed, we get a little excited.
We shouldn't have to apologize for that. Or for this:
You're welcome, my male-enamored friends.
After a day of stuffing film theory in my head, I got a text from the roomie: "Was thinking Magic Mike, tomato soup, tuna melts."
My response: "OOMG YES PLS." (sic.)
Much amazing food was had and I even managed to get a bit more studying in during the snore-inducing "plot" scenes. I also became kind of curious about the movie, so popped onto IMDb to check it out, which was when I stumbled onto a thread honking about the "double standard" of the movie.
Seriously you guys. I could not stop laughing.
Basically the arguments against the film and the primarily female audience's reactions were made by men crossing their arms and HRMPHing something about how if someone made a movie about female strippers and they made such a big deal about seeing it, women would have an absolute snit.
First of all, at least three movies about female strippers spring immediately to mind. Showgirls, Striptease, and Dancing at the Blue Iguana. Those are just off the top of my head. Already these poor men are losing the battle.
Second, cry me a river. For real. If there isn't a single man out there decrying this film as the direct result of a bruised ego, I'll eat my laptop. They can wave their double standards! flag all they want, but if they conquered their discomfort long enough to watch the film they'd see how misogynist it is. Women are portrayed as either pathetically screaming and waving money around or ready to leap into bed with the object of their lust without a single thought. The male strippers in the movie love their jobs, because they spend their working hours having their egos stroked and their off hours having their dicks stroked, both by slathering fangirls. The one "normal" woman in the film is so shrewish in her rejection of the lifestyle that she swiftly becomes intolerable.
Does this detract from my enjoyment of the film? Hell no. Especially with the DVD release, which allowed me to skip right past all that pesky plot and just watch the dance scenes. I did see it in the theater as well and although I did not witness any of the screaming exuberance that seems to irk so many of these harping men, my friend and I joked throughout about throwing quarters at the screen and get to the damn dance sequences already. And also Matthew McConaughey because he is fucking hilarious in this movie. Alright alright alright indeed.
Most guys I know probably do not feel this way. I'm sure most of them are perfectly fine with the women in their lives, be they wives, girlfriends, sisters, or friends, appreciating the, er, aesthetics of the movie. They may be a little threatened by our attraction to the film's stars, but most of them understand that we women feel the same way when our significant others' eyes start to fall out of their heads during trailers with Angelina Jolie in them. And if we women celebrate the existence of Magic Mike a little more vocally than men are "allowed" to cheer on the lovely Ms. Jolie's topless scenes, it's because women have spent so much time in the passive, "looked at" role and men in the active, "looking" role. If you don't believe me, I have reams of film studies essays to back me up. When this position is ever-so-rarely reversed, we get a little excited.
We shouldn't have to apologize for that. Or for this:
You're welcome, my male-enamored friends.
December 7, 2012
How to waste a lot of time, but still get shit done
Seriously needing to do something about this snooze button situation. May have to move the clock across the room. UGH, I HATE DOING THAT.
Today was mostly focused on getting to the BFI (British Film Institute, for those of you who didn't take notes yesterday, shameful) library so that I could scan all those pages of research. Remember how I was supposed to bring along my USB drive this time so I wasn't wasting my time looking up all that stuff? Yeah, I didn't either until about twenty minutes into my studies. After much headdesking, I made the hour-long commute back home, grabbed the USB drive, then made the hour-long commute back to BFI.
Finally I could get down to business! It was a full-on musical montage of poring through dusty books and cataloged magazines and harried librarians digging through basements stack for missing back-issues of Fangoria and jotting of careful notes. Finally I had my material all picked out and ready for scanning. This was when I found it that they charge for scanning. Something nobody had bothered to let me know about before this.
Keep in mind, I'm absolutely broke. Like, £.17 in my bank account and £.34 in my pocket broke. The cost for scanning? £.20 per page.
Needless to say, I could only clutch my head as the librarian announced that the library would be closing in half an hour. All this work, all this ridiculous commuting back and forth, for nothing.
Then I glanced at my phone. My phone with the camera setting. My camera, which was kind of like a scanner.
YES.
So it's not a perfect solution, and I'll be squinting a lot while I read my materials, but 165 photos later I have what I need, now transferred from my phone to my laptop. Take that, British Film Institute.
Random observation of the day: Some people just do not get the whole stand-on-the-right, walk-on-the-left escalator rule. Mostly those people are tourists with suitcases and oblivious stares. If you come to London, for the love of all that is holy and unholy, do not stand on the left when riding an escalator. You will incite the silent, tutting rage of countless London commuters stuck behind you, unable to do anything because they are too polite to ask you to move.
Today was mostly focused on getting to the BFI (British Film Institute, for those of you who didn't take notes yesterday, shameful) library so that I could scan all those pages of research. Remember how I was supposed to bring along my USB drive this time so I wasn't wasting my time looking up all that stuff? Yeah, I didn't either until about twenty minutes into my studies. After much headdesking, I made the hour-long commute back home, grabbed the USB drive, then made the hour-long commute back to BFI.
Finally I could get down to business! It was a full-on musical montage of poring through dusty books and cataloged magazines and harried librarians digging through basements stack for missing back-issues of Fangoria and jotting of careful notes. Finally I had my material all picked out and ready for scanning. This was when I found it that they charge for scanning. Something nobody had bothered to let me know about before this.
Keep in mind, I'm absolutely broke. Like, £.17 in my bank account and £.34 in my pocket broke. The cost for scanning? £.20 per page.
Needless to say, I could only clutch my head as the librarian announced that the library would be closing in half an hour. All this work, all this ridiculous commuting back and forth, for nothing.
Then I glanced at my phone. My phone with the camera setting. My camera, which was kind of like a scanner.
YES.
So it's not a perfect solution, and I'll be squinting a lot while I read my materials, but 165 photos later I have what I need, now transferred from my phone to my laptop. Take that, British Film Institute.
Random observation of the day: Some people just do not get the whole stand-on-the-right, walk-on-the-left escalator rule. Mostly those people are tourists with suitcases and oblivious stares. If you come to London, for the love of all that is holy and unholy, do not stand on the left when riding an escalator. You will incite the silent, tutting rage of countless London commuters stuck behind you, unable to do anything because they are too polite to ask you to move.
April 26, 2012
Adventures in paperwork
I've been rather steamrollered by end-of-semester preparation madness, so apologies for taking ages to update.
It's been a crazy few weeks since I got my confirmation letter. The amount of paperwork one must do to study abroad for a year is staggering. I've filled out and signed and consulted and been advised. I'm still not done, but I'm getting there. On top of that I've been trying to keep up with all the homework involved in the approaching finals (week after next OMGWHUT). Thanks to my Very Special OCD To-Do Lists I've managed to pretty much keep on top of things.
Along with all the preparation, I got some awesome news and some terrifying news. The awesome news is that my dear friend who lives in south London offered me her spare bedroom for extremely reasonable rent. Which means not only do I have a place to live, it's cat-friendly and it's with someone I've known and loved for the better part of two decades.
I also bought my plane ticket, which was only $731 for a one-way non-stop flight thanks to a lovely student travel website. This is excellent news not only because I prefer non-stop flights (hell, who doesn't?) but for my poor cats who are going to be in Quite A State during the trip, much less so now that they won't have to take off and land twice with a plane switch in the middle. I unfortunately can't sedate them for the ride (totally not good for them), but I may do so for myself considering I'll be stressing out through the whole flight worrying about them. Hope they have cheap booze on the flight...
Now for the less pleasant news: I found out rather too late that the amount of financial aid I thought I would be getting is in fact going to be about 1/3 of that amount. I think I actually almost passed out in the poor financial aid counselor's office when I heard that. Like, I got really cold and numb for about five minutes and couldn't do anything but sort of mutter in her general direction. By the end of the meeting I'd rallied and decided I was determined to make this work. I ended up calling half my family to beg for a cosigner on a loan, and eventually got a very welcome yes. Also, just today I found out that my wonderful and lovely financial aid counselor had managed to tweak some of my current information to get me an increase in money.
The fortunate thing about the timing of this financial meeting (after I'd confirmed with the Study Abroad office and Queen Mary, micro-chipped and vaccinated my poor cats, told everyone I've ever met, secured a living situation, and bought my plane ticket) was that it didn't allow me to just think "oh well, it was a nice daydream while it lasted." Instead I dug in my heels and starting finding a way to make it work. With some help, I did. I'm a bit proud of myself, to be honest. Things really are changing for me, not only in terms of where I'm going to be and what I'll be doing, but my ability to handle adversity in a positive way instead of just sinking into depression.
I've gotten most of the paperwork done at this point. Now come the more tangible steps, like getting my student visa and consolidating/organizing/packing my belongings to be stored or brought along. I'll be doing the latter with the help of the brilliant Unfuck Your Habitat, who have already achieved the amazing goal of motivating me to make my bed everyday. (No, really. EVERY. DAY. If my mom reads this, she's going to have a stroke.)
Stay tuned for exciting cleaning and packing anecdotes!
It's been a crazy few weeks since I got my confirmation letter. The amount of paperwork one must do to study abroad for a year is staggering. I've filled out and signed and consulted and been advised. I'm still not done, but I'm getting there. On top of that I've been trying to keep up with all the homework involved in the approaching finals (week after next OMGWHUT). Thanks to my Very Special OCD To-Do Lists I've managed to pretty much keep on top of things.
Along with all the preparation, I got some awesome news and some terrifying news. The awesome news is that my dear friend who lives in south London offered me her spare bedroom for extremely reasonable rent. Which means not only do I have a place to live, it's cat-friendly and it's with someone I've known and loved for the better part of two decades.
I also bought my plane ticket, which was only $731 for a one-way non-stop flight thanks to a lovely student travel website. This is excellent news not only because I prefer non-stop flights (hell, who doesn't?) but for my poor cats who are going to be in Quite A State during the trip, much less so now that they won't have to take off and land twice with a plane switch in the middle. I unfortunately can't sedate them for the ride (totally not good for them), but I may do so for myself considering I'll be stressing out through the whole flight worrying about them. Hope they have cheap booze on the flight...
Now for the less pleasant news: I found out rather too late that the amount of financial aid I thought I would be getting is in fact going to be about 1/3 of that amount. I think I actually almost passed out in the poor financial aid counselor's office when I heard that. Like, I got really cold and numb for about five minutes and couldn't do anything but sort of mutter in her general direction. By the end of the meeting I'd rallied and decided I was determined to make this work. I ended up calling half my family to beg for a cosigner on a loan, and eventually got a very welcome yes. Also, just today I found out that my wonderful and lovely financial aid counselor had managed to tweak some of my current information to get me an increase in money.
The fortunate thing about the timing of this financial meeting (after I'd confirmed with the Study Abroad office and Queen Mary, micro-chipped and vaccinated my poor cats, told everyone I've ever met, secured a living situation, and bought my plane ticket) was that it didn't allow me to just think "oh well, it was a nice daydream while it lasted." Instead I dug in my heels and starting finding a way to make it work. With some help, I did. I'm a bit proud of myself, to be honest. Things really are changing for me, not only in terms of where I'm going to be and what I'll be doing, but my ability to handle adversity in a positive way instead of just sinking into depression.
I've gotten most of the paperwork done at this point. Now come the more tangible steps, like getting my student visa and consolidating/organizing/packing my belongings to be stored or brought along. I'll be doing the latter with the help of the brilliant Unfuck Your Habitat, who have already achieved the amazing goal of motivating me to make my bed everyday. (No, really. EVERY. DAY. If my mom reads this, she's going to have a stroke.)
Stay tuned for exciting cleaning and packing anecdotes!
April 20, 2011
Life on the Couch: Creative constipation.
I think there’s little in the world as frustrating to me as wanting to create and being unable.
I’m in one of those horrid blank spots right now, the place where I have all these half-formed ideas swirling around in the strange ether of my brain. Ideas that mock and tease and flit away the moment I try to reach out and grab hold.
I’ve always written, ever since I was old enough to string together sentences. Stories, tales of my life, essays, journals, even the odd poem or song. I’m lucky I’ve always enjoyed writing, because it was the only form of creative outlet I had for most of my life. About four years ago I also discovered that I have some talent for vidding (if you don’t know what that is, go here and click play on pretty much anything, you'll get the idea), which gave me a whole new and fabulous way to express myself. I've even dabbled in graphic art in the form of icons and banners for various online communities.
In the past year or so I've been writing a lot, most of it in the form of fan-fiction for "Alles Was Zählt," the German soap opera I blabbed about in a previous post. It's been exhilarating, getting to flex that muscle again after not writing much in the past three years. Maybe it was getting feedback from my beta writer and the others in the fandom who read my stories, or maybe it was just getting a chance to let my imagination out of my head, but it was the kind of writing that seemed to happen without any effort on my part. The best kind of writing.
I've done very little vidding in the last 18 months or so, and none at all lately. I don’t know if it was related to the increase in writing, or if I simply reached some sort of (hopefully temporary) plateau with the vidding. All I know is that line of expression seems to have been cut off. The graphic design thing never really took off, and I've done none at all in the past few months. The worst part is that whatever momentum I'd built up in terms of writing seems to have come to a crashing halt since the new year. Now all I can do is stare at all the half-finished fics and just shake my head.
I got nothin'.
This constipation of the brain has even overtaken my blogging, which is evidenced by the fact that I can't get a post up on time anymore. This one was originally meant to be about my trip to Europe in May, but all I could come up with was "I'm going to Europe in May. Woo."
I don't know the cause of this particular blockage, but I can only hope it's temporary. I'm in desperate need of some inspiration to get me through. Right now all I can do is shake and tremble at the idea of starting school in the Fall and being completely unable to write anything.
Hopefully plugging away at the blog will help by forcing me to keep flexing the muscle. I'll keep trying to post on time, but I imagine Life Sundays will soon permanently morph into Life Wednesdays while Geek Thursdays become Geek Saturdays. Eventually it'll probably come back around to where it's supposed to be though. I'm cool like that.
I’m in one of those horrid blank spots right now, the place where I have all these half-formed ideas swirling around in the strange ether of my brain. Ideas that mock and tease and flit away the moment I try to reach out and grab hold.
I’ve always written, ever since I was old enough to string together sentences. Stories, tales of my life, essays, journals, even the odd poem or song. I’m lucky I’ve always enjoyed writing, because it was the only form of creative outlet I had for most of my life. About four years ago I also discovered that I have some talent for vidding (if you don’t know what that is, go here and click play on pretty much anything, you'll get the idea), which gave me a whole new and fabulous way to express myself. I've even dabbled in graphic art in the form of icons and banners for various online communities.
In the past year or so I've been writing a lot, most of it in the form of fan-fiction for "Alles Was Zählt," the German soap opera I blabbed about in a previous post. It's been exhilarating, getting to flex that muscle again after not writing much in the past three years. Maybe it was getting feedback from my beta writer and the others in the fandom who read my stories, or maybe it was just getting a chance to let my imagination out of my head, but it was the kind of writing that seemed to happen without any effort on my part. The best kind of writing.
I've done very little vidding in the last 18 months or so, and none at all lately. I don’t know if it was related to the increase in writing, or if I simply reached some sort of (hopefully temporary) plateau with the vidding. All I know is that line of expression seems to have been cut off. The graphic design thing never really took off, and I've done none at all in the past few months. The worst part is that whatever momentum I'd built up in terms of writing seems to have come to a crashing halt since the new year. Now all I can do is stare at all the half-finished fics and just shake my head.
I got nothin'.
This constipation of the brain has even overtaken my blogging, which is evidenced by the fact that I can't get a post up on time anymore. This one was originally meant to be about my trip to Europe in May, but all I could come up with was "I'm going to Europe in May. Woo."
I don't know the cause of this particular blockage, but I can only hope it's temporary. I'm in desperate need of some inspiration to get me through. Right now all I can do is shake and tremble at the idea of starting school in the Fall and being completely unable to write anything.
Hopefully plugging away at the blog will help by forcing me to keep flexing the muscle. I'll keep trying to post on time, but I imagine Life Sundays will soon permanently morph into Life Wednesdays while Geek Thursdays become Geek Saturdays. Eventually it'll probably come back around to where it's supposed to be though. I'm cool like that.
February 13, 2011
Life on the Couch: Valentine's Day, single-girl style.
So, you ask, how should I, as a single person, spend this ridiculous day?
Enjoy the fact that you're unencumbered and have no one to impress. Don't shave. Leave the expensive perfume in the medicine cabinet. Wear sweats. Order a double-onion pizza, and follow it up with an entire bag of those delicious pink and white M&M's. Fart as loud as you can. (Just, you know, be careful... you don't want to gamble and lose.) Marathon your favorite bad show. Hog the remote. Cuddle your pets. Go out and see a movie by yourself. Indulge in some self-loving. Wallow in it.
In case you're wondering what I mean by that, it's exactly what you think. Knock one out. Have a wank. Masturbate. Watch your favorite porn, fire up your favorite battery-powered toy, or just light some candles and run a bath. However you enjoy it most, do it. I bet you'll have a better orgasm than most of the couples out there. 'Cause you have nothing to prove to anyone.
Whatever you do, don't be hard on yourself. Don't feel bad because you're single.
If I sound cynical, it's because I am. Valentine's Day is unfair. It's an insidious thing, and you shouldn't let it get you down just because you don't have a significant other. You're not worth any less because you're not half of a pair. You're a whole, beautiful person all on your own. The gross truth about Valentine's Day is that it is a celebration in exclusion, an arbitrary day on the calendar that gives the false impression that you're more important if you're coupled off. After all, you don't see any days devoted to celebrating single people.
Just as bad, it puts pointless pressure on couples to prove their worth as a pair by having them exchange flowers and candy hearts. Even on those rare occasions when I have been part of a couple on Valentine's Day, it felt totally false and forced. The little gestures people feel they have to make on this one specific day would have so much more meaning if they were spontaneous, driven by love rather than obligation.
Celebrate the day however you like. I'm going to spend it being proud that I can exist as a singular entity, that I don't need another person to complete me. Mostly, I'm not going to do anything at all.
Enjoy the fact that you're unencumbered and have no one to impress. Don't shave. Leave the expensive perfume in the medicine cabinet. Wear sweats. Order a double-onion pizza, and follow it up with an entire bag of those delicious pink and white M&M's. Fart as loud as you can. (Just, you know, be careful... you don't want to gamble and lose.) Marathon your favorite bad show. Hog the remote. Cuddle your pets. Go out and see a movie by yourself. Indulge in some self-loving. Wallow in it.
In case you're wondering what I mean by that, it's exactly what you think. Knock one out. Have a wank. Masturbate. Watch your favorite porn, fire up your favorite battery-powered toy, or just light some candles and run a bath. However you enjoy it most, do it. I bet you'll have a better orgasm than most of the couples out there. 'Cause you have nothing to prove to anyone.
Whatever you do, don't be hard on yourself. Don't feel bad because you're single.
If I sound cynical, it's because I am. Valentine's Day is unfair. It's an insidious thing, and you shouldn't let it get you down just because you don't have a significant other. You're not worth any less because you're not half of a pair. You're a whole, beautiful person all on your own. The gross truth about Valentine's Day is that it is a celebration in exclusion, an arbitrary day on the calendar that gives the false impression that you're more important if you're coupled off. After all, you don't see any days devoted to celebrating single people.
Just as bad, it puts pointless pressure on couples to prove their worth as a pair by having them exchange flowers and candy hearts. Even on those rare occasions when I have been part of a couple on Valentine's Day, it felt totally false and forced. The little gestures people feel they have to make on this one specific day would have so much more meaning if they were spontaneous, driven by love rather than obligation.
Celebrate the day however you like. I'm going to spend it being proud that I can exist as a singular entity, that I don't need another person to complete me. Mostly, I'm not going to do anything at all.
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