So, tomorrow is St. Valentine’s Day. Being slightly less cynical than many, I think it’s a nice holiday. If you’re dating someone, it’s an excellent opportunity to be corny and sappy, and get away with saying the things that would usually get you a roll of the eyes. And then get laid for saying those sweet things. I guess that’s part of my problem – I love romance. I love happy endings. It’s just the other person that keeps getting in the way of my enjoying all those things. It’s why my organs just can’t seem to get along. Because every person I’ve ever been with, half of me is looking for the Stevie Wonder chorus to be sung by the passing bluebirds, the fireworks to explode overhead each time we kiss, and the credits to roll with all of us completely sure that our heroes will end up passing away with their limbs entangled, like in that classical myth. The other half is confronted with the ugly realities that this person has toe-jam, and maybe complains a little too much about the heat in the room, and makes the stupidest noises ever when she's talking to her mother on the phone.
On top of that, all those things which seem so sweet and clever in the movies end up being weird, creepy, or stalkerish once you’ve pulled them off to your stunned and terrified girlfriend. And frightening off the person you’re trying to impress or express yourself to rarely results in the improvement of your relationship. Turns out, the world is more like Jay-Z lyrics than Stevie Wonder lyrics.
So when I come back like Jordan, wearing the four five
It ain’t to play games with you, it’s to aim at you
Probably maim you
If I owe you, I blow you to smithereens
Cocksucker, take one for your team
And I need y’all to remember one thing
I came, I saw, I conquered
So I’ve probably already ruined it with my teddy bears and puppy dogs approach. Not that I like either of those things particularly, and to tell the truth, I dig a lot of Jay-Z. But I’ve clearly taken the other approach, mostly because of my complete lack of coolness, smoothness, or anything resembling either of those qualities. Combining that with my other deficiencies, and I’ve gone with what I’ve got – sincerity and humility. It ain’t much, but when you get desperate, you’ve got no choice. And I am desperate. I’ve been in love before, clearly with excellent results, but it’s never been like this.
I swear I’ve turned around and seen her face on the heads of unknown restaurant patrons and all of the other signals which clearly mean something, like my brain is cracked and is oozing out of my ears while I sleep. Or that I’m the creepy guy in this story who is way overly infatuated with a woman I don’t know that well. Only in the movies is that okay. There, you become the hero of the tale, and women consider you sweet and loving. In reality, they call the cops and get restraining orders.
So the point of all this is, with it being Valentine’s Day tomorrow as I write this, I’ve decided to pull one hand off the trunk, and take a small careful step out on the limb. Almost certainly, the end result will be me plummeting towards a ground which I realize to be both far away and hard. And possibly covered with glass shards. And bees. Or dogs with bees in their mouths, or maybe Richard Simmons robots (obligatory Simpsons reference). Regardless, the results won’t be pretty. Whenever I have the sense of impending doom, it’s usually been over small things. The big things never give me that sense, because like most of us, my brain refuses to accept that the big things could ever go so horribly wrong. So I’m not sure what it means that I have these moths (ladies get butterflies, gents get moths) flying complexly choreographed routines throughout my stomach and adjoining passageways.
What I decided was to send her some flowers anonymously (though I’m about 95% sure that somehow my name will be revealed to her), and see what her reaction is. If it’s positive, maybe I’ll take the credit. Otherwise, I’ll pretend that I have no idea who sent it – I’m currently preparing various denials and rehearsing reactions to dozens of potential permutations of the questions she may have. This may sound like overkill or plain oddness, but clearly you’ve never been around when I’ve had to fib or lie spontaneously. Picture the most obnoxious, annoying giggle that teenage girls have ever made, and that’s usually my best attempt in similar situations. So I’m trying to take no chance with this one. I suppose that’s really impossible – the whole idea is to take a chance and put myself out there.
So now I’m about to hit the hay, and if history is any indication, lie there for several hours while I consider all the ways that things can and will go wrong, preventing me from attaining the one thing that I’ve always treasured and prayed for more than anything. But maybe this is a good sign – vh1 soul is now playing a string of Stevie Wonder videos.
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