Unlucky Valentine

“You don’t want a guy who will buy you a Valentine one day out of every year, anyway; You want a guy who will make you his Valentine every day of the year.” ~ me

Did you hear that Cupid? Make that happen!

I dislike Valentine’s Day. It’s one of those awkward ‘holidays.’ If you’re single, you become painfully aware of just how single you are when you log onto Facebook and your wall is saturated with every attached ‘friend’ posting about how happy they are in their relationships because their significant other made it to Target or Walmart in time to grab a card, flowers and chocolate.

If you’re attached, the pressure to find the perfect Valentine that will guarantee to drop a girl’s panties is tremendous. And what girl isn’t trying to put together the bro-quet that will catapult her to ‘Best Girl Ever’ status and perhaps even garner the label of ‘girlfriend?’

The stress is second only to that of trying to buy the Holy Grail of Christmas gifts – or any gift, especially when you are terrible at buying gifts for people.

Like me. The only person worse at buying gifts than me is my ex: he once bought me an animal print snuggie for my birthday. 

Lucky for me, I’ve been single for V-day for seven years, even though I had been in a relationship for the last three and a half. Don’t ask me to explain the math on that one, it’s a long story but suffice it to say it’s also a very entertaining, learning experience that I am sure to share one day soon.

One of the things I’m known for is giving advice. I’m pretty good at it where it concerns everyone else’s issues in general or in relationships. But my own personal life is not that simple.  I used to think I was a victim, until recently. I realized that I stopped being a victim when I could identify the fact that I’m being wronged, but still refuse to take myself out of a situation. Especially the times I would stand up for myself and extract from a toxic situation, then put myself back in it – choosing to stick around trying to become the exception.

There is no exception to any rule, regardless of what that book or movie told you. Things are what they are – people treat you the way you allow them to treat you and if you don’t respect yourself, why should they? Especially when you change who you are to be what you think someone else wants you to be ... don't you shake your head at me. We've ALL done it. I'm just admitting to it. 

Now, here I am, just before moving back to be with my daughter full time and make up for my poor decisions and having to pick up the pieces and start over once again. After successfully spending every major holiday, to include my birthday, for the last three years alone, going pretty much broke and suffering third degree emotional damage, I finally snapped.

Actually, it was more like I slowly woke up and smelled my own stupidity. It came after a conversation that took place in a gentlemen’s club (where all important heart-to-hearts should take place) with an unlikely source of clarity.

I owe that guy a big thank you, even if I stopped him from telling me things he thought I should know, but I knew from the look on his face those things would hurt me even deeper.

So, dude, you know who you are – and I’m sure you’re reading this because you’ve admitted to stalking my blog online – thank you.

In the unhappiness I’ve experienced over the last eight months, I’m looking forward to starting over and forgetting this experience. I know I should consider this a lesson learned, and maybe after the first time things went sour I could say that. But at this point, the things I learned about myself don’t make me feel as good as what I learned last time.

It wasn’t all that bad; But every day that I accepted less than I deserved was  another day away from my daughter who means so much to me, but whom I felt I had chosen another life over. Whatever I told myself the reason was, whether it was to build a family she could be a part of or for a job when I was unemployed, it was the wrong decision. I've always known that.

So, today, I am leaving Texas.  I have a kid that loves and needs me, friends that love and want me, and soon, my parents will be close to me.  Although this is not where I saw myself at this point in my life, I guess it’s better than some of the places I could have ended up. 

An open letter to Taylor Swift

"The funniest part is that she's not even 18; she's 24," ~ K.E. 

Dear Taylor Swift,

I saw your performance during the Grammy's. Cute. I'm also now looking at an article on you and your newest Brit singer-beau. Really? Does he know he's just a draft for another song for your new album? 

I’m a reluctant fan. I will admit that your post-break up tunes are rather catchy and as long as I listen to them in moderation, I won’t puke – much. I’ve even been known to belt out one or two of your tunes in a drunken fit of karaoke.

FYI: I wouldn’t encourage that in a biker bar, they don’t like that.

But I digress.

We’ve all had our fair share of break-ups. As a matter of fact, I can count mine on two hands and still have digits left. For 39 years old, I consider that having a modest dating career – with the longest being 8 years. 

Not all of the experiences were good and one in particular was pretty emotionally damaging. But I try to find the lesson and humor in every situation before I exploit the hell out of my experiences in an emotionally charged, semi-autobiographical (if not anonymous) blog entry that isn’t meant so much for revenge as it is a release of pent up frustration and heartbreak.

After everything, though, here is what I learned: I am not always the victim.

I am also sorry to point out that neither are you and you should probably come to that realization, too, before you go down in history as the ‘crazy boy lady.’ You can't be 18 forever and at some point, you and your music have to mature. As a role model to young tweenage girls, consider it your civic duty. Besides, airing your dirty laundry in song, while garnering you platinum album fame, isn’t convincing anyone that you’re mature.

Seriously, at just 24 years old your list of former flames rivals an escort’s client list. Am I exaggerating? I don’t know, how many albums have you put out with how many songs about how many break-ups? I can’t count all of those on my fingers and toes.

Here’s something else you should consider: Maybe you think exploiting your exes by writing some catchy, pop tunes is the best revenge. Calling attention to how many guys dumped or cheated on you is kind of a warning to other guys you may want to date someday – whittling your pool of prospects to those who need the publicity to jumpstart their careers. Plus, let’s face it; none of those guys in your past heard any of your songs and thought, “wow, did I screw up.”

Look, there are only so many boy pop bands and you’re going through them rather quickly. Eventually, you won’t have a break-up to write about. I think it’s time you turned your songwriting efforts to appeal to a wider range of teenage angst drama - like partying, waking up feeling like P-Diddy, shopping and being the bad-ass chick who does the heartbreaking. There’s a whole demographic – and several more platinum album opps – you can exploit.

Remember, this biz is all about creating longevity in your career. When it comes down to it, do you really want to be known as the ‘hang-and-banger’ – the chick who hangs out with a guy only to bang out a song victimizing herself in the hopes of teaching him a lesson. Because in the end, once it’s over, he really doesn’t care  because the intent was to “never, ever get back together.”

Sincerely,

Chick Norris