The Valentine's Day Hangover

There are two types of women in the world on February 15th.  The type that is well f*cked, watering her already half dead GMO roses (that probably came from King Soopers), and bragging to all her single coworkers about her new rose gold Cartier bracelet (I hate you).  And, the type that bitterly watched 50 Shades of Grey alone with at least 2+ cats, and is five pounds heavier from consuming large amounts of Chunky Monkey ice cream and Doritos.  High f*cking fives to both of you because both scenarios are awesome.

The latter can be caused by an inattentive boyfriend, booty call, or husband; but, it can also be caused by the perceived impending suffocation of spinsterhood.  I will never understand why women hate being single so much.   Buy yourself a damn Louis Vuitton, hop on Amazon, buy a great vibrator, and give yourself three orgasms... because we all know a guy isn't going to ever be able to top your personal O number.  For some reason, women continue to let men define them. Not to go all feminist Boulder on your asses, but go be a power bitch, get a degree, a great job, have sex with yourself, and buy your own awesome shit.

I'm not a Valentine's Day hater. I love Valentine's day.  I mean, it's an excuse to eat shit loads of candy, chocolate, and have sex with yourself like twice in one day (or someone else if available). Also, I'm a child, so my mom still gets me awesome gifts. But, women seem to turn to self-hate on Valentine's day if it isn't some perfect occasion that comes with chocolate unicorns, love poems, and french kisses. I totally get being disappointed if the turd you're sleeping with failed to remember the day completely.  But let's not crucify them for being men. I mean... they're men.  They have a hard enough time remembering your name, let alone a holiday (kidding... kind of).

Let's not expect mountains out of a species that think with their mole hills. Cut them some slack. Could you imagine if they were as crazy as we are? That wouldn't end well for anyone; homicides would probably increase by at least 10%. On the flip side of the coin, if they remembered and showered you with gifts, give them a sweet beej and then excuse yourself and your vibrator to the bathroom for some self-love.

Love yourself, betches. Never put that onus on someone else, it's not their job.  And if you don't make it their job you'll be way happier.

XOXO,
K