Nick Ellis is
28 years old and still single.
He gets an odd satisfaction out of still getting "and Guest" on his invitations
instead of someone's actual name. He can tell within the first two minutes of a first date
if there's going to be a second date.
He hasn't had many second dates lately.
I ever been dating someone during Valentine's Day?
Suddenly I'm at a real loss, here (This being my first column, I'll fill you in--I have
the memory capacity of a goldfish in areas where it counts, but if you want to know what
track number "Peace, Love and Understanding" is on Elvis Costello's Greatest
Hits CD [six] I have that information flawlessly stored).
I could write about the difficulty in finding the perfect gift for that special someone,
but I have an odd habit of breaking off any borderline serious affairs just before
Christmas. I can trace the end of every one of my relationships to right around December
16. There's a reason for this, so gather 'round, kids...
Valentine's Day is a natural enemy of the single man. Really, we're not designed for it.
You see, V-Day is the perfect instrument for advancing a relationship to the next level of
commitment-which means, as a man who enjoys variety, that's an instrument I have no
interest in mastering.
I had a first date last weekend. She's a nice girl, I'll probably see her again, but I
breathed a sigh of relief when she told me she was going out of town for Valentine's Day
weekend. If she had stuck around, one of two things would have happened:
1) I would have asked her out for Valentine's Day. Sure, I fall victim to the feeling that
I should be with someone on these occasions. I watch TV. There's no "spend the
holiday with a frozen pizza and the internet" commercial out there for cupid's
favorite day. So, maybe I'd call her, we'd go out to a nice dinner, and before I know it
I've got a girlfreind when I was really just interested in someone to touch on occasion
and see movies with. Because that's the way things happen with me. I don't advance the
relationship, the relationship advances me. Someday my attention's going to drift too far,
and when I snap out of it I'll be decked out in Gingiss formal wear and my mom will be
crying. Who needs it, really.
2) I would weasel my way out of it, leaving her alone on the most cheesily romantic day of
the year, and she would suddenly have really dirty hair the next three times I called (the
fourth time, I always get the hint).
Let's face it folks, this is a chick day. I can't think of any guy who looks forward to
Valentine's day, with the possible exception of my cousin Pete, who lives for doing
schmaltzy things like scattering rose petals all over his girl's bed while she's at work
(sorry ladies, he's married. That girl's no fool). The only possible romantic connection I
have is going to be about five hundred miles away that weekend, and I feel like the
governor just called.
So my only decision right now is: sausage or pepperoni?
Cahill is 28 1/2 years old and has been told that he generally has pretty damn good
hygiene. He shares a domecile with his wife Pam and a cat named Jack (he used to think he
was a dog person, until he realized that it would take effort). His only gripe with
married life is all the Anne Geddes crap, and the fact that the soul of his youth has been
sucked out of him. David doesn't take very many things seriously, except for
"America's Funniest Home Videos," which really pisses him off.
Day: The Second-worst Example of a Hallmark Holiday (next to "Easter")
What a scam.
Valentine's Day, that is. Every year, men scramble around the city on a desperate search
for knick-knacks for that special other person (in my case, my wife Pam -- love you,
honey! This isn't about you! [note to other men: always CYA]). You would think it was a
And you'd be right. My theory: I think that Ty Warner built a time machine, went back tens
of millions of years (that's an estimate), and created "St. Valentine," just so
he could sell a certain kind of Beanie Baby (the same bear as all the others except it has
a heart embroidered on it). Of course, you're saying: "that's impossible. Time travel
isn't a reality." Yeah, well, Ty got his funding from a consortium of wealthy
corporations, including Fannie May, Walt Disney Global-Destroyer Enterprises, Hallmark,
and that old lady that spilled hot McDonald's coffee in her lap. They teamed up, much like
the Axis, and built their little time machine, to instill a feeling of obligation upon us.
Together they plotted and continue to plot against the "guy" (I use that term
So, the problem then becomes: how to let your significant other know you care, without
playing the fool for one of these multi-conglomerated bastards? Lord knows, I have vowed
never to give Disney a red nickel.
Brothers, as dark as all this seems, I have a solution to our mutual woes!-.
Step One: Flowers. Doesn't matter what kind. Just avoid big chains. Might want to steal
them from someone's garden. Make something up about how they remind you of something
having to do with her (no sports, please)
Step Two: Make a card for your significant other. This is a no-brainer. The beauty is, it
doesn't matter what the thing looks like. Indeed, the more amateurish it looks, the more
she'll love it. Tip: draw a recreation of the time you first met. Abstract art is just
fine, young man.
Step Three: Borrow a Sade CD from someone.
That's it. OK, maybe it's an over-simplistic plan. Maybe I'm an over-simplistic guy. Hey,
don't chastise me! You're the one who's read this far! Back off punk! You don't even know
me!!!! Aw, you didn't even do that. Is this bothering you? I'm not touching you. I'm not
touching you. )$(*&@#*(%&*(&!*@(%! ! #$*(&@# *$& WHY'RE YOU HITTING
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