Elizabeth and the terrible, no good, horrible dates

As Miss Janey reminds us, Saint Valentine wasn't made a saint and given his own day because he was so good at warm-fuzzy snuggles and gift giving. On her blog (which you should visit for her many reasons including her masterful use of the third person, her wit, and her fierce author picture!) she says:

"Here is a short reminder of what the Valentine's Day actually celebrates. St. Valentine of Rome was killed by Emperor Claudius in 269 AD for helping Christians and refusing to give up his Christian faith. In 469 AD Pope Gelasius established February 14 as a day to honor poor, slain Valentine. Originally, St. Valentine was the patron saint of epilepsy, since he suffered from it. Later, when the church assimilated the fertility festival Lupercalia into their calendar, St. Valentine also became the patron saint of lovers."

So Valentine's day is really about martyrdom and sex. Which naturally makes me think of dating. So, in honor of those of you still out there in the fray, and because, though I've been happily married for a while now, I've paid some serious dating dues, I am going to share with you some of my worst ever dates. If you feel like it, share yours!

Once upon a time, in a kingdom so left-leaning that it had almost leaned right off the continental US, there was a young woman named me. Now, after I split up with the LyingCheatingScumbag, my heart was broken into so many tiny sharp fragments that I thought I might never be able to put it back together again. During that period I retreated into the magical neon forest to live among the Gays, where I had many lovely times there, dancing and dining with my boys. But eventually, the boys began to nag me, "Honey, you've got to get OUT there if you ever want to have sex again!" And so, heeding their wise words, I decided to date. Furthermore, for reasons that aren't clear even to me, I decided I would date, at least once, anyone who asked me. The dear boys again urged me on, saying, "Why not? You'll get a free dinner out of it anyway, and maybe more!"

Many men asked me out, and also many trolls. So, for your amusement, here are some of the low points on my road to true love. First, let me introduce you to the long-time friend, a seemingly nice guy, who invited me out to dinner one day. I assumed we’d split the bill, as friends do. But he said,"No, don't worry about it. I'll pay. I'm making good money these days." Which I wasn't. So fine. After dinner, when I was ready to go home, the "friend" got angry, saying that I should go home with him because I "owed" him. After all, he'd paid for dinner. I was appalled and we were friends no more.

Then there was the college professor who hit on me during our conference about my essay topic for the required-for-my-major-so-I-couldn't-drop-it class. That was tricky!

But last, and also worst, was my date with a young man from the People's Republic of China. He asked me to go to the symphony with him. The symphony part, when he couldn't speak to me, sadly, was the high point of the date. During the intermission, he was able to speak, and boy did he! As we stood on the crowded balcony looking out over San Francisco, that beloved kingdom of fruits and nuts, he proceeded to tell me that he thought that Hitler was right, that Jews were awful, and that black people were even worse. So I knew he was a complete and utter psycho. Nevertheless, I pointed out to him that Hitler would have gotten rid of Chinese people too. He angrily rejected this idea. Chinese people were a pure and superior race too, like white people. After the symphony, I made a quick escape, and decided not to date any and all askers anymore. And even my beloved gay boys supported me in this decision saying, "Oh my God! He probably would have abducted you and made you his white sex slave! Hmmm... what did you say his number was?"

No real advice here. No great wisdom. But tomorrow, the Valentine's Day happy ending.