One of my friends sent me a link to pictures of some classic Valentine's Day cards -- and by "classic," I mean classically bad! One shows a cartoon of a little boy standing on a huge knife, with the caption, "You were just CUT OUT to be my Valentine." Another shows a cartoon of a kitten tied up with a rope, next to the caption, "I'm BOUND to be yours if you'll be mine." And kids apparently traded these like they were just normal cards! Strange.
To see, click on:
http://7deadlysinners.typepad.com/photos/vintage_valentines/index.html
Showing posts with label Valentine's Day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Valentine's Day. Show all posts
February 17, 2009
February 7, 2009
Valentine's Day (and Anti-Valentine's Day)
Professionals in the City is having not one but TWO events in NYC (Manhattan) next week to help singles meet their Valentine. One is billed as "New York's Largest Singles Anti-Valentine's Day After Work Party," and it's taking place Thursday Feb. 12th at 6:00 PM. Tickets are $19.99 on-line or $30 at the door.
The other event is an Pre-Valentine's Day Mixer on Friday February 13th at 6 PM. Tickets are $5 on-line.
You can find details about both events at http://www.prosinthecity.com/index.cfm?cityid=5&action=events&eventid=7363#Event7363
The other day the Nicest Guy in the World asked me quite seriously, "Should I give you your Valentine's Day card in person on Valentine's Day, or would you rather I mail it to you? I know how much you like mail." I AM freakishly fond of mail! Does he know me or what? :)
Have a good weekend, everyone! Oh, and for non-dating-related posts, check out http://HerArtichokeHeart.blogspot.com
The other event is an Pre-Valentine's Day Mixer on Friday February 13th at 6 PM. Tickets are $5 on-line.
You can find details about both events at http://www.prosinthecity.com/index.cfm?cityid=5&action=events&eventid=7363#Event7363
The other day the Nicest Guy in the World asked me quite seriously, "Should I give you your Valentine's Day card in person on Valentine's Day, or would you rather I mail it to you? I know how much you like mail." I AM freakishly fond of mail! Does he know me or what? :)
Have a good weekend, everyone! Oh, and for non-dating-related posts, check out http://HerArtichokeHeart.blogspot.com
February 22, 2008
Relationship Obituaries
On Valentine’s Day, I read a story in amNY (http://www.amny.com/news/local/ny-bc-ny--relationshipobits0213feb13,0,714272.story) about a new web site called Relationship Obituary (http://www.relationshipobit.com) where people write and submit “obituaries” for their past relationships. Kathleen Horan started the site soon after she and her boyfriend broke up. Sadly, her father died two weeks later, and she found writing his obituary so healing, she thought composing an obituary for her broken relationship might be healing, as well.
Some of the obituaries are boring and badly written (“he was jealous and hostel”). But the best ones stick to the true obituary or eulogy format, specifically listing things the boyfriend or girlfriend would be remembered for, what they would be missed for, and, probably more importantly, what they *wouldn’t* be missed for. Some of them are really sad (“the cause of death was an aortic aneurysm of the relationship, which was aggravated by a yearlong deployment in Iraq”).
I didn’t watch any of the video entries, but amNY talks about one where the woman says she broke up with her boyfriend after she caught him cheating in a Monopoly game with a "whole bunch of $500 bills under him." She said, “My philosophy is, if you're going to cheat in Monopoly so blatantly, what hope do we have really?" Hee hee. ;)
Maybe I should write an obituary for Almost Perfect’s and my relationship (see my January 30th post). We met the day after Valentine’s Day last year, so that could be why I’ve been thinking about him a lot over the past week. When I went to a talk the other night, I could’ve sworn I saw him a few rows ahead of me and I just about froze in my seat. But then the guy turned and I realized it wasn’t him. I know it’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t even remember his name anymore -- we only dated for two months! It was such an intense two months, though. I just know I’m going to run into him in Brooklyn in a couple of years, with his new girlfriend or wife and their baby by his side. I can see the scene so clearly, I almost feel like it’s already happened.
At least I learned one lesson: never let anyone break up with you over e-mail if you can help it. A last talk, some closure, a cup of hot chocolate to drown my sorrows might have made it a little easier.
Or maybe not. Who knows?
Some of the obituaries are boring and badly written (“he was jealous and hostel”). But the best ones stick to the true obituary or eulogy format, specifically listing things the boyfriend or girlfriend would be remembered for, what they would be missed for, and, probably more importantly, what they *wouldn’t* be missed for. Some of them are really sad (“the cause of death was an aortic aneurysm of the relationship, which was aggravated by a yearlong deployment in Iraq”).
I didn’t watch any of the video entries, but amNY talks about one where the woman says she broke up with her boyfriend after she caught him cheating in a Monopoly game with a "whole bunch of $500 bills under him." She said, “My philosophy is, if you're going to cheat in Monopoly so blatantly, what hope do we have really?" Hee hee. ;)
Maybe I should write an obituary for Almost Perfect’s and my relationship (see my January 30th post). We met the day after Valentine’s Day last year, so that could be why I’ve been thinking about him a lot over the past week. When I went to a talk the other night, I could’ve sworn I saw him a few rows ahead of me and I just about froze in my seat. But then the guy turned and I realized it wasn’t him. I know it’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t even remember his name anymore -- we only dated for two months! It was such an intense two months, though. I just know I’m going to run into him in Brooklyn in a couple of years, with his new girlfriend or wife and their baby by his side. I can see the scene so clearly, I almost feel like it’s already happened.
At least I learned one lesson: never let anyone break up with you over e-mail if you can help it. A last talk, some closure, a cup of hot chocolate to drown my sorrows might have made it a little easier.
Or maybe not. Who knows?
February 14, 2008
Cybercourting
As a Valentine’s Day treat for you, dear readers, I’m posting a wonderful, sweet, funny story from the Feb. 10th New York Times Magazine about one woman’s experience with on-line dating (on eHarmony, it sounds like) at age 55. May it give hope to us all. Happy Valentine’s Day!
“Cybercourting”
by Laurie Kasparian
The New York Times Magazine, 2/10/08
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/10/magazine/10lives-t.html?scp=1&sq=Cybercourting&st=nyt
“O.K.,” I told my best friend, “there’s this guy online I think I have to go out with.” It wasn’t said with the enthusiasm of one who finds love at first sight over the Internet. It was with a sigh, more than a modicum of dread and the appropriate amount of resignation that I admitted this to her, my happily married friend who found it all too easy to urge me to “get out there” and date.
I was 55, 15 years divorced, and this Internet campaign took all the pluck I could possibly muster. But all the other avenues had dried up — blind dates, volunteer groups, classes, professional contacts (bars were never an option). The site I used would send me matches, and all I had to do was read about them and “start communication” or “close” them out. Mostly I closed — square-dancers, Fess Parker fans, TV-fishing-show hosts and fathers of three preteens. But once in a great while someone came along who had no zapworthy traits.
I was a year into the search when this particular guy came along: Steve. It wasn’t that he sounded like the love of my life; it was that I could find no valid reason to reject him. My friend kept me very honest about this. She was in favor of kissing every single frog, and I dutifully ran my matches past her for a second screening. Steve, she enthusiastically agreed, had potential, and I knew what I had to do — “start communication.”
Our initial online interchanges went well. Steve asked what I thought the three most important qualities of a lasting marriage were, and I waxed eloquent on two of them, then gave up trying to impress him and just blurted out the third, “a killer sex life.” He told me his sons were both voted “best hair” in high school. “I am so proud,” he quipped. “They have worked so hard.” Questions and answers flew across the ether. But our schedules prevented us from meeting, so instead we moved up to the phone. Nightly calls lengthened to three hours and more as we hungered for and found common experiences and intimacy and trust. This was heady. But we still hadn’t met. We had the online photos, and we quizzed each other on our looks, but I wasn’t sure I would be attracted to him in person.
On the day we finally had our first date, I was having a major case of the vapors. My anxiety would settle for a moment, and then the thought of our meeting would set it off again. He seemed just as nervous. We each had mentioned that we had sensitive stomachs, so when he said, “You know we won’t go out to eat,” it didn’t sound as if he was cheap or weird.
Our rendezvous was at a bookstore in Newport Beach. I was to find my favorite book, and he was to find me. Was this cheesy or romantic? More troublesome was what book to pick. I did not want to be pretentious, superficial or predictable. I finally went with my true choice, “The Sound and the Fury.” I love its tale of the disintegration of a family in the South, and I especially love one line in the appendix, in which Faulkner gives all manner of family history. When it comes to the black family servants, he merely says of them all, “They endured.” It always touched me.
I nervously stood, book in hand, awaiting Steve’s arrival. I finally sat down in the aisle, leaned against the books, read lazily. I would see his sneakers approaching first, I thought. Finally they did. I looked up, saw what I felt was an old friend, jumped up and gave him a little hug. “Are you nervous?” he asked. “Not anymore,” I replied. “Me, either,” he said. “Let’s see what you picked.” I showed him the book. He took it in his hand. “Good choice,” he said. “Isn’t this the book that ends with something like ‘they endured’?”
We took the ferry across Newport Harbor, walked along the strand, talking and stealing glances. He didn’t look much like the picture. He was clearly older, decidedly heavier. Different glasses. We finally did decide to eat, and shared pictures of our kids as we did. It was clear he loved his children heart and soul. I liked that. Still, he seemed rather shy and stiff. Our phone calls had become very intimate, yet he steered clear of any intimacy now. I could tell he liked me, even though he did not smile much. I felt uncertain.
On the way back across the ferry, we were silent for the first time that night. He hadn’t touched me at all. Sitting side by side, I impulsively leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, and stayed there. It was comfortable, and I felt him relax. “How many people do you have to call tonight to tell about our date?” he casually asked. I counted up in my head: “Nine.” “Great,” he said, “the Supreme Court.” As we parted, he turned to me and said, “Thanks for the lean.” I smiled and realized bargains are made in an instant. For my part, I could see I had to start rearranging the old furniture in my head to make room for this strangely familiar stranger.
Three years later, we endure.
*
Laurie Kasparian is a high-school English teacher in Irvine, Calif.
“Cybercourting”
by Laurie Kasparian
The New York Times Magazine, 2/10/08
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/10/magazine/10lives-t.html?scp=1&sq=Cybercourting&st=nyt
“O.K.,” I told my best friend, “there’s this guy online I think I have to go out with.” It wasn’t said with the enthusiasm of one who finds love at first sight over the Internet. It was with a sigh, more than a modicum of dread and the appropriate amount of resignation that I admitted this to her, my happily married friend who found it all too easy to urge me to “get out there” and date.
I was 55, 15 years divorced, and this Internet campaign took all the pluck I could possibly muster. But all the other avenues had dried up — blind dates, volunteer groups, classes, professional contacts (bars were never an option). The site I used would send me matches, and all I had to do was read about them and “start communication” or “close” them out. Mostly I closed — square-dancers, Fess Parker fans, TV-fishing-show hosts and fathers of three preteens. But once in a great while someone came along who had no zapworthy traits.
I was a year into the search when this particular guy came along: Steve. It wasn’t that he sounded like the love of my life; it was that I could find no valid reason to reject him. My friend kept me very honest about this. She was in favor of kissing every single frog, and I dutifully ran my matches past her for a second screening. Steve, she enthusiastically agreed, had potential, and I knew what I had to do — “start communication.”
Our initial online interchanges went well. Steve asked what I thought the three most important qualities of a lasting marriage were, and I waxed eloquent on two of them, then gave up trying to impress him and just blurted out the third, “a killer sex life.” He told me his sons were both voted “best hair” in high school. “I am so proud,” he quipped. “They have worked so hard.” Questions and answers flew across the ether. But our schedules prevented us from meeting, so instead we moved up to the phone. Nightly calls lengthened to three hours and more as we hungered for and found common experiences and intimacy and trust. This was heady. But we still hadn’t met. We had the online photos, and we quizzed each other on our looks, but I wasn’t sure I would be attracted to him in person.
On the day we finally had our first date, I was having a major case of the vapors. My anxiety would settle for a moment, and then the thought of our meeting would set it off again. He seemed just as nervous. We each had mentioned that we had sensitive stomachs, so when he said, “You know we won’t go out to eat,” it didn’t sound as if he was cheap or weird.
Our rendezvous was at a bookstore in Newport Beach. I was to find my favorite book, and he was to find me. Was this cheesy or romantic? More troublesome was what book to pick. I did not want to be pretentious, superficial or predictable. I finally went with my true choice, “The Sound and the Fury.” I love its tale of the disintegration of a family in the South, and I especially love one line in the appendix, in which Faulkner gives all manner of family history. When it comes to the black family servants, he merely says of them all, “They endured.” It always touched me.
I nervously stood, book in hand, awaiting Steve’s arrival. I finally sat down in the aisle, leaned against the books, read lazily. I would see his sneakers approaching first, I thought. Finally they did. I looked up, saw what I felt was an old friend, jumped up and gave him a little hug. “Are you nervous?” he asked. “Not anymore,” I replied. “Me, either,” he said. “Let’s see what you picked.” I showed him the book. He took it in his hand. “Good choice,” he said. “Isn’t this the book that ends with something like ‘they endured’?”
We took the ferry across Newport Harbor, walked along the strand, talking and stealing glances. He didn’t look much like the picture. He was clearly older, decidedly heavier. Different glasses. We finally did decide to eat, and shared pictures of our kids as we did. It was clear he loved his children heart and soul. I liked that. Still, he seemed rather shy and stiff. Our phone calls had become very intimate, yet he steered clear of any intimacy now. I could tell he liked me, even though he did not smile much. I felt uncertain.
On the way back across the ferry, we were silent for the first time that night. He hadn’t touched me at all. Sitting side by side, I impulsively leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, and stayed there. It was comfortable, and I felt him relax. “How many people do you have to call tonight to tell about our date?” he casually asked. I counted up in my head: “Nine.” “Great,” he said, “the Supreme Court.” As we parted, he turned to me and said, “Thanks for the lean.” I smiled and realized bargains are made in an instant. For my part, I could see I had to start rearranging the old furniture in my head to make room for this strangely familiar stranger.
Three years later, we endure.
*
Laurie Kasparian is a high-school English teacher in Irvine, Calif.
February 11, 2008
Valentine's Day stress
Over the weekend the New York Times ran an article called “Matchmaker, You Have Until Thursday” (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/10/fashion/weddings/10speed.html?ref=style) about the pressure that many singles feel to find a boyfriend or girlfriend by Valentine’s Day – or at least a date. Speed-dating registrations apparently increase by 15 to 20% during January and February, and Match.com had a 40% increase in new members. It’s a little late to be finding this out, but good to keep in mind for next year.
The reporter also sat in on a HurryDate (http://www.hurrydate.com) event, where each person had TWENTY four-minute dates. TWENTY! The most I’ve ever had at any speed-dating event was fourteen! Maybe I should try HurryDate again. I’d tried them last summer but didn’t have very good luck – neither of my mutual matches ever e-mailed me. I don’t understand that. Why choose me if you don’t even want to put in the effort of e-mailing me back, much less seeing me again? At the time I suspected it was an age thing – they were both a few years younger, and since you have to fill out a profile on HurryDate, I figured they saw my age and weren’t interested anymore. But since then I’ve had a couple of mutual matches from other events not write me back, either, even though they didn’t know my age. People are just strange, I guess.
The reporter also sat in on a HurryDate (http://www.hurrydate.com) event, where each person had TWENTY four-minute dates. TWENTY! The most I’ve ever had at any speed-dating event was fourteen! Maybe I should try HurryDate again. I’d tried them last summer but didn’t have very good luck – neither of my mutual matches ever e-mailed me. I don’t understand that. Why choose me if you don’t even want to put in the effort of e-mailing me back, much less seeing me again? At the time I suspected it was an age thing – they were both a few years younger, and since you have to fill out a profile on HurryDate, I figured they saw my age and weren’t interested anymore. But since then I’ve had a couple of mutual matches from other events not write me back, either, even though they didn’t know my age. People are just strange, I guess.
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