Born a cynic, a Catholic and a Virgo, being in love has proven to be a rather difficult, uncomfortable and by most accounts, unnecessary thing. But not long after V-Day passed last year, that rat bastard of love found me and turned me into a most obnoxious and outspoken advocate for the emotion and lifestyle that is love.
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Valentine's Day: Any excuse to make a Deee-Lite song applicable to everyday life, really.
Being in love makes me do strange things, like cook extravagant meals for another human on a Wednesday night when I clearly should be writing. Before meeting the love of my life, I might have just carbo-loaded the evening with an economy size bag of cheap spaghetti and a Peach Jumex from the Mexican market across the street. But now I want to make sure that he eats the best food all of the time, well-rounded meals of kale and chicken sausage and quinoa like he's a show pony or something. In reality, he would be cool with a peanut butter sandwich and a joint.
Love makes me want to take pictures of my boyfriend while he's sleeping, which is not only creepy, it is probably illegal. It's just that he looks like an even more perfect version of his waking self when he's asleep. Did I mention that he's the only person I've ever met who actually has good-smelling morning breath? Again, only the creepiness of love would make a person think that.
Love has made me become one half of that couple in front of you at a concert, ruining your experience by grinding along to a slow song. I mean, I've become that person who isn't even looking at the band now, because my back is turned to the stage and I'm an inch away from my boyfriend's face, staring into his eyes like he's the only person left on earth.
Love has made me love love songs and hate break-up songs. I can't even listen to Robyn's "Dancing On My Own" anymore; it personifies a feeling I never want to feel again. Instead, I just want to be surrounded by and feel all of the feelings of love, a disillusionment that has made me actually think I can align with Beyonce's sentiments in "Drunk In Love." And no one can really align with Beyonce -- she's a superhuman married to another superhuman.
Love makes me want to tweet about my sweetie and Instagram his angelic face like he was just born. Which I do. My social networking life has become a "look at me! I have the best boyfriend in the known universe" kind of experience, the kind that if I were in someone else's shoes would make me want to strangle myself. Love has turned me into a braggart.
But I guess that's what modern life is all about anyway, right? I mean, if I weren't gloating about the perfection that is embodied in the 135-pound real-life version of Tin Tin that is my boyfriend, I would just be bragging about how many times I went to the gym this week or what kind of a deal l got on coconut water at Sprouts. I would be boasting some other accomplishment like a kid losing a tooth, a promotion, a lowered house payment or killer breakfast I was about to eat. It just so happens that my braggadocio centers around being in love.
I would tell you to go out and find love too, because it is the best thing that ever happened to me. But if someone told me to do that, I would set them on fire and throw them into the Grand Canyon. Because love is for assholes. Happy Valentine's Day.
Be my voyeur (or better yet, let me stalk you) on Twitter: @cocodavies
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