My Valentine's Day Contract - Just Sign Here

Exactly a year ago, I was posting cute little Valentine's Day pictures on this blog, guilt free too.

In the past, it was a day when I could just admit that I am truly a hopeless romantic at heart. It is even more evident when looking at the high percentage of SHOUJO manga on my shelf. At school, I would send singing telegrams, chocolate, and roses to myself. Of course, they were all addressed from my favorite bishounen of the year (last year it was from Tamaki and  the rest of the Ouran High School host club).


But this year, there will be no chocolate, or roses, or even happiness. My inner hopeless romantic has left completely; she packed her bags in absolute misery and fled, leaving a river of tears behind.

The culprit: some weirdo, who had been following me around for a grand total of a mere TWO HOURS, decided that I should be his girlfriend. He has been texting me ever since. It has been a long six days.

I do not understand this. I am walking man repellent. But he is immune!

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Anyway, he went to public school. He feels the need to educate me about the dating customs of his brand of air-heads in their natural environment.

Contracts. It is true. Apparently dating teens can write contracts to date each other (and inevitably rip it up when they break up). Am I the only one who finds this slightly insane?

So, this is the feeling that Valentines Day left me with this year...it is a bit discouraging.



I am saddened that Valentine's Day isn't what it used to be. It doesn't help that this one sucks.

Moving on, I wrote this off the top of my head when I got home after being stuck with the guy who won't leave me alone.


The following is my contract (or the intro at least). I hope we can both reach some understanding.

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Dear Chris the Creeper; the stranger who wants to date me...

*Since you are so adamant about me seeing your “cool” apartment, please note that I plan to come armed, at least, with an AK-47. You get nothing.


*Furthermore, I do not care about your memory foam bed, or the memory foam pillows on top of it. I know that I am a socially awkward person. I could be wrong, but talking about your “awesome” memory foam bed, right after insisting that I am going to see your apartment, is a tad bit sketchy. Isn’t there anything else in that “cool” place of yours? Like something that gives off minimal awkward vibes? Perhaps a refrigerator or a coffee maker. If nothing else, talk about the paint on the walls. I would much rather hear about that. Just don’t say that it is white and pure, like your so-called feelings for me. If you do, I will pour black paint on them as a notion of my feelings. It is only right after all to reciprocate the sentiment. I am saying this for your own good. Trust me, it is just safer for you if I don’t know where you sleep at night.


*I think I have made it blatantly obvious in the text messages that I enjoy sharp things, like knives and swords. Clearly, you are not the sharpest knife in the drawer. See the correlation?

*I don’t want your hugs. I don’t want your less than threes in text messages. You will never get either from me.


*Don’t call me “hun”, and don’t call me “babe”. Just, refrain from using terms of endearment in general. That would be a good rule to follow. I have plenty of names for you as well. They however convey a much different meaning. Believe me; you don’t want to know what I think. I will exercise self-control if you do, you *bleep*. Starting now.


*Evidently, you are still not getting it. I have no desire to hold your hand. I understand that hand-holding and hugging (particularly me for some reason) showers your soul with sunshine and cupcakes. But I don’t care. It makes me wanna throw up…on you preferably. I couldn’t care less if hugging and hand-holding and other such activities makes you excrete rainbows and butterflies! If you dare try to initiate such acts again, be warned that there will be an aura of malice around me, designed to make you deeply uncomfortable and run for the hills. To avoid all this drama in the first place, perhaps I should just give up and become a nun. Then it would be irrational, impossible, and against my religion!


*Here is another good reason why it is in your best interest not to date me: I will make your wallet bleed to death. Do you like money? You say you have money. Well, I have some news for you buddy; I don’t. You know who else likes money? People who make good steak. Since you are wanting to date me, there are a few things that you should know about me (especially since there is little you actually know as it is). I am a carnivore. And I really like steak. Better say “goodbye” to those Monster energy drinks that you like so much, because in addition to my steak, I expect strawberries and ice cream too. Every day. (To fill the cracks of my heart that are caused by your very presence).


*I don't care what other girls that you have dated told you. You are too observant for your own good. It fills me with dread that you would focus too long on me, for obvious reasons. You see, I do not know your intentions (and again, I doubt that they are entirely pure). Not understanding your mind means that I have no clue as to how long it takes you to mathematically calculate what it would look like without said clothes (I gagged a bit just typing this thought). If you can not force yourself keep your eyes focused on appropriate places, I will forcefully remove them.

*To put this in shorter, simpler words, so that you can understand, I have no desire to date you; get lost.
And Happy Anti-Valentines Day.

Until then...