The Carillon shows you how to hate your life more this Valentine’s Day
The only thing more depressing than your lack of a lover on Valentine’s Day is that it’s on a goddamn Tuesday. If it were on a Friday or Saturday, or heck even a Wednesday or Thursday, you could find several ways to distract yourself from your efflorescing self-loathing, but alas.
Since distraction is off the table, the next best thing is indulgence. If you can’t push away the dreaded thought that you’re not good enough and probably will live alone with your pets (who are mostly indifferent to your presence anyway) for the rest of your life because you’re utterly unexceptional in every possible way, you may as well throw one hell of a pity party.
Everyone loves to feel really, really shitty every once in a while and now’s your time to shine! If the above description sounds like you (don’t lie to yourself, it does), then look no further because the Carillon has assembled a timeline from countless years of hard research on how to have the best worst time while being single on Valentine’s Day.
You arrive home from school. There’s not really anything to do before dinner, and like hell you’re doing homework because you just finished a day clock-watching through hours of lectures, so you decide to creep Facebook. Your news feed is clogged with bullshit statuses from all the happy couples, which you scoff at and smugly say to your empty room, “Enjoy paying $40 for a dozen roses and well over twice that for dinner, assholes.” That kind of money is totally not worth one night of hot sex in what’s ostensibly a committed relationship. Wait, when was the last time you got laid again?
It’s dinner time. You feel like making yourself something nice because of the occasion, but you lent your favourite cookbook to a friend. The only other one you have is A Taste for Love: A Romantic Cookbook for Two, a Christmas gift from your grandma. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find a use for it someday,” she said. Oh grandma, if you only knew how wrong you were. Not being the best at dividing fractions, you nevertheless cook a meal for two and eat both servings because fuck it, you have no one to impress.
Whoopsies, your glass of wine you had with dinner turned into the whole bottle. Also, laying on the floor seemed like a way better decision than sitting in a chair as you drunkenly mumble the words to “Rain in My Heart” by Frank Sinatra, which has been on repeat for the past 40 minutes because your cat walked across your keyboard. As you stare at the ceiling, you realize you should probably do something with your night. There’s not much to do on a Tuesday except cheap movie night, but that’s a bad decision (couples, no alcohol), so you decide to take your singing skills to the Owl for karaoke night.
Those bastards at the Owl only let you sing “Love Hurts” by Nazareth once even though you promise them you’ll make it to the second chorus without crying this time, to which you respond with more drinking and more crying.
You stumble drunkenly into your home and immediately go to your computer to inform all your social networking friends that “I hadds uch a goofd time tonight i dont eeven need anyone. oh gods im so lonelay.” As well, you notice that your slew of drunk tweets at the Owl caused you to lose 13 followers on Twitter, so congrats on that. It’s a shame you didn’t bring anyone home though. You almost had that one cutie. The conversation was going well until you started puking. Oh well, it looks like you’ll just have to resort to something that you’ll likely have to do for the rest of your dejected life – make your palms ever the more hairy.