love bites

I've made it this far into the day without mentioning that it's Valentine's Day, a day designed to make life miserable for... just about everyone. Seriously, if this was a true Democracy and we voted on all kinds of crap, who wouldn’t vote to cancel Valentine’s Day? At best, it's a forced reason to be a little more romantic than usual. (Isn't "forced romance" an oxymoron anyway?) For many, it's a pain in the ass, another obligation to remember, more pressure to find the right gift. Ask all the commuters in Grand Central who I just saw waiting in block-long lines to buy cards or chocolate in a pathetic attempt at a last-minute gift if they're happy about Valentine's Day.

Then there are the worst case scenarios--you're either single and it's yet another way for society to poke you in the face with a pointy stick and remind you that you're unworthy of being loved (which, as all your friends tell you, is ridiculous; but it would help if they didn't say that right before kissing their partner as a desperate way of pointing out to themselves that they may have irredeemable flaws, but they're not as hopeless as you are). Or, and this is where I find myself this, you have someone in your life who's a different kind of SO--not so much a Significant Other as a Sort Of. And you have to figure out the whole damn what-do-we-do question and hope your partner has the same answer mapped out in his or her subconscious. In other words, do you wait on the damn chocolate line or not?

A true story. My Sort Of and I had tentative plans to hang out... not so much out of romance, but more to avoid being alone (that says a lot about Us, actually). We made a last minute decision to try to get into Avenue Q. Like some other Broadway shows, they raffle off a small number of tickets at a very low price a couple of hours before showtime. We've seen Rent this way a couple of times, and tried in vain to get tickets to Ave. Q this way four or five times now. The thing is, it's always a good time even if you don't get in, because the process is exciting and even if you lose you're still in Times Square which is a large sardine can jammed with tourists, but is certainly functional as a backup for failed plans, even if it's not functional in any other way. So Singalittle and I figured we'd try to get tickets, and if that failed, get tickets to a movie, maybe "Brokeback Mountain," and have dinner.

I left the office just after 5:30, with, in theory, half an hour to make it across town, one subway stop. I ran home to quickly change my shirt and pee, ran back out--still a decent amount of time. Get into the subway, it's jammed. Long lines everywhere. The city is digging out from snow, so more people than usual are using the subway. I survive the subway and make it to Times Square--wall to wall people. I look at my cell, 5:48, I'm doing great. I have 12 minutes to go four blocks and drop my name in the lottery hat.

Obviously if I'm writing about what happened, it didn't turn out to be easy. I did make it, barely, scrambling down the street in my no-traction work shoes on the crowded, slushy sidewalk. Huffing and puffing, listening to the names pulled from the hat, hoping my effort would pay off... of course, no luck. I call Singalittle to break the bad news, and we go through movie times on the phone, nothing is gonna work out. We agree to meet back at my place and have a low-key dinner.

I slug it out and make it back across town, get out of the subway (more slush) and barely make out a voice mail from her: "I'm looking online, I can get tickets to the show at full price, should I do it?" I call her back and she punches up the Ticketmaster and says we can get two in the orchestra for $218. A lack of enthusiasm courses through my chilled veins. I hedge, she sounds annoyed. "I'd like to see it, don't get me wrong. But I just shlepped across town..." "You better not say that's the reason. If it's the money, fine, but I'm not accepting lazyness." The truth is, I do want to see the show but I am tired and cold... and still getting over the cold I brought back from Florida. Can’t we see the show another time? I say something to that effect and she sounds annoyed, so I tell her that if she feels strongly about it, let’s go. She says, “Look, I’m busy here, call me back in five minutes and tell me what you wanna do.” I think to myself, fine, I’ll suck it up, we’ll go.

I call her back a minute later, and she picks up with a tone in her voice that let’s me know I’m already in trouble, and I better make the right choice. I say, sure, let’s do this. She jumps back online, and… no more tickets. Not orchestra, not crappy, not anywhere. Wow, I think, wincing: this is going to be bad. Somehow we’ve been shut out of the same Broadway show twice in one night, and this time it’s completely, undeniably, inexcusably my fault.

On the other hand, if it wasn’t for Valentine’s Day, we wouldn’t have felt obligated to try to do something “special” in the first place. Well, at least I’m going to get that laid back dinner I was hoping for, though now it’ll be a little more tense. How many times can you apologize during a single meal and still have a good time?

NOTE: Written at 7:32 pm, posted later...