St. Valentine’s Day Haters Be Gone With Ye!

Spinster friends, I will never understand the St. Valentine’s Day cynics.  Haters might say:

A.  It’s a holiday invented by the greeting card companies.

B.  It’s all about the commercialization.

C.  It’s designed to make the single people feel like losers.

D.  All of the above.

I just see someone who views the glass as half empty of its unfiltered tap water.  Oh sure, I know the other argument as well.  Expressing our love and appreciation of one another shouldn’t be limited to just one holiday.  Uh yah, I think we’d all agree on that one, but it’s way more fun to have an excuse to do it with pink and red and chocolates and flowers.

Perhaps I should put this love of the holiday in context for you.  I was the girl who got 1st place in the contest for best St. Valentine’s mailbox every year.  And alright, it was a contest that existed solely in my imagination but dangit, I won.  Nincompoop Nick and his shark mailbox (no doubt assembled by his mother whilst he secretly watched Power Rangers & Barney with his little brother) was no match for me and my television mailbox.  It was so creative – one dropped the Valentines in and they’d change the “show” on the screen to your Valentine.  I know.  Brilliance.  In high school I went all Martha Stewart and hand-colored paper doilies onto which I pasted hearts lovingly cut out of construction paper and lined with lace.  A few years ago I delivered little St. Valentine’s baskets to my friends.  I was like the St. Valentine’s Bunny!

So the cynicism makes no sense to me.  I’m a firm believer that attitude is everything.  Instead of this pessimistic outlook that seems to cast its gloomy shadow over the day, why can’t we all just hold hands and sing the “I Love You” song?  (I had that stuck in my head all day on Friday.  Others need to suffer with me.  You’re welcome.)  Furthermore, this is a holiday wherein you can eat an entire box of Godiva chocolates in one sitting without having to explain yourself to anyone!

Come, be happy with me, wear your pink and red, and:

  • Carry Benadryl to prepare for possibility of being surprised with flowers at work.
  • Practice your “that smells soooo good” and “this is delicious” exclamations so they come across as more authentic when your schnookums burns the dinner he decided to cook for you.  (True story.  Except schnookums was really my jerkface ex-boyfriend who also decided to write and sing a song to me – probably only to hear his own voice.  I cringed through the entire thing.)
  • Arm yourself with the facts of why chocolate is good for you so you can feel better about breaking your diet.
  • Make sure you buy those color-catcher washer sheet thingies so your pinks and reds don’t bleed when you get to your laundry next Friday.
  • Stock up on your stash of old school Valentines because admit it, it’s fun to get them and you could totally brighten someone’s day if you left one on their desk.

– Kate

P.S.  That awesome card above can be found here, on one of the best greeting card sites ever, Archelaus.

A Monday PSA

Spinster friends, I didn’t know it still existed out there.  I thought we were well beyond those days, that they’d died over 10 years ago along with my love of JC Chasez and sleeveless turtlenecks.  And now that I’ve had a solid several weeks to recover, I think I’m ready to talk about it.

It’s the pelvic thrust hug.  Or the PTH (you know I love a good acronym).  What. The.  Hell.

Oh, you know what this is.    The date is going well and it’s time to say your goodbyes but you’re not quite ready for that first kiss so you go in for a quality hug.  In my own mind I’m imaging a closer whiff of that nice aftershave scent I detected earlier. Then I’m thinking (with delight!) of the opportunity to smooth my hands across those man muscles that I saw rippling underneath that Ralph Lauren half-zip when you reached for your fork. Then, then!  Just when you’ve both closed in and you think you’re at full (appropriate) hugging contact you detect a horrifying movement in the hip region.  It’s like the guy’s hips are a Boeing 747 that overshot the runway and just kept going.  They crossed the hugging plane into full PTH territory and there’s no going back.

I can’t imagine a worse buzz kill at the end of a date (ok, I can, but go with me on this).  Just when I thought I was about to get a quality hug – WHAM! – man parts being thrust at me with nary an invitation.  Gentlemen, this is just not acceptable.  It’s wasn’t acceptable in high school either, but you were a bit more forgiven at that time.  The hormones were a-ragin’ and it didn’t surprise me that the PTH was the only way some of the boys got any action when the rest of their free time was spent ogling Cobra Mustangs at the local car show.  Even Hunky Hank with his shoulders of a Greek god (seriously you guys, best shoulders I’ve ever seen on a guy, as in I didn’t even know a shoulder could get me so worked up!) fell victim to the unfortunate PTH.  Or rather, I fell victim to his PTH.  I’m sure he was as happy as a clam.

The PTH should have died out when we were 18.  It was the hug that belonged on extinction list of everything awkward from our teenage years and I’m pretty much horrified to discover it still exists.  Gentlemen, don’t make me stick a flotation device around my hips just so I can keep my personal space.  As much as I love Belle, she doesn’t go with anything in my wardrobe and would likely ruin the line of my Kate Spade skirt.

– Kate

Manfriend Musings

Hello spinster friends!  I’m a tad bit late with a post this week which is due to some Exciting and completely exhausting Happenings in the Land of Hepburn.  You might not know this, but this little Kate is an introvert so a wild week of unexpected travel, a flat tire, and not a single night spent vegging on my sofa with a good romance and a pot of Earl Grey… well, let’s just say it’s Saturday morning, I’m still in my jammies, and I intend to stay that way.

I’m not a whiner and complainer, that’s a lie, don’t listen to me, but in these particularly trying types of weeks I’m reminded of those little things that a manfriend might bring to the situation.  Sometimes, I miss them.  I give you my short list:

The Arm/Back/You-Name-It Scratch.

Spinster friends, you know what I’m talking about!  Nothing is more lovely than a night spent in, forcing your beloved to watch HGTV’s Design Time Saturday Night, and getting a good arm scratch.  One of those wooden back scratchers just will not do.  And nevermind if most men have nubs for nails.  It’s soothing either way.  Plus, I’ve perfected the technique so the future Mr. Hepburn need not put out more effort than necessary.  It’s called the Hot Dog.  Step 1: Place arm directly in front of partner.  Step 2: Manfriend starts scratching arm in a horizontal motion.  Step 3:  Rotate your arm like a hot dog at a hot dog stand and behold! total arm scratch satisfaction.

The Flat Tire Savior.

I know how to change a flat.  In fact, it was one of the first things I did in driving school.  (Aside: Did you know that in Texas we didn’t have to take behind-the-wheel tests???  We required only 7 hours of actual driving time.  Yah, I know.  So, if you’re ever in this state, forgive us on the road.  We know not what we do.  Well, I mean, I do but I can’t say the others have a clue.)  So when I get a flat tire, I just want to have someone to call.  Someone who would come and hang out with me while I remedy the situation.  Or if not that, and if I was fortunate to have an awesome company that sends someone to fill my tire with air, someone who would at least lend me their car so I’m not scrambling to figure out how to get to Very Important Places the next day.  That’s a particular spinster challenge, I feel – the lack of a second car option is the pits!

Breakfast in Bed

Alright, alright, nobody has ever made me breakfast in bed.  But as I’m sitting here in my jammies it strikes me as something that would be really nice.  I’d like a stack of four pancakes.  No, make that five, just in case.  With a little pat of butter and two bitty twin pots of crème anglaise, and raspberry jelly.  A cup of Early Grey with a tiny spoon that has a dob of honey would also be nice.  And a big glass of 1% milk.  Oh, and sausage links!  I love sausage links.  And if Mr. Hepburn would be so kind, that romance I left on the couch the other night.  He romanced me enough last night, I’ll give him a break this morning.

What am I missing?  What other nice things might a manfriend* do?

*Or ladyfriend as I can’t leave out our beloved gentlemen spinster friends!

-Kate

My Dearest Katharine…

My workplace is limiting my email storage so I’ve been forced to look at emails I wrote back in the day.  It’s fun to see how unprofessional I was when I was a wee little Kate, making my foray into the business world.  Like the time I used 17 exclamation points in one message.  That was really cool.  I’m sure the Vice President who got my three-paragraph thank you email about lunch thought that was really cute.  But I digress. It was during this clean-up that I came across a rather large group of emails from my last boyfriend in ::coughcough2007coughcough::. It would have been weird to go through them, re-read them, re-live my mindset from back then, so I quickly glanced at a couple then did a mass delete and it felt good.  But! I was reminded of something missing in my life.

Where have all the love letters gone?  [When I think these words they are to the tune of that Paula Cole song and it adds a little something.  You should try it.]

We live in an age where the love letter has been replaced with the email or the text message.  While I could use this as a platform to lament the use of the email or the text message, I will not.  You see, I actually like them quite a bit.  As opposed to a letter, they’re something you can get unexpectedly, any time of the day.  That text message I got after a grueling meeting from a date telling me he looks forward to see me tonight?  Yah, I’ll never object to it.

However, it’s the sheer volume of text messages and emails, and the obvious ease of sending them, which makes the love letter special, coveted, and missed.  It says something when your significant other takes the time to pull out the nice paper, the nice pen, and spend the time to come up with the perfect way to describe your golden locks or the way he goes all mushy when you tilt your head just so.

Further:

  • Love letters provide the perfect opportunity for you to use your lover’s full name in a way that’s really sexy.  In romance novels, the heroine always notices when the hero uses her first name for the first time.  I don’t know about you, but seeing Katharine on the page would definitely make my lady parts quiver a little bit more than seeing Kate.  And that’s just the first word!  Nicknames are acceptable but I would caution anyone that the love letter is not the place to test out that new “pumpkin cheeks” name you thought of when you saw your loved one bending over in the supermarket aisle to reach for that can of peas.
  • Love letters are an acceptable place to describe that weird quirk about your lover that you never knew how to say in person.  Or maybe shouldn’t say.  Like the fact that in he mornings you like watching his nostrils flare while he’s still sleeping.  You think it’s cute.  But imagine the conversation if you were to say that to his face.  Awkward!  The love letter, instead, lets you express this and avoid the strange look he might give you.  It might then even turn into a blush and he’ll take a certain pride in his schnoz, knowing it gives you so much pleasure.
  • Love letters have an enduring and tangible aspect that just isn’t with an email or a text.  I once found the love letters my dad wrote to my mum.  She keeps them in a box and I have to tell you, I was (still am) impressed with my 12 yr. old self and the fact that I respected their privacy and didn’t read them.  This, coming from the snoop of all snoops (I was a really awesome babysitter but my gawd, such a snoop!  “I wonder what’s in this drawer!”).  Still, it was very romantic and while I don’t know if she ever references them, it’s the idea that she could.  No digging through filed emails or trying to remember that sweet text message from five years ago.  The letters are there, in your hands, always available, and looking more loved and cherished over time.  Someday, your kids might even think they’d be great scrapbook material!  That wouldn’t be embarrassing or anything.

This is not exhaustive, but I hope you get the point.  There should be no objection to the love letter unless your dearest took out a restraining order.  So I encourage you to go forth, put the pen to the page, and resolve to write more love letters in 2012.  The world as we know it is coming to an end so it’s not like you have anything to lose.

-Kate

Why, Hello Sailor!

Good morning, WordPress! Did you have a good weekend? We did. It was full of decking the halls, kissing dashing boys in scarves under mistletoe, and – oh yes! – starting a blog. The last one is rather important.

Why are we starting this blog, you ask? Well…we have opinions. Loads of them. After twenty-odd years on Earth, a girl does tend to develop them. While some of them focus on the hottest actor in Hollywood (Ryan Gosling. Or Stanley Tucci. We’re divided on that one), many of them are about important things like gender politics, social justice, and modern romance conundrums. So join us while we snark discuss, won’t you?

We promise to be funny, if not always traditional, and entertaining, if not always nice. You’ll like us! Or not. No worries, either way. We’re just glad you’re reading, darling.