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Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Wherefore art thou, Romeo?

It's that time of the year again everybody. That special day where love peppers the air with confetti sparkles wherever you turn, that time where flowers and chocolates and teddy bears are received with delighted shrieks, that season when romance wears a crown in all hearts. Valentine's Day.

Oh wait. It's been 5 days since V-Day, because I was far too lazy to finish editing this during the Chinese New Year break. Oops, sorry!

If you're a single, bitter shrew like myself, you dread that bloody day all week. All your loved up friends are being more sickeningly sweet than usual, and you just can't see what all the fuss is about. I mean, it's just another day, and it's been over-commercialised anyway, because shouldn't love be expressed every single day, and and and...WHERE IS MY BLOODY VALENTINE DAMNIT.

I have never celebrated Valentine's Day before. Ever.

I mean, I have gotten gifts before from friends and past boyfriends alike, but I've never been taken out on a Valentine's Date. Never got dolled up and picked up and wined and dined and the works. I've never even received a bouquet of roses before, sigh.

In previous years, mostly I have been nonchalant about this, always believing true love would be right around the corner. Some years have been worse than others, especially times in high school where your friends would receive huge gifts from their boyfriends, which would be on their desks the whole day for everyone to admire. Sometimes it penetrates my happy bubble and makes me feel a little lonely and jealous.

But this year really does take the cake. I mean, I hit the milestone of 20 this year. Everyone's been teasing me about my age, and it has been making me wonder about what I've achieved in my life so far. And of course, since V-Day is here, it has made me realise how pathetically single I have been all my life.

Just because of my bloody standards. My beau must not be anything less than sexy, smart, witty, and absolutely besotted with me. Damn. Why can't I just accept an existing offer and just go along with it?

Well, it's because I haven't reached the required level of desperation yet. I still choose to believe that one day my dashing knight in shining armour will come, and will not settle for anything less than Prince Charming.

I found out a few days ago that the day before Valentine's Day is unofficially known as Desperation Day. Yes, I am that outdated. And it has provided me with the cold comfort that at least there are single people out there in a much worse mental state than I'm in.

Which leads me to the point of this post: not my barren love life, but my personal categorisation of the four levels of participants of D-Day. Patent pending.

(These categorisations were made for fun, and not meant to be taken seriously. Lighten up people!)


Level One: No fish in the sea.

This is the safe zone. The zone where you're not particularly thrilled to be alone on V-Day, but there has just been no eligible candidates this far. The good ones always seem to be taken (or gay), and the remainder just don't seem to cut it.

The key factor here needs to be that you cannot find anyone that you want to be with, and not that nobody wants to be with you. Thus, the fine line between being choosy, and being unchosen.

It needn't be that something is wrong with every guy out there, even though we all know 99% of guys are jerks and the rest gay. But we all have good friends of the opposite sex and things remain fully platonic. There just seems to be noone out there that can catch your fancy; and noone, as I am especially fond of saying, that you share a frizzion with.

If you have a candidate in mind already, but you're still working on your game plan, then you're not counted as a desperate person per se, because you're only desperate for that one person. You are not considered as a true participant of D-Day in my books, unless you fit into Level Three, which we'll get to in a bit.

If you're a resident of Level One, congratulations! It means that you still are unwilling to compromise your standards, and that you will most likely end up very lonely and the owner of many cats.

Or, your desperation status will level up.


Level Two: Grab somebody sexy tell 'em hey!

This is the part where one becomes so driven by desperation that standards no longer matter. As long as the other person is interested in you and holds decent conversation, then they're in! And if the other person has no social abilities to speak of but has a rockin' body, the compromise of standards becomes an immediate no-brainer.

At this level, you basically take a turn at anything that comes your way. You take advantage of any opportunity that arises, even though you are crystal clear that there is no way any of these will go beyond a fling. Because anything is better than being alone at that point.

We all know people that have practically never been single, and is always in a new relationship almost immediately after the previous one ends. Those people, that cannot function as a single entity, are the epitomes of Level Two Desperation.

Again, the key factor is that people actually want to be with you. You're just desperate enough to be completely undiscerning about your offers.

These accepted offers include, but are not limited to, the guy that won't stop telling you how hot you are and never says anything else, the persistent manchild that attaches himself to you whenever you're around, the quiet geek that sends you a rose of Valentine's, the guy that grinds beside you in the club, and of course, the guys that bug you online with "mind intro/I want to get to know you/asl?".

Oh I'm sorry, none of those guys seem at all desirable? Well, that's the whole point of Level Two. Your date filter no longer exists, you desperate slut.


Level Three: I know everything about you.

After Level Two, the remaining participants of D-Day are much less lucky. This is the turning point, where the participants happen to not have any admirers, despite desperately seeking a relationship.

I should clarify that there is nothing wrong with not having admirers. You could be lovely, but because people are completely shallow, the fact is that if you're physically unattractive, you tend to be overlooked. My advice is learn a crowdpleasing skill, like beatboxing or magic tricks or any form of instrument, because girls are all suckers for men on stage. If you're a girl, either show more skin or lose more weight, because men are dogs.

Again, these categorisations only apply to desperate people, not those completely nonchalant about their single status. Calm your tits everyone.


What does a desperate person do if he can't seem to find anyone that wants to be with him? Throw in the towel and embrace celibacy? Unlikely.

So enter Level Three Desperation: The Internet Stalker.

At this level, you stalk anyone whom you are attracted to. On the Internet, because noone does old-fashioned physical stalking anymore, and people post too much personal information online anyway.

You like every Facebook entry and photo she's tagged in, you like every Instagram photo she posts, you favourite every tweet she makes. From all these platforms, you piece together the tiny bits she lets the world see, and paint a pretty personality to go with her pretty face.

You have never had a real conversation with her before, but you suddenly feel like you completely understand her. You feel like she has become your friend, and that she now matters in your life.

Your mood changes in accordance to the tone she post updates in. You feel happy when she indicates she's happy and sad when she indicates she's sad.

You can never go more than a few hours without checking for updates on all her social platforms. You become extremely agitated if for any reason you cannot check for updates. You are extremely protective of your smartphone and laptop, lest anyone sees your favourites page is full of her sites.

You fap to their hot pictures. Because you're a creepy Internet weirdo.

In the end, you have become someone in an imaginary relationship. You know that you will never stand a real chance with this girl precisely because you're so creepy, and this one-sided romance is good enough for you.

Until you become so disillusioned into thinking she's the only one for you that you start trying to talk to her, hoping she will respond and love will bloom. Only to have her give you the cold shoulder at every turn, thus crushing all your fantasies and your poor little heart.

Unless she's a Level Two desperado.


Level Four: Tits or gtfo.

This is it guys, the lowest point anyone can reach, without resorting to acts that go against nature.

This is where one goes on Omegle or ChatRoulette or any other site that allows for randomised video chatting. You know, the ones where most webcams are trained onto the guy's knob. And where females are desperate enough to flash their boobs at anyone who asks.

The thing is, you're not going there for a laugh or because you're bored. You're actually hoping that you'll find someone you can connect with, amongst all the horny weirdos out there. You actually believe that you can find love by baring it all.

Put simply, this is where you completely lose it. You've become so desperate, you've lost all sense of sanity. You've hit the state where you're striving to obtain any form of attention from the opposite sex on the other side of the video connection, because real life females won't have anything to do with you.

You should see a counsellor. Because nothing good ever comes out of Internet dating, you fool.

/end.


And there we have it. The kind of things I think about during Valentine's season to try to make myself feel a little better about being so unchangeably single.

Let's hope next year will be the year I break this damned single streak, and finally be taken out for an actual romantic Valentine's Date. If not, I think I'd better visit the animal shelter on V-Day 2014 and get myself started on being a lonely old catlady.

Meow.
 

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