Cupid is Stupid

I have publicly defamed January multiple times so far this year. I admit that I called it the most awful month and touted how happy I would be when it was finally over. Enter February, as I requested, and so far we have endured: a failing car transmission (Clint), a 48-hour migraine (me), a sick dog that required multiple trips the vet and approximately half a paycheck, a broken hot water heater...and then I woke up this morning to discover not one, but two fever blisters on my lip. I feel like a host of plagues has been set loose on our house at this point.

But never fear: we are just a few days away from that over inflated, overrated holiday that is allegedly all about love but, in fact, is about selling cards, candy, jewelry, and dinner dates to desperate men who want to avoid a nuclear fallout from a Valentine FAIL. I'm sure that this will help make my month better (please read that in a bold sarcasm font). I have to wonder: does anyone really enjoy Valentine's Day? Isn't this really a holiday for masochists?

We've agreed not to give gifts this year, which I sincerely hope means Clint won't stop off at the grocery store for flowers on his way home. I don't want to sound like a snob, but I absolutely hate those grab and go cellophane wrapped bouquets from the store. They're half dead already, you have to hack off about 12 inches worth of stems before you can go search through all your cabinets to find a vase to display them in, and then you have to add that weird little packet of floral crack that perks them back up and gives them the will to live for another day and a half.

As much as I resent those flowers, they are still not as bad as the now semi-infamous long sleeve t-shirt I got from the bargain bin at Walgreen's one year, and that horrible shirt will never be as bad as a gift given to a dear friend's mom, who was the unlucky recipient of a Valentine's Day back brace. (Sorry, honey, I know that t-shirt incident was years ago, but if you give a woman a gift of that caliber you can rest assured it will haunt you for decades to come.) After some roller coaster-worthy highs and lows in the gift department, we are now mercifully on a gift moratorium.

In lieu of gifts, we will, however, exchange cards and that presents a challenge in and of itself. After searching numerous stores for the right sentiment, it appears that the choices consist mainly of cartoon characters holding a heart or a sixteen paragraph soliloquy written in scrolling cursive professing my undying love for the man who makes my life complete. Seriously? Where are the real cards that say things that real couples say? You know, the ones that convey "Sure we want to kill each other occasionally, but we don't, so let's celebrate that." Hallmark, you're really missing the mark on this one.

Naturally, there will be an abundance of expressions of love on social media. I would like to take this opportunity to beg of you: if you love someone, perhaps let them know how you feel by simply turning to them in person and telling them, rather than gush about it on Facebook? Do your elementary school principle, your former neighbor, your pet sitter, and 563 of your closest "friends" really need to share in your tender feelings of fondness for your significant other? I think not, and so do they, trust me on this. If you can't work up the nerve to speak your affection, those brilliant wordsmiths over at Hallmark will gladly sell you a Snoopy card to convey the message.

In an attempt to be a better sport, I made an effort to embrace this ho hum holiday on Friday night; Starbucks has introduced their new Valentine beverages and so, unable to resist the lure of anything labeled seasonal or limited time, I convinced Clint to try a Cherry Mocha with me. After all, Starbucks describes this concoction like this: "Our cherry treat-inspired mocha combines our signature espresso, Mocha sauce, and cherry flavored syrup. Topped with cocoa Valentine sprinkles, it's love at every sip." Who doesn't want love at every sip? I regret to report back that I did not feel the slightest bit of infatuation, although Clint liked his but wouldn't go as far as professing love. If you want to save some coffee money and create your own, I imagine a couple of packets of Swiss Miss cocoa mix and a big shot of cherry NyQuil will duplicate the flavors quite nicely. Once again, this Valentine thing just does not live up to the hype.

If you are considering celebrating with a nice dinner out, I'm sure there are still reservations available--so long as you wanted to dine at either 4:30 in the afternoon or 10:15 at night. If that doesn't exactly make you all warm and gooey with love, Papa John's is offering heart-shaped pizzas for Valentine's Day again this year. For just $14.99, you can say how you feel in the form of melted mozzarella and sliced pepperoni. It's not exactly sophisticated, but I wouldn't turn it away, either.

However you choose to celebrate, be it with a heart-shaped pizza, a cartoon card, or a NyQuil love-at-first-sip mocha, I think there's one thing we can all look forward to, and that's the fact that come February 15, all that leftover chocolate will be on sale. And that's a holiday worth celebrating.

The Trader Joe's Experiment

I want to start right off by saying that I love Trader Joe's grocery stores, really, I do. Trader Joe's is known for offering not just novelty products from all around the world, but also for healthy products that are priced lower than their (Whole Foods) competitors. That alone is enough to make it near and dear to my heart, but let's go ahead and add in the fact that I discovered last week that they donate their leftover flowers to nursing homes and hospitals. In fact, the quirky chain has lots of things that make it awesome, and a quick internet search gave me this list which I wholeheartedly believe will make you love it even more.

All of that being said, I have only made one purchase *ever* from Trader Joe's. The fact of the matter is that each and every time I attempt to shop there, the experience is so intense and off putting that I abort my mission and retreat. I'm starting to think that Trader Joe's is more than just a store: it's some sort of psychological experiment. It's like an attempt to discover: how far will human beings go in their efforts to score trendy food?

Last week, I mustered up all my courage and feistiness, which we know is in abundant supply, and decided that this time I was going to conquer the summit called Trader Joe's, no turning back. I pulled into the tiny parking lot, which is notoriously a zoo. Not only are there four cars for every one parking space, this lot is always littered with pedestrians who seem oblivious to both the cars and the world around them. On this particular occasion, a man stood in front of my car talking on his cell phone, seeming not to notice the fact that I was trying to park, nor feeling the veritable heat from my engine breathing down his neck (I try not to honk at people with my Clemson sticker on my car, as I feel like it might be bad advertising for my beloved alma mater). He finally wrapped up his conversation and walked away, and as I sighed relief and started to pull into the spot, a woman walking a huge golden retriever waltzed right through the parking space (and narrowly avoided becoming a hood ornament for my SUV). I hadn't even made it to the door yet and already, my nerves were jangled.

The biggest Trader Joe's obstacle for me is the fact that the store is always as crowded as a Walmart on Black Friday dawn. I've tried going at every possible day and time, in an effort to find a less frenzied time to shop. I would pay extra for some VIP TJ's access if I could manage to avoid the multitudes, but there is never less than the maximum occupancy as determined by the fire marshall inside that store.

Inside Trader Joe's, the basic laws of navigation seem not to apply: staying on the right side of the aisle has gone by the wayside and I fight like a salmon swimming upstream as I try to push my cart through the horde. I dodge oncoming traffic, rogue carts, hyperactive children. The whole scene is like something out of an apocalypse movie. I swear the swarm of shoppers queues up my fight or flight response, and rather than go all Incredible Hulk right there by the freshly baked bread, I flee. On more than one occasion, I have put down my shopping basket and backed slowly away towards the door, giving up without a single purchase made.

Oh, but not last week. I stared down those throngs of shoppers and I soldiered on. I had come in pursuit of frozen zucchini noodles, also known as zoodles, that I was told Trader Joe's sells. Buying them frozen will save me the time and trouble of getting out my spiralizer machine, decimating my own fresh zucchini, attempting to dry said zucchini, and then spending the rest of the evening cleaning the spiralizer as a reward for an attempt at healthy eating. I will do anything to avoid kitchen clean up, so I stare down the barrel of this grocery store mayhem (somewhat) unfazed.

The same way that traffic flow is a demonstration in chaos, so is what is considered acceptable shopper behavior; I dodged elbows, arms in my face, and heads as I wearily tried to peruse the aisles. It's a good thing I like kickbox workouts and know defensive moves or I might have been knocked unconscious trying to look at trail mix. I played a mean game of chicken with a skinny 20-something in the freezer section and finally maneuvered my way to those zoodles that were my reason for fighting the good fight. There were four boxes left and I am not ashamed to tell you I greedily took all four. My adrenaline started to surge from my vegetable victory; I threw in some carrots and mahi mahi burgers as well. I also grabbed a box of gummy candy, as a reward for my stunning show of bravery. I was starting to fade fast.

With my energy draining and my patience dipping to dangerously low reserves, I made my way to the checkout lines. The man in front of me checked out, and just as I thought I was putting the grand finish on my shopping experience, the same man takes a step backward. He inquired of the cashier what type of oils Trader Joe's sells (olive and canola, if anyone else is interested), then decided he would, in fact, like to purchase a bottle of canola oil...oh, and could the cashier go retrieve said oil for him while he waited? I took deep, cleansing breaths and tried to remain calm as I waited for him to purchase his canola and be on his merry way.

I bought my whopping seven--that's right, that's all I could manage, a lucky number seven--and retreated to my car. I came, I saw, I conquered! Granted, I didn't buy much, but baby steps still count as moving forward. In fact, writing this post has been a bit like reliving my victory all over again. I think I'll make a batch of zoodles tonight to celebrate.