Cupid's Got A Piss-Poor Aim Party (a reflection on Valentine's Days gone by)

Back in my 20s, I'd been through what I considered dating hell.  Now, of course, I know better, as dating hell is only a precursor to marriage hell, divorce hell and post-divorce dating hell.  Dating hell is the pre-school of hell, with marriage being high school graduation hell, divorce hell being college level hell and post-divorce dating hell being graduate level hell, but I digress.

Back in that time in my life, I had (as I do now) a great group of friends.  Most of us wore the battle scars of relationships gone bad, not to mention a general dismay over a certain day in mid-February called Valentine's Day.  It seemed almost appropos that we were consistently single on that day, and the "happy couples" around us would make us all want to barf, repeatedly, like a frat boy after ten twenty keg stands.

At the time in which this started, I had a cute little house in Irvington that was great for hosting parties.  I was tired of being single, tired of thinking about being single and tired of hearing all my friends whine about being single.  What is a girl to do?

Host a party.

Thus, the "Cupid's Got A Piss-Poor Aim" party was started.  I would make everything - salad to dessert - and the guests would be asked to bring a bottle of wine to share.  Needless to say, since we were in our twenties and not quite yet worn off the college tolerance levels and young urban sophisticates, the norm was two bottles of wine per person.

All of this is to say that I would often have overnight houseguests after these parties.  This was no big deal, I had three bedrooms and a pull-out couch, not to mention lots of floor space, to accommodate those (all of us) who had overindulged the night before.

Thinking back to those parties never fails to make me laugh, as we would all have big fun telling tales of dates gone wrong, life in general and jokes.  It was, as ever, a great time.  I miss hosting them still.

I still think back to the one I hosted -- might have been the last one -- whereas I invited the guy I had gone out with a few times.  I had gone out to lunch that day and ended up with food poisoning -- during dinner.  What I have not mentioned is that the guy I had gone out with a few times had apparently taken it upon himself to date the girl in the office next to me, who was also invited to the party.  Hi-larity ensued.  He was shown the curb by both of us the very next day.  He actually thought bwahahahahahahaha that the reason I was sick was because I was "so upset about finding out he was dating K too."  Definitely a classic for the ages.

Ah, cupid, so glad you've developed a better aim these days.

Looking back.

Before I was married, I had a cute little house in a cute little neighborhood in Indianapolis.  It was a two bedroom, one bath bungalow.  Good size basement for my glasswork, nice finished attic for a spare bedroom/storage.  Former carriage house turned into a garage -- fenced yard, brick carport.  It was mine and it was just a complete slice of heaven.

In this little house, I used to host a party every Valentine's weekend for friends.  Specifically single friends, as I found that most of us needed an excuse to not wallow in our own self-pity (or, well, I needed an excuse not to wallow).  Guests were asked to bring a bottle of wine, while I made dinner.  Generally a big salad, a lasagne or two and some sort of dessert.  It was work, no doubt, but always made those Valentines Days a little better, or at least, a little more hungover :) 

Some of my best memories involve friends, laughter and fun -- but perhaps the most striking one in my memory is when I invited a guy I'd been dating (NOT seriously -- like we'd been out on two dates, maybe), as well as a coworker.  What I didn't know then was that he was dating both me and the coworker and hadn't bothered to share that information with either of us. 

Well.

That made for a most interesting evening, as he attempted to avoid both of us in this tiny little house.  Unfortunately for me, I ended up getting food poisoning from my lunch that day (part of my preparation always included lunch out for me, since I was cooking all day, I wasn't making my own lunch too), and he thought that the reason I was sick was because he was dating my coworker. Talk about ego!  You might imagine (correctly) that both I and my coworker dropped him like a hot rock after that night, so Mr. Stud Muffin was left to date no one. 

Most mornings-after the party found various sleeping people all over my house due to the excessive amount of alcohol consumed.  Although guests were asked to bring one bottle of wine, most brought two, and two bottles per person = big drunken fun times.

Ah, the "cupid's got a bad aim" parties.  Miss 'em.