Get Yo Damn Kids!!!

If you've ever read my blog before, you probably know that I am totally in love with my niece, Na'Zyia.  She is absolutely the loveliest thing God has created.  I felt a similar adoration when I was ten and my baby sister was born.  So, I fully understand how people are about their kids.  To parents and grandparents, their little ones are precious.  Nothing can compare to a mother's view of their dear little one.  However, it is painfully obvious to me that not every one shares your love for your little one.  I know I sure don't.
Case in point:

Recently, I was in a wildly popular establishment that specializes in caffeinated beverages.  People come there for various reasons: some come just for a pretentious cup of coffee with a faux-Italian name, some are there to make sure their Match.com first date is in public and doesn't end in a missing person's report, and some, like myself, come to get some work done.  I bring my laptop and plug in my headphones to give myself an alternate venue to write.  So, the other day, a young lady came in pushing her stroller.  As her son's feet scraped the floor, I imagined that this wasn't going to end well.  After she purchased her beverage and sat in one of the plush chairs that were provided, her darling little one damn near exploded out of his stroller.  In a matter of minutes, he was running around the store, dodging unsuspecting caffeine junkies and LSAT studiers, alike.  As he ran from table to stranger to garbage can, the mother sat patiently and whispered "Maximo".  I assumed that she was just reminding him of Russell Crowe's Gladiator because it couldn't have been his name.  We'll call him Gremlin.

Gremlin continued to run around, but that wasn't the worst.  Noooo.  His personal game of "you can't catch me" was accompanied by melodic shrills at the top of his damn lungs!  Ahhh, now his mammy will get up and calm his little ass down, I thought.  I thought wrong.  She stood up and shook her head, then turned to the woman next to her, who apparently has Gremlins of her own, and said, "they're a mess at this age."  What?  No!  You're a mess at this age.  Get yo damn kid!  I had multiple thoughts of mushing him in his face, but I thought that might be slightly over-stepping my boundaries.  I just watched as he ate a cookie from the ground and licked the "wet floor" sign.  Hey, don't look at me like that.  Get yo damn kid!

Now, as much as that bothers me, another situation bothered me more.  Sitting in the same establishment on an entirely different day, poetically dribbling onto some pages, I was approached by a couple little boys.  What follows is an exact transcript of that conversation:

Two young boys, both around the age of eight, walk up to a cool and debonair young man as he writes in a pad.  The boys could have walked right off the pages of any story with main characters from Compton, the South side of Chicago, or Hoodville, USA.  Their clothes were tattered and they carried football helmets.

Boy 1:  Excuse me, Sir.

The gentleman, full of suspicion, removes his headphones.

Boy 1:  Would you like to donate?

Gentleman:  Donate to what?

Boy 2:  To our football team.

Gentleman:  Who knows that you're here?

Boy 1:  We told my mama we was gonna come get donations.

Gentleman:  How far do you live from here?

Boy 2:  It took about a hour to get here from home.

Boy 1:  We usually go 'round wit our coach, but we just caught the bus to get here.

Gentleman:  And what do you do with the money?

Boy 1:  We give it to our coach.

Gentleman:  You don't spend any of the money you get?

Boy 2:  No, sir.

Gentleman:  None of it?

They look at each other for assistance.

Boy 1:  Well, we bought some sodas and we got some pizza from next door, but we save the rest for Coach.

Gentleman:  Yeah, naa, I can't even support this.  Why don't y'all go home and read or something.

Boy 2: (to Boy 1)  That's alright; let's go ask the white people.

Get Yo Damn Kids!!!

I totally believe in the concept of raising children as a village.  But that doesn't mean that you drop your kids off at the village and you go to hit the club.  Please, raise your children right before someone, not me, does more than just think about mushing them in the face.

A Letter To Lebron

Dear LeBron Raymone "The Chosen One" " King" James,

It has been a year since you donned that purple plaid shirt and sat across from Jim Gray to announce to the world where you were taking your talents. All the world outside of South Florida scorned you for it. There were tears and fires ablaze in the streets of Cleveland. There was a letter from Cavaliers owner Dan Gilbert that seemed more like a drunken e-mail from a bitter girlfriend. You became despised.


A few weeks have passed since you and your teammates, with your abundance of talents, gave the NBA championship to the Dallas Mavericks. All the world outside of South Beach rejoiced. You became a punchline to fill ESPN airtime and for late night talk shows. TANGENT ALERT!

What happened to late night talk shows? Jimmy Fallon? Are you serious? Well, at least he has The Roots as his house band. And what's that British guy's name? What happened to the likes of Johnny Carson, David Letterman, Jay Leno? Hell, what happened to Arsenio Hall?




Okay, really, what happened to Arsenio? Did he just die after Coming to America?

(Attempt at a tie-in) In Coming to America, Prince Akeem had to come to terms with who he was and what he wanted. He could no longer allow the wishes of his family or those who admired him to determine his future...just like you, LeBron.


So, if you have time on whatever remote island you're on, take a few minutes to read this friendly letter.


Let me start this by saying: I'm here to help. And the first act of my assistance is to say in public what you've probably said in private to all those around the world who prayed and prayed for your downfall and rejoiced at your every air ball, errant pass, and offensive foul: FUCK 'EM!


This phrase, one I use liberally and with no reservation, is the perfect response to all those lonely souls in Cleveland who cried after you left them feeling like the "black girl". You know, the black girl that many black women refer to when talking about professional/successful black men. The black girl that is "there for him when he was struggling, but as soon as he makes it he drops her and goes for the brighter (lighter) option." Kanye referenced her in Gold-digger. But that oh so beautiful phrase isn't reserved for the heartbroken Ohioans. You can use it to address every Monday morning point guard calling sports radio shows, commenting on stories on ESPN, or at Scottie Pippen for allowing his personal feelings of inadequacy to inappropriately state that you might be better than Jordan, in turn, exponentially increasing the pressure you were obviously feeling.

After you've dropped the F-bomb one good time (all you need is one good time; any more than two would be uncivilized), you should do what all professional athletes do in the summer; go some where and have plenty of unattached, but safe sex. I think you need a release. Because in a few of those fourth quarters, you played like a fifteen year-old who just got his first French kiss and feel-up. It was like you were scared to move because you didn't want the world to see the little bundle in your over-sized basketball shorts. You might want to visit King of Diamonds. Nothing cures ills like "making it rain and pouring champagne" on somebody's daughters.



When you come back from Vegas or Punta Cana or Rio, then it's time to work. Next season has to be your season. You have to make a comeback. A real comeback. Not a Michael Jordan comeback. Not a Muhammad Ali comeback. You have to make a comeback like Jason. Jason Voorhees, that is. You know, of Friday The 13th fame. You need to kill EVERYONE, metaphorically speaking of course. You need to treat every team, every opponent like a group of horny campers that know about you but figure that they you are simply a myth and it's okay to desecrate your name.

And when you come back, you need to get some new friends. Your boys obviously didn't have your best interest at heart when they said, "Yeah, dawg, it would be a brilliant idea to go on national television to break the hearts of everyone that has put you on a pedestal since you were seven or eight." Someone should have said, "It's cool as hell that you can get the whole sports world to stop and watch you say where you're going to play next year, but that shit might not be a good look in the end."


Once you get rid of those dudes, then just SHUT THE HELL UP! Don't talk about what happened during the playoffs. Don't talk about how financially distraught all of us are compared to you. Don't talk about cloning yourself or about how you're gonna win twenty championships before you retire. Just play ball.

And if you happen to take my "KILL EVERYONE" comment literally, just move to Orlando, change your last name to Anthony, and claim you were molested.

The Movie Critic in Me

In the span of a week, I saw five movies. I don't mean sitting at home flipping through the channels seeing what Showtime or AMC had to offer. I mean over-priced popcorn and six-dollar sodas. I mean uncomfortable seats and idiots who can't keep their feet off the back of them. I saw five movies at the theatre.

"How" you may ask, "does anyone, in this economy, spend twenty bucks a movie on five movies in less than a week?"

I didn't. I did what has been affectionately termed "movie-hopping" or "a sneak-a-peek". Some may call it stealing. But is it really stealing. What about the little old lady who picks up a bunch of grapes in the grocery store and eats half of them before she reaches the register? Is she stealing? What about the mom who takes twenty napkins during the latest visit to the local fast food restaurant or coffee shop just so she can keep them in her glove compartment or console for emergencies? Is she a thief?

So, if I happen to pay for a movie and see three or four others in the process, does that make me a thief? I think not. When I was younger, I was a thief. My friends and I used to steal whatever we could: t-shirts, boxing gloves, portable televisions. I once got shot at for stealing mangoes from a neighbor's tree.

Okay, on to the movies I saw. First, I'll rank them.

1. X-Men: First Class

2. Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

3: Kung-Fu Panda 2

4a: The Hangover Part II

4b: Bridesmaids

This is the part that I'm supposed to post a SPOILER ALERT. But I shall not. Why? No real reason. Just read on!

I'd heard that the new X-Men movie might rival the Dark Knight as the best superhero movie of all time. I was naturally skeptical, but I was highly impressed. While it didn't have the iconic acting performance of Heath Ledger's Joker, it was amazing in its own right. Smart, action-packed, thought-provoking, educational, and slightly romantic, X-Men: First Class is great even for those not too fond of comic book take-offs. Unfortunately, there is an instance of "the black man dies first" syndrome in the movie, but I let that slide. It still was a great movie.

When watching any of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies you pretty much know what to expect. Sword fights, sea creatures, witty Jack Sparrow one-liners enveloped in nearly indecipherable accents. But I'm into all that, so it was good to me.

Kung-Fu Panda 2 was a pleasant surprise. While I'm into animated films, Finding Nemo is one of my all-time favorite movies, I didn't think Panda was going to be that good, but it was. Maybe it was just me, but it was highly inspirational. I walked away from that movie with a renewed spirit even though it was my third movie in one day. Po the Panda had to discover the truth of his past in order to find inner peace. Once he found that inner peace, he was able to conquer all. Don't we all need a little inner peace? Amen.

The other two movies tied for the two failures of the week. In fact, they were two of the worst movies I've seen in a while. I had absolutely no expectations of Bridesmaids. In fact, I should have only seen four movies; I was coerced into seeing this one. There is no sensible reason any heterosexual man should see this movie. The movie was kind of like taking the entire Lifetime Channel, every episode of Bridezillas and any other wedding-themed show, and any moment in life that requires an absence of testicles for someone to sit through it. If you like those shows about cakes, wedding dresses, and obnoxious women trying to squeeze into dresses because they ate too much cake, then this is the movie for you. But in the words of In Living Color's Men on Film...hated it!

The Hangover Part II was horrible for an entirely other reason. It was the same as the first. I know the old adage, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. And I understand the mind of the producer who knows that there's a bundle of cash waiting if they use the same formula for success. But come on. You gotta do better. Give me something different. And by different, I don't mean take me to Thailand instead of Vegas. I don't mean have a pathetic Mike Tyson singing the finale'. (Side note: It is almost heartbreaking to see Mike Tyson today. He's like a former professional wrestler trying to collect a few more checks by wrestling at strip mall openings and baby showers. I know he ate a man's ear and all, but this is low.) And I don't mean show more penises, including "female" stripper penis. Yeah, there were some laughs on my part. But I was perplexed by the audience's raucous guffaws. It was like I was watching an old episode of Different Strokes with the automatic laugh track in place. Because that shit was not that funny.

So, out of the 5 movies I saw, one was a prequel, three others were sequels, and one was vomitted on to the screen by a Lifetime/Oxygen conglomerate. 1 was absolutely amazing, 1 was as expected, 1 was better than expected, and 1 was highly disappointing, and then there was, and the last was fodder for some divorced women Meet Up.

My conclusion is that with the bullshit they offer, the movie theatres and production companies are the thieves. So, the next time you go to the movies, be sure to get your money's worth. But you might wanna stop at three; it can be a little exhausting.

Reality TV is the Devil!!!

I'm not a big television watcher. I mean, I wake up every morning to ESPN and watch my share of sports. If you throw in the movie channels and a select few shows: Law & Order, Seinfeld, and Frasier, then you'll pretty much exhaust the gamut of my television watching. And every so often, I'll overhear a conversation about this show or that show, or someone will ask me if I caught a certain episode of something. My answer is inevitably 'no'.

But I was prompted to go on a journey. During my journey, I found a collection of the most ridiculous shows ever! And these are popular shows. Shows that otherwise intelligent people are faithful viewers of.

16 and Pregnant: That's right! Let's have a show that glamorizes the mistakes of teenagers. Yeah, I guess the idea should be to show the ills of their actions, but the show doesn't really make it seem all that bad. I'm sure it would make no sense to have a show called 16 and Taking Advanced Placement courses.

The Real Housewives of _________(Insert City of Your Choice): A show with a bunch of people with nothing else to do but host parties, drink themselves silly, and bitch at each other. Sounds like Congress. All the shows of this ilk are the same. Why would anyone invest an hour out of their lives to watch these women put on these extra obnoxious masks?

Celebrity Apprentice: Why the hell does this show even exist? I know Trump doesn't need the money. I guess it's just his way of staying relevant, especially given his White House delusions. But what really is the purpose of bringing together the likes of walking pharmacy, Gary Busey, crazy-ass Star Jones, and a woman whose name has no business being associated with the word "celebrity". What is a Nene Leakes? She reminds me of my aunt. I try my hardest to avoid spending long periods of time with that particular aunt. Why would anyone want to turn on the television and bring a Nene Leakes into their living room?

Dog The Bounty Hunter: So, what we want to do is give a racist, druggie bounty hunter and his husband a platform to reinforce generalizations and stereotypes while putting legal beat downs on Blacks and Latinos at a disproportionate rate. Oh, but he gives them a pep talk and prays for them before he drops them off to jail. Man, we get to see racism and redemption all in one show. How can anything beat that?

No offense to the Christian network, but with all of the nonsense on the airwaves, there should be one network dedicated to stupid ass "reality" shows. This will be the new TBN: Tiger Blood Network, all Charlie Sheen all-day. Just a bunch of mind-numbing, intellect-diminishing dribble with as little redeeming value as humanly possible.

• They could give the O'Jays a show. It could be called, The O'Jays (or insert the name of any old rock, R & B, or Rap group that is still trying to hold on 20 years after their popularity): Remember? The whole show could follow as they go around to see if anyone recognizes and remembers them. Once they find a person that knows them, then the purpose of the show switches to them trying to remember enough lyrics to perform a song for the lucky person.
• How about The Ties That Bind? This show would focus on toddlers' struggles to tie their shoes, men's struggles for that perfect Windsor knot, and the nearly impossible task of a woman trying to tie the back of her dress.
• The most popular show would be, "I work at Mickey D's, can hardly read and write, but swear with conviction that I'm going to be a superstar rapper and all the women are going to want me then, even though they barely look at me now!"

I must admit that I do have one little reality TV pleasure. It's called Bully Beatdown. It's brilliant. It takes a couple of lovable losers with a story of how they've been tormented by some obnoxious bully. The show then puts the bully in the ring with a mixed martial artist who proceeds to beat the bully's ass into submission. All to the delight of the once-bullied losers who receive money for each time the bully is knocked down or submits to the grasp of the martial artist. I question the authenticity of the show. It may all be a rouse. But the premise is amazing. A sense of redemption for all of us out there that ever had to suffer at the hands of a bully.

And every once in while, there is a gem of semi-reality television. Case in point: Comedy Central's roast of Donald Trump. These roasts are simply an hour full of comedians and semi-celebrities making as many disparaging remarks as they can about a willing figure. Flavor Flav and Hulk Hogan are previous recipients of this honor. The Donald Trump roast was comedy gold because of one particular member of Jersey Shore. Some prophetic genius booked Mike "The Situation" as one of the roasters. It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. Remember the kid in the high school talent show who swore he could sing, but could barely carry a tune. And once he started singing, the giggles and blank stares from the audience alerted him to his less-than-stellar voice. But he was already on the stage and too far into the song to simply stop singing. So, he suffered through what seemed like an hour to get to the end of the song, only to be met by raucous laughter, boos, and pitying applause. Well, that was like winning an Oscar compared to this. And even though I really don't want to do anything to give any more attention to "The Problem", if you haven't seen it, here it is:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gfhM4_ogwo

If this was what reality TV was, I would be hooked. But instead, we get a million versions of The Real World, a thousand cake/bake/wedding shows, and voyeuristic looks into the fake lives of people that we really shouldn't care about at all.

Read a book!

Fools and a Poem

April Fool's Day just passed. Remember when you lived for April Fool's Day? On what other day are people of all ages encouraged to blatantly lie, deceive friends and family, and bask in other's embarrassment? I remember creating an elaborate story about how one of the fiiiinest girls in school had asked me about one of my best friends. "She said that when you see her at lunch, you should grab her from behind and whisper 'Hey, Beautiful' in her ear," I told him as I watched his eyes gleam in delight. So, my excited friend saw her at lunch and proceeded to take my advice. As he grabbed her waist, she quickly turned around, slapped him in the face, kicked him in the 'goods', and gave a verbal lashing Richard Pryor would have blushed at. When my embarrassed friend limped over to the group of us doubled over and wiping laughter-induced tears from our faces, the only solace I could offer was - "APRIL FOOL'S!" Priceless. Imagine that worked in all facets of life. 1) You walk into your job and say to your boss, "I hate you! You are absolutely the worst person on the face of the planet. The world we be a better place when you're no longer in it...April Fool's." or 2) "Baby, I slept with your sister. I didn't mean to; I just kinda fell in. Wait! That's not all. I went to the doctor and I'm sure she gave me some sort STD! April Fool's! Ha Ha." And then all is forgotten. That would be great. Okay, just had to let that one out. Now, a poem from me to you. Awake!!!

Awake!

Awaken from your dormancy, your normalcy.

Arise from your slumber and tumble into consciousness.

Wipe the apathy from your eyes.

Wash your face with gasoline and brush your teeth with a book of matches.

Greet all you meet with a kiss on the cheek.

Set the world a fire!

Be inspired.

And in turn, inspire others to greatness.

Take this poem and burn it, write a better one.

Incinerate the world, make a brighter sun!

Awake this very moment and choose life and let life choose you.

Steal hours and conceal minutes.

Hide time and its very conventions in your mind, behind nice thoughts that mask rebellious intentions.

Dare to dream despite the worlds constant pinching.

Take religion, replace it with spirituality.

Take conformity, replace it with individuality.

Replace education with knowledge,

Let experience be your college or university.

Embrace diversity.

Realize it’s worse if we were all the same.

Stop taking life for granted.

Just Stop.

Listen. Look. Love.

© Darius D.

Preteen Dreams & Grown Man Wishes

This post is in serious violation of "MAN LAW", and I am fully aware of that. It's a good thing that I don't buy into any of that BS, so I have absolutely no qualms with the following statement:
Men need to grow up!

Yeah, I said it. And I don't mean in the "You're how old and still playing those damn video games while I'm over here in my new lace, tiger-print, Frederick's of Hollywood lingerie?" kind of way. I don't even mean it in the "They're only shoes; who cares that he stepped on them and didn't say sorry?" kind of way. I mean it in the Al Bundy drooling over the centerfold of the Jugs magazine kind of way.

Now, don't get me wrong; I am truly a fan of the female physique. Along with The Pyramids and Machu Picchu, the feminine form is one of God's most amazing creations. Poets and sculptors have crafted masterpieces from its inspiration. Amazing lyricists like Carl Carlton, "Her body measurements are perfect in every dimension~She's got a figure that's sho' 'nuff gettin' attention~She's poetry in motion, a beautiful sight to see~I get so excited viewin' her anatomy," and Sisqo: "She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck~Thighs like what, what, what~Baby move your butt, butt, butt," couldn't help but pen classics in honor of a woman's body.

And I understand that. But I don't understand what drives men to the point of losing their damn minds over the mere prospect of seeing ass and titties.

When I was young, I used to sneak under my uncle's water bed mattress to find a deluge of dirty magazines. It was a preteen's paradise. The mere sight of naked breasts was enough to work my burgeoning libido into a frenzy. Every chance I got, I would sneak a magazine out of the house to share with neighborhood friends. You would then find 5 or 6 googly-eyed adolescents smiling wildly as they stared at things our young minds could only imagine of experiencing first-hand.

But we were kids. We had nearly the same reaction when my friend Jarvis showed us his new G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu grip.

Why do grown ass men have the exact same reactions when it comes to strip clubs? I don't get it. Friends have tried to explain the merits. Some even talk about the great food many establishments serve. Maybe it's my aversion to germs. Maybe it's my ego. But I have never been a big fan of paying for a sweaty stranger to invade my personal space.

I was recently a groomsman in one of my really good friend's wedding. As is customary, the Best Man did his due diligence of organizing the bachelor party. To the delight of almost everyone invited, the itinerary basically consisted of strippers, dinner, and more strippers. (I hope my boy's new wife doesn't read this.) Almost to a man, everyone was happier than a rooster in a hen house when talking about the dancers. They were even willing to forsake a good meal just to see naked women. They reminded me of that huddled corner of kids I used to be a part of.

I'm not knocking a person's desire to view the physical form, or to toss money into the vicinity of the hard-working women. And if you're helping someone get the school, keep their lights on, or pay for their panther paw tattoo, isn't it all worth it in the end?

I just question some of the personal lives of those who go crazy at the thought of seeing naked women. Come on, man; you're an adult. Behave like one. Save all of your drooling and panting for the privacy of your own home...in front of your own computer screen...watching whatever porn site you choose.

Cuck Fupid!!!

Okay. It's One Question Quiz time.

Ready?

1. What is the most ridiculous singular day on the calendar?

Ground Hog Day? While a day in which the world waits for a rodent to determine the transition of the seasons is unbelievably inane, it is not the correct answer.


April Fool's Day, you say? Hmmm...a day when everyone, children and grown-ass people, alike, try their hardest to concoct some elaborate rouse just so they can have the pleasurable experience of yelling, "April Fool's Day" to someone who should be skeptical of any out-of-the-ordinary occurence does seem like a likely answer, but...WRONG!

I'll give you one more try. Okay, here's a hint. A large percentage of the population celebrates it with as much reluctance as certain members of Congress and the Senate have about referring to "That One" as Mr. President.

Still no clue? Okay. I'll tell you. It's Valentine's Day.

Now, this isn't your typical male rant about the day of pinks and reds. I am far from a non-romantic. That's just it. There is nothing romantic about Valentine's Day.

How romantic is it for someone to show their love for you on the day that the rest of the world has decided they should? Sure. Reluctantly giving you a gift because I don't want to hear your moaning is sooooooo romantic.

True story: There's this guy. He'd been married for a few years. During those brief years, he'd been with seven or eight other women. She'd "expected" his infedility (read: she knew but never had any concrete proof.) Needless to say, their marriage was in shambles. What kept it together? He would rush in at around 11 pm with a silly plastic-wrapped gift basket containing a bear and some old chocolates, and somehow, this would build up an incredible amount of goodwill that would last until her birthday came around.

So much importance was put on one day, that this woman sold her dignity for it.

Now, I believe in love and all that shit. Flowers are great. Who doesn't like some nice chocolates? Ferrero Rocher is my favorite. And you can never go wrong with a brand new bottle of "smell good". But having one day that you're "supposed" to show your love is plain stupid.

When I was younger, I loved the thought of going to school on Valentine's Day and exchanging little Scooby-Doo cards and chalky candy hearts with messages like "you're sweet" and "be mine". It was innocent, then. But even then, if someone you weren't great friends with didn't give you a Valentine, you felt slightly hurt. You tried to recall a time when you didn't share your crayons or took too long on the swings: anything that would have caused them to pass you by.

Today, the importance of this day has increased exponentially. It's become some sort of measuring stick for lovers. If your significant other is the only one in the office who doesn't receive flowers, chances are, you won't be "receiving" anything for a long time. Who cares if she doesn't like flowers or if some of the other women sent flowers to themselves?

Tip O' The Day:

Don't try and do the truly romantic thing like write a poem to her. If your sonnet isn't accompanied by something from FTD, Godiva, and your local your jewelry store, you might as well had written last year's winning lottery numbers on that paper; it would mean the same thing to her.

We, as a society, have become so wrapped up in the external matters of life, that the truly ethereal things don't matter. If you can't touch it, taste it, smell it, or show off to your friends then it doesn't really matter. So, with that, Valentine's Day has reached the pinnacle of pertinence, especially for those whose love language is "gifts". (By the way, whose love language isn't gifts? Don't we all like gifts?) Does a spontaneous, heartfelt gesture on a random day in August truly carry less weight than a box of undesired, coconut-filled chocolates on society's pre-established day? It seems that way.

I'm sure on February 14th Facebook statuses will change to reflect fanciful notions of love. And profile pics will transform to hearts and pictures of embracing lovers or a naked nymph ready to shoot his arrow at unsuspecting hearts. But why isn't that spirit of love and romance a constant? Women: If you truly want to be treated a certain way, why accept the opposite on 364 days of the year?

Somewhere a man is being hated for his anti-love stance. Somewhere else, a woman is hating herself because all of her loneliness is compounded on this day and she equates her flowerless desk as a sign that she is truly unloved. But that shouldn't be.

If you "looove" love and think that February 14th is the most romantic day ever: good for you. Just make sure that you don't substitute one day for substance. One bouquet of roses and a seafood dinner make not a romance. A box of chocolates and a Victoria Secret's Secret gift card do not prove his love. And if he brings you a gift basket from the corner, he's probably sleeping with your sister, or brother.

Bottom line: When all else fails, buy yourself a Scooby-Doo card and candy of your choice. And love yourself!