Hunting Cupid

The Singular Challenge on Valentine’s Day

By Jaq Greenspon

There is a moment, and it’s not a long one, maybe three or four minutes, from about 30 seconds before midnight on Dec. 31 until about three or four minutes past midnight on Jan. 1 when, if you are not part of a couple, you tend to feel slightly awkward. This past New Year’s, for example, I was at a party where we all left the house at 20 minutes before the allotted hour and trudged up a hill to watch the promised fireworks. Myself and another single guy were on each side of a delightful young lady, her arms entwined with ours as we made our way to the perfect spot where we could see the entire city spread out before us. There were bottles of champagne waiting to be opened and bottle rockets waiting to be set off; mobile phones were poised, numbers dialed, waiting with electronic anticipation of the pressing of the “send” button to call a far-off lover with lascivious greetings at the turning of the calendar. And then it happened. The clock struck midnight, the sky exploded with color and sound and light and, suddenly, people were pressed together, joined at the lips. For proximity-challenged paramours, phones were pressed against ears and lips were pursed, as if somehow, the mere motion would translate through the ether and intended recipient on the other side of the city, continent, planet would receive a soft kiss. Even the unattached guy I had walked up with was sharing a momentary embrace with the girl we had escorted, a kiss to see in the New Year.

Me? I watched the fireworks.

Afterward, we went back to the house and the party, again arm in arm, and the awkward moment, the overwhelming feeling of singularity, had passed.

And that is nothing compared to the buildup and execution of the event coming in two week’s time — Valentine’s Day. The push has already started. It started the minute TCM stopped showing It’s a Wonderful Life for the season. Walking through the grocery stores, the red and green of Christmas tree designs was replaced by red and pink heart motifs and retail signage extolling the virtues of telling that special someone you love them. Flowers, particularly red roses, are marked up in an annual show of price gouging not seen since the great zombie scare of 2007.

This Feb. 14 will mark my third consecutive year of facing the day alone. Ironically, I’m not alone in this. An estimated 80-90 million Americans are single. But let’s be fair. That simply means “unmarried adult,” and in today’s ever-growing climate of co-habitation that number realistically could be dramatically lower. Further, since Valentine’s Day is a traditional day to propose, that number will decline even more as a result of actions taken on the day — further diminishing the pool of available partners from which to choose.

See, unlike most people, I look at that date, two weeks into February, as the true demarcation line of the relationship New Year. The holiday season has its own perils and pitfalls, sure, but usually you can rely on friends or family to see you through. They worry about you in December. We keep hearing about the holiday depression statistics, the mortality rate, so if you’re alone people try to make sure you’re not “alone.” And, aside from those few moments mentioned above, it’s not nearly so awkward to be solo.

But Valentine’s Day, that’s a whole different story. There, if you are on your own, you are on your own. People are too hung up on their own significant others to give any thought to their single friends, other than a passing whimsy, usually centered around some sort of misguided attempt at hooking up two friends who only have something in common if you look at their Facebook “likes” list and are able to make Stephen Hawking-sized logical leaps.

So we can’t rely on our conjoined friends for help. And society at large isn’t much better. Instead, the general public treats us to commercials for jewelry and ads for romantic getaways, and every street corner has gypsy retail outlets with huge stuffed animals and helium-filled Mylar balloons proclaiming our heart’s devotions. Honestly, it’s enough to make one go a little crazy.

Single friends aren’t much more of a help. Sure, we all gather around and decry “Single Awareness Day” and vow we’ll do something, just us single folk, so we don’t let the masses think they’ve beaten us. But the truth is we all wish we had someone to share the day with and would jump ship at the slightest hint of a possible love affair. Even the “Anti-Valentine’s Day” parties and celebrations are not so much a celebration of the single life as the denunciation of couplehood. A simple web search discovers all sorts of clever T-shirts and mugs with slogans proclaiming “Love Stinks,” “Cupid’s on my Shit List” and “Singles Against Valentine’s Day.” In fact, the retail sales pitch for that last one asks: “Are you single, dateless and bitter about it?”

The fact of the matter is we all want to feel a real connection with someone else, another human being with whom we can connect on a level that goes beyond exchanging random text messages and forwarding jokes. For most of us, we’d like that connection to be of a romantic nature.

So what’s a guy to do?

Well, for one thing, keep trying. But it’s not easy, not by a long shot. Sure, it’s a small world, but finding someone with whom you’re compatible is a difficult proposition. At least in the long term. I have a friend, a professional woman, who is attractive and fun to be around. A few years ago, she and two of her girlfriends (who live in different parts of the country) met up for a “girl’s weekend” in Vegas. They were all single and it was Valentine’s Day after all. What better way to spend it than in Las Vegas? Over the course of the next three nights, my friend gleefully explained to me, “I made out with a Marine the first night, a Yale piano performance major the second night and Harvard grad the third night. I even got laid.” And even though she wouldn’t tell me which one was the lucky guy (my money’s on the Marine — chicks dig a guy in uniform) she summed up her weekend by saying: “I suppose, in a way, it was a big f-u in Valentine’s Day’s face.” Even after getting laid, there’s still some animosity and pent-up aggression there, directed at the day. And it still doesn’t solve the long-term problem. Sure there was snogging and shagging going on (British slang for kissing and having sex, respectively), but what happens at the end of that magical weekend? What about NEXT Valentine’s Day?

Even in Vegas, that V-Day elixir only exists on V-Day, when both parties are feeling the societal pressure to hook up, even if it’s just for the night. But the rest of the year, it’s not as easy.

Several months ago, I was with my friend Kevin Burke, who stars in “Defending the Caveman” at Harrah’s, and we were wandering around a casino in the wee small hours of the morning, people watching (It’s what writers and comedians do when they get together) when a gaggle of attractive girls, dressed to the nines, walked by. Kevin turned to me and said, “Back home, they’re probably something. Here, though, they don’t make the first cut.” And he was right. While they were good-looking, none would find work in any of the shows in town. They weren’t “Dance 10, Looks 3,” but they were clearly out of their depth, little girls playing at dress-up. They were single girls, looking to capture some of the magic of the glitter and glitz surrounding them.

Of course, Vegas caters to that. In the nightclubs, girls often get in for free or at a reduced rate (the proprietor is hoping to attract guys who will pay full board just to have a chance). In some of the classier places — dueling piano bars or high-end lounges — they have model-quality men on staff to flirt with the single girls, buy them drinks and show them a (relatively chaste) good time. It’s the fantasy. And I think that’s why Valentine’s Day gets to us all the way it does.

We want the fantasy. Even more than the fantasy, we want the promise of a future. We want to know who we’re going to be with come next Valentine’s Day. I know a guy who got divorced, and, while it wasn’t simple or easy, it wasn’t the War of the Roses either. He said to me, when asked about his thoughts on his first VD post breakup, “I don’t miss her so much as I miss the promise of her. I miss the growing old together, the lifetime of shared stories.” And this is what gets rubbed in our faces as single people on Feb. 14. We’re made to feel inferior because we’re navigating dangerous seas in our own boat.

But, as I said, we keep trying. In the past year, among other things, I’ve been methodical and joined dating websites. I’ve also been spontaneous and propositioned waitresses. So far, neither has borne much fruit. (On dating websites, no matter how tall the girl is, she wants someone 5 foot 10 or taller — even a girl 4 feet 11 is looking for an NBA player. I’m scraping 5 feet 8, and that’s after spending two months in space — true story).

I’ve asked girls on dates and then had to explain that a date was more than just hanging out. I’ve spent hours in conversation online with a girl who is afraid to meet in person. I’ve been kissed by girls who had boyfriends, been propositioned by girls so drunk that another bar patron leaned over to me and whispered in my ear “This one is not for you” (not to worry, there was never any danger of her being “for me”) and been told I’m both too old and too young (thankfully, not by the same girl).

Girls are confusing and wonderful and hypocritical and amazing. They claim they want devotion, but if you call too soon you’re needy. They say they want a guy who will make them laugh but if you make‘em laugh too much it’s “you never take anything seriously.” They admire a guy who has a job, then complain if you can’t make time for them. But then, these are old complaints, aren’t they? I’m sure Martha Washington complained that George was never around and Robin Williams has been divorced. Twice. Not that guys are any easier.

The 18-year-old daughter of a friend is organizing an “I Hate Valentine’s Day” party among her Facebook friends. Another female friend, who is educated and attractive, is approaching the day cautiously. She’s recently met a guy who seems interested, who writes or texts her on a regular basis, but she is still wary. Every time I congratulate her on her good fortune, I am gently rebuked, reminded that nothing is official yet. She’s been bit by that dog one too many times to let it get too close.

And maybe that’s the problem. While we all want the future, we’re much too scared of the present to let ourselves really feel anything even close to a real emotion. I’ve been told I’m too picky. But maybe I’m “picky” because to actually say, “Yes, this one’ll do,” is more frightening than the prospect of being alone. Because if you actually have a sweetheart come Valentine’s Day, there’s a whole other set of issues to deal with: What kind of flowers, how much chocolate and where to go for that romantic dinner?

Yeah, you’re just trading one set of problems for another. But, you know, I’d be willing to make that trade. I think it’s worth the effort.