Saturday, February 15, 2003

by Jessica Delfino

Valentine’s Day blows. It’s just another day for you to wake up late, worry about terror, wonder how you’re going to pay rent, spend the day sulking in your underwear and a cute tee shirt, eat a goober grape sandwich, half-assedly clean your apartment, and then go do a shitty open mic spot. Did I say you? Sorry, I meant me.

Even if you are lucky enough (lucky enough, who am I, Donna Reed?) to have a boyfriend, you still have to choose a route – you can go the ‘high road, one that involves annoying primping and a bout of high maintenance, or one that involves unprovoked fighting and raunchy make-up sex. I keep saying ‘you’ like any of this is your doing or fault. It’s not you, I swear, it’s me.

The best Valentine’s Day I ever had is a tie between two times with two different boyfriends. One was the time my boyfriend and I bought a half-pound of marijuana to smoke while we split a book of acid and a six pack. Now THAT’S how Valentine’s Day is done.

The other best Valentine’s Day I ever had went a little something like this. My friend called me up early and said a friend of his who was a card dealer in Atlantic City had been given the responsibility of finding one of the hotel guests a few good prostitutes. His friend had called him, and he had called… The friend told my friend he’d pay him $400 if he could put it together and drive them to AC by 5 pm. He said he’d give my boyfriend and I $100 each if we’d help him out.

We were living in South Jersey at the time, and so we picked up a copy of the Philly Weekly and pored over the classified whore ads in the back. This was my favorite conversation with my favorite whore.

LADY: (Sorry, I meant to type…..)
WHORE: Hello?
ME: Uh, hi. Um, me and my boyf., uh….I am, was just wondering – how much do you charge?
WHORE: It depends on what you want.
ME: How much would it cost to get you to drive with me and some friends to Atlantic City?
WHORE: What?
ME: Well, we need a few prostitutes to come with us to Atlantic City.
WHORE: I don’t think I’d be interested in going to Atlantic City.
ME: Aw, come on. It’ll be fun. It’d be me, my boyfriend…..
WHORE: Yeah, I don’t really do that. (click)

So I had my boyfriend call her back.

WHORE: Hello?
MY BF: Hi. Um, I was wondering, how much would it cost for you to go on a short road trip with me and some friends?
WHORE: I’m not going anywhere with you and your freaky girlfriend. Fuck off!

We did, however, find two ‘ladies’ who were happy to take the trip with us and asked us to please pick them up in Camden, NJ, where they lived. One was actually a quite attractive petite little Puerto Rican girl with the mouth of a trucker who had us drive her over to her brothers so she could feed his pit bulls before we left. The other was a 6’5” “wo”man with her make up tattooed on and her face unexplainably dented in several places. My friend found one girl himself - she was the girlfriend of a friend of his who had talked her into going so they could split the money. The six of us - my friend, my boyfriend, the two Camden chics, the one girlfriend and myself squeezed into a little Saturn and took the hour and fifteen minute ride to Atlantic City.

When we got there, his friend met us. He said I would lead the ladies up and be the negotiator. The four of us went in and the man, who was a Japanese CEO came out and looked the three girls over. He dismissed the two Camden chics immediately, and
led the third into his room by her tiny little waist. The three of us walked out and went to meet our friends downstairs, leaving the fourth girl in there to have god knows what done to her.

Ten minutes later, she came down. We were of course, dying to know what had happened in there? She told us he had lifted her shirt, kissed her belly button, handed her $1000 and sent her on her way.

I theorize that she blew him and I stand by that theory to this day, but I guess anything is possible in Atlantic City. Isn’t that what the city’s motto is?

It’s true, too. Once I went to the boardwalk with my guitar and played a bunch of corny cover songs including “Down By The Boardwalk” for about three hours and left with $150 in dollars, coins and weird tokens.

So the moral of the story is, Valentine’s Day is like anal sex. It’s sort of fun if you do it right, otherwise, it’s just a huge waste of time and you end up feeling embarrassed.

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