Do all those sparkly, cheap-looking, pink plastic Valentine's Day hearts that litter the month of February just fuel you with the irrepressible desire to VOMIT?
Does watching all of your coupled up friends — the ones who are in dysfunctional, unhappy relationships — pretend "to love each other" on Valentine's Day make you feel hollow, depressed and dead inside?
Do you have a visceral reaction to the seemingly endless stream of basic Instagram pictures of basic-looking, store-bought Valentine's Day bouquets with their wildly uncreative hashtags (#BLESSED)?
I find Valentine's Day to be one of the strangest days of the year.
Maybe it's because the unsexy color combination of pink and red makes me think of raw, exposed organs.
The unsexy color combination of pink and red makes me think of raw, exposed organs.
Or maybe I'm just a bitter, humorless lesbian who is destined to die alone in the company of 27 adult cats in an illegal studio apartment in Manhattan.
But hey, girl, I'm not alone.
According to Elite Daily's very own reader survey, 5 percent of women and 5 percent of men think Valentine's Day is precisely for single people (like us) to complain about how deeply single they (we) are.
We might be in the minority, babe (42 percent of women and 43 percent of men feel excited and happy about this gross holiday). But your dismal big sister is here, and she's representing the 5 percent. The like-minded, dim-spirited girls who loathe this holiday, too.
On that note, I would like to humbly invite you to celebrate Anti-Valentines Day with me on Valentine's Day.
On Anti-Valentines Day, we're going to do the most fabulously dark, miserable, un-Valentine's Day things a girl can do. Here they are.
Wear a miserable accessory.
There are few things that I love more than a snarky, miserable accessory. On the day of faux-love, let all the fiery, pent-up rage you have stewing inside of your angst-ridden body LOOSE.
Express it with a bitchy hat like this one from Dolls Kill!
Fuck your hot (but dumb) ex.
You have every single day of your life to be a good, pristine little kitten who does the "right thing." Anti-Valentine's Day is the one day of the year where I encourage you to get down and dirty with your bad self.
So what's the worst thing a prim single girl can do on the day of couples holding hands and numbly gazing into each other's eyes?
Take out your phone, my single girl. I have a dare for you (purr).
Text your ex. That one ex who was really hot, but really fucking stupid. In fact, they were so mind-blowingly dumb that you had to break up with them, despite their ability to make you orgasm in under eight minutes.
Take out your phone, single girl. Text your ex.
Invite them over (it's always good to have them on your turf; you don't need to be smelling their nasty ass dirty socks).
Wear some really slutty lingerie, and have sex (with protection). Don't be lame and go out to dinner with them afterward. Dinner is for lovers, and we despise lovers, right? We're haters, honey.
Haters have sex, kick 'em out and go get manicures or something else equally selfish and indulgent.
Sport a black lip.
Nothing is more alienating to the basic masses than a black lip.
And our mission today, ladies, is to alienate the basic masses that celebrate Valentine's Day.
Be your most ratchet single self.
So how does one become their most ratchet, single self? I'm glad you asked.
Don't shave your legs and eat something really terrible for your breath, like RAW FISH smothered in olive oil, or an entire jar of peanut butter with a spoon. Go on a Tinder-swiping bender while drinking a giant bottle of wine, all alone, wrapped in your most expensive Pendleton blanket.
Dress "unhappy chic."
Valentine's Day is all about a healthy glow: shimmery highlighter dabbed on the tops of smiling cheekbones, pastel dresses and thick coats of full-coverage concealer beneath the eyes to hide any signs of fatigue.
I urge you, my dismal darlings, to do the opposite. Don't channel Blake Lively. Think Angelina Jolie (before she became a UN Goodwill Ambassador and adopted a bunch of kids)!
It's very chic to look like a deranged off-duty model who hasn't slept in a few days. All you have to do is wild up your hair with your sweaty fingertips, wear yesterday's black eyeliner, skip the blush, and wear a tattered bra instead of a shirt.
Top the whole look off with a pair of dirty white denim jeans, a cigarette and a bad attitude.
Send your enemies hate letters.
Oh, the love letter! It's so tired. It's been done far too many times, and most of them are so poorly written, they make our entire bodies cringe in horror. It's like a bad adolescent open mic poetry reading.
Fuck the love letter!
Fuck the love letter.
Dust off that dirty old notebook from high school, curl up on the sofa (with your dirty boots on for additional angst) and scrawl out hate letters to all the people you despise.
Write to your middle school bully and tell him what a fuckboy he is.
Write to an ex and describe, in detail, how terrible their breath smelled in the morning.
Write to that stupid hookup who didn't respond to your text message and tell them how much they sucked in bed.
Write to your second cousin who always interrupts you at Thanksgiving dinner.
Write an open letter to the world, detailing every single way life has let you down, and publish that shit, girl!
Pierce your nipples — alone.
"So what are you doing this Valentine's Day?" Sally, who works two desks away from you, will sweetly inquire around 2 pm on the day.
What do you do?
Furiously type away on your keyboard; don't even glance in her direction. She's only asking you what you're doing because she wants to show off that she and her bae are going to that "really cool" Italian restaurant in Williamsburg that all the celebrities go to.
Whatever. You were there opening night, anyway.
After leaving her in limbo for about thirty seconds, proudly announce, "I'm getting my nipples pieced." Continue business as usual.
I don't have my nipples pierced, but I've always wanted to do it. It's such a fabulous act of rebellion for a woman to pierce her sacred tits. It's like saying, these are mine, asshole, and I'll stick some cold metal through them if I want to.
It's perfect for Anti-Valentine's Day. And if you're too afraid to actually do it, just tell all the bimbos at work that's your plan for Valentine's Day. It will really throw those bitches off, and that's the truest goal of the day: to throw the bitches out of their comfort zone, and toss them into ~our zone~.
Welcome to the dark side, bitch.