Is it just me, or have the cheesy Valentine's Day jewelry commercials disappeared? I used to make them a jerks entry every year - in fact, I made fun of them as recently as last March - and it was always a blast. They were just so corny and unrealistic, and I argued that they were the cause of many break-ups and divorces because it gave women unrealistic expectations of their boyfriend or husband. I imagine many females watched that crap and thought, Why doesn't my man have a jewelry stashed in his pocket every time we fall down in the snow, watch a scary movie or order a Big Mac at McDonald's like this handsome guy on TV!?
I haven't seen those commercials this year. Maybe it's because I'm always DVRing stuff or watching shows on Netflix, but I failed to catch any awful commercials. In fact, the only one I saw was a hilarious spoof by Dairy Queen:
Where did they all go? Did I just somehow miss them, or did the people in charge of Jared, Zales, etc. finally wise up and stop their campaign to ruin relationships by selling jewels that thousands of Africans died mining for? If they did alter their way of thinking, it was at the worst time possible for me because I needed ideas. This was going to be the second Valentine's Day I was spending with my girlfriend, and I thought it would be nice to get her some jewelry.
The problem was that I know nothing about jewelry, outside of what I've seen on commercials. Here's the extent of my knowledge:
There are something called chocolate diamonds, which you might be able to eat, much like those chocolate gold coins Jewish people give to each other on Hanukkah.
There are charms bracelets that remind me of those Lucky Charms marshmallows. As far as I'm concerned, the Lucky Charms marshmallows should be worth more money.
Some old skank peddles something called an Open Hearts collection. More like Open Farts collection.
The night before Valentine's Day, I hopped onto some jewelry Web sites while dropping a deuce to do some research. I was so taken aback by what I saw that diarrhea flowed uncontrollably out of my anus. The prices were outrageous. They were charging like five grand for a small necklace that looked like it came out of a Cracker Jack box. The cheapest stuff was even worse; some 5-year-olds could've glued stuff together in kindergarten, and it would've been more impressive.
That's when I realized that I needed to get into jewelry. I won't ever quit this Web site because I love it and it pays well, but perhaps I can sell jewelry on the side. I've put some thought into it, and I only need to do the following:
1. Find some Africans willing to sacrifice their lives so that I can make money.
2. Tell these Africans to mine diamonds for me in dangerous conditions. If they don't make it out alive, hey, it's just natural selection.
3. Ship the diamonds they mined to my house.
4. Open up a jewelry store and sell these diamonds at outrageous prices.
5. Create cheesy commercials so that people know about my store. Like this...
Man: Wow, what a great workout. Forty minutes on the elliptical will have me losing lots of weight in no time.
Woman: Yeah, I'm tired. I'm glad we decided to go to the gym though.
Man: I'm so happy to have you as my gym partner, so I got you this.
Woman: Oh, it's beautiful! It's one of those Open Farts collection necklaces that my friends wear!
Man: You deserve it, and it even smells like farts. Your farts. May we be gym partners forever.
6. Watch countless men waltz into my store and spend their hard-earned money for my precious jewels that I worked so hard to obtain.
It seems like a flawless plan to me. A simple one too. But I have not accomplished that just yet. I was on the other end of the stick this past Valentine's Day. I found nothing I liked online, so I just decided to wing it and show up to Jared, which happens to be right near the mall. I needed something else from the mall - more on that later - so going to Jared seemed to make sense. Plus, I could always say that I "went to Jared," which, prior to Feb. 13 of this year, I had never done before.
Unfortunately, I had to wait a while to buy what I wanted - they had a sign-in list because they were so busy - but I purchased this necklace that looked nice. It wasn't five grand either, so no diarrhea spewed out of my anus this time - though I guess it did help that I dropped yet another deuce prior to leaving my house.
The necklace was a bit more than I intended to spend when I entered the store, but the salesman, a bald guy in his 50s, did a great job of selling it. He talked for 10 minutes about how great it was and how many Africans died to mine it, and he closed with, "It'll be a great gift. Let's wrap it up." How could I say no? He was so convincing that he couldn't sold me Lindsay Lohan's STDs for a hefty price, and I would've agreed to the purchase.
The salesman got me to sign up for these lifetime insurance and protection scam plans, and I also gave him my information for a Jared rewards card even though I didn't plan on coming back anytime soon. I just couldn't say no. The guy was super smooth; he could've asked for my soul, and I would've given it to him. He did trip up a bit when he tried to talk about football after I mentioned what I do for a living - he thought the NFL Draft had to do with fantasy football - but I had already handed him all of my money, credit cards and diarrhea by then.
My next trip was to the Build-a-Bear Workshop. It may sound cliche to buy a stuffed animal on Valentine's Day, but hear me out: The last time my girlfriend and I were at this particular mall, we stopped by that store, and she said how much she wanted a "Toothless" stuffed animal - from the animated movie, How to Train Your Dragon. I made a mental note of it and came back to purchase one. I found a Toothless that had a red shirt on that said "I love you" on it and brought it to the counter. The exchange I had with the cashier, a fat woman in her 50s, was something I'll never forget.
Cashier: Oh, a Toothless! How nice!
Cashier: Would you like to make a birth certificate for it?
Me: A birth certificate?
Cashier: Yes! Would you like to use one of the computers to make a birth certificate for your new friend?
Me: Uhh... I didn't even know that was an option.
The cashier gave me a crazy look, almost as if I were the insane one because I didn't know what a birth certificate for "my new friend" was. She shook her head and asked me another question.
Cashier: Would you like to buy pants?
Cashier: Pants for your new friend?
Me: I can buy pants for this?
Cashier: Yes, he'll be cold if you don't buy him pants.
OK, lady, calm down. I'm not getting a real animal here. I don't need to buy it pants or print out a birth certificate for absolutely no reason.
At any rate, I told her that I wasn't going to buy pants for the stuffed animal. You should've seen her face. It got red, and she gave me an evil glare. She then began muttering, "No birth certificate ... no pants..." under her breath.
This lady was certifiably insane. At this point, I was worried that she was going to find me, storm into my bedroom at night and hack me to pieces, so I tried to appease her.
Me: I'm kinda in a hurry... can I buy it pants and a birth certificate later?
Cashier: Ah... oh, yes... You can always come back and buy pants and a birth certificate.
Me: OK, I'll do that.
Cashier: What a relief.
A relief, eh? I'm glad I can put you at ease by assuring you that my stuffed animal will be taken care of.
You know what's scary? My girlfriend put the Toothless on the dresser in our bedroom after I gave it to her. While I was in the shower later that evening, I heard a strange noise coming from my bedroom. Once I was done, I investigated what it was, and it was the Toothless going, "I love you ... I love you ... I love you" over and over again. Apparently, it was a squeeze toy, but no one was squeezing it. It just chanted "I love you" over and over. I moved it, and it stopped, but I woke up to a loud "I love you!" the following morning. It nearly scared the s*** out of me, so I moved it to the exercise room.
I'm worried now. What if I don't buy it pants or a birth certificate soon? Will it eventually cry out, "I hate you, I want pants and proof of birth!" to me? Maybe that crazy Build-a-Bear woman had a reason behind her insanity.
The last piece of the puzzle was dinner, as in food I was going to cook. You may know from reading Jerks of the Week that my cooking skills are lacking, to say the least. For instance, I recently discovered that you empty out the water while making spaghetti with a bowl with holes. I always thought a blowdryer was involved somehow.
I was going to surprise my girlfriend with a spaghetti dinner - it was either that, cereal or sandwiches - when my friend Body Burner asked if I wanted to go out to a restaurant with him, his girlfriend, my cousin and her husband. My girlfriend then texted me with the same invitation. I asked her if she wanted to go, and she said that she did. Thus, my spaghetti plans were shelved for another night.
The good news was that I didn't have to cook; I spent the rest of the afternoon doing something slightly less productive (i.e. eating Cheetos and Snickers). The bad news was that everyone wanted to go to Ninja, a Japanese restaurant.
I wrote about my awful experience at Ninja last summer. I vowed never to go back there, so I was in a bad mood all evening. As we pulled into the parking lot, I noticed that the place was packed. "Looks like a lot of people want terrible food tonight," I grumbled. My girlfriend laughed, but I was crying on the inside.
Ninja was as bad as I thought it was. I don't even know why I scanned the menu. There were four pages of sushi, which I found insulting. I didn't even know there was more than one type of sushi, let alone enough to fill up four pages. It's always been my theory that the Japanese president lied to the American people about sushi as revenge for Hiroshima. He and his cronies are probably laughing at us dumb Americans for eating raw fish when no one in their right mind would ever consume such a disgusting thing. As I heard most of the people in my party order sushi - including both my girlfriend and Body Burner - I could only imagine Kim Jong-un(**) laughing at us from his throne.
(**) I'm aware that Kim Jong-un is the King of North Korea, but my other theory is that Kim Jong-un is actually the Japanese president as well. Only a maniacal man with no friends could possibly come up with this sushi farce, and Kim Jong-un is the only maniacal, friend-less Asian I know, aside from Jerry Jackson, but Jerry is too busy jacking off to pictures of his imaginary BFF Alec Musser to plot revenge against America.
Dinner was awful. I ordered steak and shrimp hibachi, but they filled up just half my plate. I was starving as I left the restaurant, so I went to Wawa afterward. The highlight of the night was worth talking about though. Someone invited Crazy Horse Girl, but she was sitting on the other end of the table, so I didn't talk to her for the entire night - until she asked me a random question as I was paying the bill.
"Walter, do you hate homeless people?"
That came out of nowhere. I replied that I didn't care for homeless people, but couldn't say that I passionately hated them, or anything. I fear homeless people because they have nothing to lose, and if they happened to be smarter, they'd realize that they would get upgraded living conditions in jail for committing crimes. Fortunately, they are all drunk, high and stupid.
I soon learned to realize that Crazy Horse Girl asked me this question because she and my girlfriend were having an argument.
Crazy Horse Girl: I don't get why you feel that way.
Girlfriend: I just don't like homeless people.
Crazy Horse Girl: Maybe people don't like you.
Oh, snap. And I thought the woman at the Build-a-Bear store was crazy. I don't get why Crazy Horse Girl was so passionate about someone disliking homeless people, but then again, she nearly strangled me over an argument we had over online horse petitions.
At any rate, I gave the Toothless and necklace to my girlfriend the following day, and she loved both. I even got to say, "I went to Jared."
Now, I find myself wondering if Jared will read this entry and decide to include me in their cheesy commercials next year. If so, I'd like to eat one of those chocolate diamonds. I'm still hungry because of stupid Ninja.