Oh St. Valentine

So in trying to avoid being THAT GIRL-the one who bemoans Valentine's as the root of all evil, until she herself gets a boyfriend, I inevitably became HER. I don't even want to be around myself right now.

It began quite innocently. I was leaving work at the restaurant and excited to meet some friends who are in town that I haven't seen for over a year. They were on East 53rd, which should have immediately been a red flag since I'm on West 80th. If you don't live in uptown Manhattan, you probably don't realize that it takes a degree from NASA to get across town when you are a waitress/unpaid intern/everybody's bitch who doesn't want to shell out $$$ for a cab. So two out of the THREE subways into my journey, and the B/D trains are nowhere to be found. My patience was wearing thin based on my proximity to a LARGE number of highschoolers in Uggs and American Eagle sweaters, and I waited for the train for TWENTY MINUTES. Not being a smart New Yorker, I had brought neither book nor ipod, which resulted in me staring at the 'tweens for entertainment. I was hoping they would begin discussing Miley Cyrus skankaliciousness or something, but they just took the same picture of themselves with 10000 digital cameras.

When I popped out of the subway, thirty minutes after I had left, and ready for some alcohol to hit my bloodstream, I naturally had a voicemail from aformentioned "friends" saying "hey-we're home. see you tomorrow." ?? Scusi?? This led me to a few questions:

1) Who leaves a bar at 12:30 in NEW YORK, and
2) Why God, why?

Naturally frustrated, I called a few other friends who were in the same area. No. one. answered. Frustration led to anger which led to feeling completely, utterly alone, which made me realize it was almost Valentine's Day, again came the feelings of utter aloneness, which caused me to tearfully blubber like an idiot all the way home.

And no one is dating me? I'm SO shocked.
Once I was back in the privacy of my own home where blubbering could be considered appropriate, I of course snapped back to reality and realized I was being THAT GIRL. You know what also didn't help? When the PROFLOWERS delivery man dropped off a package at 2pm with the kudos "somebody likes you!" I had almost fallen into this man's trap of thinking that maybe, just maybe, somebody really DID like me...until I looked at the label. They were for my roommate. From her ex-boyfriend. Who she dumped.

Sick joke, Mr. PRO FLOWERS. Sick joke.