there aren't any normal men out there

...but at this rate, I'd settle for an abnormal man.

So, they (who are "they" anyway? "They" are always telling me to floss everyday, too, what the hell?) say that we are always searching for one or all of these three things: 1. an apartment, 2. a job, or 3. a boyfriend. Having recently found said apartment, I have thus narrowed my search down to 2. and 3. And so, instead of revelling in unemployment (we all know trying to find a job is a full time job in and of itself), having all this free time only makes me wallow in the fact that I don't have #3.

What with the most evil of Hallmark holidays around the corner--Valentine's Day--(dun dun dun), I can attest to the pain of being single in February. Yes, the month with the fewest dates is ironically, the month with no dates. But I heard there's a sale on Hagen Daas at Andronico's, so I plan on stocking up on chocolate.

* * *
Later that day: Mission accomplished. Freezer is now fully stocked with convenient pint sized containers of rocky road, chocolate chocolate chip, and chocolate chocolare chocolate (yes, it exists!).

Once, I once had an ordinary, run-of-the-mill, unextraordinary, larged-nosed guy tell me that I wasn't hot. Straight up, "You may be cute, you may be pretty, but not hot. Nope. I'm not seeing it," and he actually squinted at me. I was about to have a meltdown on the spot. There was no solicited opinion, no annoying or persistent "Does this make me look fat?" queries--nothing had called for this kind of unneccessary behavior. At that moment, I lost the last ounce of faith I had in men.

Oh, wait. That wasn't the moment. The moment came a few weeks later when a guy I barely knew, who I'd met on the Internet, broke up with over IM when we weren't even going out in the first place. He didn't even have the decency to call to break our "date" for the next night, citing some BS excuse about getting back together with his ex and having zero interest in me. Like that information was really necessary. Like my self esteem could get any lower. Mr. "You're not hot" has dealt a sufficient blow to my ego from which I was still recovering.

This is not going to be a fun Valentine's Day....
Especially since two years ago I was celebrating my one year anniversary with the love of my life, kissing in the back row at the midnight showing of "Amelie" at the local movie theater in town. The good old days. (You know what happened to the poor chap? I ate him.)

No, this year will be the year of the anti-Valentines, which will probably entail sending myself flowers, watching Sundance channel movies about unrequired love, and drinking to excess while buried in comforting pints of Hagen Daas: something grand to look forward to.