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"  If there were one holiday I could abolish, it would be Valentine&amp;#039;s Day. Especially this year, as I&amp;#039;m single, pining over a guy who has a girlfriend, dealing with my parents&amp;#039; impending divorce, and working in television news, which for me meant writing and producing a big ol&amp;#039; package chock full of statements about candy hearts, cupid&amp;#039;s arrows and red roses. In other words, a story about couples around the city using the manufactured romance of a commercial holiday to say their &amp;quot;I dos.&amp;quot; That&amp;#039;s right, I spent my workday going from wedding to wedding, shooting happy brides and grooms exchanging vows, mothers sniffling, and giant, elaborate cakes being cut, only to be smeared on said happy brides&amp;#039; and grooms&amp;#039; faces. Joy.  By the end of the day, I was jaded and miserable. I declined invitations to hang out from both Brad and Meg, because Sarah and I had made plans over the weekend to stay in, drink wine, shove chocolate into our faces, and watch bad made-for-TV movies starring former 90210 cast members (we TiVo them when they&amp;#039;re on). Plus, given what Brad and I had gone through over the past six months, hanging out on Valentine&amp;#039;s Day would be weird, no matter how over the drama we both are.  As I walked into my building, Neighbor Boy was walking out. With Ashley, his girlfriend. Gone were his trademark faded blue jeans and thrift store T-shirt. He had on a suit, and his unruly hair had been tamed. Ashley&amp;#039;s usually pin-straight hair had been curled, and a red skirt peeked out from beneath her thick wool coat. She had the most to-die-for black stilettos on. They were an absurdly gorgeous couple heading out to celebrate Valentine&amp;#039;s Day. She even had a bouquet of orchids in her hand tied with a red ribbon, obviously a gift from Neighbor Boy. They were laughing about something when he looked up and saw me.  &amp;quot;Hi K.,&amp;quot; he said awkwardly. &amp;quot;You remember Ashley, right?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Hi!&amp;quot; I said with all the fake cheeriness I could muster. &amp;quot;Happy Valentine&amp;#039;s Day, you two! Well, I better go \u2026 I&amp;#039;m running late!&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Hot date?&amp;quot; Neighbor Boy asked.  &amp;quot;Something like that,&amp;quot; I said, thinking Hot date with my TV.  I scurried away. When I got into the apartment, I found a heart-shaped box of chocolate and a note from Sarah:  &amp;quot;Hi K! I&amp;#039;m on a date. Don&amp;#039;t wait up. Happy V-Day! XOXO, Sarah.&amp;quot;  I called Brad and Meg to see if their offers were still standing. Apparently they weren&amp;#039;t, as neither of them answered their phones. I didn&amp;#039;t leave any messages, and turned off my phone to shut out the world for the rest of the evening.  If there&amp;#039;s a silver lining in all this, it&amp;#039;s that now I have 24 chocolates to devour all by myself in one sitting. And for once, I came home to a clean apartment. And there&amp;#039;s a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge, and at least three movies to choose from. And that concludes my positive thinking for the day. Stupid Valentine&amp;#039;s Day. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a7708/bedroom-blog-021408/>