And I don’t mean God.

I mean the tenant in 8208.

So, listen. I know I’m single. And I’m not dating much. In fact I can’t remember the last time I went on a date. My last kiss, besides the ones I give myself in the mirror, is a distant, faint, dust covered memory. At this time of year, I am reminded on a daily if not hourly basis that I’m single.

I’m trying to ignore this message, and the inherent message that there’s something wrong with that. I’d planned on spending Valentine’s Day on the edge of the earth where roses, candy, and “Every Kiss Begins With Kay” does not exist. Lo and behold, I couldn’t get a flight out, so I’ll be at home doing whatever it is I do on Sundays.

It’s been a long, cold, dreary day. I came home from work and 3 minutes later had my pajamas on, was in my bed, and had Law & Order SVU on the TV and my blog reader on the laptop. And then around 6:30, I hear this rythmic knocking.

Really? At 6:30 in the afternoon/early evening? Well good for you. Let me just say this, though:

HURRY UP.

Cause I’m already not feeling well. Already in a bad mood. Already terribly single and sitting here directly under your bedroom listening to your bed bang against the wall? Not my idea of a relaxing Tuesday evening. So, if you could just hurry it on up, before I start to really feel lonely and sad and tired and all those things the media wants me to think about being single around Valentine’s Day, that’d be SUPER.

Many thanks,

The Girl Who Lives Below You Who, Despite Her Snarky Attitude, Is INSANELY Jealous