Goddamn, do I hate Valentine's Day. I am loveless and bored. Where's a fucking armed, flying baby when you need one?

Yes, I'm bitter. I'm bitter because all you couples out there are prancing around in matching velour tracksuits and getting all googly-eyed. I'm bitter because no one's buying me vast amouts of marshmallow Peeps and playing a ukelele outside my window. I'm bitter because you're all stupid in love and holding hands and going miniature golfing together. I love mini-golf, dammit.

I am dateless on Valentine's Day, and, in case you haven't figured it out yet, it sucks. I'm stuck single here in South Dakota, where nobody knows how to play the ukelele and all the mini-golf courses are closed for the winter. All my friends are romantically attached, so there will be no Thelma -and-Louise-ing it up for Allison this year. Not that there ever was, but I hear that's what single white females do on Valentine's. My mother's addiction to Lifetime has taught me much.

So, yeah. I'm here, bored and (surprise, surprise) alone. I've got to figure out what to do with the rest of this stupid-ass day. I can't go anywhere for fear of the track-suited morons skipping in droves down the sidewalks. I can't stare dully out the window, as I've heard that there will later be a parade with balloons and signs that say "Guess What, Allison? You're Alone And We're Not, Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!" coming down the street. And that's just mean.

I guess I'll do what I've been doing so far: sleeping, listening to the Sparks warn me about the dangers of the Monster of Love, and sniping Cupids. Hell, I don't like Peeps anyway.