Halfway through 'Moulin Rouge' and a glass of red wine, my crush calls and asks what I am up to. I tell him that I am watching a movie in my friend's room and that he should stop by. He says he will, at which point I close my cell phone and start giggling like a school girl. I know -- I am such a loser.

Of course, we reach the 'Hindi Sad Diamonds' scene and my crush still hasn't arrived. Well, fuck. My night is ruined. I act like a huge bitch for the rest of the evening and pass out on my bed at 3:30 a.m. after three episodes of 'Sex and the City Season Two' and a swig of Nyquil.

Oh yea, my crush has a boyfriend, so me thinks it is just a touch retarded for me to be acting like such a baby. Maybe one day I will grow up and not feel the need to post angry away messages that express my hatred of the entire homosexual population.

Being single is only fun for people that embrace drunken hookups and plurarized usage of parts below the waist. I wish I was one of those people.