Can you feel it in the air? There�s a sense of dread, foreboding.

Yep, must be time for Valentine's Day. Or as I like to call it: Friday.

As a single man, I largely ignore the lovey-dovey mush of the day and curse the sappy behemoth that is Hallmark, not to mention the Chocolate cartels for unleashing this torrent of gloom on society.

Even those who do have a squeeze hate the holiday; why can�t people choose which day of the year they wish to lavish gifts and sugar-laden fattening foods on their loved ones? Besides, nothing says �I love you� quite like gooey balls of nuggets. (stop snickering)

The newly-dating male probably hates it even more. Countless seconds are spent fretting about what you do for someone you may or may not wish to know in March. Are flowers sufficient? There�s no agreed commitment yet, so must you spend $100 on dinner for a woman who might dump you for the waiter?

I, however, will be buying buffalo wings from Publix and watching hockey and basketball.

Turns out, the best moment of my day was the apartment fixer-uppers adjusting my water pressure so that it takes less than an hour to fill the tub. I'll be taking a two-hour bubble bath and listen to Billy Joel all night.

Prolonging the evening in hiding, those of us without dates may face off with the deity of our choice through the five stages of grief/loneliness:

1. Denial � The "No, not me" stage.

I�m not lonely. There are plenty of fish in the sea, but for some reason I can�t even reel one in from pollution-filled gene pools that have two heads.

I'm conflicted: Am I too handsome? Too funny? Too perfect?

Surely God�s not relegating me to a life where I compare myself to Jon Arbuckle on �Garfield.� Well, except that Jon at least had dates before they spurned him.

Heck, if God wants me to be in a relationship right now, He�ll plop her in my lap any day now. Yep, just waiting for that special girl � to � walk � through � that � door.

Dangit.

No matter. In no time, I�ll be ravaged by love-struck dames wanting a piece of that Jeff magic. Broads will be dripping off me. It�s the Year of the Jeff, for sure.

Frankly, I just don't see how my fame has gone unrecognized this long. My name should be spoken in opera by now.

2.Anger/Resentment � The "Why me?" stage.

Fine, so God wants me to be lonely. What�s wrong with girls, anyway? Why do I have to ask them out all the time?

Is there a resolution among the United Nations of Women, where the bodies have declared any action helping Jeff is considered unilateral bluster?

Bah. Women. They�re nothing but money-grubbing leg shavers who actually keep Lifetime listed as one of their cable favorites.

Nope. Can�t do it. I won't let the hurt go!

< Shatner>I need my pain! My pain is what makes me who I am!< /Shatner>

3. Bargaining � The "If I do this, you�ll do that" stage.

But seriously, you know I�m kidding, right? I love women. Can�t wait for the right one to come along.

Speaking of, God, I�ll be sure to get back to church more often, I promise. I�m sure that if I attend more services, You�ll show me who to ask out, right?

Just point her out, and I�ll change. I�ll be a better person, I swear.

Of course, God is probably pretty darned tired of me asking, "if it's Your will that I befriend this girl..."

He must be screaming constantly, "Just go talk to her, already!"

I, however, give Him piddling chores to prove His will, such as "Lord, if she's the one, have a blue jay poop on that bush," or, "Holy Father, if you want me to date (insert cute girl who just walked by at Barnes & Noble), then give me a sign. Make UPN into a viable network."

See? Impossible demands are doomed to fail.

4. Depression- The "It's really happened" stage.

*Sigh * It�s never going to happen, is it? I�m the only guy under 30 to hear his biological clock ticking.

No fewer than six trizillion people have told me that I�ll make a great father, �if only� I can find the right woman to churn out the offspring.

I feel like the "American Idol" of bachelors, and none of the girls are like Paula Abdul. Instead they're more like Simon, telling me I stink and possibly the worst single guy in America.

How come when I walk down the mall I notice females trying so hard to not look at me that it�s a wonder they don�t bang their heads against a post?

Not that I blame them. As in The Recruit, every female I meet is �a possible mark.� If there were positions on checking out the opposite sex in the CIA, I�d be a top agent. Of course, this is only reconnaissance, since if I had to actually act on the tips, I�d be whacked within five minutes. So I better stick to being a teacher at The (Bachelor) Farm.

Wow, how desperate and lonely do I seem? Maybe I should explore that as a reason girls stay away - they smell fear.

Ohmygosh, I just realized, I am a pansy! I listen to soft rock/adult contemporary music, for goodness sake!

*Gasp!* There's a cassette single of Faith Hill�s "Cry" in the center console of my Jeep!

Guess I might as well get used to being a chapter in an installment of �Chicken Soup for the Loser�s Soul.�

5. Acceptance � The "This is what happened" stage.

Who needs a girlfriend? Chicks have cooties.

I�m fat, I�m ugly, and I�m going to order a pizza and watch ESPN, dadgummit!

Maybe then I�ll hear those magic words that I yearn to hear the week before Valentine�s Day.

No, not �I love you,� but �pitchers and catchers report to spring training.�

Ah, now we're being healthy again, in mind and spirit.

Of course, love doesn�t suck; it�s what makes the world worth accepting through traffic jams, the foreign policy of the French and the realization that even Michael Jackson has kids.

"They" say it's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Well, that's great and all, but what if you're 27 and have never been "in love"? (Beyond the love between family and friends, of course.)

< mushy>One of the keys to surviving countless Valentine's Days alone is to love yourself. < /mushy>

As strange as it may seem to some, I'm perfectly comfortable alone - for the most part - and enjoy my own company. I make myself laugh, and I don't mind going to movies solo if no one else is available.

Instead of worrying about a date, I think of Valentine's elsewhere: female family and friends whom I adore, and I send them cards.

I love the women in my life, and I'm pretty sure they dig me, too, so why worry that I haven't found the special someone that digs me, and wants to have my children? Who says I will die at 70, childless and as pure as the virgin Connie Swail?

It's not that I'm looking for a groovy kind of love. I'd settle for an awkward, step-on-toes kind of love.

In conclusion. (stop clapping)

So there ya go. A mouth-breathing Joe Losernaire looking for nice girl, not a hoochie mama, likes John Wayne movies and watches �Hitler�s Legions� marathons on History Channel.

Come on ladies, I�m a catch. Be my sweet baboo!

I�ll even get you some barbecue wings while you watch hockey with me.

And they say romance is a lost art.