Back on the market

Last night my fake boyfriend and I had a real breakup. I'm sad today. Remember the beautiful (minus the red flags of illiteracy) sonnet he wrote me for Valentine's Day? Well, it turns out he didn't write that for me at all. Actually, that part doesn't bother me so much. I mean, the Valentine I gave him contained the words to Mr. Rogers' "It's You I Like." Not only did I not write it, but some time earlier I posted it to Reuben's page (and it was more sincere to Reuben). What was really sad was that after he told me, we went bowling with some of our good friends and THEY ALL KNEW! OK, a couple of them didn't know. But a lot of them did. And I'm embarrassed.
Here I was, thinking I'd secured a position as my friend's archetypical platonic ideal, and it's all (as Georgia Nicolson would say) a facsimile of a sham. While I was proudly displaying said sonnet on my fridge (the only thing on that stainless steel beauty), my little pals were "tut-tutting" because even though I turn 26 tomorrow, I act like I'm 11. I just noticed my nose looks HUGE in my profile pic, by the way. Sigh.
The worst part is, it reminds me that I'm a girl boys admire instead of fall in love with, even when it's fake.
Plus also, I just came by my parents' house to feed the animals, and my dog was acting weird. Turns out she got out last night and the neighbor kept her. I feel awful! I'm going to be a terrible mother! I can't even take care of a dog!
Oh well. Tomorrow is another year. And I'm ready to party.
The old Rachel would mope around today (OK, that's a lie... I'm really only about 20 percent broken-up about this) but the new Rachel doesn't let the man get her down. The slightly-old and slightly-naughty Rachel I've turned into needs a pedicure, will go out to lunch, and maybe indulge in a little retail therapy. After all, I need to find a good outfit for my 4th-row, center Ricky Martin concert tickets. In truth, I feel the bands of oppression loosed. I'm tired of being fettered. I'm going to go jam to Cyndi Lauper and go to a movie by myself. Finding out you are a little joke to someone is fine, so long as you have the last laugh.