Wingman-less

So I'm home and it's before midnight. I seriously need some single girl friends. I could have really used a wing man, but alas, I was flying solo and without a net. Lots of pretty people were there and the alcohol was free and I thought I looked cute and before I knew it, the sister in law of the dude who most recently trampled my heart was waving to me. If it was him, I could've been bitchy, but she is nice and I like her and there was nothing I could do. I was sucked into the black hole of the dude who doesn't give a shit about me, and there seemed to be nothing I could do about it because I didn't have anyone to pull me out. I'm sitting here typing this, and I really want to cry; I can feel the tears back there somewhere, but I'm trying to practice keeping my feelings on the inside, so keeping them back is crucial at this point.

I did, for the record, talk to a few people, but there were no phone numbers exchanged, so it was essentially a dud. The last guy I talked to was this guy who was a cuter version of Adrian Brody, and I really wanted to hang with him, but I was out of energy and he wasn't asking for digits, so I was pretty much foiled. His name was Steven. Ironic, don't you think? That's what I thought as I shook his hand. I could have gone to whatever bar they were going to afterwards, but I'm tired, lonely, and not in a position to spend money at a downtown bar. I also need to get some rest for the interview tomorrow.

I feel like there is no hope for me. I am 32 years old, and have no prospects. I have no single friends. I am the kid who is picked last for the team because I can't rebound or shoot or even dribble. I am nothing. I have no help, no support, and worst of all, no hope. I have no one giving me any helpful hints, or introducing me to their single dude friends, or even attempting to help me to not suck.

I also have a huge scratch on the inside of my arm by my elbow, and I don't remember how I got it. I think I may have scratched myself with my car key when I was trying to cut the bracelet off my wrist. That's the only sharp object I was near all night. It hurts. Still, it would be worth it if I didn't feel like such a loser. And if I didn't feel so ugly. It seems like no dress or amount of makeup can make me look like I'm worthwhile. I'm ugly. I'm old. I'm broke. And there's no one around to make me feel better about any of it.