By Gina Angostura
Columnist

Monday

7 a.m. – Wake up to the echoing sound of your own snoring. No one else to blame it on.

7:10 a.m. – Go to make coffee in your four-cup coffee maker, decide it’s too much coffee and too much trouble to clean up after just yourself, so you decide to stop at Dunks on the way in. It’s the only way you get someone to bring you coffee lately.

7:30 a.m. – Saunter to the bathroom, no need to hurry to get there before someone else.

8 a.m. – Do hair and brush teeth. Leave hair and toothpaste all over the sink; you’ll clean it up when you feel like it, just because you can.

8:30 a.m. – Check e-mail and phone messages for anything you missed last night at midnight. Also, check Yahoo, Match, e-Harmony, TrueDate, American Singles and Nerve to see if any of the lines you cast out got any bites. Try to rationalize belonging to so many dating sites when all the same men belong to them, and you’ve either dated, rejected, or been rejected by all of them already.

9 a.m. – Off to work.

Previous articles • September 28, 2006 • September 14, 2006 • August 31, 2006 • August 17, 2006 • August 3, 2006 • July 20, 2006 • July 6, 2006 • June 22, 2006 • June 8, 2006 • May 25, 2006 • May 11, 2006 • April 27, 2006 • April 13, 2006 • March 30, 2006 • March 16, 2006 • March 2, 2006 • February 16, 2006 • February 2, 2006 • January 26, 2006 • January 19, 2006 • January 12, 2006 • January 5, 2006 • 2005 Archives

9:30 a.m. – Gossip with colleagues. Find out all about their weekends. Remain silent when you realize all you did was clean the bathroom and watch “Pride and Prejudice” again. Fantasize about Colin Firth having a thing for divorced American women.

10 to 11 a.m. – Actual work.

11 a.m. – Chocolate break. Noon – Lunch break. IM friend Cammie to see if her weekend was any better. It usually is, and you really don’t WANT to know, but you know she wants you to know. That’s how good a friend you are.

1 p.m. – Gossip with colleagues about men, either husbands, ex-husbands, boyfriends, fantasy men or the lack thereof.

1:30 to 3 p.m. – Actual work.

3 p.m. – Chocolate break. Wonder why your jeans are feeling tight lately. Must be PMSing. Or that dryer is too hot.

3:30 to 5 p.m. – Actual work, interspersed with thoughts about what to do for dinner. Lean Cuisine is getting boring, but dirtying pots just seems silly. Think about the cute guy who works at the cafe downtown. If you have a book and someone to look at, dinner out alone isn’t so bad.

5:30 p.m. – Leave for home, stopping at Barnes and Noble for bi-weekly perusal of magazine section. See man in computer section, check ring finger, as your home computer is having problems. You never approach these guys, of course, but they all become contestants in your possibility game. And a computer guy is always a good possibility. Of course, if you had one of these men actually installed in your home, you would have no need for the computer, which has quickly become a singles outreach device. All other functions have ceased. When coupled again, will use it for photo display and paperweight purposes only.

6 p.m. – Check e-mail, test lines on dating sites ... still nothing. Fishing is bad all over.

7 p.m. – Pop some frozen diet piece of cardboard stuff in the microwave for dinner. Eat a Pop Tart, because five minutes is way too long to wait when you’re starving. Any wine in the fridge? Wine and Pop Tarts, the favorite hors d’oeuvre of single women everywhere. Wine is drunk preferably straight from the bottle.

7:15 p.m. – Eat chickentype faux gourmet dinner while flipping channels. See the news headlines, stop at “Friends” rerun instead. Can’t see the one with Ross and the leather pants too many times

9 p.m. – Did you have any chocolate yet today? Can’t remember. Eat three mini- Snickers left over from last Halloween. (That last line is for humor purposes only; mini- Snickers don’t last 10 minutes, let alone 10 months, in my house.)

10 p.m. – Crickets chirping. Consider e-mailing guy you dated in March to see if he’s still insisting he’s not interested. Decide that you’re not THAT desperate. Yet.

11 p.m. – Listen to Los Lonely Boys because you love the painful irony of their name.

11:30 p.m. – Decide that writing down your typical day is WAY too dreary and depressing, even for art’s sake. Determine never to do it again, at least until enough time has passed for you to slip in a reprise. Midnight – Resist urge to check dating sites “just in case.” Online shopping is losing its thrill. You realize you’ve seen everyone already, and then realize in horror that it means they’ve seen you, too. Resist urge to cry

12:05 a.m. – Turn off light. Set up dream-making program for George Clooney on a motorcycle. Close eyes and smile.