Hating on Valentine's Day is passe, just like hating on TV. If you don't want to celebrate with $60 flowers and an overpriced dinner during which you will spill boulonnaise on your starched khakis, then don't fucking do it. You are a grown-up (I hope, and if you're not, apologies for the cursing; you should never curse) and thus the master of your own spending account.
But surely you want to do something, right? Here are a few suggestions, each of which can be undertaken with or without any regard for Valentine's Day whatsoever.
Ride the bus
An equally grim activity alone or with a partner, riding the bus will enable you to be completely lonely while still pressed up against unshowered strangers. I recommend taking the Q70 to La Guardia and walking home, thinking the whole time about where everyone is flying off to while you're stranded in Queens in the middle of the night.
Make some oatmeal or kung pao chicken
Either/or, as long as it's one of these two. Oatmeal is a known aphrodisiac, and can be used either as food or a wound debridement, depending on where your night takes you.
Hit the shooting range
Did you know there's a shooting range in Manhattan? It's true! The website for Westside Rifle and Pistol Range says you need an NYC Handgun License to shoot a pistol or handgun, but good news!—you can shoot a rifle without any of that hassle. Just complete an online background check before you show up, and for $75, you can learn to take your anger out in a totally safe and non-psychopathic whatsoever way. "You're telling me you need a permit to fire a handgun but they will just hand me a semi-automatic weapon, apparently few questions asked?" More or less, yes. America!
Sing power ballads with a group of enthusiastic strangers
This suggestion is horribly biased because this event is hosted by our own Nell Casey. Still, had Nell never entered my life, I would still highly recommend the group singalong: Excellent for anyone who loves screaming along to tunes in the presence of others but mortified by the prospect of solo karaoke. I personally experienced a transcendent moment during the '90s Alt-Rock singalong in which a total stranger and I looped arms as we belted out Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know." Random girl, if you're out there, I am sorry I knocked your martini out of your hand while trying to hug you, though it was foolhardy of you to introduce such fragile glassware into such a raucous environment. Get your tickets here.
Bathe with Ruskies
"Oooohh grooooaaan Sea Gate is soooo faaaar, that's like, eeveeen farrrther than Windsooooor Terrraaace." Quit whining you babies, and take the D,F, N or Q trains down to the Real South Brooklyn for some hard time at Mermaid Spa. Eat herring in a small bathing suit, have your significant other or a total stranger beat you with a bundle of birch sticks, inexplicably wear a wool hat. The last time I was there a nice man gave my friend and I a ride back to the subway station and didn't stab or murder us once.
A more cost-effective, alternate plan is get really stoned and spend some time on the Mermaid Spa website. Holy shit, dude.
Hug a stranger or pet
Just as it sounds. It's not weird unless you make it weird.