Two weeks ago, I went on a date. This might not seem surprising to you unless you know me.

I hate the entire concept of dating. You have to make awkward conversation with someone you don’t know at all — or know very little about — and it’s all based on a shaky foundation, which is the possibility of making out later.

Stereotypically, Stanford students are either in long-term relationships or they hook up. I have refused both of these options, at least so far. In fact, I have pretty much always been — and may forever be — single.

Supposedly, we’re all better when we find “our other half.” I’m just as much of a believer in this as the next guy — which is why I’m occasionally (okay, often) neurotic about my perpetually single state.

Some time ago, though, I found something to comfort me on my sad Saturday night alone. A writer named Sasha Cagen invented a term for people like me (and a Web site — www.quirkyalone.net).

Turns out I’m a Quirkyalone — someone who prefers to remain single, rather than settle just because it seems like it’s the thing to do. For some people, a “dry spell” is a week — for others, a month or a year. My whole life is a dry spell. It is the Sahara desert. And I like it that way.

My date on Friday night was tall, friendly and considerate. But I would rather have gone out alone. This isn’t personal — I’ve turned down quite a few guys who are all those things you want in a date.

It’s just that I’d rather stay single until I meet someone who gets me or who sends chills up my spine. In the hierarchy of desirable situations, being with someone I really like is ideal, but being single is better than settling.

But clearly this way of finding your soul mate isn’t so successful. It’s no wonder many of my more pragmatic friends are skeptical about my Quirkyaloneness. One of my friends recently asked me, “So, then, what are your ultimate plans for finding someone?”

That question plays on my most essential fears. Should I give up my admittedly absurdly high standards? Is dating the way to go? Or, because no one actually goes on casual dates at Stanford anyway, should I just find the first guy who looks my way and embark on a mediocre three-year relationship with him just so I can have someone to go to brunch with on Sunday mornings? For now, the answer is no.

Let me clarify, though. I’m not opposed to coupledom. I want it. But I’m just not willing to compromise my ideals for it. And in the meantime, I have a solution to the Saturday night loneliness. Quirkyalones rely on their friends. We go to Pub Night together and — this is key — we leave pub night together.

Occasionally we get together, drink Boone’s Farm and watch bad TV. And we spend Valentine’s Day together.

“Quirkyalone Day” is coming up — not surprisingly, it is on Feb. 14. Yet despite my adamant Quirkyalonedom, I am hesitant to give up my Valentine’s Day. At heart, I am a hopeless romantic. Isn’t that the whole point of Valentine’s Day? Being hopeless and romantic at the same time?

I like to celebrate the downside of V-Day while I’m waiting for the ultimate upside. Last year to celebrate, I bought myself flowers and drank cheap red wine with my friends. I’ll probably spend this V-Day in much the same way. Sounds good, doesn’t it? So go — embrace your bitches (in the gangsta style), grab a bottle and enjoy your singledom.

If you want to be quirkyalone together with Emily, email her at emwood@stanford.edu.