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Come Friday, I’ll probably be spending Valentine’s Day alone yet again, but this year I’m putting the blame on someone other than myself: more specifically, those estrogen-filled, male-deprecating movies known as “chick-flicks.”

Title them whatever you’d like – be it “Sleepless in Seattle” or “Two Weeks Notice” – modern-day romantic comedies have all seemed to work against me in the same vicious way rich guys driving Ferraris make me look when I borrowed my dad’s ’85 Volvo.

Holding romantic comedies exclusively responsible for my dating, or rather dateless, situation, I’ve determined that they are the sole reason why it has become unacceptable for guys to ask their dates to do things such as order from the kid’s menu or have them hide in their trunk to save money at drive-in theaters.

Think about it fellas, when was the last time your girlfriend got excited when you told her that you guys were going out for 39-cent-cheeseburger Sundays or staying in for a Blockbuster night? Probably not too

recently, or more likely never. And it’s because these movies have relegated these tactics in women’s minds as nothing more than a cheap man’s poor attempt to spend as little money as possible and still disguise the evening as a date.

According to modern-day love stories, if a guy takes his date on anything less than a trip to the top of the Empire State Building, or a carriage ride through Central Park, it would be inexcusable to call it romantic. What about a good old walk through Westwood Village?

Don’t get me wrong though, if I had a $60 million studio budget to work with, I would definitely take my dates out on helicopter rides around the city as often as the next Joe Millionaire. But seeing as how I’m operating more on the wages of an intern, my options are limited.

It’s unfortunate that these movies have even managed to make dates, such as magical midnight walks along the pier, appear shameful if the guy doesn’t end the evening with a dazzling fireworks display from across the harbor.

Before I know it, I’m sure that even the practice of having my dates hide food in their purses for me before entering the theater will become extinct as well.

What then are guys left to do in order to change the situation?

An easy solution would be to stop taking girls to the movies, but a better alternative might be to convince them that they really wouldn’t want to be going out with someone like Tom Hanks or Hugh Grant. Isn’t there still a certain charm to cuddling up with a guy your own age after a night of cramming for midterms together at the Coffee Bean, or taking a walk around the sculpture garden? I mean, come on now, who actually wants to be the Valentine of a famous actor worth millions of dollars?

On second thought, it looks like I’ll be eating those cheeseburgers alone this weekend.

If you can settle for drive-in movies and spaghetti from the kid’s menu, e-mail Yu at cjyu@media.ucla.edu.