“What are your Inauguration plans?” Living in DC, the new home of our president-elect, this question is harder to avoid than most things.
Inspired by Mindy Kaling’s book-because she’s just the sh*t.
Death. A morbid subject, yet inevitable to all. I have been to countless wakes and funeral in my lifetime, sadly. Distant cousins, grandmothers, an uncle to a friend of a friend who my dad knew on the board of directors for our youth basketball league. I mourned the loss of my friend’s goldfish one time in the 2nd grade. We cried as it swirled down the toilet bowl.
As I’m perpetually overwhelmed with sadness during these “mourning ceremonies,” if you will, my mind does doze off occasionally to completely selfish thoughts.
Too often we define our lives by our disappointments. Our failed attempts to control things that simply can’t be controlled. Our emotions, our heartbreaks, our “you’re not good enough” stories. Too often we place the world on our shoulders, attempting to solve problems that simply can’t be solved in the moment, or ever. We feel, and we feel deeply.
Our emotions are both a blessing and a curse. We love with every ounce of our fragile hearts, expecting the best outcomes, only to have our expectations fall short. We want to change people. We want to change how they feel, how they act. We want to feel like we are worth it. We want to feel wanted.
To my readers: I have felt the way you feel, I have cried the tears you cry. I have defined myself based on the thoughts of others, based on the people who have seemed to take more than they give. I lose a little bit of myself each time. Each time I take that leap of faith, each time I allow my heart and my mind to fall vulnerable to the glimmer of hope I see in others. I tell myself, “Never again.” I promise myself that this will be the last time I define myself based on how you see me. I promise myself that I’m worth it, even if I’m not worth it to you.
I came to a point in my life where I started asking “Why is the world out to get me?” Bad luck seemed to be embedded into the shadows I crossed, and I was slowly loosening grip on the things that I held onto so firmly. It was like my sensitivity was something to be ashamed of, it was something that only led to tears and let downs.
The world wasn’t out to get me, I was out to get myself.
People are always going to disappoint you. Life is always going to tell you that “you’re not good enough.” Don’t lose hope. Don’t stop taking that leap of faith. Some people say that feeling so deeply is simply a curse, but I’d have to disagree. I feel deeper than most, and maybe I have more failed relationships than you do, but I’ve come to realize that my life is so much more than that.
My life is more than drunk texts and missed connections. It’s more than shitty people and failed expectations.I’ve learned how to feel with every ounce of my body. With every inch of my skin. And it’s led me to perhaps some of the most rewarding experiences and friendships that wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t put myself out there.
My sensitivity is something that I’ve always tried to hide. I have constantly tried to hide my emotions so far down in the basement of my heart, but I realized doing that only makes me forget who I am. It sends me into an abyss of nothingness, with no set destination. I may allow myself to get hurt, but I’d rather get hurt than feel absolutely nothing. I’d rather cry a thousand times than miss out on a single day true happiness.
Feel deeply, keep taking that leap of faith. Keep putting yourself out there and accept that you will probably get hurt a few more times. You can store your emotions in a black box in the basement of your heart, or you can let yourself be vulnerable. It’s how you fall in love. It’s how you feel. It’s how you understand yourself. It’s how you’re supposed to live.
You’re not “stupid” for expecting the best out of people. You’re not “naive” for having a hopeless romantic heart. You’re not “pathetic” for expecting something to come out of what was nothing to him. You feel, and that is perhaps the greatest and most powerful gift life could give you. Embrace it.
Pain is inevitable, but so is happiness.
Here’s my theory on Pinterest: it’s the ex-boyfriend you hate to love. It’s the ex-boyfriend that tries to turn you into something you’re not but you simply can’t get enough of him. You keep going back to him because he’s addicting, he makes the time go by when you’re bored, he provides a temporary high. He SWEEPS you off of your feet only to let you CRASH when you fall. You like the idea of him, but you soon realize that you’ll never measure up to who he wants you to be. You’re chasing after something that just isn’t worth the chase.
As much as I love you, dear Pinterest, you are simply trying to force me into being someone that I am most certainly not. I’ll never measure up to the ridiculous standards you set. You force me to pin inspirational E.C Cummings quotes, adorable animal cupcakes, and creative nail art patterns that are way out of my league. You force me to escape into this dream that my life is in fact together. You force me to believe that my life is “Pinterest perfect,” when you and I both know that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I would love to CONTINUE our rocky relationship, Pinterest, because you sometimes know me better than I know myself. You not only know what hairstyles I like and provide the most creative Halloween costumes, you also bring my visions to reality. You make be believe in myself and strive to be greater. For that, I will be forever grateful. However, I think you need to lower your standards a bit, because you’re starting to make me feel like shit. Accept me for who I am, not who you want me to be.
1. I’m not a make up artist, nor do I intend to be. Unless you want to spot the bill at Sephora, stop trying to make me do ridiculous things to my face. Contouring? What does that even mean? Why are you trying to tell me that painting my face a totally different shade will make me look better? I don’t understand nor do I have the time or dedication. Sorry. Love me for who I am, not by my failed smoky eye attempts.
2. Oh, you don’t like my cooking? MAKE YOUR OWN GODDAMN SANDWICH. As much as you’d like me to live up to my standards as a woman, I certainly do not belong in the kitchen, nor do you want me to be. So, please, eat the stupid grilled cheese and stop forcing fancy recipes down my throat. You’re setting me up for failure and I don’t appreciate it.
3. My nails literally always look like shit, even when I paint them. Does that make me less of a girl? I’m not sure. Sorry if they make you cringe, but I won’t pretend to care about them. And I certainly won’t waste my time painting them with intricate designs when I have better things to do.
4. I know that you want me to start putting more effort in my baked goods around the holidays, I get it. Why have plain chocolate chip cookies when you can have cute reindeer cupcakes? Everyone loves reindeer cupcakes! But, seriously, they all taste the same. Plus, you’re not the one who has to watch young children fail to appreciate your hours and hours of tedious efforts. They shove it down their throats like it’s nothing, and when they do, it makes me die a little inside. Those antlers took 4 f*ckin hours you brats.
5. Sorry, but you aren’t a licensed therapist. That’s fine, but you put zero effort into making me feel better. Can you at least pretend to care? It’s like you search through Instagram for #quotestoliveby when I’m feeling sad and spit them back at me like I mean nothing to you. I’d rather drown my sorrows in a bottle of wine than hear you say “the best is yet to come,” one more time. I’m not supposed to be cracking open a fortune cookie open every time I come to you for advice.
6. You are the LAST person who should be giving me fashion advice. You’re all over the place. One day you’re telling me to pair my chevron shirt with a chunky necklace and the next day you’re telling me to wear black lipstick and combat boots. Make up your damn mind. I can’t be preppy one day and edgy the next. I don’t have the funds nor fashion sense. Why would I want to continue a relationship with someone who tries to tell me what to wear anyways?
7. Should I even get started with the wedding planning? Seriously, pump the breaks. You might think the cute DIY wedding crafts you throw at me are cute and inspirational, but it’s honestly making me want to throw up. I’m not ready for that type of commitment. You’re suffocating me. Relax.
8. I made a New Years resolution dedicated to you. Essentially, my resolution was to be less of a slob. I planned to keep my room clean, make my bed every morning, stop throwing my clothes on the ground, etc. I know you hate how unorganized I can be, and I tried to take your advice, I really did. However, all of the organizational printables and cleaning checklists you were throwing at me at once just became so overwhelming. I can’t dedicate my life to someone who measures my self-worth based on color coordinated closets and deep-cleaning disinfectants.
Pinterest, I love you. I really, really do. You have brought life to my empty wine bottles and inspiration to my rather crippling artistic side. You have gotten me through some of the worst of times. But, to tell you the truth, you are simply like a drug. I take a hit and feel good for a while, but the comedown makes me wonder if it’s all worth it.
It’s not you, it’s me. Wait, no, it actually it is you. You’re a bully. Stop trying to tell me what to wear, stop telling me how to dress up my cupcakes. Stop undermining my efforts by setting me up for failure and stop trying to force yourself back into my life. I don’t care if you have more pins to share with me, you’ve shown me enough, and it’s overwhelming. You’ve given me enough false hope. I’ll never measure up to your standards and to be honest I’ve stopped giving a shit the last time I failed at your stupid “Bunny Butt Cookie” idea on Easter (seriously, that suggestion was absurd). You’re trying to turn me into something I’m not, and frankly, you’re kind of an asshole.
Stop trying to make “Pinterest perfect” happen, It’s not going to happen!
Happy Man Crush Monday my fellow #TB12 lovers. Aside from his face that has #blessed written all over it, this man has done it all, and I feel like I owe it to everyone to dedicate a blog post to the Zeus of the NFL.
Here’s a short list of the real reasons why Brady should be your #MCM every single Monday (or just every single day).
1. I guess I should get this one out of the way. His face was carefully crafted by the highest of supreme beings to represent the “Ultimate Man,” and we should all take time out of our day to appreciate it.
2. He’s the epitome of every Elite Daily article we’ve read on what women really want in a guy. Seriously, read this article and tell me it doesn’t have Tom Brady written all over it. Honesty, understanding, caring, strength, compassion, security, blind loyalty. Boom.
3. He single handedly redefined what it means to be an Ugg-wearing male. Gone are the days of struggling to find what to buy for your boyfriend on Christmas. You can never go wrong with a pair of man Uggs, all thanks to the King himself.
4. He’s dorky and awkward in all the right ways. Kind of like Seth Cohen, but way hotter.
5. He kind of resembles Taylor Kitsch and if you ever want to resemble someone you want it to be Taylor Kitsch.
6. He’s not in it for the money, he’s in it for the football. He gives away his brand-new cars and million dollar endorsements, because, well, he’s Tom Brady. His nine digit paychecks aren’t a secret to anyone, and he doesn’t try to make it one. He just wants to play the game, and trust me, we love watching you do it.
7. He does random sh*t but looks absolutely adorable doing it.
8. Brady was kind of a dork, and it kind of makes me love him so much more. He gives hope to middle schoolers and pre-pubescent teens everywhere. The awkward stage doesn’t last forever, and Brady is a perfect example.
9. His relationship with Bill Belichick makes us happier than a new season of Orange Is The New Black on Netflix. Imagine being able to put “Has the ability to make Bill Belichick laugh,” on your resume?
10. His marriage explains what we want in a relationship way better than any #relationshipgoals tweet we’ll ever read.
11. And his family, like, are you kidding? Your life is more picture perfect than my Pinterest page.
Thank you, Brady. For not only your flawless face and chiseled six pack abs, but also for being perfect in every humanly way possible. I would envy you, but I enjoy swooning over you way more. Much love.
“Why didn’t you write me? Why? It wasn’t over for me, I waited for you for seven years. But now it’s too late.”
“I wrote you 365 letters. I wrote you everyday for a year.”
“You wrote me?”
“Yes… it wasn’t over, it still isn’t over”
Sorry, ladies and gents. It is over. And it’s not because your over-bearing parents intercepted his/her messages. It’s just over, but I’ll tell you why.
It’s a classic 20th century love story:
Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Boy and girl exchange numbers and talk. Then, somewhere along the way it just doesn’t work out. You stopped answering their texts. Boy now awkwardly sees girl on campus and boy/girl wonders why the other one never responded.
This post I decided to reach out to my amazing readers for some input about why you weren’t worth the text back. The responses I got were unreal. You guys are awesome. So, if you have ever been ignored, here is the ultimate guide for why this particular boy or girl just didn’t think you were worth their time anymore. However, these people don’t seem to be too sorry about it. I wish I could include all of the responses, but many of them were too similar (not surprising by any means).
For all of you lost souls, including myself, this is why they never answered your text:
Your last text was confusing, weird, and/or annoying:
I tend to not answer when I have no idea the meaning behind the text–if something can be construed as flirty or serious, how the hell do you respond without looking like an idiot if you’re wrong?
I never answered your text because you made a weird comment about doing something together like a year in the future. Too much commitment, too fast! Ask me on a date first.
We had a fun night together, but I can’t stand texting you. You spell EVERYTHING wrong. I can’t even understand what you’re saying. I tried to be patient, but every time your name pops up in my messages, I get aggravating trying to decipher the pig latin you sent me.
Because he asked for nudes.
Not answering his text because he is too overly aggressive. Like seriously with a double text? and then a triple? why doesnt he get the hint? its awkward. embarassing. and just so sad. I dont answer him because he doesn’t make my heart beat faster, or you just know theres no point, or because your beer (or in my case tequila goggles REALLY misled me). But what if hes so nice it hurts? So you respond once for every four of his texts. how does one build up the courage to friend zone the F out of the nuisance who not only triple but quadruple texts you?! The heart wants what the heart wants and its not you. IM JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU, IF I DONT RESPOND. obvy.
Because “hey baby” from a number I don’t even recognize is seriously creepy.
There’s no point in trying to have a conversation with someone when all their responses are one-worded and mostly LOLs. Plus, your dick pic was unwanted…and not impressive.
You aren’t what we thought you were:
i never answered your text because i don’t remember meeting you and your name was saved in my phone as “kevin (tori says he’s not cute)” so my best friend definitely did this and if she doesn’t think you’re cute, i probably don’t either
Make up did wonders for you. Tone it down a bit.
You’re taken and we don’t want to get murdered:
You clearly have a girlfriend (that I CLEARLY stalked on your Facebook the day after we met)
I got in a fight with your boyfriend at a bar last year who I just realized is your boyfriend. He broke my nose because I accidentally spilt a beer on him. I can only imagine what he would do if he knew we slept together. I’m a small dude. -Greg, 24.
We aren’t your booty call:
You make me feel like shit and I know you only want one thing from me. I’m all set thanks.
You’re too eager:
…Or maybe not eager enough:
You have gone weeks without responding to me and then drop a casual “hey whats up” on a random Tuesday night…. like what?-Laura, 23.
Your hygiene isn’t up to par:
Your bedroom was DISGUSTING. Trust me, I’m not a neat freak. But there was legitimately cooked spaghetti all over the place….. Like what? -Julie, 22.
Thanks to everyone who submitted responses! Love you weirdos.
Happy Thanksgiving you filthy animals.
I’m spending my Thanksgiving in Brooklyn with family, so to fight the FOMO about missing out on Thanksgiving Eve festivities with friends, I decided to do a bit of “social experiment,” if that’s what you’d like to call it. I only expected to do it to one or two guys, but then it just spread like wildfire. I couldn’t help myself.
Everyone reading this very familiar with Tinder, the glorified hook up app. So, since I know zero people in this area, I decided to strike up some interesting conversations with complete strangers. Inspired by How To Lose A Guy In One Tinder, I hope I can provide you with some comic relief on this glorious holiday. Apologies to those victimized, but I am certainly #thankful and #blessed for you providing me with entertaining conversations and endless laughs.
What did I learn? I can act as crazy as I’d like to, it doesn’t matter. The thirst is real.
Kindly read the conversations from left to right.
Meet Victim #1. He poses with girls in his Tinder pictures. And, his nose is growing, “like pinokio.”
How kind of you to have a romantic dinner planned for me when I come knocking on your door looking for your non-existent girlfriend like a complete psychopath.
Meet Victim #2. His grammar is immaculate and he’s charming as hell 🙂 Every girl’s dream.
I guess that makes two of us who are constipated with our “faces stuck in one position.” Also, since you’ve slept with 7 and a HALF women, do you consider me half or whole of a woman? Jw lmao lmk thx.
Wait, so does this mean take back the comment about me getting chewed up by the tigers in my Tinder picture (which are actually lions) because you still want to hook up? I’m confused. Lmk, thx.
Meet Victim #3: He’ll tell you that you look like Angelina Jolie and mean it ❤
So, first you said I don’t look Angelina Jolie at all. Maybe just slightly. Well, no, I look similar, but maybe just in person. Actually, no, just in my second picture we look alike. Ok. Good to know.
I’m off to bigger and better things. You gave me all of the confidence I need. All I need to find is my Brad Pitt and a few adorable orphans to adopt. Hollywood, here I come!
Victim #4 is willing to help a stranger in need…as long as he can talk to me on the phone first.
Have you asked your parents if its OK yet? I’m cool, I swear.
This guy’s cool. He has pumpkin and apple pie. And his friend’s parents love to salsa. What’s better than that?
Well, so do you want me to leave the savory pumpkin pie that I made at home? That’s kind of rude. And, what if I don’t know how to salsa? Will I feel left out? Do you think we could split the Uber taxi?
Hey Victim #6 thank you for understanding my butterfly obsession.
I was hoping we could paint our future kitchen red, but beige with oak cabinets sounds good too. We can compromise I suppose.
“I don’t think there’s a need for pills.” The WebMD of Tinder. Thanks for backing me up cutie pie 🙂
And here’s my Angelina Jolie friend again.
Ok bye, friend. I’ll miss you.
If you ‘d like to participate in this Tinder game with me, it’s fun. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org or message me on Facebook. I’ll feature your sicko conversations in my next post!
Age is just a number…right?
March 17, 2013.
It was St. Patrick’s Day in Boston, the day after my 20th birthday. A few friends and I trekked into the city to catch the parade, although the parade was hardly the center of our focus. We filled our styrofoam Dunkie’s cups with strange concoctions, probably some combination of cheap vodka and a soft drink. The bathroom lines were insane, filled with a bunch of underage drinkers dressed in tacky t-shirts attempting to get away with taking a few shots in the public bathrooms. We had no plan, no destination, or really no idea what we were doing. We were just a bunch of 20 year olds trying to get drunk in Boston on the day where it was easy to.
Hardly knowing what the term “breaking the seal,” actually meant, we refused to do it when we actually had the chance. We gulped down our questionable drinks in the public bathrooms and continuously told ourselves to “not break the seal” so early in the day, even though our bladders were about to explode (TMI?) We treated it as though it was one of the ten commandments. “Thou shalt not break thy seal even if thou body is basically demanding thou to.”
Eventually we were five drunk and underage teenagers all in desperate need for a bathroom. Somehow, we decided the best option was knocking on the door of some random house party. A man dressed like a giant leprechaun stepped out, his breath reeking of booze. He held out a tray of cupcakes as we asked if we could quickly use his bathroom.
This “quick” bathroom trip turned into 7 solid hours of partying with complete strangers…all over the age of 25.
We hung out for a bit and then I met eyes with this one guy. I knew I had met him before, but I couldn’t remember when. Our eyes awkwardly locked a few times throughout the course of an hour when he eventually came up to me introducing himself then followed by, “Do I know you?”
After several minutes of trying to figure out how we knew each other it was eventually determined that he was in fact a common customer at the hockey store I worked at throughout high school. We talked, made out, talked some more, which led to exchanging each other’s numbers.
“So,” I asked, “How old are you?”
“Errr, umm, I just turned 27 a few days ago.”
“Haha, oh, I just turned 20 yesterday.”
7 years. Woof.
How do we determine who is “dateable?” It usually starts out with a physical attraction, which then has to be supplemented with a good personality. It might not start out with a best “how we met” story, but it usually evolves into your own version of a fairytale. Dateable people are the people we can see a real future with, even if the relationship only lasts a few months.
I never really took this guy as someone I could seriously see myself dating. I mean, despite our age gap, his phone number was saved in my phone as “St. Patrick’s Day Collins.” I had totally forgotten what his first name was. He texted me the very next day and we had an enjoyable conversation, all while I was still trying to figure out his first name. He didn’t seemed bothered by the fact that I was a young 20 year old, and I assumed that it was because he thought I was vulnerable.
The next thing I knew he asked me out on a lunch date.
It worked out nicely, I had an interview in downtown Boston which happened to be right down the street from his office. So, I agreed to a date. If it went horribly, at least I got a free meal out of it. He told me where to meet him, and I stood there waiting, feeling my face get more red by the second. My heart started beating a little faster and I thought to myself, “What the hell was I thinking?”
Then, suddenly, he appeared from around the corner. He wore a blue striped button up, with his tie loosely undone from his neck. His light brown hair was swept back, paired with crystal blue eyes that I spotted from 20 feet away. He approached me with a smile that was way more perfect than I had remembered and a defined jaw line that made it even better. He was confident and he was hot.
“Hey Beth, how are you? You look great.”
We awkwardly hugged, and then he took me this nice restaurant right in Government Center. The place was relatively small, but felt cozy. It was filled with women and men in suits enjoying a cold one during their lunch breaks. I instantly regretted changing out of my interview attire. I sat there with my fake Longchamp bag, decently expensive leather boots and American Eagle jeans while he was in full business suit. Awesome.
The waitress approached us and I instantly felt judged. Paranoia took over, and I found myself hoping she just thought I was his little sister rather than his date. The age gap was recognizable, and even more so when she asked what we wanted to drink.
“Can I get you two a beer?”
“Yeah sure, do you want–oh wait, err, yeah I’ll just have one.”
“Yeah, just water is fine with me.”
Off to a great start.
I ordered a salad and he ordered a burger with french fries. In between long, drawn out mouthfuls of food, we talked about our lives. I found myself taking more and more time to swallow my food because the more we talked, the more I felt the age gap widen. He spoke about his career and other adult-like things where I sat there and continuously contemplated what I could say that wouldn’t totally come off as an immature 20 year old. I talked about school, made up what I wanted to do with my degree, and pretended like our lives were anywhere near the same.
But, they were hardly the same. We were at two totally different places. He was attractive, respectful, easy to talk to, athletic, and an all around great guy…but he was also seven years older than I was.
That day was only about a year and a half ago, but I find myself thinking about that date a lot. He tried to keep in contact with me after the date, always asking to see me again, but I’d always make up some excuse to reject him. I wonder what it would be like if I went out with him again now in this stage of my life. A stage where I’m a little less focused on frat parties and more focused on my future and career. So, was it his age that intimidated me? Or was it simply the fact that I knew our lives were on two opposite ends of the spectrum?
My friends and I have recently made this a regular topic of our conversations. How old is too old? Most of us are at least 21 at this point, which means the only thing we aren’t legally allowed to do is rent a car. Society views us as adults, although some of us have hardly reached the maturity point of a 13 year old. So, the thought of dating someone 25+ isn’t as unreasonable or crazy as people make it out to be.
I have always been attracted to older men (when I say older I mean 2-3 years). Older is supposed to mean more mature, when that is hardly the case. We stress so much on a simple number that we allow ourselves to be limited to who we are attracted to. It certainly makes sense; I dated a guy who is only two years older than I am and as soon as he graduated college I felt as though we were on two totally different pages. A 2 year gap suddenly felt like a 6 year gap. His priorities changed, as did mine. However, it wasn’t the age gap that changed, as much as it felt like it did.
So, yeah, I’d agree. Age is simply just a number. Age doesn’t necessarily define where you’re at in your life.
St. Patrick’s Day Collins: Would you like to go on a date where we can both legally order booze? I promise I won’t be as weird I was the first date we went on. I was more worried about the fact that I had just turned 20 and there was still a water bottle of cheap vodka in my fake Longchamp bag from the night before.
Destiny may decide who comes into your life, but it certainly doesn’t decide who stays. People walk in and out of our lives every single day, some leaving more of a lasting impact than others. Some relationships we are simply forced to let go of, even though we may attempt to salvage what remains. Others fade naturally and may rekindle later on in life. And then, there’s just some people we force out simply because they just, well, suck.
We all have those people in our lives that we are just much better without. Our attempts at a real relationship with them become minimal as we grow up and realize we simply don’t enjoy their company. I’ve compiled a list of these types of people and attempted to categorize them into popular TV/movie personnel, so I apologize if you can’t appreciate the references. These are coming from a girl who develops emotional attachments to characters in the shows she binge watches on Netflix. I’m not sorry about it.
1. The Regina George (pre-bus accident)
Let’s face it. We’re all b*tches once in a while. But, the Regina George is a whole different level. The b*tch trait doesn’t just come out sometimes, the b*tch trait defines her. She doesn’t have to be the prettiest or most popular girl around. The Regina George is the chronic b*tch with cruel intentions. The one who gets sick enjoyment out of making other people’s lives miserable. People flock to her simply because they’re afraid of what will happen if they don’t. She’s the one who you may fear her wrath, but as soon as you let her go, you realize her wrath is only as bad as you let it be. Drama isn’t just her middle name; it’s her first and last name too.
2. The Chuck Bass (circa Seasons 1-2)
Any GG fanatic understands that Chuck and Blair are simply meant to be despite their rocky relationship throughout the series. We grow to love Mr. Bass, but his indecisivenes and failure to face his feelings drive us up a wall. He loves Blair, we all know he loves Blair, Blair knows he loves Blair, but the words simply can’t roll off of his tongue. Chuck Bass is like the indecisive ex-boyfriend who can’t choose a side. The one who tells you he loves you one day, then the next day decides he’s incapable of love. The Chuck Bass is the one to claim he “hates labels” while at the same time wine and dining you. He forces you to fall for him, but then can’t catch you when you actually do. We’re constantly drawn back to our Chuck Bass, because we know how he really feels, but he fails to follow through. He’s a heartbreaker that leads us down a path of disappointment and false hope. We hate to love our Chuck Bass, but we simply can’t help it. He’s destructively irresistible.
3. The John Tucker (pre-estrogen)
He spews lines that clearly fall under the Google search, “things to say to a girl to get her pants off.” He’s hot and he knows it. He’s the guy you meet at the bar who makes you feel like you’re the only one who’s caught his eye. The John Tucker clearly has experience with girls, and don’t be fooled, you’re not his first; and you’re certainly not his last. Odds are, you’re not the only girl on his mind either, despite your desperate attempts to convince yourself otherwise. Maybe he’ll hang out with you sober a few times, but it’s only to make he seem like the nice guy that he totally isn’t. He’s your typical douchebag. Keep him around for too long and you might develop feelings. Beware because, John Tucker doesn’t “do” feelings, he only “does” chicks that fall for his games. You being one of them.
4. The Squidward Tentacles
The Negative Nancy, the Debbie Downer, the Bummer Brian. The Squidward is a self-proclaimed, always-bringing-everybody-else-down, asshole. He/she places themselves on a pedestal simply to make up for their lack of self-confidence. Squidwards are content with monotony; always doing the same boring routine every day. Stepping outside of the small box they place themselves in is simply unheard of. They practically live by the phrase #NONEWFRIENDS and have no desire to explore beyond their comfort zones. Squidwards will only hold you back from being everything you want to be. Honestly, who wants to be friends with Squidward Tentacles?
5. The Jenny Humphrey (circa Seasons 2-3)
Jenny Humphrey. AKA the shitty friend who you can never convince yourself to truly hate because you know beneath all the bullsh*t, she’s a good person. Her downfall is that she doesn’t stay true to herself, and she adapts to the people she surrounds herself with. Jennys typically don’t have a backbone, and tend to follow rather than lead. They’re incapable of forming their own opinions, thus turning them into the person that you never expected. They’re easily influenced by what other people say, and fail to stick up for what is right. They have a good heart, but they don’t always use it. We can wish Jennys the best in their search for self discovery, but if you get too close, don’t be surprised if they let you down.
6. The Prince Eric (Little Mermaid)
Prince Eric=idiot. CLEARLY the woman who saved him was a hot red-headed mermaid but he seemed to have completely forgot her appearance completely and goes for the ugly brunette b*tch instead. He wasn’t able to look beyond Ariel’s physical disability and simply settled for the girl who was totally less hot.The dude that can only be explained with a whole bunch of question marks. He’s the guy that won’t kiss you when you’re giving off EVERY sign that you want to (including an ocean full of sea creatures singing “Kiss the Girl”) and will leave you to wonder what you’re doing wrong, even if you’re doing everything totally right. The Prince Eric is never mean or disrespectful, but he makes you question if your relationship will really go anywhere. He simply doesn’t realize what he has until it’s gone. It’s not that he’s a bad guy, he’s just an idiot. Hand the dude a dictionary and be on your way.
7. The Angelina Pivarnik (Jersey Shore season 1-The b*tch we all forgot about)
When she isn’t stirring up some type of drama, she’s trying to pick up the pieces of the mistakes she made when she was drunk. Going out with her is always a gamble. She classifies herself as the “life of the party,” but while she was trying to live up to her self-proclaimed title, it was your job to apologize for her actions along the way. Her life constantly seems to be in shambles, but it’s hard to feel sorry for her when you’ve heard the same bullsh*t over and over again. She thrives off of drama, much like the Regina George, but does it less eloquently. They play the victim and are often delusional, never feeling like they have to apologize for their drunken or sober wrong-doings. Angelina Pivarnik is a crazy b*tch with a false sense of entitlement, never paying any mind to the people she hurts along the way. Steer clear.
8. The Juan Pablo (circa- EVERY SINGLE DAMN EPISODE)
The Juan Pablos are your stereotypical, emotionless, douchers. They’ll think of every excuse in the world for why they can’t connect with you on a deeper level (past relationships, daddy problems, language barriers, etc.), but don’t waste your time with them. They’ll call you beautiful, kiss you on the forehead, and are seemingly charming, but you’ll never be able to scratch beyond the surface. You’ll drive yourself towards insanity if you attempt a relationship with a Juan, because, the phrase, “It’s OK,” will get old real quick, I promise.
Dear My Future “Whatevers,”
Hey there, it’s me, Beth. I don’t know if our relationship will ever extend beyond texting or if you talk to me just to hold onto the hope of having sex with me. We may get married, or our first date might make us want to run for the hills. You might meet my parents, or maybe we’ll make out once at the bar and then awkwardly smile at each other on campus. You might ask for my number but never text me, despite my desperate attempts to talk to you. Maybe we’ll fall in love or maybe we’ll fall back into the title of complete strangers. I’m not sure what you’ll be to me, but I want you to read this anyways.
I bet we aren’t each other’s firsts, and we probably won’t be each other’s lasts. We’ve probably already experienced our first kiss, first love, first heart break, first everything. You’ve probably slept with a handful of women, and I myself have done the same with men. I’ve developed feelings for guys who haven’t felt the same, and maybe you’ve experienced something similar. You won’t be the first guy I’ve cried over, and you certainly won’t be the last. You aren’t my first love, and there has been other guys before you that have altered the way I view a relationship. My emotions aren’t as innocent and raw as they once were. Life has changed me. Life has changed how I am going to look at you.
If you are reading this at the very beginning of our “whatever” relationship, you are just another guy to me. I have no predispositions about you other than what I’ve seen on your Facebook, or the way you treated me the first night we met. If you treated me like a piece of meat, I’m not interested, no matter how many late night texts you send me. If we have been talking for a few weeks and then you ignore me at the bar to talk to some other girl, I’m not wasting my time on you. Maybe I’m jealous, but I’m not heartbroken. You’re just another guy. And like I said before, you probably won’t be my last guy.
You aren’t the first guy to play with my emotions, you aren’t the first guy who I’ve developed feelings for. You may think you are the Seneca Crane or Plutarch Heavensbee in this “whatever” relationship (if you didn’t get that Hunger Games reference right away then GTFO), but I’ve seen it all before. I’m not naive and I’m not going to expect that anything will come of this until something does actually come of it.
Don’t call me crazy because I question what this “whatever” relationship is after months of talking, I’m not expecting a ring on my finger. I don’t care what you label this as. But, I do care how you label me. I can be the girl you are “talking to,” or “hooking up with,” or maybe I’m just another girl on your long list of potential suitors. I’m not some “dumb broad,” or some “random bitch,” and if I am, have the decency to tell me. If that’s what I am to you, then why are you even wasting your time?
Don’t text me every single day of the week and ask me about my family if I’m just some random bitch to you. Don’t take me out to dinner, don’t tell me you like me, don’t hold my hand. Don’t pull me in the trap of falling for you and then freak out when I actually do.
The dating culture of the 21st century has evolved into one giant twisted and f*cked up game, and we all willingly play along. If I like you, I’m going to tell you. But, don’t flatter yourself just yet, I’m not looking to be your girlfriend. I’m not expecting a ring on my finger or flowers at my doorstep. “Like” doesn’t translate to a marriage contract. If so, I’d be screwed. It doesn’t mean I’m head over heels for you or you’re the person I want to have my babies with. So, relax. I didn’t know being honest about my feelings was frowned upon.
You can call me “crazy” for developing feelings, but I could say the same to you for being petrified of a relationship that was never even established in the first place. You aren’t looking for a commitment, but when did I say I was?
You aren’t my first guy. And you might not be last. Don’t waste my time. Don’t string me along for your own entertainment. Don’t assume I’m looking for a committed relationship.
Our “whatever” break up might sting for a little bit, but you won’t break me. Life moves on, and so will I. You are just another guy.
I look forward to whatever we may or may not be. And if this letter freaks you out, then we were never meant to be in the first place.