Two weeks ago, I ended a three-year waste of time with a girl I never loved. And it’s hard to believe I’m finally writing this…but it’s over. “We like Bobby and Whitney, except without the kiddies. We like Pamela Anderson’s career, except without the titties.”
Just a month ago, I wrote something that was supposed to be an opinion piece about relationships, but became more of a personal testimonial about a fading affair. Regardless, like the Yeezy quote above explains, the girl who gave me hardships and heartbreak for the past three years is now in the past.
Now, as I’m trying to move on and be a happy college kid who’s searching for better days with nothing but a hard penis and a keen sense of style (“Am I shallow ‘cause all my clothes designer?”) in tow, I’m running into a few speed bumps.
There’s this funny little theory about college girls – they throw their inhibitions to the wind like that all-too-catchy Natasha Bedingfield jam. And as those inhibitions are tossed out the window, lucky boys with a pack of Twisted Pleasure condoms and a hint of self-confidence scoop them up and it’s on like Donkey Kong.
But being a romantic kid who’d rather send a girl a three-page love letter than a drunken text about needing a quick f*ck, the whole “banging college chicks” is coming harder than I thought.
So, maybe the whole fly-by-night lust affairs aren’t my thing. But, what I’ve been struggling with more is figuring out what exactly is my thing. I found a new girl to fall for before the last one was out of the picture, and I’m already questioning my feelings, her intentions and where it’s all going.
Like Mary J. Blige, I’m just looking for some real love. I don’t know if I’ll find it, and that’s probably because I don’t think I’ll ever allow myself to do so. Love’s a tough game to play when you’re not sure if you love yourself yet. And it gets even harder when you realize that no girl could appreciate the things you could do for her.
It’s ironic – I appreciate love songs and romantic films with impractical stories and morals, but I’m afraid of that real romance in my life. It seems like all the hype I’ve seen and heard left me not knowing what to expect if that real love comes along. Or maybe I just expect too much.
I’ve often heard that nice guys finish last. But I’ve recently heard that cool guys finish first. So in theory, I’ll end up somewhere in the middle – somewhere between confusion, frustration and a big bottle of baby oil. Until then, I’ll try to rest assured that there’s someone out there dreaming about a good guy with good intentions and not just a propensity to “stick it in.” Though I’ve certainly got that too, I’d gladly curb it for a nice chat.
In the end, I might be too picky and might desire too much from girls who don’t even know what they’re wearing tonight – let alone what they want from the opposite sex. They’ll figure it out one day. Until then, I’ll be waiting and holding onto my super cool mix CDs and pad full of love notes with the “To:” fields still blank.
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