There’s this guy…
Isn’t there always? As the cliche goes, it’s unrequited love. What is unrequited love you ask? The Merriam Webster Online Dictionary defines unrequited love as feelings that are “not reciprocated or returned in kind.”
From the very little I learnt from taking English Literature A-level for two years, I did come to the understanding that unrequited love can be summed up as when you love someone, but they don’t feel the same way because frankly they can do better.
Now, this guy is special. He is everything I want in a boyfriend. He is tall, athletic (which is important because I am currently on the chubby side and we both can’t be fat so someone has to give, and I am generous enough to offer myself up to be the one who doesn’t exercise in the relationship). His abs? Drool worthy. His teeth are deserving of a standing ovation. He is just perfect.
He is also kind of a jerk. He is what I would call a label whore (like do people in real life care if you are not draped in designer gear or wearing Jordan’s, like, for real?) He is pretty much a cliché of a high school basketball player with all the extra douche-baggery that you would expect. In movies those are the guys that you find throwing stones at the heroines window in order to serenade her with music blaring from an over-sized stereo. However, the whole jock thing much like that corny move is outdated and lame. Like, really Hollywood? Dude can’t do anything else to get the girl back, but irritate her neighbors and disturb her peace of mind? All I can say is, not my Father, trespassing is real and so is my Father’s back-hand.
It’s one of those weird crushes where I know I shouldn’t like him, but this stupid heart of mine wants what the stupid heart wants, even if the head is saying, “really dude?!” I think deep down I’m just a sucker for love, and even deeper down (like in my asshole), I’m just a sucker for heartbreak. I think that I have made myself look like an unstable psychopath enough for now, so it is important to note my dear readers that I am a product of cheesy, unrealistic, teen rom-coms. In my heart of hearts, I am not some random weirdo crushing on a guy who doesn’t even know I exist, but the sassy girl next door who inexplicably gets the hottest guy in the school (the jock, duh, who else?) to look past all the available and better-suited bitchy cheerleaders to fall in love with my awkward self. We manage to get past all the haters that don’t want to see us win -word to DJ Khaled- ride off into the sunset, eventually marry in a beautiful wedding ceremony that my father has been saving up for since I first crawled out of the womb, because he just knew that his little frog daughter was bound to find her love, eventually. Tall, dark and handsome. The danger trio. We have 2.5 babies, move into a mansion and (say it with me) live happily ever after. Dunzo. The End. Any questions?
I know what you’re thinking, does this girl not have anything better to do with her life, and the answer is yes! I have much better things to do. I start College in the fall, I need to study for placement tests, apply for scholarships; however, I am the Queen of procrastination, so I prefer to indulge such fantasies instead of working on getting my life together. I need this. My self-esteem needs this. I actually spent a large portion of my early Sunday morning primping and priming in hopes of catching his jock eyes, all of this at the expense of my Father’s wrath, which I just narrowly managed to avoid, yay me!
I love a good spoiler, so let me just cut this short, my efforts fell flat and I spent the majority of my Sunday wallowing in a woe-is-me type of situation. All I was missing was the Taylor Swift soundtrack to my life and a nice big bowl of cookie dough ice cream. I couldn’t even play out my pity party out like I wanted as my father doesn’t believe in junk food, and honestly, Taylor swift is at the point where she is waaaaaay too rich to relate to my pain. I cried into one-ply tissue, she cries into a bank account full of moolah underneath silk covers, do you see the difference?
I’m going to get back to my wonderful pity fest, whilst hoping I will not be getting sued by Ms. Swift for referencing her in my teeny-bop-he-doesn’t-love-me-back-post, whilst simultaneously refraining myself from stalking his Instagram and Twitter page as I have already indulged myself with that task enough this morning. See how well I can multi-task? Lord knows I lie about it’s existence enough on my CV, so it is good to know that multi-tasking is a skill that I somewhat have, even if it is laying dormant for the majority of the time.
Photo credit: Found through Google Images. http://pbskids.org/itsmylife/friends/crushes/article7.html