Seven Gentlemen and a Lady

This is gonna be a weird, possibly awkward post (and no, not in the same way that I once ranted about periods; you're safe, men). It'll just be awkward for me should any of the people I'm about to brag about ever read this. The good news is, this thing is no longer connected to my Facebook, so all I have to worry about is those of you in Russia and Germany who seem to love reading my blog. But whatever floats your boat, bro.

I just want to take a moment to brag about some really amazing guys in my life. Why? Because they're just awesome. This semester has been very interesting as far as my joke of a love life is concerned. I've gotten more action the past month than I've gotten since high school. But that's a story for a different day. Today's story is about the guys that have never really hit on me, or given indication of being attracted to me. But it's about a few very sweet gentlemen that have given me hope the past few days, despite the amount of pigs that actually do hit on me, that there are good guys out there. So, here goes.

Kyle. You are one of the most amazing guys I have ever met in my life. You're like a little cartoon, making jokes and being a redneck. But you are a perfect gentleman, respectful, and I pity any guy that ever breaks my heart or hurts me, because above all else, you're my big brother and will kill them. You should know that any girl would be unbelievably lucky to have you, because you have such a big heart, and I love that about you. You're adorable, and not in a silly way that girls sometimes call guys. You're just so sweet and caring, and I highly value your opinion. You inspire me to want more out of a guy. Also, you address me as "beautiful" and that scores mega points with any girl, platonic relationship or otherwise.

Garrett. In case you were wondering, Garrett, half of the female population at this school is madly in love with you, and the other half at the very least finds you highly attractive. In some ways, you remind me of Ethan Craft from Lizzie McGuire. And no, that's not an insult. You're quite a bit smarter than Ethan Craft ever was; but you're still as sweet as he was. Ethan was a good friend to Lizzie, even though he was never specifically interested in her. And you've always been a good friend to me. We've known each other since Moonlight Volleyball, and were neighbors last year, and you always ask me how it's going. You genuinely care about the people in your life, and whether or not you're aware of the fact that most of the women on this campus find you attractive, you treat them all with respect, gentlemanly cowboy-ness, and never try to take advantage of it. Plus, you're a Texan; that pretty much makes us friends for life.

John. I would assume that any views I get from China are from you. Do I have any of those? I really haven't checked. But if I get one, I will still assume it's you. You are the definition of a gentleman. I loved getting to know you last year, and seeing you at the beginning of this year was a nice surprise. I hope you're having fun in China; I've heard they seem to like your hair. Anyway, you are quite amazing, and I'm so, SO glad that I got to know you. You're very sweet and respectful, and I have been blessed to meet you. I hope I'll see you again within the next few years here at CCU, because you're a wonderful human being, and I love catching up with you.

Andy and Andrew. Shocking, right? You two drive me absolutely crazy! But I actually love seeing you guys, even though I haven't seen much of Andrew lately. You both have your moments where I'd love nothing more than to smack you upside the heads -- and yet, you're gentlemen, and it's an honor to know the both of you. It's also hilarious to irritate the crap out of the both of you, but it's all in good fun, and I hope you both know that. I feel like you do the same to me, so it's only fair. I want you both to know that I don't hate either of you, and while you drive me crazy, I wouldn't want it any other way. You're great friends, and I wish we could see more of each other.

Jeff. Yet another redneck in my life that I adore. You're always a gentlemen, and while you, too, drive me nuts sometimes, I love hanging out with you at RHA and otherwise. You crack me up, and I love mothering you. I hope you know that I think you're an amazing person, and the mischief we could get into if left to our own devices could potentially end the world or cause the zombie apocalypse. But it would be so much fun it would be completely worth it.

Shane. You are hilarious. You're sweet, and kind, and you have a huge heart, and I love you to death (in a platonic way). Last year, you told me that I was loved, and I needed to hear that more than you could ever imagine. You're a great friend, and I wish that we could see more of each other. I do apologize for trying to kill you for stealing the Egg...mostly. God is doing amazing things through you, and it's awesome to witness. I'm so proud to call you a friend, because you're one of the most caring people I've ever met in my life, and you seem to always have a smile on your face. Your happiness is infectious, and you can always make me smile. Thank you for that.

And there you have it. Those seven men right there are all wonderful, and I love them all so much. I really just wanted to brag about how inspirational they've been in my life. I've recently met someone who made me realize, I want someone more like these men. Men who are gentlemen, respectful, kind, and funny. When I woke up this morning, I realized something -- I deserve a gentlemen. I don't need to settle for a jerk who shows interest in me. I deserve better than that -- I deserve to feel secure, and loved, and happy. Someone who actually takes a legitimate interest in me; in my life; in my struggles. Not someone who only talks about himself, and never asks questions about my life. And more than anything, I'm only twenty years old. Twenty! I have so much of my life to live! Would I be opposed to a significant other? No. But I'm not going to settle for anything less than what I've listed. More importantly, as much as I love my friends, I don't want to be like some of them, engaged and getting married, especially not while I'm still an undergraduate. If it was grad school, maybe, but we're in our very early twenties. I shouldn't be rushing from college, to dating the first guy I meet, to getting engaged, to graduating, to getting married, to having children! What about my dreams? What about my life? When you're married, everything changes -- you reevaluate your dreams and change your life to accommodate a second person in your life! It's not to say it's a bad thing, it just means that plans change, especially if you have a child! I have a long time before I start needing to "worry" about being single. For now, I'm happy with my life, just as it is. If my relationship status changes, so be it, but for now? For now, I am happy, and refuse to settle for anything less than what these men have shown me a good guy should exhibit.

That time I got caught in a love triangle

Sometimes I wonder if God likes to write tragedies. Or perhaps just very sad comedies.

Maybe I should give some context. I've liked this guy for a long time -- longer than I'm honestly willing to admit. And over the past month, I feel like most of my chances with him have been shot. Why, you ask? Because my life is a sad comedy.

It's actually a bit harder than you would think as to where to start. Probably about a month ago, when I found out that several years ago he actually really liked one of my roommates. Which made me feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. But I'm over that, mostly. Because, I mean, I'm a girl. We compare ourselves like none other, and find all of the flaws in ourselves and tell ourselves we're not good enough, so why bother? But don't worry -- my church pastor preached the following Sunday on that sort of thing. Definitely set me straight. So like I said, I'm over that. Mostly. It does make me reconsider some things that may have happened previously. But whatever.

The next bullet to my love life is that a friend of ours has been making me extremely uncomfortable. He did it a few times last year, but then he got a girlfriend! It was beautiful. I had nothing to worry about, because he had some other girl to keep him occupied. I was pleased as could be. Then they broke up. GML (if you don't get that, go back to Oh, Gud...). Ever since then he's been making me uncomfortable again. He invades my bubble, he walked me to my door on the third floor (my roommates' boyfriends don't even always do that). He keeps sitting down next to me, so that when we play games in the Stu, I wind up pressing myself into the wall to leave space between us. Not to mention he has this foot fetish, and I like painting my toenails and walking around barefoot, so thanks a lot for that! Now I have to be sure to wear shoes, whenever I happen to remember (luckily, my dearest roommate reminded me to put on socks last night). Which is lame! I mean, I paint my toes for a reason, and soon I'm going to have to be running around with shoes on all the time anyway, so great. If I do happen to be barefoot around him, I suddenly remember, and feel this urge to cover up my feet. Foot fetishes are just weird, guys.

You wanna know the punchline to the above, though? Get ready, it's pretty amazing. He's the guy I like's roommate and friend. So basically, if they're like most people, you don't like the person your friend likes, or at least don't make a move on them. Do not even start with things like, "You shouldn't lead him on," and, "Why not give him a chance?" Because he's not my type, and that sounds stupid, but I am actually turned off by him, rather than just neutral. And I haven't lead him on. I have straight out told him that he's been friendzoned (yes, I used that word, and I hate that term), and that he's specifically not my type. And when I say he's not my type, I don't just mean aesthetically (though there's that, too). Look, I like guys typically that have strong jaw lines (which he does not), guys that are witty (which he is not, particularly), guys that are funny (pity laughs do not count), and frankly, guys that I don't feel smarter than. Not to sound vain or pompous, but he does things a lot that I'm just like, "Seriously, what are you thinking??" Academically he's not doing too hot, and it reflects in some of the things he'll say or do. Also, I don't like being treated more softly just for being a girl. There's a difference between treating a girl like a lady and just giving handouts. Don't fart in front of me; that's acting like you think I'm a lady. Letting me beat you at a game is a handout. No. If I'm going to kick your ass, it's going to be on my own terms. It's more of an accomplishment that way. A vagina doesn't mean I'm helpless, it just means you think you need to "go easy" on me.

So, there's that. And I don't know, because the guy I actually like has so many female friends that sometimes it's a little disheartening. Like I said, girls compare themselves. I'm trying not to, I really am, but it happens. And I saw this picture that looked like he might be holding this girl's hand, but it's not really clear, so you can't quite tell. It could go either way. But he also brought a girl home the other night (not the same girl...I looked...), and in a panic (because at that point in time I didn't know it wasn't the same girl), I finished destroying his roommates at SSBM, made a lame excuse about it being late and being tired, and got the hell out of dodge. Stupid, I know, but because I had seen the picture the night before and was already a little wounded and confused, the fact that he brought a girl who had similar dark hair home made me freak out.

So, yeah. My life is a really sad comedy. I'd love if it would improve soon, but I don't know what to do about most of this stuff. I like hanging out with the two, but the problems are as thus: 1.) If my friend keeps making me uncomfortable, I'm not going to want to be around him, and I don't know how to express that without sounding like a jerk if it's all in my head; 2.) If the guy I like doesn't like me, then that hurts a lot, and I'll want some space; 3.) If he actually now is interested and starts dating a girl, then he will no doubt bring her around to hang out, and just after the other night, I know I cannot handle that. And the worst part is, I wouldn't be able to explain it to either of them why their friend has suddenly stopped hanging out with them, and says no. But I'd have to, and it would make things ten times worse. "I can't hang out with you, because I don't like you and you're making me uncomfortable. I can't hang out with you because I've liked you for such a long time that I can't handle being around you if I know for a fact that you don't like me, too." That's awesome. My life is awesome.

The organ with an attitude problem....

There is one thing that unites each and every single woman, whether they be mother and daughter, in the Western Hemisphere or the Eastern, best friends or mortal enemies. They all experience the same bloodshed, the same battle wounds, the same pains...all at the expense of the same hellion.

Fair warning, men, if any of the following words scares you, I highly recommend running away to find some other "manly" blog (i.e., something about drills, trucks, tools, mud...whatever it is your species likes): uterus, vagina, or ovaries. Any of you still around? Well, then, I applaud you. You might withstand getting married. It happens to all of us women, whether you like it or not. Don't worry, though. I'm pretty sure that the other guys who ran for it will wind up having all daughters. Now, onward!

So, for those of you who weren't aware of it, there's a small, powerful organ inside each and every woman. It produces the miracle of life. Beautiful, right? Wrong. This organ has serious attitude problems and a vendetta against each and every single woman in which it resides. If you think you and your uterus have a good, happy relationship, then I laugh. I'd be careful. She's a very pissy creature, and changes her feelings for you on a whim. Sometimes, she'll be merciful, and prolong the inevitable by a few days when there's something important going on -- like a long car ride somewhere and back. Sometimes, she won't give you any symptoms other than the one she absolutely has to, but sometimes even that won't be so bad. And then sometimes, something in her just snaps, and you find yourself growing a headache, feeling nauseous, with a backache, and so tired that focusing in class is impossible, and all of this makes no sense to you, because you shouldn't be having any symptoms for another week. Then the cramps start, and you realize what she's doing, and you find yourself curled up in your bed in the fetal position, clinging to a heating pad for dear life, and wishing you hadn't been nice enough to give your roommate the last of your Tylenol just a few hours before all of this started.

To any man who has ever questioned a woman's pains, let's make one thing clear: No uterus, no vagina, no opinion. If you can't bleed constantly for a week once a month, every month, without dying, then you shouldn't say anything. There are just some things you will never understand, and the symptoms of a period is one of them. There are the obvious ones -- cramps, that make a woman want to scream and rip out her uterus and offer it as a sacrifice if it means the pain will stop -- and then there are the not so obvious ones -- the headaches, backaches, the everything-aches-so-will-you-please-just-stop-talking-and-let-me-lie-here-while-I-die. A girl may feel nauseous, may have an increased or decreased appetite for being a carnivore (I personally go vegetarian for a couple of days when the symptoms are really bad), may find herself much more tired than usual.

Then there's what men like to label "PMS" and blame for all of our pissy behavior, but to be fair, we're experiencing so many other physical symptoms and the loss of an organ whom just last month was being very nice to us, that being friendly isn't a high priority. Now, to say that women get angry on their period would be a vast understatement. We don't get angry. We get irritated, and sad, and happy, and confident, and self-conscious. It's like a roller coaster self-esteem wise, which in turn leads to a roller coaster mood wise. One second, you feel like you can take on the world. The next, you find yourself once again curled up in the fetal position in your bed, clutching your heating pad, coming to the conclusion that you will die alone.

Sometimes, your uterus is more of a bitch than others. Sometimes she chooses to make you start early in the most inconvenient places -- such as five minutes after you get through security at the airport. And, since you weren't supposed to start for another several days, you have nothing in your carry-on to remedy the situation. Of course, it should be simple. Public restrooms always have those little things you can buy tampons or pads from. Except when they're out of order. And then you begin to think your uterus is really plotting against you and wants nothing more than to see you dead. Sitting in the stall, you may find yourself wondering what on earth you're going to do, when you sigh, choosing the not-so-appealing option which is your best bet at making sure your jeans don't get wounded from your uterus's vendetta. Wadding up a ton of toilet paper, you stick it in your underwear, making a flimsy, makeshift pad, and say a small prayer to God that you can make it safely in the next three hours to the other airport where hopefully their little machine won't be out-of-order.

Making a note of the 25 cents the out-of-order machine costs, you hurry to wait by your gate. When the cramps start in, you close your eyes and breathe slowly, using every ounce of your brain to recall what you learned about meditation and pain in your stress and anxiety class the semester before. It actually seems to work, and you say another little prayer thanking God. Finally, you board the plane, and sit for three hours, hoping that this will go well and that your toilet paper pad will last. Three hours crawl by, and at last, you find yourself practically running to the restroom. You checked while at the gate, and saw you had exactly one quarter, the same amount you needed at the other airport. And then you walk in, see the machine, see that it's perfectly in order, and -- it costs 50 cents. Damnation. Stifling a sob, you find yourself once again in a stall, wondering why your uterus is doing this to you. You have to make a new toilet paper pad, because the other one is no longer in working condition. It was a brave soldier. You sigh, and resolve to yourself that you will be at your apartment soon, where pads are plentiful, as are tampons. Finding your roommates, you give them a giant hug, happy to see them, but even more happy that they mean home. After an hour long car ride, that seems to take longer than normal (though that could be because the roommate driving is a safe, slow driver), you burst through the doors of your apartment. You say hi excitedly to two of your other roommates, then make a beeline for the door. At last, you have the proper equipment to take care of your uterus's hissy fit. It only took five hours.

And that is why, from that point on, even if it's in the middle of your cycle and you know you won't be starting soon, you pack at plenty of equipment. Just in case your uterus decides it's in a pissy mood again.