The boy came into class one day with a broken arm and I thought to myself, ‘if I broke my arm too, then maybe he would like me because we have something in common!’ Brilliant approach for a 5 year old if you ask me. I tried everything I could to break my arm on the playground until I got bored and went back to digging for Indian clay. But alas, I was just the weird kid who collected glue and sang Whitney Houston songs on the swing set. I never ended up breaking my arm and he never spoke to me.

A few years later I had a crush on another boy named Matt. He was the bees knees (though I’ve seen pictures of him now and let me tell ya…I dodged a bullet on this one). Matt paid me no attention. He preferred the girls who were allowed to shave their legs and had started growing breasts. My mom did not allow me to shave yet and when I stole her razor to do it anyway I cut my leg so badly I had a scab in the shape of Italy up my shin bone. Also, I’m still waiting for my boobs to grow so I was just simply screwed.

One day I was riding my bike with some friends (including Matt). My bike wheel hit a rock. I flew over the handlebars and skid across the cement. Luckily my bike suffered no damage because my tiny nine year old body broke its fall. I stood up, brushed myself off (made sure there was nothing wrong with my pink/purple hypercolor shirt) and noticed the blood spewing from my knee. I wanted to cry….badly, but in an effort to impress Matt I acted like it was no big. He was not impressed. In fact I think maybe I creeped him out a bit.

For years and years this went on the same way. I would like boys who wanted nothing to do with me. I would try to impress them to no avail and I would go home and cry over my romantic misfortune. It wasn’t until my latest failed attempt to fit a square peg into a round hole that I realized that its not going to do any good to keep hurting myself in order to capture a man’s affection.

My solution is not to change the way I choose a mate, what would be the fun in that?! Nay, my solution is to take my woeful tales and entertain you all with them. Lets face it…I’m no good at dating. Probably never will be. I will probably end up with a house full of hairless cats and cross stitched murals of unicorns and wizards. But I’m OK with that because I like me and if I have to spend the next fifty years entertaining myself with mindless drivel then so be it.

So as I sit here sulking, whining, feeling helplessly sorry for myself while listening to Rilo Kiley’s “Breakin’ Up” on repeat until my ears bleed, you can take solace in knowing that your love life cannot possibly be worse than mine.

Moral of the story? Pick yourself up and get out there! Whats a few heart stopping, drink straight from the bottle, never get out of bed all weekend, cry when you see happy commercials, rip up all his pictures break-ups? Let yourself be sad, but after a weekend of despondency its onto the next. After all, there are plenty of ostriches on the farm.

Live, Love & Let Go.

Do I tell you how he kissed me
or leave that boring shit out?
Do I kill him now?
And if so how?
Or aint I got the clout?