underqualified as f_ck

PLEASE NOTE: I’m still friends with a lot of friends from college and I’ve grown up (maybe) since my 2nd year of college, so I’ve fabricated some events and catered them to sound more story-like than real to convey a fun read rather than to bash on anyone. I’m not even sharing this on any social media, so I doubt anyone will find it, but I’m providing this disclaimer just in case.

As Beyonce said in the bridge of Destiny’s Child’s “Survivor”:

You know I’m not gon’ diss you on the internet,
cause my mama taught me better than that.

Without further ado, let’s begin.

I’ve always had commitment issues. From changing my profile picture on MySpace to going from “liking” a boy to “like-liking” a boy, I was the girl who went to prom with her best guy friend because, like N’SYNC once sang, there were noOo strings attached.

https://soundcloud.com/evilneedleprod/sunday-morning

I never had a real boyfriend in high school. I had an on and off relationship with this guy throughout high school, who would do this really fun thing where he’d tell me he liked me and then ask another girl to be his girlfriend. He’d text me when they were fighting, seeking comfort, to which I would succumb to because I’m a weak piece of sh*t. This happened five or six times throughout high school, so naturally, that whole “being vulnerable” thing was not an activity I wished to engage in. 

In college, I decided that I would give the “relationship” concept a try because, honestly, I finally had the freedom to have a boy over in my room whenever I wanted (meaning whenever my two roommates were not in the room and we weren’t in class… so like between 4-5:30pm).

Ah, the exhilaration of college.

In my 2^nd year, I had gotten over my, “WHY DON’T I HAVE A BOYFRIEND?!” phase and found inner peace being single, not needing to mingle. As soon as I told myself I was okay being alone, a suitor presented himself – I hate when people say a relationship will come once you stop looking, but of course, it happened. Damn it.

One of my good friends introduced me to her “little brother” figure at a club.

Our hips, like Shakira’s, only told truths; our shoes stuck onto the floors covered in spilled AMF’s; our fingers laced as if we’d known each other for more than 20 minutes.

Call me a romantic, sigh.

He courted me via Facebook, and we started messaging for a few days. I treated it incredibly platonically; I was still in the zen state of single and chillin’. One night around 4am, he came over on his break from work, and we shared our first kiss innocently on my bed.

From then on, we met in between classes, we studied together, we had dates at our dining halls – it was everything I ever dreamed of.

Summer came, and though we lived in different parts of California, we still texted every day. As school was starting up again, my roommates decided to throw an apartment-warming party. I didn’t invite him because I was feeling kind of ambivalent towards him and our relationship because of reasons, and I was really excellent at avoiding conflict. My roommate ran into him at Ralph’s and invited him to surprise me!

I hate surprises.

That night, we had a drunken fight, which led to tears and no texting for a few days. In those nights of solitude, I reflected on my actions and concluded that I would try to be a better girlfriend. He texted me asking to meet up on the first day of school, and I was prepared to tell him that I would try harder, for us.

“I think we can both agree that this is over.”

What…? Obviously I didn’t agree, but I was too shocked to fight. I looked at him as he looked down at his hands, and then noticed a brown mark on his neck. We hadn’t hooked up in a few weeks, and that sh*t looked fresh.

I inquire.

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

In tears, I storm off to my first class, which was not a huge lecture that I could hide in but instead, was an intimate class of 14.

That night, he texts me asking to meet up to “clarify things,” which I assumed meant explaining his little neck job…

But it didn’t. Instead, I was greeted with,

“So this is really over, right?”

“Are you going to explain to me what the hell is on your neck?”

“It’s actually a bruise.”

“Why did you let me leave yesterday thinking that you had cheated on me?”

“Well, I did… in the summer.”

From that day until the end of the school year, he wrote me love poems in illegible cursive, he bought me chocolates, he Built A Bear for me, and he wrote sad things on his Tumblr that he didn’t know I knew about.

I was Korea-bound for the summer, and he asked if we had a chance of getting back together. I truly contemplated it, but decided to stick by that, “Once a cheater, always a cheater” thing.

A few hours after our exchange, I get a text from my roommate saying that he and the good friend who set us up just hooked up.

In my apartment.

And neither of them told me until months later.

Via Facebook messenger.

They’re still dating.

In conclusion,

I really should have majored in science because my dating life was B.S.