The Fuckboy

The Fuckboy

Us girls grew up watching movies where the main actress always fell in love with the asshole and she continuously failed to see The Other Guy standing by her side. This Other Guy, he was such a good guy. He could care for the girl like no one else could and love her more than she thought was capable. As a viewer, it was infuriating watching because that never happens, we always recognize the good guys who deserve our love when we see them… Or so I thought.

I have a good guy. He cares about me. He treats me well. He wants to spoil me although I don’t let him. God he’s such a good guy. And the thing is I want to like him so badly. I want to return those feelings he has expressed so deeply for me but the truth of the matter is, another guy has my heart. And he doesn’t even know it…. But maybe he does?

This guy is no good guy: he is textbook definition of “a fuckboy.” He plays with my emotions and maybe he does know he holds the combination to the safe hiding the key to unlock the chains that have forever surrounded my heart. So why do I like this Fuckboy? Why do I like him when I have that Other Guy, The Nice Guy vying for my attention? I have told myself countless times, rationally speaking who is better to have feelings for (Spoiler alert: it’s The Nice Guy). But all those cliches I’ve learned since before I can even remember keep replaying in the back of my head: Ultimately, I have to have trust in what my heart is feeling and forget about what my head is trying to piece together.

My heart is telling me The Fuckboy makes me laugh. My heart is telling me The Fuckboy gives me butterflies. My heart is telling me I would rather love The Fuckboy with every ounce of my being even if it ended in my heart being broken more than it’s every been broken before. I’m willing to be vulnerable for him and open my heart up to him if he gives me the chance.

I have this chance with The Nice Guy but the difference is I don’t want this chance with him. Like I’ve said, I want to like him so badly but at the end of the day I have to be honest with myself and the truth is we just don’t mesh well as a couple.

One day I will find a man that makes me laugh and makes me want to love like The Fuckboy but he will also love me more than I ever thought capable like The Other Guy. I will find another Other Guy one day and he’s going to make me happier than I’ve ever been in my life and I can’t wait for that day. But in the meantime, I can’t wait for the journey to find him, even if it means breaking hearts and getting my heart broken.

June 16th

June 16th

It’s 12:02am on June 16th, 2016. It is officially my least favorite day of the year: my birthday. I hate my birthday. I can’t explain why, I just do. It almost makes me mad when my friends and family ask what I want to do, saying we HAVE to celebrate. But why? See I think the thing I hate most about birthdays is they are so impersonal. We choose to celebrate people for one day every year on a date that was decided by chance. Can you imagine if we didn’t know when anyone’s birthdays were?! We would choose to celebrate people whenever we wanted because we think they deserved to be celebrated! That would mean so much more and would actually be personal. When my friends say we should celebrate on the anniversary of my birth, they are only saying that because they think that’s what we are supposed to do. I would appreciate a card so much more on February 7th or August 10th or whatever random day of the year because it lets me know someone was thinking of me because they wanted to and not because they were supposed to. I am not a year older; I’m a day older. I shouldn’t be celebrated; merely surviving doesn’t deserve to be celebrated. I am not any wiser because of my age; I learn through my experiences, not my age. It is now 12:20 on June 16th, 2016. It is still my least favorite day of the year. Although I hate birthdays, I still want to make a wish. I wish one day I’ll live in a world where my life is celebrated based on my accomplishments, the value of my friendship, and on not just surviving but truly living on a day that means absolutely nothing because my friends and family thought I deserved it. But since who ever reads this now knows my wish, I won’t be surprised when it never comes true.

To Sara:

To Sara:

There have been countless of times when I have said, “That was the funniest moment of my life”, “They are the nicest person I have ever met”, or “That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” We are all guilty of it, I know it’s not just me. But have you ever stopped and thought about who really is the nicest person you have ever met? Do I actually have a funniest moment of my life? Was that truly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me?

All of my blogs thus far have been thoughts, ideas, beliefs I have thought a lot about before. However, I’m laying in bed right now, reflecting on my life: the good, the bad, new friends, forever goodbyes, role models, best friends (both those of the human and furry nature) and I randomly thought about something incredibly sweet one of my friends did for me. And I wanted to write about it because honestly, writing about a minuscule moment in my life which doubles as the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me is about a million times better than the thoughts floating in my head pre-blog.

When I was 16 years old, my dog was 17. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out given this math, my dog was there my entire life; I had never lived a day without him. When I was 16 years old, I came home from school at lunch one day because it was time for me to say my forever goodbye to my furry best friends (remember noted above, I was reflecting on life about both of those things). Cooper, my dog, was not only my best friend, but my cuddle buddy, partner in crime since the womb, and I loved him so much, dog was my first word as a baby. Not ‘mama’ not ‘dada’ but dog. My theory is even as a baby, I understood dogs would become my greatest love in life and best friends that never disappointed and only loved you unconditionally, flaws and all.

So back to my point, sweetest moment ever: I said goodbye to Cooper and I was devastated. I cried so much my eyes were swollen shut the next morning. All my friends knew how much Cooper meant and still means to me. I got apology texts, endless hugs, hand written cards from good friends, even a Jamba Juice giftcard, but nothing compared to what my best friend Sara got me.

I had been crying all day and she just wanted put a smile on my face. She bought my my favorite coffee and snack from Starbucks and put the name “Fat Amy” on the order (Pitch Perfect is one of my Top 3 favorite movies and I may or may not aspire to be like Fat Amy… Okay not actually but she’s fucking hilarious). It was something so simple but it made me smile on the worst day thus far in my life. It has always stood out in the years since and I think it will be one of those things I never forget. And why should I? It was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.