I’m short. Really short. I’m 23-years-old, and I’m only 5 feet tall. I might not be the shortest girl in the world, but let’s just say that I have met an uncomfortable amount of kindergarteners who are actually taller than me. Now, when you first meet me, you might feel compelled to tell me how short I am (i.e., “Wow, you’re really short.”). But really, there’s no need for that. I kind of already know — I do own a mirror.

I grew up in a tiny family. I don’t mean weirdly tiny, we’re just all petite — parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents included. I never knew it wasn’t completely normal until I started getting old enough for kids at school to start picking on me for it. I’m pretty sure I was always the tiniest kid in my class: constantly at the front of the line when we were in height order, always squirming in my seat to see the board or the movie better, and always being patted on the head and being told how cute and little I was.

When I was younger, I hated being short. I went through middle school and the first few years of high school literally praying every night for God to make me grow just a few inches taller. I stared at the taller girls with envy. They didn’t get easily mixed up with a crowd of first-graders and they definitely never had trouble playing basketball in gym. I used to feel like a freak, like I would forever be defined as “the short girl”.

It took a while, but I finally learned to love being short. If I’m being honest, yes, I would like at least 2 inches added to my height (is that really so much to ask, God?!), but I’m pretty happy with my tiny stature. Still, there are definitely some things that are a little annoying about being the short girl.

For one thing, heels are a must. Now, don’t get me wrong — I love me a good pair of heels (show me a girl who doesn’t), but sometimes those things can freakin’ hurt. And if you’re not vertically challenged, you have no idea how difficult it is to shop for a pair of jeans. I have to search for petites everywhere, but in most stores, even those are too long on me. I have to get almost all of my denim hemmed, which costs extra money and extra time. Plus, most dresses and skirts are destined to be too long on me as well.

I’m also constantly being mistaken for being younger than I am because besides my height, I also have a baby face. Yes, I know, this will be great when I’m older. But when I was 19-years-old, trying to sneak into bars with my fake ID that all my friends easily got into, it wasn’t great. And when I’m out and a stranger I’m talking to asks what grade or year I’m in in school (I graduated college almost three years ago), it’s not that great either.

But the thing that annoys me the most? Being told by almost everyone I know how short I am. I don’t really mind when my friends or family comment on my height, but when complete strangers feel like it’s necessary to announce how short I am, it’s just plain rude. Oh, and please don’t rest your elbow on my shoulder because I’m “the perfect height,” or pat me on the head and tell me how little and cute I am unless you’d like me to dislike you forever.

Despite the annoyances, being short really isn’t that bad. Okay, so I always have to have someone reach for the things on the higher shelves for me, and I just can’t seem to pull off the maxi-skirt trend right now (no idea how the Olsen twins do it). But I kind of like being little. I can squeeze through crowds really easily, I can still fit in some kids clothes (hello, cheaper prices!) and I never have to worry about being taller than my date. All in all, it’s pretty much a win-win.

Wanna know which celebs measure in on the shorter side? Take a look below and embrace the vertically challenged!

To me, saying I’m insecure sounds a little harsh. It sounds a little wobbly and flaky. It sounds dishonest and awkward. Sometimes, it seems like I’m a little too big for it, kind of like Alice in Wonderland after she ate that piece of crack bread and grew her arms out of a cottage. But I’m willing to believe actually admitting an insecurity of any sort is the first step to fixing it. And I’m very willing to believe that I’m not the only one out there feeling a little bit…emotional and unsure.

Of course there are a lot of things I’m positive and confident about. In relationships, the future, my friends, where my life is going…I am confident and positive that I love to write. I am confident and positive that I am treating my body like a temple (aside from the occasional Sunday morning after a night out at the bars). I am confident and positive that the Lady Gaga’s song called ‘Hair’ makes me feel THIS close to climbing a mountain wearing an 80′s outfit.  I am confident and positive that I deeply love my family, friends, horses, Jesus and Minnesota. I am confident.

But sh*t, I’m insecure too. I never know what I want with relationships. Do I want to make out with this guy at the bar, sleep over at his house and wake up like Sex in the City Samantha and walk out feeling like a million dollars? Do I follow a strict pattern of going on countless dates, letting the guy buy the first meal, wait for a second date, begin intensely dating and wake up for an early special and do it every morning to Maroon 5? Do I have a type? Am I not good enough for him/anyone just because one guy didn’t call me back?

I’m insecure about friendships. It’s hard to keep track of everybody after college — and I’m always worried I’m going to lose my friends just because I can’t communicate with them on a daily basis anymore. Even though I know deep down inside that probably won’t happen — I always catch myself checking up on a friend just to make sure they don’t forget about me/fall of planet earth/move to Africa.

I’m insecure about the future. Will I make enough money to live a comfortable life? Above all–will I look back when I’m 80 and feel fulfilled up to the very brim of my life coffee pot. Hot and steamy, with the giant satisfaction that I lived an energetic and rich life? What if I chose A instead of B? Does that make me any less of an ideal me?

In the thick of it, my insecurities ride from trying to define myself, in a way that I think is beautiful and perfect. I’m always striving to define myself one certain way. And it’s making me insecure. I can’t quite decide where I want to go with…everything. I’m always asking myself:

“Am I OK with this?”

I recently heard something the other day that flickered a little light on the subject of insecurities. Since they sprout from properly defining yourself in retrospect to others, I think it would help to understand something; what beauty means to you. Understand that a beautiful person is a sincere person. In the form of sincerity, it is important for everyone to be themselves in all its realness. Whatever it means to be you, be it! If you’re funny and shy, be funny and shy in all of its honesty. If you are clumsy and emotional and mysterious, be all of that and don’t look back.

Insecurities are things we don’t know about ourselves, to a point where we may not understand where we are going with personal defining. But when we know who we are, and are sincere about who we are, everything will seem more clear. I’m not insecure about that.

“Good girls always end up single because we don’t give it up.”

A tweet similar to this popped up on my Twitter timeline, and my first reaction was merely to roll my eyes and keep scrolling. But hours later, it continued to haunt me. This attitude that you have to be sexually available in order to get a boyfriend isn’t exactly new. I remember in middle school, the girls who always had a steady stream of boyfriends were always surrounded by the rumors that it’s because they gave blow jobs. Even now, I have friends who constantly attract male attention, and other women speculate that it’s because they’re easier to have sex with, and guys can pick up on this.

I understand how this idea comes to fruition. I don’t agree with it (slut shaming, general hatefulness, and completely ignoring the role men play in gender dynamics are three of my least favorite things), but I get it. Our society’s relationship and conceptualization of female sexuality is weird, at best. We expect women to be pretty, sexually desirable, and comfortable with engaging with sexual activity, but not “excessively” so. There’s also a strand of competitiveness that tends to creep into women’s interactions with other women, and so naturally, if we feel like we’re “losing”, we’re going to be inclined to bash our competition, which doesn’t really do anything for us. Because I mean, while we’re sitting here seething and hating on the girls who may or may not be dirty, slutty whores, they’re still out there, meeting and entrancing guys, while the good girls hang out on the sidelines.

So instead of shaming sluts, let’s talk about the reason why the sluts get the guys. It’s not actually about whether or not their vaginas are open for business. It’s all about attitude. It’s about owning exactly who you are. The thing with “slutty” girls is that they don’t care about the rules. They wear heels as high as they want to, with dresses as short as they want, and they flirt as much as they want to, and they’re not worried about anyone else’s opinion of them. They’re just out there, living life and having fun. That’s attractive. That’s intoxicating. People like being around other people who aren’t bogged down in superficial baggage. You don’t have to be slutty to be attractive. You have to be you.

I’m one of the most awkward women you’d ever meet. I’m bad at making eye contact. I get rambly. Sometimes I say “f*ck” too much. I’d much rather spend my Saturday night laying in bed, eating Smartfood, and watching the Lifetime Movie Network than going out to bars. I trip when I wear my favorite stilettos. And I’m in an awesome relationship with a sexy boy when before I met him, I barely knew how to give a BJ. Why is that? Because I came to terms with who I am a long time ago. I’m aware that I’m flawed, that I’ll never be Megan Fox fierce, and I’m content with it. I focus on being the best version of myself, instead of being the “better” version of someone else.

Once you become comfortable with who you are — whether you are a girl who has sex on the first date or a girl who is waiting for marriage, you can get attention from guys (or girls). Just have the confidence to be exactly who you are, and someone will notice.

Oh no, does my hair look OK like this?

Sex. It’s a love-hate relationship. While it should be “love at first orgasm,” all the bending and unflattering positions have me thinking more about my body than about the big “O.” And then there’s my ability to perform – am I good? Am I bad? Am I so bad that he tells all his friends about it? Does he notice me lying there thinking about all these things?

It’s a series of events during an evening that lead me to experience the “insecurity plague.”  Here’s the breakdown:

8 PM- Dinner is over; the date’s going good. We’re both feeling it. Suddenly, he reaches over and pulls me in for a kiss. He’s got soft lips and for a brief moment, I’m lost in eternal bliss. But then, I remember the onions I ate in my salad at dinner and quickly pull my tongue back, wondering if my breath smells.

9 PM- Soon after, we’re in his bedroom. We start making out and it’s getting’ hot and heavy. He pulls my shirt down and unhooks my bra. I’m packin’ the Ds so it’s hard not to worry about my breasts when it comes to sex. They’re heavy, so they lack the extra perk. Questions run through my head. Do my boobs look weird when I’m lying on my back? Are my nipples too big? How big are nipples suppose to be anyway?!

9:02 PM- Before I know it, he’s unzipping my jeans and making his way south. I go right into my head: What underwear am I wearing? Please don’t let it be the granny panties. Phew, it’s the stripey boy shorts. Does he like boy shorts or is he more of a thong guy? OK, looks like he doesn’t mind. As he makes his way south from my lips, I fear my nether regions are not up to par. And then I start wondering: Did I miss any hair while shaving? OMG- what if he thinks my ingrown hairs and razor burn is an STD? Does my vagina look weird?  Does it smell….fresh?

9:06 PM- He went down on me, so it’s time to reciprocate. I start to wonder if he likes what I’m doing. Nobody ever said I was bad, but nobody ever said I was good either. Am I going too fast? Too slow? Are those good sounds? Wait, why did he stop making sounds? Uh oh, did my teeth just hit his penis?! We’ll never make it to a second date if I let my teeth get in the way!

9:11 PM- By now, we’re both completely naked. He reaches over to his nightstand and grabs a condom. All of a sudden, a wave of worry runs through me: is this a one-night stand? Call me prude, but I’m not down to bump and grind unless I’m damn sure I’m going to be bumpin’ and grindin’ with the same guy every night.

9:12 PM- About two seconds after we start, I begin to wondering how many other girls he’s done this with recently.  I try to tell myself not to worry; we’ve got a condom, everything will be okay.

9:25 PM- I’m getting close to the big O when, suddenly, he makes one wrong move and the feeling’s gone…donezo! Just like that. It takes time to build back up, and I’m worrying if I am taking too long. I’m concentrating so hard on how long it’s taking me, I forget how to orgasm. I need to stop thinking so much. He’s totally going to notice I’m thinking too much. Get in the moment, woman!

9:35 PM- I think he’s getting bored. He flips me over. I feel more self-conscious than ever. My breasts are shaking. I hope he doesn’t notice. And my ass is in plain view for him to see! It’s shaking too. I wonder if he can see the dimples on my butt, or if the sound of me slapping against him bothers him as much as it does me.

9:37 PM- It’s over. He’s finished. At least I think he finished. Did he finish? OMG, what if he faked it? What if it was so bad he just wants it to be over so he can go to sleep? Is he going to call again? I hope he calls again.

How to work a braid

7 things no one told you about getting older

A show about the porn industry!?

The power of sexual touch

How to wear hoops like a grown-up

Dress like a pretty little liar

How long is too long when you’re having sex

]]> http://collegecandy.com/2010/08/19/candy-dish-welcome-back-braids/feed/ 0 ccandystaff braid copy http://collegecandy.com/2010/08/02/hooking-up-girls-just-wanna-have-fun-right/ http://collegecandy.com/2010/08/02/hooking-up-girls-just-wanna-have-fun-right/#comments Mon, 02 Aug 2010 16:00:47 +0000 Brittany - University of Saint Thomas http://collegecandy.com/?p=67153 a sycamore tree in the quad a Sports Illustrated swimsuit poster while double-fisting a Coors. It's a strange college ideal, but let's face it: in college, hooking up comes as natural as canning two Red Bull 30 minutes deep into a study session. ]]> Ever since I flipped through the many college brochures in high school, I had my own college fantasy.  I saw frat boys making out with sorority girls under a sycamore tree in the quad a Sports Illustrated swimsuit poster while double-fisting a Coors, ‘Van Wilder’ playing in the background. It’s a strange college ideal, but let’s face it: in college, hooking up comes as natural as canning two Red Bull 30 minutes deep into a study session. What do you expect from a slew of horny, freshly-free kids placed in a small colony of dorm rooms?  From the very first night of college the constant pressure to hook up with people looms like the haze of a drunk-buzz. And it’s the norm.

Random hook ups are not only not shunned in college, they’re expected. College is a get-by-free pass for having fun and making out.

I’m not saying everyone hooks up in college, but for the majority of the student body, hooking up is a given.  Meeting new prospective hook-ups you’ll most likely regret in the morning and dish with your roomies is as expected as walking into the library and walking out with a book. It’s free and returnable.

Under most circumstances, girls will say hooking up is fun and carefree.  After a few beers, there is nothing wrong with making out and fooling around with a cute college boy that has a baby-face and likes to dance with you next to the beer pong table.  And hooking up doesn’t have to involve drinking either.  We’re all familiar with the term ‘booty-call.’  Simple attraction and a life sans parental units can ignite hook-ups and the ‘no strings attached’ attitude.  That’s why hooking up is fun!  You never have to worry about meeting families, what his favorite baseball team is, or if you should text him or call him the next day.

But, what if hook-ups are about more than ‘I just want to let loose and have fun?’  Before I say this next statement, you somehow have to bare with me. OK, here goes: I read ‘I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell’ by Tucker Max and while the guy is a complete douche, I think he might be onto something.  Whew, OK, punch a pillow or something pretending it’s my face.  Now that we got that out of the way, here’s why I think Mr. Max may have made a valid point.  He once stated that he goes for girls who are insecure because they are the easiest to hook up with.  Ignoring the fact that Tucker Max introduced this concept to me, hear me out.

What if hooking up is more than fun and games?  What if we hook up because we’re insecure? Think about it: insecurities make people do silly things and hooking up with a random is definitely silly.  Although we may think we’re “having fun” and “getting some,” are we really just filling a void? Trying to build ourselves up/ Insecurities make us feel unloved and unwanted; is hooking up a crutch to help us feel like we’re loved and wanted, if only momentarily?

The attention gained from a hook-up feels positive and real.  For as long as a hook-up lasts (whether it’s for a night, or an ongoing affair), it makes us feel better. You’re with a guy that is clearly attracted to you enough to be rolling around the sheets with you. You feel sexy, wanted, and excited to be a part of the hook-up culture so prevalent on campus. Do we play these random nights up in our head to be “fun” when really they are a failed attempt in emotional attentiveness? Are we so insecure that we fear a real relationship, thus hooking up to avoid the feelings (and potential rejection) that a real, healthy relationship would provide?

Let that sink in for a moment.
Then ponder this:

Can we have a solid hook-up completely sans insecurity, or is insecurity in a hook-up as expected as the awkward walk-of-shame in the morning? Could Tucker Max be right (yes, I used Tucker Max and the word ‘right’ in the same sentence), or is it possible for perfectly confident girls to be in it for fun?

It’s your call. What do you think?

What is he thinking?!

Got a little question for Tuffy Luv? She’s got a little answer for you! Email questions to TuffyLuv@collegecandy.com for a chance to be featured in the Tuffster’s column.

Dear Tuffy Luv,

So, I have a cozy, late-night nookie friend.

We’re not overly compatible in the sobering light of day, and we’re both unusually insecure, so the unspoken rule seems to be every couple of weeks or more. Emails are sporadic and sweet, for reasons that any of you who’ve ever binged on ice cream before or heard the chorus of the Elliott Smith song “Ballad of Big Nothing” will know.

I disappeared this summer, so falling back into a routine feels like navigating the bumpy straits of first acquaintance all over again. We’ve only seen each other three times this fall, but a few weeks ago, maybe moved by birthday drinks or the card that I sent him, he sent me an email telling me to barge in whenever I felt like it.

Yesterday I favorited three of his photos on flickr after he sent me a link to them (I don’t do much favoriting or flickring), did some back-and-forthing on gmail (felt reminiscent of my lame puppy crush days), and took off on my bike for his house after he invited me to come over and continue the conversation in person. I didn’t send him any kind of confirmation message, figuring it would be a nicer surprise just to show up.

All his lights were on, but he wasn’t there.

Asleep? Passed out? Gone for a walk? I called and left a short, gloomy message lacking in the appropriate nonchalance. Then I went home.

Now I just feel kind of embarrassed. Should I be?

Yours,
Rachel

Dear Rachel,

Tuffy can’t help but be moved by the eloquence and odd self-referentialism of your letter. So, let’s do this.

Quickly, to get it out of the way: No, I don’t think you should be embarrassed. He invited you over. You showed up (albeit, unannounced). He wasn’t prepared. (Perhaps, as you say, he was asleep? Or maybe he was just nakey or something and was too flustered to get it together to come greet you at the door.) I think this was just a minor mis-communication. Sometimes surprises don’t work out that well. No big deal.

I also don’t think you should be embarrassed by the overly-enthusiastic message you say you left. He’s probably, in fact, already called you back at the time of this posting. If not, perhaps he was just too shy to return it.

Which brings me to what I actually want to say about your letter. I’m mostly worried about the idea that the two of you are “both unusually insecure.” Because, you know, that’s actually exactly what’s holding you back.

For those of you who do not have access to either the CollegeCandy Tuffy Luv email or Rachel’s computer, the subject of the email was: “overthinking my friendship with benefits?” To that end, girl, yes, you are. At least the way things are going now. You hook up every couple of weeks and that’s that.

But!

You seem to actually like each other (birthday cards, sweet emails, Flickr favoriting or whatever you crazy kids are doing these days), so I don’t see why you aren’t dating. You both seem to be clumsily attempting to move into that space, but both of your insecurities are getting in the way. It’s like college-age Woody Allens trying to date each other. And you seem like such a cool girl, so I hate to see that go down.

Unfortch, there’s no magic potion for getting over being insecure. Except, you know, getting older and ceasing to worry that people are judging you. Because usually they’re too busy judging themselves. And if they are judging you, chances are they’re too miserable to really matter.

So: cut that shiz out!!! Get over yourself and call him up and propose a hangout. If it doesn’t work out, whatever – it’s not like you’ll be losing some great friendship. But if it does work out, well, wouldn’t that be nice?

Best, Rach!

Hearts & Skulls,

Tuffy Luv

It was Sunday night, which meant a spread of Diet Root Beer, a chopped green apple, a turkey sandwich and my TV tuned to VH1′s Tough Love. Heaven.

Last night we saw Steve challenge the girls to be low maintenance. According to him, if these women want to snag a man, they’ll need to prove they can hang with the boys and not worry about breaking a nail or looking less than picture perfect. I totally get that – whiney girls are unattractive to everyone…even me – but this specific challenge did seem a bit much for me. Why do the girls have to do all the changing? Why can’t guys just accept the delicate flower that is their manicure-loving lady?

Anyways, during a pick-up game of football with some random bachelors, Taylor (Gold Digger) left me with my jaw on the floor…but for doing something good! Girl was throwing caution to the wind and actually enjoying herself. A girl who can rough it up in the mud with boys while wearing pajamas and a “wet hat” is A-OK in my book. And that’s most likely the kind of chick a guy would enjoy spending time with. Especially since she didn’t stop running the ball just to ask some guy how much money he made.

Then the girls went out on some dates. After being on a “You Go Girl!” high from Taylor’s enviable self-assurance on the football field, my positive outlook was deflated once Arian sat down with her man. It took only moments before she was comparing herself to a prostitute, saying it’s okay to be called crazy as long as your boobs are huge and bragging about her “oral talents.” Her date was obviously uncomfortable and didn’t know how to react. Right there, I lost all respect for Arian. But, at this point, I doubt she even cares if anyone respects her. She may as well just wear a sign that says, “All I Have To Offer Is My Body…and Some Mad Skillz in Bed.”

Does she really think that rubbing some random guy’s thigh and telling him he’s gonna get laid (if he gives her $5) is going to help her find real love? It’s sad and embarrassing and hard to watch. This girl needs to find some love for herself before she can ever find someone else to love her because she’s making it mighty hard for anyone to care.

And then there was Jody. Things had been going well for her and her date since their liplock last week and I figured it would continue to move forward. However, Jody’s insecurities came out in a cigarette-craving rage last night when she grossly misinterpreted an innocent question from her date. Meant as a compliment, her date wondered why she was single because she just seems too good to be true. Jody’s hangups replaced her logic and instead of feeling flattered that he thought she was a rare find, she took his comment as “You’re single, so there must be something wrong with you.” And she. went. nuts.

My confusion must be the same kind of flabbergastedness that men feel when women fly off the handle at the tiniest thing. I’m noticing that watching these women is like stepping back from the bigger picture and being able to see things from a man’s persepctive. A guy says, “You look nice,” and we think, “Just nice? Why not amazing? Is it my outfit? Maybe he doesn’t like me.” We let our insecurities read too deep into what men do and say, and that’s where miscommunication and hurt feelings come from. You know, men are actually pretty simple to read. They say what they mean and that’s that.

During the therapy session, Steve called Arian out and actually verbalized what I had been thinking; with the way Arian acts, she is putting herself at risk to be physically taken advantage of or contracting an STD. I’m definitely not saying that Arian deserves this Fortune Cookie of Tough Love, but it is the reality of her future if she doesn’t make a change. I get an image of her at a Frat party, drink in hand and tossing out big boob jokes while sloppily laying across a guy’s lap. Next thing you know, the guy could easily restrain her and do so many unthinkable things.

She needs to learn to respect herself, make safe decisions and realize that her behavior could potentially put her in danger.

Next week’s episode looks to be the juciest one yet! Especially because tonight’s episode concluded with the ever-enticing “To Be Continued…” credit. So, was anyone else as appalled at Arian like I was? Has Taylor finally charmed her way into your heart like she has with me?

Wrong. All wrong. Wrong movie, wrong time, wrong situation. In all fairness, I kinda knew what was coming, having heard about the book well before the movie was even in the works. I didn’t like the idea of it then, but somehow between two weeks ago and last Friday, I decided that I needed to see the movie with the bestie as a girls’ night out scenario. Here’s why I advise that everyone without ironclad self-esteem skip the movie, at least until you can see it in the comfort of your home.

1. If you’re into escapism through upbeat movies, this is not the one for you. After two hours of ‘He Just Not That Into You’, not a single one of the main characters’ plot-lines even resembled positive. I was literally crawling out of my seat trying to salvage the remainder of a happy evening as commitments combusted, relationships crumbled, and ruthless reality checks conspired to sink the Girls’ Night. The only reason I made it through is because I had to see if the writers would actually throw the audience a bone and make a happy ending.

2. The movie is ruthless in its portrayal of female stereotypes. “He’s Just Not That Into You” isn’t just a depressing chick flick, it’s the anti-chick flick. Throughout the entire movie, I kept asking myself, “Do I actually do that? Am I that crazy?” The answer, according to “He’s Just Not That Into You,” is yes. We are all clingy, insane, insecure, naive, trusting idiots, who drive away our boyfriends and potential bfs by being like that. I don’t know about you, but movies that continuously reiterate that I’m completely psycho and clingy tend to turn me off at about the 60 minute mark.

3. Your faith in committed relationships will die a horrible death in the two hour and fifteen minute love massacre. After two hours of infidelity, dating disasters, and misguided love, there was not a girl in the theater who had faith in her relationship, or ability to secure one. Those of us who were single experienced what almost came off as anti-relationship propaganda (“If you do this, this, or this, your ovaries can kiss their chance at motherhood goodbye!”), and were left doubting every simple sentence we had ever spoken to the male gender. My friend, who has been in a committed relationship for the better part of a year and a half, had started to wonder if her boyfriend could have been cheating on her. The movie had a sinister talent for slipping insecurity into our minds, and then mocking us for being insecure.

4. There are better things to do on weeknights than going to a movie that strips down your character and makes fun of what it finds there. The movie seriously killed the happy, estrogen-filled mood of the evening, and left the two of us as quaking, emotional maniacs. I can honestly say that except for when I saw “Lord of the Rings” as a twelve year old, and was terrified by the Orcs, I have never wanted to leave a movie so fast (30 minutes in). Save your seven bucks for dollar pitchers downtown, not “He’s Just Not That Into You.”

5. The movie is more suitable as a look into Gender Studies than a romantic dramedy. I’ve had more laughs in my College Algebra class than this movie. If you do go, look at it as a gender wars type of thing, not something that will make you feel cheery and secure by the last minute happy ending. (It was a happy ending, it was just a too little-too late type of thing.) The movie is accurate in its portrayal of how men and women want different things out of life, and the plot turnaround towards the end was satisfying, but ultimately not enough to recover from the first two hours. It had the effect of a doctor suddenly giving you anaesthesia after your surgery already happened, with a “Look what I just found!” air.

“It’s so weird!” she said, her voice stretching into a smile. “It’s been one and a half years of nothing, and now I’ve met two cute, nice-seeming guys in the last two weeks.”

“Dude, that is awesome.” I turned away from my history book and looked out my small window. “Just make sure you save some cute, normal guys for the rest of us.”

As my friend continued to talk excitedly, I continued to cheer her on. Because I was happy for her, you know? She’s a fabulous girl who’s completely down to earth, cute as a button, and is sure to be a famous fashion designer some day (without the bored, holier-than-thou attitude of most designers). I was glad she had found some prospects.

I was something else too, though. Something I didn’t even know I was until I hung up the phone. I was worried. If she gets a boyfriend, a tiny voice whispered in my ear, I’ll be one of the only single people I know. She can’t get a boyfriend! Maybe those guys won’t work out.

As soon as I realized I had thought those things, I felt gross. How could I wish my friend bad luck in love? How could I hope that one of the best girls I know stayed single? Who was I, Lauren Conrad?

When it comes down to it, I know those negative thoughts were probably less about what I hoped for my friend and more about my own stupid insecurities. It wasn’t that I didn’t want my friend to be happy, it’s that I’m afraid I’ll be alone and single forever and end up as that weird “aunt” who isn’t really an aunt and always gets just a little too drunk at parties in the suburban family homes of all my friends. I feel insecure about my lack of dates, and I want people to feel insecure with me. Insecurities are so much easier when someone is feeling them right alongside you.

So I’m happy for my friend. Definitively, I’m happy for her. I’m also learning how to deal with my petty worries about boyfriends and being a weird lushy “aunt.” Things are going to work out for both of us, momentary jealousy aside.

[What about you? Have you ever felt this sort of thing before? Share and unburden yourself!]