Like an unexpected sequel, my kiss candidates of choice returned. All in one week.
Here’s a quick lowdown for those who missed column number two (Seriously? You didn’t read it? Asshole). The “suspects” were three guys on my radar about four weeks ago. Romeo was attractive and nice but not exactly my first choice. Ringo was probably uninterested but cute, and we liked all the same things. First Semester Fantasy was my upperclassman crush. After a few weeks of little contact with any of them, they all decided to make an appearance. How sweet!
My first encounter with Ringo post-stapler incident was a shared 15-second elevator ride. Damn my residence hall for having the fastest elevators on campus. For some reason, I thought I should spend that critical 15 seconds making a joke about trench foot. TRENCH FOOT, that awful World War I foot disease. Talk about burning bridges.
Apparently my comedy act about foot disease wasn’t enough to repulse him, though, because a few days later we met again. He snuck up behind me in the dark when I was walking across campus unaccompanied late at night. Yeah, Ringo’s a grade-A creep. Really, though, we were both headed to the same event, so we walked together and settled into what I’m pretty sure (crossing my fingers) was semi-normal conversation. A few minutes before we reached our final destination, I spotted a figure walking toward us. He looked familiar.
Me, out loud, “Hey, Romeo! How are you?” (Except I didn’t actually call him that, obviously.)
Me, in my head, “God loves my column and is spoon-feeding me material. Seriously, all three of us at the same exact event? Late at night? Someone grab me a camera so I can document this.”
The event we were all attending required lots of running around campus, which meant plenty of quality time with both of them. Together. The contrast in their personalities was comical. Romeo was predictably macho, and Ringo was a huge goof. Things I learned about the two of them: Romeo isn’t British and also not an actor because his accent is horrific. And if I ever make Ringo mad, I’m running away to Kansas because even that would be better than enduring his revenge. I’d rather not find snot in my T-shirts.
As if that wasn’t enough, I received a text message on Friday night telling me that FSF was back (in black). Kidding, he wasn’t in black. He was in a gray T-shirt and jeans. Dammit, we are just friends, and I should not remember that.
Actually spending time with all these guys made me realize the extent to which I judged them. Being open and withholding judgment until you get to know people is just a general life rule. But judging the opposite sex might be the worst kind, especially when you misimagine them as something more than they really are. I will never be able to say anything as well as F. Scott Fitzgerald, so I have to quote “The Great Gatsby.”
“There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams —not through her own fault but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything.”
If you’ll excuse me for getting a little English-nerd literary here, I’ll explain. Gatsby was so infatuated with Daisy that he imagined her to be too perfect, when in fact she was just a girl. I’m guilty of this all the time. The guys I like become these images of perfection. How can they do anything but fall short when I build them up in my mind like Gatsby does with Daisy?
On the other hand, I also hastily assume guys are unintelligent, uninteresting or unattractive. I determine this based on a backward hat, light wash jeans or a subpar favorite music section on Facebook. All this judgment gets most of the credit for my kisslessness, so this week’s goal is to fix that. People are people, no more and no less, and if I want to find a boy to kiss, I’m going to have to embrace that.
