What is love?
That is the question renowned lyrcist Haddaway asked in 1993. This is where I say something moody and dripping in existential crisis. I believe in love. Just not for me. Or I reveal how much of a cold bitch I am and decry the need for any human attention like a good sociopath.
I just realized recently that love is some fucked up shit. I already knew that from all the romantic comedies I watch and the erotic novels I read. But, still it hit me. I spent most of my time third wheeling and they've all been breaking up.
I went to Gilmore Girls trivia this week with my mother and I remembered how horrible all of Rory's relationships were. Dean was great until he got that bowl cut and cheated on his wife. Jess was problematic and I feel convinced he had a skinny dick. And, the only redeeming quality about Logan besides his Pillsbury dough boy face was his extremely rich pocket book.
It was wonderful.
Also my straight friend. The wonderful, the gorgeous, other half of my twinship friendship got hit on by a drunk gay guy. So, who is to say that love isn't real?
In a cute Mandy Moore is going to die at the end of A Walk To Remember way, one of them is hopelessly devoted. The other one treated him like shit. Not intentionally or on purpose, but just because. He was determined to break up with him. But, he didn't. Love is real.
They have reconciled. Despite one saying, “he's just not ready for an adult relationship.” Yes. That is because he is in high school. But, what do I know?