Confession Number 2

For the lack of a better phrase, I am hopelessly single. That is my confession. I feel like the biggest reject on the face of the earth because out of the thousands of attractive men in college, I can't even get ONE to like me.  

My 6'6'' baseball playing, sixpack sporting, sexy Texas originated conditioning teacher? Oh yes, I would go around all the bases with that hunk. The bearded basketball beauty in my Chemistry Lab? He could foul me all day long. Tall, dark, and handsome sitting behind me in Trigonometry? Well, let's just say he could solve for my cosine anytime. Maybe that didn't make sense, but my point is, damn, there are some fine looking gentleman in college, and I am not currently "talking" to any of them.

I took a BEAUTIFUL man to homecoming, and he turned out to be an asshole. Just my luck! When I think finally get the guy, he turns out to be a tool! Everywhere I turn I see romance blossoming. I hate it! But I can be honest with myself. I only hate it because I don't have it.

But does that mean I should give up all hope? Should I resign to the fact that I shall live a life of celibacy? Or am I just to sit and wait for a prince. Patience was never a talent of mine, yet I am too shy to go out and find him myself. This brings me back to my previous confession. I am hopelessly single! I like to think its not all because of my insecurities. If a guys likes me will he not make his sentiments known! Oh, Jane Austen! Why can't my love life be as eloquent as the ones you composed?

I also believe this may have something to do with the fact that I am taller than the average man, and men desire a small damsel that they can look after and protect. Well, unfortunately in this case I am far from that damsel, and when I am wrongly crossed, my Irish temper reveals itself in the form of a swift tongue and loose fist.

Oh, how I wish I could slap every man and convince them that the too small, open legged, short, fake tanned "hottie" at their side is only temporary! But alas! Until the day they come to this realization on their own, I shall remain... hopelessly single.

Confession Number 1

Confession Number 1:

I am in love with someone who does not love me back. I think.

I have discovered, through many different instances this summer, that men suck. The most prodigious violation of my patience came with the realization that men like to be liked! Regardless of their availability or their feelings toward you, they bask in the showered affections of women. They relish in the devotion of any one willing to give it. And most women, whether they are willing to admit it or not, have devoted themselves to man that does not return their feelings at one point in their lives. This does not necessarily mean an actual relationship. In many cases, my own being one of them, this devotion could be just a matter of the time you spend thinking about them. Or when he flirts with you hopelessly, making the heat rush to your face only for him to tell you how cute it is. Or when you tell your friends about every exchange and they totally think he's into you! Or when he calls you pretty when you mention something you don't like about yourself. Or when you lay in bed and analyse every moment you spent together in that day. Or when you let yourself hope, for one wonderful moment, that maybe, just maybe, he thinks about you as much as you think about him. Is this devotion of time, thought, and love- did I say love? I meant affection, unhealthy, or is it all apart of love's game?

I'm sorry to admit that I was a victim of this devotion in my own work place. What was the result of this devotion, you may ask? The discovery that he already had a girlfriend, and the confusing heartbreak that accompanied it. The attempt to go on a date with someone else to break the devotion, only to find yourself thinking about what it would be like to hold hands with him instead. The pang of jealousy every time you hear about his inclination towards other women, romantic or not. And last but not least, the suspenseful moment of your last day of work when he walks you out to your car and you pray that something will happen, he pulls you in for the hug of your life... and then says "it was nice getting to know you." It was nice getting to know me? Was it now? What am I, your long lost cousin!?

Seeing as the last event only just occurred a few hours ago, I am still digesting, and have yet to form an opinion on my situation or a method of how to cope with it. I feel that I have exhausted my venting capabilities, and must now reflect. This has been a confession by a soulful ginger.

The Natality of a Digital Diary

While I have had red hair and freckles my entire life, I have never truly been faced with the term "ginger," until my freshman year of high school. I don't deny that I possess the features that belong to the name, and i wear them proudly. But in recent years an accompanying adjective raises my defenses. I have been referred to as a "soulless" ginger more times than I care to admit in the past couple of years. Most of these comments were made in a joking manner by friends, but I cannot help but remember a quote my father always reminded me: many a true word is spoken in jest. Of course I do not truly think that they believe I do not possess a soul, but that joke is an acknowledgement of my being different than most people. My ginger qualities are what make me unique and stand out in a crowd (did I mention that I am also 6'0 tall?), when in fact I am entirely average. This is what leads me to the creation of this blog. The birth of this outlet. The natality of this digital diary.

I am a soulful ginger, and these are my confessions.