You can fall for chains of silver, you can fall for chains of gold, you can fall for pretty strangers, and the promises they hold...

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One night, as my friend and I enjoyed one of many nights of typical American teenage girl habits, I was asked why it was that I’m always so negative about my situation with guys. A smile spread across my face as I realized that she was in for one of the most ridiculous and pathetic stories she was ever going to hear. So off I went:

"Well Tracy, " I started, "That slut-bag Bliss Fry turned me, a bit of a nun at the time, into a total monster in the fifth grade. As a mentally perverted 10-year-old, my priorities changed a little bit. I started going out with the typical shy-guy, of the name Aaron Roach. And a true roach he was….The relationship itself, if you can call it that at that age, was an over-dramatic disaster, yet we somehow managed to remain friends but deep down hate each other at the same time. (Perhaps we acted more like adults than we realized…)

Around the beginning of the 6^th grade, I befriended what must have been one of the cutest 11-year-olds the world has ever seen. As I got to know him, I grew more and more attracted to him. Just when I thought I might have a chance, my dear Marco took me on a pleasant quiet walk around our neighborhood and sat down with me under a large oak tree and grabbed a hold of my hand. As young as I was, this had never happened to me before, and I felt light-headed as a traveled to cloud nine. He looked deeply into my eyes as he talked to me, and all of sudden he grew serious and then drew closer to me, and said, to my grrrreat delight, "Nat, you know that girl I met at your house the other day, Paola? Does she like anyone? Do you think I have any chances with her? You can help me can’t you?"

I remember trying to smile, but I have no recollection as to whether or not I succeeded. One thing is for sure, I wanted nothing more right then than to break both his legs and beat him unconscious with them. But my nicer side got a hold of me, and within two weeks I had set him up with Paola. I lost contact with both of them in less than a month.

A month or so later, I met the same guys’ cousin. Good locks definitely ran in the family. This guy Luca, turned out to be a really great guy with dimples to die for. After weeks of an inseparable flirty friendship, I started hearing rumors about him being attracted to me. I was obviously overjoyed, since I was still disappointed from my last experience. One sunny spring afternoon, we decided to go for a walk. Ironically, we took the same exact route I had once taken with his cousin Marco. All of sudden Luca started acting a little bit out of character, shy, looking down at his shoes all the time. He looked up at me with his head hanging down and said "Hey, you know, there was a time when I liked you as more than a friend, and I realized since I feel that close to you, I can trust you with anything. Don’t worry, I don’t like you anymore so you don’t have to worry about that. In fact I was wondering whether…well….do you think…you could help with Laura…I’ve liked her for so long and I just really want her to notice me. I know you can help…?"

I’m guessing being a dick also runs in the family. Once again, thanks to my help, he had Laura within a week’s time he was with her, and I lost contact with the both of them soon afterwards. You can imagine how I felt about myself after those two experiences. I felt like crap. But I suriveved…

That summer, I met a guy I thought genuinely liked me and wouldn’t push my self-esteem back into the depths of depression. That lasted for about 3 months, and just a few weeks ago, a good 2 ½ years later, I find out his real age and some other excruciating details. Not only was the dumb-assed half American half German prick a lyer, he was an award-winning two-timer at the age of 14. He told me he was 12, like I was, and then later he said that he had lied and was actually 15, and then again 16. He just happened to be going out with 2 other girls at the same time as he was me, one of whom I sat next to for about an hour, the two of us talking about our boyfriends and we still DIDN’T FIGURE IT OUT! Since the chicken-necked bastard moved to Germany, I didn’t have the pleasure of skinning him alive in the company of the other two. A shame really, the guy had the sweetest motorino…

In the 7^th grade, when I had decided to give up, I absolutely fell over myself for the most wanted guy in the grade. He had gotten his good looks from his father, his polite manners and sweetness from his mother, and his charm from the devil himself. Never have I ever seen a guy with that much charisma. Of course he didn’t know I was alive. In fact, around me all he did was look down at me, and act like a snob from hell. Turns out, after hearing stories of all sorts, that he acted a little more like a fruit than I could have probably handled. He took of at the end of the year of course, leaving me (to this day at times) to fantasize about him coming back and actually giving me the time of day. After thinking of him as Satan’s child for a little while, I was ok.

The next year, I once again found myself liking someone with overflowing confidence and charisma, was funny as heck, and was a great friend. No matter how close we were as friends, there was something about Dario that I just WANTED! Well, you can already guess how that one went. We became great friends, and I started thinking that there may be a chance of this working out in my favor. One day, on the late bus, he held my eyes and looked into my eyes the same way Marco once had, and said "Nat, I’m so glad that I have a girl-friend as understanding as you, cause, well…do you think you could help me you with Liz?"

He had her within 3 weeks. I suppose if I can’t be happy or make them happy, might as well set them up with some bitch who can. Either that or I’m a born masochist.

That summer, one of my closest friends Rachel tells me to loosen up, have fun and maybe have a fling or two in India where I’m originally from. We all know how that one went. Never hook up with a commitment-obsessed, drug-addicted, self-mutilating, stalking, 21-year-old, who just happens to be you cousin’s boyfriend’s older brother.

That being one of the most traumatic experiences of my life, I think I can confidently say that I had completely lost all faith and that last shred of self-esteem I had left after that one. I planned not to ever do anything at all for the next four years, and not give a flying fuck in the least. Yet once again, my friends who cushioned me and helped me through getting over the whole thing, told me that I shouldn’t see all this as a pattern, and just loosen up and relax. Yeah, easy for them to say!

But then, at the beginning of my freshman year of high school, a good 4 ½ years after my first crash and brutal burn, a really cute sophomore showed up on my bus and lives about a 10 minute bike-ride away from my house. I didn’t do anything of course because I figured I didn’t have any chances and he would’ve never liked a girl like me anyway. Just to confirm my thoughts, he fell madly in love with one of my best friends. (And who might that be but the girl I happen to be speaking to at the moment!) I started to help him out with her, and although she showed major interest, she was hesitant. After a few weeks, she became so annoyed with the way he was in general that she could hardly stand to be around him, and he too decided that they had nothing in common,

So who does he latch onto next? Moi! (Now, it must be said that I’m afraid-shit of commitment, and defining things just doesn’t work for me. I also don’t believe in dating good, real friends who I don’t plan to do anything with EVER from the very beginning.) I was extremely hesitant when he asked me out because I didn’t want to get messed up again of course, and I also wasn’t too thrilled about perhaps messing up my friendly relationship with him. But then I figured, as did most of my friends (including him) that he’d maybe show me a good time, loosen me up, and make me feel better after all my former let-downs.

Wrong again. I’m proud to say one of my (still) closest guy-friends and former boyfriend, as a boyfriend is a retarded, snail-pace, jackass, not to mention a total monk. Jackass is now his nickname amongst our closest friends, and there’s a good reason why most of the guys start braying every time he says something stupid. (Which is so fucking often it’s unbelievable.) One may think I’m probably being a little hard on him, but in my book, any guy who smiles like a little boy with a new toy around his girlfriend, is afraid to touch her, acts like a jackass, and at the age of 15, pulls away from his girlfriend when she trys to French him because he’s nervous, is not NORMAL!

So Tracy, if you had a romantic history as screwed up as mine and still hadn’t gotten your first proper French kiss at the pathetic age of 14, would you consider yourself confident and essentially lucky with guys? "

For those of you depressed readers out there, this, and Bridget Jones Diary should make you feel better about yourselves. Remember, life is full of pain, suffering and misery, and it’s all over much too soon….

Sidhe