The problem is that it’s all bullshit. I was riding the subway this morning, and a sappy happy ending love song comes up on my zune. And, I’m listening to the end of it, with the man getting down on one knee and proposing- just when she had given up hope. And it’s bullshit. It just fucking is. There is no happy ending, not like that. Usually hope is lost with good reason, men will not jump through hoops to be with you. They won’t stand outside your window in the rain unless they’re a fucking stalker. Life just doesn’t work that way. I read an article saying that women who watched romantic comedies had less happy relationships. Unreasonable expectations or something, and it makes sense because life isn’t fucking like that. And I know this, rationally. But, the problem is, some small part of me, despite my rampant cynicism, believes it. Believes that life could actually be that way. That they’ll be some big grand pronouncement of love despite all signs to the contrary. That some guy will fall head over heels for me. I watch bridget jones diary, and I know that’s not true. That darcy just doesn’t fucking exist. That there is not some grand romantic kiss against the backdrop of inclement weather. But part of me, the part I have yet to be able to beat into submission, wants to believe it. Believe in the grand romantic ending, in the flowers, and the rain. I’m too socially conditioned I suppose. But it kills me- because it’s all such fucking bullshit.