Complexities of Love

What is it about college that equates (at least in my mind...and my own experience) into being in love?

Every week (or so) it seemed I had a new love interest. I was desperately in love with fill-in-the-blank-generic-boys-name all the time. Life just didn't seem normal if I wasn't swooning over some guy. Seriously? I never thought I was that boy-crazy, but I was horribly misinformed.

And why did it always seem like the male-to-female ratio was a lot like this:

Whatever the reason (or lack thereof), all this drama leads to a lot of rather humorous memories, including, but not limited to:

**The post-date analysis which consisted of three very important questions:

1. Do you like him?
2. Did you kiss him
3. Are you warm for his form? (did I really just post that?)

**The frequent use of "the screaming song" to vent (I don't even know the NAME of the song, but picture 4 girls screaming at the top of their lungs to a pretty inarticulate song - it can relieve many frustrations!)

(actual screaming not depicted)

**The horrible addiction known as chain smoking (lest ye think we were experimenting with drugs, let me enlighten you as to its true meaning:

• chain-smoking - the practice of thinking, speaking, and drooling over one particular male specimen to the exclusion of all intelligent thought. (See how it can be just as addicting?)

**The introduction of the new Olympic sport: shoe-hurling. This experience is best done in a room with not very many breakable or valuable items lying around. It is also ideally performed with flip-flops and an apartment door. The steps for this performance are:

1. choose a shoe, preferably one that is flexible and not highly valued (it can even be a shoe-that-lacks-intelligence, but that is a tale for another day)
2. choose a target, usually a plain, un-glassed door with plenty of room for a running start
3. think in your mind of the boy-you-adore-who-does-stupid-things-that-generally-add-up-to-not-adoring-you-back
   
4. hurl shoe with great force at the door while releasing a high-pitched squeal of anger
   
5. retrieve and repeat (while being mindful of other potential throwers - don't want to get hit with a stray shoe)

And even while we managed to survive all this boy-trauma, we still kept up our hopes of one day winning the prize and finding someone to love us despite our blue (or yellow) lipstick:

Julie, Me, Kay, Linda

Stay tuned for further episodes from Lifestyles of the Strange and Complex.

[For previous adventures of our complex days, see these three installments.]