I began to appreciate that I didn't really know Perfect Paul. Yet I had handed over to him tremendous power -- the power to make me feel powerless. I had reduced myself to an article of merchandise and, in turn, him as well.
I catch my breath. And touch my hand to my mouth, remembering suddenly a certain someone from my past. I think all at once, in a surprising rush of reverie, that his eyes were amethyst, that he was smart and sometimes sweet.
These days, sexual anarchy means making your own rules and sticking to them if you are to survive the emotional battleground. The sun is setting on casual sex. Believe in real love for how it makes you feel. It's here, now.
Friendships are important. The last person I want to be (and I hope you feel the same way) is the girl that ignores her friends the entire time she has a boyfriend and then goes running back to them the moment the relationship falls apart.
Hook-up culture creates a strange binary: on the one hand, students are having casual sex. On the other hand, students are having no sex at all. With the exception of an occasional long-term relationship, there is virtually nothing in-between.
Hollywood gave me a false impression of what to expect from dating: the frat boy with the heart of gold, just waiting till the right funny girl comes along. These things don't exist where I live -- not even close.