Memory Lane

As part of a graduation present for my cousin, I've been going through masses upon masses of old pictures. For the most part, the experience has been great; I love looking back at moments completely frozen in time, otherwise forgotten if not for a camera. There's my 5-year-old self on my first amusement park ride, as well as my fifteen-year-old self getting my ears pierced for the second time. Each picture holds a memory, and I can almost instantly place myself back in time to the exact moment captured.

Some pictures, though, are harder to see. They pop up when I least expect it and hold memories I've tried to squash for years. People come in and out of your life--this is an undisputed fact. Not everyone sticks around forever, no matter how much you want them to. Some short-lived relationships pan out in pictures, whether it's a birthday party surrounded by your then-best friend or a high school dance, in the arms of your dream boy.

Some pictures I've hidden for so long, I almost forgot they existed.

My mind may have forgotten, but my heart didn't. One look at some of these images, and I can almost feel the sharp sting of loss. Whether it's looking at my grandmother, who I only knew for fifteen short years, or old family friends who left without a care, going back down memory lane just plain hurts. I don't like taking myself back down old paths, because the past is the past. No matter how hard I deny it, the proof stays directly in front of me. These pictures remind me that some of that nasty stuff really did happen, and there's nothing I can do to erase it.

No matter how many times I rip up pictures from my junior dance, the heartbreak doesn't go away. No matter how many times I avoid a cemetery, my grandmother is still gone. No matter how many years I spend in denial, it happened. All of it. Looking at the proof feels like being slapped in the face all over again, the carefully placed band aid ripped off the wound.

And yet, it's different every time. With almost four years between myself and the most painful of memories, I can see that time does heal things. Not everything, by far--but it can create a sense of calm, and more importantly, a sense of self. I am who I am because of my past. It's not pretty, and my scars haven't healed. But without the past, there is no present, and therefore no future. The past belongs in the past; it belongs in the 4x6 photographs stored away in boxes, brought out only once in a while. The future is blank, undeveloped--and it's up to me now how those pictures turn 0ut.

It's a responsibility I'm more than willing to accept.

Do nice people finish last?

Okay, so I'm going to admit my weak spot right off the bat: I'm a reality TV addict. My personal favorites are American Idol, Dancing with the Stars, and The Bachelor/Bachelorette. All are horrific addictions, as I become emotionally attached to the people involved each and every season. I voted 568 times for David Cook over the span of 4 hours, and threw pillows at the screen when Jason Mesnick publicly dumped the lovely Melissa Rycroft on live television.

So, as par the course, my ass hits the sofa every Monday night at 8:00 pm to watch Mesnick reject Jillian attempt to find true love over the span of 6 weeks on The Bachelorette. I immediately picked out my few favorites: Reid (a hometown Philly boy...where have you been hiding?), Michael (an adorable break-dance instructor), and Jake (a sweeter-than-sweet airplane pilot). Then there are the absolute assholes who aren't there "for the right reasons": Juan (I swear he was gay), Dave (a complete rageaholic who likened Jillian to a piece of meat), and Wes (the country crooner who obviously only cares about his music career, which he has no idea is crashing and burning as The Bachelorette airs).

This week, on episode 6, Jillian left three bachelors out in the cold: "too young" Robbie, "foot fetish guy" Tanner, and my sweeter-than-sweet Jake, arguably the best combination of good looks and sincerity that show ever dreams of finding. In his tearful sendoff video, Jake tries to understand why it is that "nice guys always finish last." Some may argue this isn't true, but isn't this ABC show living proof that people have no idea what they want? Jillian preaches about how she wants someone she can rely on, someone who is ready to start a family and settle down. Yet she keeps around publicity-whore Wes and baby-faced Michael (who I love, but let's face it--he's not ready to be a poppa) while sending Jake home, who might as well have had "I'm husband material" tattooed on his face. Instead, Jillian slaps him with the "you're an amazing person, but you're too perfect" write-off, and the handsome pilot is once again a bachelor.

Can I just say that I was utterly smitten by Jake? In the six short episodes I saw, I found him to be the most genuine and romantic guy I've ever seen on this most unfortunate dating show. Why he isn't already settled down is beyond me. His sincerity and honesty was obvious, and his thousand-watt smile is enough to make you swoon. He is just a simply nice guy. He's not mysterious, he's not dangerous; he's calm, reliable, and completely snuggle-worthy. Yes, ladies and gentlemen: this man is too perfect and must be avoided AT ALL COSTS.

So, let me get this straight: Jake was too wonderful, too sweet, too loving, too caring. Uh-huh, I understand why Jillian would reject him. It's so clear to me now.

I'm ashamed of my sex.

Here I am, almost twenty years old, and I have yet to find someone I want to spend time with. I've yet to find that decent, smart, considerate man who loves unconditionally and is unapologetic about it. Jake is the epitome of someone I'm looking for, and here I am, watching him get rejected by a girl who clearly wouldn't know a good man if he was wearing a neon sign while dancing naked in front of her. Maybe I'm mature for my age, or maybe I'm just an old soul, but I don't find the "bad boys" endearing at all. What I'm looking for is quite the opposite, and I guess I assumed all other women were too--I thought that's why all the great guys I've met in college are taken.

Is this really what women want? The "bad boys" who drip mystique and bad cologne? The ones who will undoubtedly break their hearts and create the drama that some find as necessary as oxygen? Maybe that's what Jillian wants, but I think I speak for many women when I say that in our minds, nice guys will always finish first. Jake--it's not over for you, love. You're a wonderful man with so much to offer someone. Jillian wasn't the one for you, but I'd be happy to slip you my number anytime.