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Prince Charming Syndrome: The Prologue

This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at UPRM chapter.

            With break-up season just about over and Valentine’s Day around the corner, it’s probably safe to say things are starting to get a little less fuzzy and a lot more sticky. While I’m still getting over my obsessive need to play “Glamorous” (by Fergie) on long car rides with my best friends, I’ve seen quite a few of you single ladies finally getting a couple of wholesome hotties to put a ring on it. Power to you! Feel free to send me wedding invites and an attached list of your gift registry; hell, by all means, Mrs. Carter would be proud.

            What about the rest of us? What about the Rose’s who lost their Jacks’ to a tough sea of sh*tty fights and 50 shades of lies? What about the girls craving relations, but never quite making it to the ship?

            Chick flicks tell us we’re all supposed to wait for a stampede of doe-eyed gentleman to come over and throw a romantic life vest our way with an included gift set of roses, dignity, and happy ever after.  I don’t know about you, but in my early formative years Cinderella and The Little Mermaid were icons to the person I was convinced the future me needed to be: sassy, saucy, and silly.

            Ironically, the French word for silly is idiot, and that’s exactly how I felt when I realized I was neck deep in Prince Charming Syndrome.  Soon it hit, I was making myself smaller in order to make my men of choice look bigger. 

            Overtime I came to know, that there was no Balenciaga tee or Gucci loafer that could allow me to escape the self-loathing of being the cutie with the great ass, rather than the cutie with the stellar mind. Now a days, I refuse to shrink. So as a lover of women, I commend you ladies to pursue the liberty of taking every ounce of space you need, to be who you are wherever life’s sails take you; to aspire to be a burning veil of security, confidence, and your own definition of self respect.

             And hey, every now and then it’s okay to play stupid. F*ck it, I’ll be the first to admit that you’ll probably catch me skipping around our local pubs with a Grey Goose Cosmopolitan when I’m feeling flirty, and Vodka on the rocks when I need to set fire to my insides in homage of the oh-so-vengeful hang over gods. Just keep your keys at home and always carry those extra bits of emergency protection: condoms, compacts, tampons, and lip-gloss (the multitask queen of the make-up universe, but that’s a post for another day).

            This Valentine’s day, dare to be single, step away from the Ben & Jerry’s and step into a new experience, or maybe even a new tradition. A couple days ago, I made a drunken pact with a cool group of lesbians to go skydiving on the 14th. One of my best friends on the other hand, decided to grab a hold of some good karma and volunteer at an orphanage.

            Sometimes it’s not about lustful weekend getaways or candle lit dinners.  Sometimes its not so much about receiving the love rather than just  giving the love, sharing the moment, and even sharing a few seconds of existential bliss. Or in my case, 60 seconds of free falling from a hovering balcony in the sky (cross my fingers and hope not to die).

            However, if you tend to shy away from extremes, unlike the drunken douche that is me in one of THOSE nights (you know what I’m talking about), try sticking to a classic girls night in, or out, full of memories, cocktails, and maybe even a naughty (or nice) piñata (I hear Justin Beiber’s a good choice these days).

            And though I don’t exactly believe in Prince Charming anymore, I do believe in soul mates. Some of us have 1, some 2, and others 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Truthfully, it’s never been about quantity as much as quality.

            At the end of the day ladies, you are worth more than some weasel brained tool with a hero complex, muscle bound hipster dream boy or not, you’re no damsel in distress.  If you can survive the self-mutilation of your uterus once a month and still come out of it with winged eyeliner while rocking that red lipstick, is there really anything you can’t do?

Photo Credit in Order of Apperance:

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17829764-chase

http://rebloggy.com/post/titanic-rip/21151090634

http://wifflegif.com/tags/243265-disney-princesses-snl-gifs

http://www.gif-weenus.com/post/33965407244

http://img2.timeinc.net/ew/i/2014/01/31/AHS-Myrtle-Balenciaga.gif

http://cdn.gifbay.com/2013/01/vodka_beach_party-24293.gif

http://i.imgur.com/7zS4C.gif

http://music.yahoo.com/blogs/hip-hop-media-training/11-most-shocking-mom…

http://persephonemagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/vagina.gif

Just a silly homo on the pursuit of happiness with a passion for women and bad choices with delicious endings.