#asyouare

Crispin: The Adopted

Phillip: The Dandy

Layton: The Brooder

Corbin: The Quiet

Jason: The Perfectionist

Stanley: The War Hero

Harold: The Pious

Putting the car into reverse and backing out,

I began to seriously wonder why I was still alone.

I thought about the boyfriends I'd had. There'd been

One or two who were at least maybes. In the end

They'd just opted to spend their lives with somone

Other than me.

I replayed thier blow-off lines in my head, deciding it

Must've been the cosmo's way of balancing out my

Usually optimistic attitude.

"You're great and wonderful. I just don't think we're right for each other."

What did that mean? I was too great

And too wonderful for him to deal with on a daily basis? No it meant:

I like you, I just don't love you.

Then there was the "you're just too perky." I'm sorry, but someone who'd

Pissed the last ten years of his or her life away could not be considered perky.

Perky people are doers, which I most certainly was not.

What he'd meant to say was I'm not cynical. Just because I didn't

rip other people to shreds behind their backs didn't make me chipper.

I just wasn't the antichrist.

There was the ever- painful, "I don't think or chance for longevity looks very promising." All that time and I never knew I was dating a fucking psychic.

What else could one expect from a freakin' Gemini?

There had, of course, been a plethora at the other end of the spectrum: the deceivers.

God I hated that moment, the one where I'd wake up three months into a relationship and the man lying next to me would look at me. I'd look at him and smile, still anxiety-ridden over morning breath. He'd open his mouth and speak.

I'd look at him funny.

He seemed the man I'd spent all, this time with, but then suddenly sounded and acted differently.

Several days of this would go by, and I'd be thinking.

Evil twin? Alien abduction? Then it would finally dawn on me: it was the real him. The one he'd been concealing.

The sweet, loving, melt-my-heart man I'd thought I'd landed was really,

A conceited, narssasistic, phycopath I wouldn't want to be caught alone with in a dark alley.

The most depressing part of it all was that I couldn't help feel as though I would've been happier if an alien had split open the guy's chest and scurried off down the hall.

At least then he could've remained the perfect man I'd envisioned him to be. Not the man who'd lied, concealed, and tricked my heart, but the victim of a horrible, wretched, brain-numbing, mind-boggling accident.

Then I'd be able to play the widow and wear a bitchin' black veil.

Laugh if you will, but don't think for a minute I wouldn't find a way to wear the veil.

I'd be able to cry, sob, and have people say

They were so in love.