Rom.com Quotes

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you" - Adam

He’d clearly never seen a rom-com or read a romance novel in his life.

Lassiter hit pause and clamped a hard hand on his shoulder."Sit the fuck back. Watch and learn." "What? How much I hate rom-coms? How 'bout we just stipulate that and let me go." "You're going to need this." " For my second career as a pussy?

Because I already called dibs on you.” His intense gaze makes me shudder. “You can’t call dibs on people. You sound like a B-list rom-com.” “But I fuck like an A-list porno.

Rom-coms or films where boys get violently murdered?

I'm sure you've had more men pick you up for dates in suits than in flannel and denim." she nodded. "I have. But the butterflies I'm feeling aren't about the suit.

He didn't want it, but he wasn't about to blow that spark off as nothing either. In fact, he was going to treat it with care and respect. Like a bomb.

When his eyes land on me, something about his expression changes—like he recognizes me from somewhere, too. I look back, appraising him quickly. He’s kind of beautiful, in an understated, comfortable-looking way—the kind of guy who doesn’t mind seeing a rom-com with you and gives you his hoodie when you’re cold.

Being loud and obnoxious was the second best thing Landrys did. Loving was the first.

The Landry family had as much romance in their blood as red blood cells. They were genetically programmed and then nurtured from the crib to believe in love and fate and soulmates and romance. Some of them just went with it. Some of them fought it. But none of them were immune.

You ever been fucked by a bayou boy after drinkin’ moonshine at a crawfish boil while skinny dippin’ when you’re supposed to be fishin’?” His drawl had just gotten very deep and pronounced and Caroline felt her clit actually tingle in response. “I…” She cleared her throat. “…have not.” “Then you’re a virgin in all the most fun ways.

A lot of people have been through a lot of bad shit. And they still turn out to be good humans who want to help others and have happy lives.

If you say another word about the woman I love, He’d clearly never seen a rom-com or read a romance novel in his life.

Isn’t that love? Wanting what’s best for the other person, even if it breaks your heart?

Talking on the phone is the hardest, most stressful thing in the world, and I can't do it with the nice lady who schedules my dental cleanings, let alone with Adam Carlsen.

Xuan being there didn’t make any sense. This wasn’t a fairy tale. Handsome boys don’t just magically appear screaming your name the moment you need them.

Is he blackmailing you? Did he find out that you're an aberration and pee in the shower?

Why do you keep saying that?” “Saying what?” “ ‘Fake dating.’ Like it’s a thing.” “Because it is. Don’t you watch rom-coms?

Peter and I have been working our way down our movie list, which consists of my picks (favorite movies of mine that he’s never seen), his picks, (favorite movies of his that I’ve never seen), and movies neither of us have seen. Aliens was Peter’s pick, and it’s turning out to be quite good. And even though once upon a time Peter claimed he didn’t like rom coms, he was very into Sleepless in Seattle, which I was relieved for, because I just don’t see how I could be with someone who doesn’t like Sleepless in Seattle.

She was gorgeous, for sure—like gorgeous. As in, I’ll-fight-dragons-for-her gorgeous. Which had to be the single most ridiculous thing that had ever crossed Zander’s mind. But yeah, she walked in and looked around with an air that said she expected dragon slayers to be rushing forward, brandishing their swords, and jostling to be the one she chose. Jesus, dude, you need to lay off the fantasy romance.

In the Pretty Woman shopping scene, it’s not really about the clothes, or how much they cost, or how great she looks. When Vivian leaves the store, she’s not only a pretty woman, she’s a different woman. It gets me every time.

a woman would have to be a blind lesbian nun to not be affected by him.

I'm sorry about the socks, by the way." She winced. "I know it's a controversial topic.

So, tell me, Love,” Dad asked as I stared at my new friend with beady eyes. “What kind of person do you want to be in life? A butterfly?” He paused. “Or a caterpillar?

It was after the big ice storm. They got the boats up on the ice and because airboats only have big fans on the back and no rudders or anything underneath they can just slide along like big sleds." Leo grinned. "I mean, it looked like hell of a good time.

Adam." She rubbed her forehead with her fingers. "There will be only one bed." He frowned. "No, as I said it's a double-" "It's not. It won't be. There will be only one bed, for sure."He gave her a puzzled look. "I got the booking confirmation the other day. I can forward it to you if you want; it says that-" "It doesn't matter what it says. It's always one bed." He stared at her, perplexed, and she sighed and leaned helplessly against the back of her chair. He'd clearly never seen a rom-com or read a romance novel in his life.

Pumpkin spice is not harmless. It's a radioactive, overpowering sugar bomb that worms its way into every sort of product and is single-handedly responsible for the extinction of the Caribbean monk seal.

Still here?” he drawls when he notices me. “Still a presumptuous asshole?” I snap back. I expect him to double down on the nasty replies, to crush me with spite, so you can imagine my surprise when he clamps his mouth shut, the corners of his lips twitching into a small smile. His pale eyes rake over my face for a second too long, and I squirm under his undivided attention. Why, oh why, does he have to look like that? Low blow, Life, low blow.

Romance novels, rom-coms, nontragic love stories—they all run on a blissful sense that we’re moving toward something better. Percentage-wise, the majority of clues writers drop in romance novels don’t give you things to dread. They give you things to look forward to.

I may be taller than her on my knees. Does she need a man she can climb?

But hoping", he said, "is how the impossible can be possible after all.

You had me at William Shatner.

He was some exotic planet and I was his favorite satellite But he’s no planet, just the final fading light of an already dead star.

My list is one word. And it’s not a character trait. It’s a name.

How refreshing, to talk with someone who’d watched a rom-com. Or ten.

...the redhead could sling mud at him and he’d get hard.

They proved their love for God, not with words or with songs of worship, but with pure, undefiled obedience.

It doesn’t have to be that bad, I tell myself. Just turn off your mind, do what he says. Don’t let him touch your emotions. Wall them up. It will be fine. You will be fine. You’re a survivor.

Caroline nodded. "I understand that. The bayou is a huge part of your life and the local lifestyle. And people might come in here because of the bayou, but they don't fall in love with it and come back because of that. They fall in love and come back because they feel like a part of the family. Because they feel welcome and accepted here. That's what all of this represents." She gestured to encompass all of the photographs they had hanging on the wall. "I think these photographs are key. The posters and sports banners are great, but these photographs need to stay for sure.

Olive felt her shoulders sag with relief and had to resist the urge to fist-pump. Take that, you stupid rom-coms. She may have fallen for the dude she’d begun to fake-date like some born-yesterday fool, but at least she wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him any time soon.

You really want to know?” He drags out the suspense. “Yes.” I grow restless. “Spill.” “Well, for starters… most guys our age aren’t looking to date.” He elaborates. “They just want to fuck around. And those who do want to date are only looking for a girl to make them feel good about themselves.” “Meaning?” “Meaning they want her to laugh at their jokes, stroke their egos, give good head and… that’s pretty much it.” He draws a small smile out of me. “So, when guys like that see a girl like you, a girl who doesn’t look easy or desperate, they get intimidated. Label her high-maintenance and run like hell. You’re beauty and brains, Vee. You’re an immature high school boy’s worst nightmare.

Sandra Bullock is an unmatched charm powerhouse, and I feel like nobody acknowledges that anymore because she made too many comedies for women, and men can’t stand that. Watch Sandra Bullock in action. Watch Sandra Bullock in Speed and then tell me you don’t want to frame your spouse for a crime so you can marry her instead! Watch While You Were Sleeping and try not to send Sandra Bullock a thank-you card with $4,000 inside. I DARE YOU.

We live in a culture that sells sex, promotes sex, and degrades sex, yet God calls His daughters to live as light in this darkness.

One of the greatest tragedies of human life is that, unlike in rom-coms, love is often not reciprocated in real life.

But he found himself wondering what it might be like to fill that role for Hallie. In another life, obviously. A full-time giver of Hallie smiles.

To Meatball From your best friend, Ivan

said.

Love is hard to look at.

I’d gone from unapologetically commit-o-phobic to rom-com heroine in a few months

I gave in and explored her mouth. She tasted like strawberries, a faint touch of breakfast taco and every other savory food I wanted as my last meal. —John, Baseball Lover

Are you serious? Pippa, it’s like you lived every bad rom-com meet-cute. You’re going to marry this guy.

Because it is. Don’t you watch rom-coms?

I loved those nights. They taught me that heartbreak, like most things, was a solvable puzzle. A checklist could guide a person through mourning. There was an actionable plan for moving on.

I had branded affirmative humor and delusional optimism, I had kept as much masculinity in the neutered rom-com male as you could, and I had succeeded in giving the audience what they wanted.

I always fell short. And he always ended up on top. And not in the good on-top way where toes are curling and your world is changing. The kind where he was always looking down. And I was never enough.

Will you two cut the shit and get a room already," Axe drawled. "No offense, but rom coms make me sick." "This is not a romantic comedy," Novo ground out. "It's a murder mystery with an obvious ending.

WHICH FAKE ROM-COM LADY CAREER SHOULD YOU PURSUE? ...Think Bond girl—you’re incredibly smart in the one specific area that just so happens to help the protagonist in this one very specific instant of the plot. “Give me that,” you’ll say, snatching the hieroglyph from the hero’s hand. “I have two PhDs in cryptozoological translation.” You’ll shove the hero aside from the beeping machine. “I’m NASA’s top-ranking expert in nuclear disarmament techniques.” Does it make sense? No, but who cares? You are very, very pretty. And smart, definitely smart because even though you look like a supermodel and wear very sexy clothing and a full face of makeup, you are also wearing glasses. Sure, twenty-four looks a little young to have three PhDs but they’re pretty sure making you smart in whatever will move the plot forward means this movie is feminist. You will either end up running away with the hero, or you will die. Apologies.

° I no longer saw God's commandments concerning sex and marriage as a prohibition, but as His loving protection. ° I no longer thought of sexual purity as a rule, but as a desired virtue. °I no longer was attracted to the guys that treated girls like commodities, but was now attracted to men of character who modeled Jesus' humility and self-sacrifice. °I no longer saw my body as something to use to gain a guys attention; I now viewed it as God's holy temple.

In moments of unmet desire, heartbreak, or grief, Satan sends a poisonous arrow of doubt straight at your heart. This was his plan with Eve. He persuaded her to think God was "holding out on her" and that she would be better off not listening to Him.

I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I spin to leave. “No fucking way.” It clicks in his mind. “Little Vee?” Here he is. “You’re that girl Finn and I used to…” He doesn’t complete his sentence, but I know all too well what he was going to say. “Annoy? Tease? Torture? Why, yes, that would be me. Did you seriously just figure that out? A bit slow, are we?” I snark. My outburst only seems to amuse him. “Look, in my defense, your mom only ever called you ‘Vee.’ I thought it was short for Vicky or Vivian or something. And it was ten years ago. I can’t even remember what I had for dinner last night.” “Whatever.” I shrug. “Shit, I’ve got to say, Vee.” He gives me a once-over. “Puberty did you a solid.” My cheeks combust. “Wish I could say the same about you,” I lie through my teeth. Xavier smiles at my failed attempt to deny the undeniable. Let’s not pretend like puberty didn’t do every female on earth a solid when Xavier Emery went from “cute” to “sinfully hot” in the span of a summer. “I think you mispronounced thank you.” He flashes a smug grin that makes me want to knee him where it hurts.

I could be worthy of her. I would give up everything for her. If she really needed me to marry her to keep the crown and to prevent her from marrying the lecherous Prince of Valdonia, I would. I would do anything for her. Including marrying her when she sees it as duty. I’d have a lifetime to convince her it’s love. To win her over.

I fell in love with his childlike quirks, in the perfect weather, on October first. I fell in love when he smiled his beautiful smile, on the drive through the moonlight. I fell in love when his eyes shined, putting to shame the diamond sky. I was wonderstruck, blushing all the way home. I fell in love in a way, that was sweeter than rom-com.

As though he’s reading my mind, he grits out a pained, irritated “Fuck, it should be me.” I squeeze my thighs together to relieve the pressure between my legs. Sorry. Better luck next time. The pulse only grows stronger, and I know there is no stopping my unraveling. “Why the fuck isn’t it me, L?” His voice has this carnal edge to it. “Why am I not the one touching you right now? Fucking why?” I visualize it. Imagine it. See his tongue teasing my pierced nipple, and a soft moan shoots out of my mouth before I can stop it. This seems to trigger him because he groans a low, desperate “Christ, just tell me who you are. Fuck the pact. Fuck the secrets. Fuck it all. Just tell me who are you, L. Please. Let this be real.” The sentiment fractures my heart into a billion tiny pieces. I want it to be real, too.

In that instant, I even forgot my own name, until I heard it being whispered from his lips. “Cassie,” he said, pulling away. I wanted this—dreamed of it, but now that it was happen- ing, I didn’t know how I’d ever want anything else. I wanted more. I wanted him. As he held my gaze, I realized that I had never felt more alive. And I knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning of our journey together.

Because you guys belong together. Asha pushed back her bangs, like she was trying to think of the best way to phrase whatever was bothering her. "Felicity, you're so deep in denial that I feel like I'm watching a rom-com. Right now, we're at the part after boy-loses-girl where the female lead refuses to admit how perfect they are for each other. And then there's me, screaming at the TV because she's being so dumb.

This is not the “rom-com” depiction of love. Authentic love doesn’t always feel “good” or even romantic. The cycles of emotional addiction that we commonly associate with romance aren’t activated, so it doesn’t have the charge of excitement born of fear of abandonment or withdrawal of love and support. It is a grounded state. You do not need to perform in a certain way or hide parts of yourself to receive love. You will still feel bored or unsettled. You will still find yourself attracted to other people and may even mourn the loss of the single life. Conscious relationships aren’t fairy tales. There’s no “You complete me.” There’s no smile and poof!—living happily ever after. Like everything else you have encountered so far, authentic love requires work. The path forward is to become aware of the role of self-betrayal in your trauma bonds and the role that you can play in honoring your own needs.

fell for her the first time I met her, when we were just children. Within moments, she’d grabbed my heart straight out of my chest. Metaphorically, obviously, and she’s held it ever since. She has no idea, of course. That’s the thing about her. She’s winsome and charismatic, like a star burning so bright you can’t NOT stare. But too humble to see herself that way. Seraf is as angelic as her name. Gorgeous, with the kind of beauty that shines through from somewhere deep inside. Yeah, I know. That sounds like straight out of a cheesy love story. The thing is, it’s true.

Everyone expected me to fall apart after our breakup. Instead I just felt empty. I honestly couldn’t stand their pity. So I came here to get away—and heal.” “I bet you’re really angry with him. You guys were together for a long time.” “I was. But the more I think about it and analyze it, it seems like something bigger—like a phantom dark energy was repelling us, like bug spray. I don’t think we were ever meant to be together, and the acceleration of the Big Rip just in- creased over time. I think it was bound to happen eventually, I just wish it didn’t end the way it did.” “That sounds an awful lot like Fate.” “No,” I said matter-of-factly. “It’s just science.

Thus is the defining characteristic of gay millennials: we straddle the pre-Glee and post-Glee worlds. We went to high school when faggot wasn’t even considered an F-word, when being a lesbian meant boys just didn’t want you, when being nonbinary wasn’t even a remote option. We grew up without queer characters in our cartoons or Nickelodeon or Disney or TGIF sitcoms. We were raised in homophobia, came of age as the world changed around us, and are raising children in an age where it’s never been easier to be same-sex parents. We’re both lucky and jealous. As the state of gay evolved culturally and politically, we were old enough to see it and process it and not take it for granted–old enough to know what the world was like without it. Despite the success of Drag Race, the existence of lesbian Christmas rom-coms, and openly transgender Oscar nominees, we haven’t moved on from the trauma of growing up in a culture that hates us. We don’t move on from trauma, really. We can’t really leave it in the past. It becomes a part of us, and we move forward with it. For LGBTQ+ millennials, our pride is couched in painful memories of a culture repulsed and frightened by queerness. That makes us skittish. It makes us loud. It makes us fear that all this progress, all this tolerance , all of Billy Porter's red carpet looks can vanish as quickly as it all appeared.

Oh, well, I know that Libby." He rolls his eyes. "I've never met anyone more committed to, well, life that you are." "Really?" I swallow rather hard. "Even though I keep on screwing my life up?" "Sweetheart, precisely because you keep screwing your life up! I mean look at you. You had the crappiest career eve in the world before you turned everything around and became this shit-hot jewellery designer. You set your head on fire with a cigarette and ended up being utterly adored by the guy who had to put you out... And I do adore you, by the way," he adds, in a nonchalant sort of way, "in case you ever had wondered. Oh, and then there's your love of life. Loads of girls would have just sunk...

Tom Arnold is already waiting at the bar when I arrive, and Vanessa purrs loudly when she spots him. I ignore the slut and stand next to him, waiting for him to notice me, bopping my head slightly to Andy Williams singing Can’t Take My Eyes Off You. At last, he turns and smiles at me. “Pip! You look lovely,” he tells me with an appreciative glance. I simper. “So do you,” I tell him, attempting to bat my eyelids like Vanessa would. “Have you got something in your eye?” he frowns. “Contact lens is playing up,” I mutter. “I didn’t know you wore contacts,” he says in surprise. “All the better to see you with, my dear,” I respond in a deep voice, and he gives me a strange look. I clear my throat. “It’s a free bar tonight, isn’t it?

Before Keir MacRae arrived, everything was normal. Now there's been stabbings, explosions, and debauchery, and my sensible older sister is engaged to a Scottish whisky distiller. What's happened to you? You're supposed to be level-headed!" Merritt tried to sound dignified. "Just because one is usually level-headed doesn't mean one is always level-headed." "You won't be comprised if no one knows about it," Luke said. "And God knows none of us are going to say anything." The duke intervened, his voice so dry one could have struck a match off it. "My boy, you're missing the point. Your sister wants to be compromised." Ethan Ransom, who had been inching toward the stairs, ventured, "I don't need to be part of this conversation. I'm going up to see my wife.

But whatever my reasons, whatever my baggage, I take responsibility. I still made choices—many wrong choices. Can I blame Callum or anyone else for seeing only my past? I could try to tell Callum how I’ve changed—about my breakdown, my therapy, the changes I’ve made in the past two years. I haven’t just turned over a new leaf. I uprooted the whole plant before starting from a new seed. He wouldn’t believe it though. Callum is going to believe what he wants. Which serves my purposes just fine. He believes I’m still a rogue and I’ll force him to face his feelings about Serafina. She’ll get her happily-ever-after, and I’ll … well. I don’t know. I would disappear to my duchy, but if I don’t perform for Uncle, I won’t have that for long. He’ll find a way to turn the conservatorship into ownership.

So when you guys get married and she squeezes out a litter of brats for you, you're going to have to come up with a better meet-cute than that. I don't think the kids will want to hear that you held mommy's hair while she puked up pills. I'm no expert but I could see that scarring a kid. You know, maybe pep it up. You two locked eyes at a Blockbuster video and you were fucking done for. Then they'll ask what the fuck a Blockbuster is and you can move on to other subjects." "Frate," Edison said, brows raised like he thought the man was out of his fucking mind. Which he was, so it was a valid thought. "Who the fuck did you trade your balls into for the information about what a meet-cute is? First fucking Cyrus with his Michael Bublé, now this fuck with his rom-com comments? We're a sad excuse for bikers at this point.

The ion and dust tails seemed to be pointing away from the crackling fire of the sun. Looking more closely, one tail was gray mixed with yellow and white and the second was blue fading into teal. The color change was softer than melting wax. A bright green coma glowed around the center. I felt as though I was seeing magic for the first time as the warmth from our great star heated up the comet, causing it to spew dust and gasses into a giant glowing head larger than most planets. The comet’s magnificence and grandeur stirred me, much like a transcendent piece of music that envelops one’s soul. “I’ve never seen a comet before,” I confessed, my voice filled with a mix of wonder and emotion. I could feel a tear form in my eye. I blinked it away. Bello, pulchram, bela, hermoso, yafah, ómorfi, Meilì. I could express the concept of beauty in numerous languages, but none of them truly captured the essence of my feelings as I gazed at the comet. It was a sight of indescribable beauty, as if musical notes had been sketched across the canvas of the night sky. I would never forget the comet—similar to Xuan, exciting, rare, and stunning. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Xuan whispered. I looked at Xuan, but instead of looking at the sky, Xuan was staring at me. He stood, his hands jammed into his pockets, as he quickly turned his gaze to wander over the peaceful metropolis.

Galveston?” he asked in that amazing voice, still surprising me by keeping our conversation going. “Yeah. Staying at a beach house and everything. Totally slumming it and having a miserable time, you know?” I gave him a real smile that time. Rip just raised his brows. “I promised her I would go visit, and she promised she would come up too... What’s that face for?” I surprised myself by laughing. “I don’t believe it either. I’ll get lucky if she comes once. I’m not that delusional.” I didn’t imagine the way his cheek twitched again, just a little, just enough to keep the smile on my face. “I’m stuck making my own lunches from now on. I have nobody to watch scary movies with who’s more dramatic than I am screaming at the scary parts. And my house is empty,” I told him, going on a roll. “Your lunches?” was what he picked up on. I wasn’t sure how much he’d had to drink that he was asking me so many questions, but I wasn’t going to complain. “I can’t cook to save my life, boss. I thought everyone knew. Baking is the only thing I can handle.” “You serious?” he asked in a surprised tone. I nodded. “For real?” “Yeah,” I confirmed. “I can’t even make rice in an Instant Pot. It’s either way too dry or it’s mush.” Oh. “An Instant Pot is—” “I know what it is,” he cut me off. It was my turn to make a face, but mine was an impressed one. He knew what an Instant Pot was but not a rom-com. Okay. “Sorry.” He didn’t react to me trying to tease him, instead he asked, “You can’t even make rice in that?” “Nope.” “You know there’s instructions online.” Was he messing with me now? I couldn’t help but watch him a little. How much had he drunk already? “Yeah, I know.” “And you still screw it up?” I blinked, soaking up Chatty Cathy over here like a plant that hadn’t seen the sun in too long. “I wouldn’t say I screw it up. It’s more like… you either need to chew a little more or a little less.” It was his turn to blink. “It’s a surprise. I like to keep people on their toes.” If I hadn’t been guessing that he’d had a couple drinks before, what he did next would have confirmed it. His left cheek twitched. Then his right one did too, and in the single blink of an eye, Lucas Ripley was smiling at me. Straight white teeth. That not-thin but not-full mouth dark pink and pulled up at the edges. He even had a dimple. Rip had a freaking dimple. And I wanted to touch it to make sure it was real. I couldn’t help but think it was just about the cutest thing I had ever seen, even though I had zero business thinking anything along those lines. But I was smart enough to know that I couldn’t say a single word to mention it; otherwise, it might never come out again. What I did trust myself to do was gulp down half of my Sprite before saying, “You can make rice, I’m guessing?” If he wanted to talk, we could talk. I was good at talking. “Uh-huh,” he replied, sounding almost cocky about it. All I could get myself to do in response was grin at him, and for another five seconds, his dimple—and his smile—responded to me.

You're certainly not dressed like you're running a business." Eyes blazing, she glared. "What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" "An apron and a pink tracksuit with Juicy written across the ass are hardly serious business attire and they certainly don't scream swipe right on desi Tinder." Sam didn't know if there was such a thing as Tinder for people of South Asian descent living abroad, but if it did exist, he and Layla would definitely not have been a match. Layla gave a growl of frustration. "You may be surprised to hear that I don't live my life seeking male approval. I'm just getting over a breakup so I'm a little bit fragile. Last night, I went out with Daisy and drank too much, smoked something I thought was a cigarette, danced on a speaker, and fell onto some loser named Jimbo, whose girlfriend just happened to be an MMA fighter and didn't like to see me sprawled on top of her man. We had a minor physical altercation and I was kicked out of the bar. Then I got dumped on the street by my Uber driver because I threw up in his cab. So today, I just couldn't manage office wear. It's called self-care, and we all need it sometimes. Danny certainly wouldn't mind." "Who's Danny?" The question came out before he could stop it. "Someone who appreciates all I've got going here-" she ran a hand around her generous curves- "and isn't hung up on trivial things like clothes." She tugged off the apron and dropped it on the reception desk. "I'm not hung up on clothes, either," Sam teased. "When I'm with a woman I prefer to have no clothes at all." Her nose wrinkled. "You're disgusting." "Go home, sweetheart." Sam waved a dismissive hand. "Put your feet up. Watch some rom-coms. Eat a few tubs of ice cream. Have a good cry. Some of us have real work to do.

Yay! I want to attend a Pampered Chef party about as much as I want to go to a used auto parts party where you can win a baby monkey as a door prize

Sherry is clearly from Iceland because it is not that warm out,

I would say he was gay.” “What the hell are you talking about?” “Think about it. He’s dramatic, he knows how to decorate, likes wimpy music—if he said anything about show tunes I would have to call in a pro to figure this out.

did he bring a condom to have sex with a woman with no uterus?

Wisdom applies the truth we have learned thus far and makes good judgments. As James 1:22 says, “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.” We must apply the truth and live it out.

And she’s here. And said he’s here. And she’s going to tell him I’m here.” Avery waves her hands frantically. “Shh . . . or everyone will hear!” We stare at one another in silence, not blinking. Okay, I blinked, but it’s not really a contest.

Throughout the years I have had a one night stand with each and every one of them. And there they were, all together in my favorite club in town...

When I watched rom-coms and saw main characters storm off from the person they once loved, I sometimes couldn't handle it. It always seemed so silly not to just give someone a chance. I had no idea how this could feel, though. I didn't know that the thing that would seem silliest is the idea of givine someone the chance to hurt you again.

Don't leave home without your sense of humor.

out between us, when we’d given it a try one tentative time, after I, too, learned what it was like for a marriage to implode. Lydia had been empathetic and understanding, and knew how to make great popcorn and buy ice cream and pour shots of tequila, and for sure she had a god-tier movie collection. It could’ve been a rom-com from the eighties: geeky late bloomer grows up and finally gets his chance with the dream girl who was out of his league when they met, because she was nine years his senior. By the time we took our short-lived tumble, the age gap didn’t seem nearly as prominent, but the dynamic still wasn’t quite right, and maybe never could be. There was no shaking free of the worry over what Lydia saw when she looked at me. She would always remember the bruises, the confessions. She would always remember how back then my dad kept insisting he was only trying to knock the fag out of me, and I’d thank him someday. She would always remember why I got into schlocky videos in the first place: I thought if he came through and saw I was watching something with lots of boobs, he’d leave me alone. Only it didn’t work that way. The world is full of carnivores intent on devouring their young, and if one rationale gets invalidated, they find another.

although Michelle’s tastes and mine often diverged: She preferred rom-coms, while according to her, my favorite movies usually involved “terrible things happening to people, and then they die.

I am left with the scars. In time, they will fade and maybe one day they will heal, but for now they remain. -Franny Harris (Life Fail) I bet, Penny is on the sand walking along the shore wearing her old green flips – the ones I call her granny-flops. I wish I was there to make fun of those stupid shoes. -Franny Harris (Life Fail)

In the era of social dating,it is just an experience that feels like a scene in a "rom-com” to “absolute disasters

My hand’s on the door handle, but his voice stops me. “Hold up.” I glance over, and I swear to all the swoony alpha heroes in the romances I’ve read that his eyes have that certain sparkle. Huh. Thought that was only in books. I raise a brow. I’m immune. I am.

A physical-spiritual concussion, like a jolt of electricity to the heart. It was like something from a rom-com script so cliché-ridden that it gets sent to turnaround (the film industry term for a project that a film studio decides not to develop further).

You're not the guy. That's the whole point. Neither of us is the guy. In the lesbian rom-com, we would discuss all of our feelings until our throats dry up and our bodies shrivel.

I feel like I’m in the middle of my own twisted, real-life romance story, but I’m too scared to discover the outcome. Which girl am I? Am I the girl being played who ends up heart broken, or am I the girl who gets the guy?

I don’t tell anyone about Jack, mostly because I don’t want anyone to know I’m shallow enough to think that a cute British guy is the single most interesting thing about visiting a different planet.

I expect to spend every day with my best friend. I expect to sit in good moods and bad moods and comfort the only person who’s ever truly accepted me for me. I expect to be able to tell everyone that this beautiful, intelligent, amazing girl is mine and I’m hers. I expect to watch cheesy Rom-Coms with you, to sit through hours of your stupid John Cusack movies, to always wonder if you could ever love me as much as you love him–” “I

cover up with his hand. “I think Dusetto-san deserves the prize for the most entertaining homework adventure. Even if it wasn’t technically still the weekend.” Ikeda-sensei reaches into the bag and pulls out a red, papier-mâché sphere and puts it on the desk in front of me. It takes me a few seconds to realize that it has a face. “Wow. Thanks for the…erm.” I don’t know what this thing with bushy eyebrows and huge white eyeballs but no pupils is. “Daruma,” David says from his solo table. “That’s right, Takamatsu-san,” Ikeda-sensei says. “It’s supposed to be a good luck talisman,” David says, and everybody looks at him. “What? I am Japanese. Sorta. Daruma are old-

It’s an inherent problem we women have. We’re all attracted to the bad boy…the lone wolf…the one who can’t be tamed. We think we can tame him and all we do is get hurt in the process.

How can I help Juliet out when I’m stuck in my own SPAM situation?

It's Norway. It's been snowing for weeks. That sounds cold. Oh no, not at all. It's only minus fifteen today.