7 Ways Romantic Comedies Ruined My LIfe


It’s almost Xmas time and you know what that means, love is literally in the air and if there was ever a time to find love, it’s right now. I don’t necessarily put buy into the girly romantic vibe, I’m always talking about horror movies and haven’t been caught doodling hearts on my notebook, but truth is I’m totally addicted to romantic comedies. Really, how can you blame me? As an unofficially married woman who is constantly surrounded by boys, I spend most of my time enduring marathons of bad 80’s action flicks and endless episodes of SpongeBob Squarepants. So, every now and then I have to let my ovaries take control, escape the testosterone and retreat to my room to raid my Netflix queue for all things sappy.

For 120 minutes I can laugh, cry and wait on the edge of my seat as grand gestures of love are displayed before me…then it’s back to reality. My secret rendezvous with the romantic comedies section has started to affect my life in some really unsettling ways. Romantic comedies have ruined my life, and here’s how.

7 Ways Romantic Comedies Ruined My Life

Unrealistic Expectations

Every woman has high expectations for her man and I’m no exception, but there should still be a bit or reality in your expectations. Not too long ago I was coming home from a long trip, and over the moon excited to see my boyfriend Brett again. I stepped off the plane, made my way through the security gates and searched the crowd for my beloved. I was fully expecting to meet eyes, run through the crowd, and a jump into his arms kind of reunion. Or at the very least I wanted to see a big ass sign that read “Welcome home, Baby”, with him standing front and center. What I got instead was a text message saying “outside in 10, wait by the curb”. Can we say anti-climactic. I blame these expectations entirely on Hollywood pushing love filled declarations on me. Of course I’m going to expect a fucking sign when Noah can build Allie a fucking house from scratch and they weren’t even dating! Where the fuck is my hand built house with red door?

Ok so maybe expecting Brett to build me a house from scratch is a bit much but then romantic comedies spin me around with this one…

True Love Has To Hurt

In the land of romantic comedies love isn’t real unless both parties first go through the absolute ringer. Romeo and Juliet had their forbidden love, Noah and Allie had to wait years before reconnecting with each other and finding true happiness, but we’re all supposed to be satisfied with a simple I love you. Romantic comedies have me longing for some kind of tortured soap opera style romance and scoffing at simple upfront declarations of love. Fuck you, rom com’s, for making me think that true love has to come with torturous years apart and undelivered hand written letters. It got so bad that after being balls deep in the Twilight Saga, sweet Brett attempted to say something loving and I responded with “You’re no Edward”. What the hell was I thinking? I fully accept my asshole crown on that one.

And if that wasn’t bad enough romantic comedies ruined my life with one simple misguided theory…

ust when I think everything will be ok, rom com’s hit me with the bad boy. Romantic comedies ruined my life by fooling me into believing that all bad boys are really just smoldering misunderstood loners who recite poetry at home and really have a heart of gold. They lured me in with James Dean’s perfectly quaffed hair and I don’t give a damn attitude, hit me with a signing Johnny Depp in Cry Baby and then effectively end my life with Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You. What is a young girl supposed to do but think they can save the bad boy? Meanwhile we’re stuck going from one bad boy heartache to the next, searching for the completely fictional “good” boy bad boy. The reality is that 99% of those bad boys aren’t sitting at home painting and composing great sonnets, there just assholes with nice hair and a cute smile.

After all that wasted energy on bad boys, romantic comedies reveal the real way to find love is…

Dance Class

Because we all know it’s only true love when you can run full speed at a man and he lifts you high into the air like a magical swan princess. Real love is only found when two steaming bodies meet under the extreme pressure of the end of summer dance competition. Thank you romantic comedies for running my life and destroying my already delicate bank account by encouraging me to enroll in salsa classes only to discover I can’t remember five steps, let alone an entire routine. Oh and thanks for the heads up that there are no sexy men in dance class, just a gaggle of women all hoping for the same thing. Where was my Patrick Swayze, my Antonio Banderas, shit I’d even take a John Travolta? Alas, it’s just me sporadically running at Brett, effectively crashing into him because “I’m too heavy for that shit” and he has no idea where my obsession with dance is coming from.

So I bandage my knees and my ego and then walk away but something is missing…

Sad Emotional Music

Shouldn’t every moment in my life be set to appropriately emotional music? Romantic comedies ruined my life by making me think a slow walk away with soft piano music playing makes emotion that much deeper. There should be a theme song playing for the random day that I skip down the street with a smile on my face, and certainly a dramatic string quartet to wrap up my post fight storm out. But no, the music only plays in my head and romantic comedies are to blame.

So the music doesn’t play and I have to confront another life ruining truth…

No Rain, No Romance

Of course all truly romantic moments happen when it’s pouring rain outside. Screw you romantic comedies, you ruined my life with this rain shit. Excuse me, but I live in California where we’re lucky to get one hour of drizzling rain in a year, let alone a romantic torrential downpour. Guess making out in the rain is out of the question for me. Not only am I rain deprived but what about my hair? Am I supposed to just sit there, let makeup run down my face, let my hair turn into a frizz ball and pretend that my contacts aren’t being brutalized by the bad weather? I blame bastard romantic comedies for making me think that a sun kissed stroll along the beach isn’t worthy of a passionate kiss and romantic look. No, instead I need a Seattle style rain and soggy clothes kiss to feel I’ve fulfilled the true romantic dream.

So the lack of rain isn’t that bad but then romantic comedies hit me with this doozy…

The Perfect Man

Romantic comedies ruined my life, and I’m sure yours as well, with one immaculate little import. Ryan- mother fucking- Gosling. You perfect bastard. How dare you drop this bombshell of sexy on me, forcing me to daydream about the moment our eyes meet across some small obscure bookstore and we ride off into the sunset on the back of your motorcycle. Oh and then he’s cast in one of the most heart wrenching movies of all time, forcing me to compare my boyfriend to this real life incarnation of an Ancient Greek God. That sly smile, those piercing blue eyes, and the one liner’s that will incinerate your panties in seconds…it’s just not fair. “If I’m a bird, you’re a bird”- are you kidding me? Get the fuck out of here with this shit? No one can compete with it and my boyfriend is starting to resent my unrealistic expectations.

F&ck you romantic comedies! You screw my life up with high romantic hopes and dreams of being swept away and sang to in a boat surrounded by swans. And a double screw you for making me believe that the natural way to be courted by someone is surrounded by gym classmates while some guy belts out “Your Just Too Good to Be True”.  And especially for making my poor boyfriend struggle to lift me in the air and for making Ryan Gosling the start of all my dreams.

Will I stop watching romantic comedies? No, I’ll continue to indulge and satisfy my ovarian needs. I just need to learn to accept that romantic comedies have ruined my life and I fucking love it.