Pain is a part of life, evident in everyone, and is often caused by relationships or brought about by the pursuit of them. It can be a reaction to carelessness or incited intentionally, and you can see proof of it wherever you look. I expect virtually no one consciously looks to get hurt; except, of course, masochists; but deep down, we all know that letting someone else into our life, letting someone get that close to us, is bound to raise emotions other than happiness.

In women’s quest for romance, one of the most obvious routes to getting hurt lies within an old cliché – that concerning the Bad Boys. Girls constantly date guys who have no intention of ever getting into anything other than their pants, and then have to deal with the emotions it generates. I should know, I’m one of them. It’s sad to admit, but more often than not, the Good Guys are overlooked on the basis of being “boring,” “lacking personality” or because they’re thought of as “just a mate.” With a Bad Boy, this is never an issue.

            Passion is sought after by girls worldwide, and the Bad Boys reflect it at a face-value level. They have that look, that kiss: the one that convinces you that if you take them home, it’ll be a throw-you-down-on-the-bed, hot, sex-filled night. And even though in the back of your mind, you know for a fact they’ll disappear through the front door like a firecracker once it’s over, and promptly vanish of the face of the earth; for those moments of passion... You attempt to convince yourself that he wants more, that he thinks of you as more than just a piece of meat, or another notch on the bedpost. So you rationalise the night and the angst you know will come with the dream of what could be. Except, this rationalisation, without the materialisation of the dream, falls flat on its face.

            You’re left with the hurt, the feeling of being used, and the questions of why. It’s the same every time. So why do girls continue putting up with it? We know from experience why he hasn’t called, hasn’t texted, hasn’t IMed you – to him, everything, all the time spent together beforehand, was leading to that one night, not a relationship. It was just sex: nothing more, nothing less. These kind of guys idolise multiple views of perfect sex, maintaining the logic of: why stick to a singular girl when there’s a world full of them?

            The hurt stems from the incongruence between the Bad Boys’ and girls’ views of relationships. The majority of women want to be in a relationship, although we’re not adverse to a fling every once in a while. As opposed to the Bad Boys, we idolise the view of a perfect man, one that’ll make us feel secure, one that we can settle with for a bit. And yet we keep falling for the twats, praying that at one point, instead of ending up burned, we’ll find him. That Bad Boy that will do a total 180 for you, completely change his views of womenkind and decide that the one girl he wants is you. We keep hope, with help from stories about friends of friends: “This girl my mate knows, her boyfriend was a complete player before she met him... They’ve been together a year now; he’s not cheated on her once, as far as she knows...” These regenerate as urban myths, convince us that it could happen: that diamond is out there, you’ve just got to wade through the fakes to find him.

Meanwhile, the Good Guys are sitting on the sidelines, wondering what the hell is wrong with girls, why they insist on getting messed around by the Bad Boys. The Good Guys are, more often than not, the friends, the ones leaning against the walls or sitting down in clubs, scrutinising the sickening swagger of the Bad Boy as he approaches the girl they’ve been wanting to get to know all night. They’re the ones that enjoy a pint down the local over a heaving club full of drunkards. They’re the intelligent but not insolent ones in your lectures or workplace, the ones that’ll give you a smile as you leave. They’re the ones that wouldn’t intentionally hurt you.

            They’re the ones that girls continually fail to notice as romantic interests.

Maybe the problem lies in immediacy. Because the Good Guys often don’t have the confidence to sweep a girl off her feet and into bed at first sighting, and take the time to get to know girls, they cross the line into friendship territory. Women want that instantaneous feeling of butterflies, want to feel that fluttery stomach every time they see the boy, every time they talk to him. The problem with getting to know girls without the pretence of romance is that the feeling of familiarity develops. There’s no danger; and without the butterflies, without the passion, the girl begins to see him more as a brother than anything else. I’m not saying it’s impossible to begin a relationship with a friend, it’s just complicated – you face the dilemma of whether it’s worth risking your friendship by making a move, and have to weigh up the consequences if they don’t feel the same. Either way, if the feeling’s not mutual, someone’s not happy, someone gets hurt.

            The Dating Rules often work against the Good Guys as well. Most girls still abide by the ridiculous age-old law that men should make the first move – often it’s only the Bad Boys who have the cockiness to approach girls out of the blue, meaning the Good Guys don’t really get a look in. Life would be simpler if the Rules took in to consideration the gender equality of modern society (though still not a hundred percent...); or if we all adopted the mentality of: screw them, screw getting hurt again, I’m making my own rules. The likelihood of that happening, however, is miniscule. So the Bad Boys continue to get their way, the Good Guys remain on the sidelines, and the girls continue looking and getting hurt.

However, those in a relationship are in no way immune to getting hurt by the opposite sex, as I’m sure you all know. So you’ve found that one, the person you’re not afraid to be truly yourself around, the person that sticks by your side. You’ve built a great deal of trust between the two of you. So does this make the pain worse when something does go wrong?

            There’s no such thing as a drama-free relationship – the couples I know bicker a fair bit, but at the end of the day, the trust they have in one another gets them through it. Besides, where would you be without the occasional argument? It keeps the passion alive, it means you’re not carbon copies, means you’re not afraid to express your opinion to one another. So whilst you’re left hurt for a while, the squabbles make your relationship stronger; and anyway, make-up sex is always amazing. But when something serious does go wrong; the big fights, cheating, etcetera; the trust is shattered. The pain is incomprehensible. You suddenly go from the security of the relationship to singledom, and have to face the rejection, the confusion of dating again.

Whether you’re in a relationship, or battling through the realms of singledom, we all frequently hit barriers of pain. It might not be that we specifically go looking to get hurt, but subconsciously we all know that we have to overcome these hurdles to get to the place we want to be. A little pain can inject drama and passion into life, renew these attributes, even. We learn to live with it, with the knowledge that we have to face the lows before we can truly enjoy the highs of life.

It’s a common saying: you don’t get a second chance at a first impression. Whether it’s good or bad, it’s out there, that split-second judgement another person has made – no consideration taken for mood, lack of preparation in appearance... It’s you, through a pinhole.

And it makes me nervous. Maybe that’s why I make so much effort with how I look – even if I’m popping to the supermarket, the make-up is applied, the hey-I’ve-just-rolled-out-of-the-house-but-don’t-I-look-awesome clothes are rocked out. Even if not one of the people that lays eyes on you ever does again, they won’t think of you negatively; merely as that nonchalant yet cute girl in Sainsburys. And so what if you’ve got a scowl on your face; it merely invites comments such as “Cheer up, honey,” instead of the anticipated glare back.

I suppose this mentality also brings up the question: why do I care what other people think? But then, who doesn’t? Even those who proclaim not to give a damn; they care. In fact, more often than not, this statement is made to shock people, or to receive some kind of warped admiration – proving that they want a reaction from the masses. Just like everyone else.

Appearance counts for a lot in today’s society, whether we like it or not. What we wear, what we say, it’s primarily to please others; even if we believe it’s only for our own gratification. After all, if you evoke an emotion in someone else, doesn’t it make you feel better about yourself? Even if you pissed someone off, if it was intentional, you’ll feel good (although, if you’re anything like me, it’ll last a few seconds before the guilt sets in and you’ll wish you never opened your gob...). In reality, there is no such thing as complete egoism. We’re sociable creatures, we all want acceptance, all want others to think well of us: it’s human nature.

So what else, besides appearance, constitutes a good first impression? It’s hard to identify – it all depends on the people involved and the situation.

            So you see me, out on the street. I’m rushing to work; tall blonde, black dress, sunglasses on, slight frown as I wonder just how much of a furore I would cause if I whacked the slow-walking people in front of me in the back of their heads. There’s a cigarette in my right hand, and I take a slow, pissed-off drag. My headphones are in, music on loud, battling with the screeches of teenagers, giddy with the novelty of the school holidays. What do you think of me? Grumpy bitch? Fit? Unfortunate smoker?

            And what if I was to open my mouth? “Hey!” I say, with a drawn-out last syllable, a smile lifting the corners of my glossed lips, as I pull out my earphones. Has your opinion changed with the utterance of a word? Am I no longer irritable, but attentive, calm, now sweet because I’m happy to see you? Or do you think I’m fake – someone who can flip their mood 180 degrees in a millisecond to mirror that of another?

            I can’t tell what you’re going to think of me. All I can do is hope that I make a positive impact and roll with it. First impressions are as much to do with the person making the judgement as they are with the one being judged.

So what about first impressions of potential romantic fixtures? As already discussed, when drunk pulling – the only time I appear to meet these potentials – alcohol clouds the senses, numbs the logical thought train to: they’re looking at me; they’re fit; awesome; need to snog. It makes looks even more important.

            Unfortunately, a great deal of people seem to be far too aware of this, even in an inebriated state. There’s a fine line between knowing that you’re making an impression and being vain about it. Yes, when I go out clubbing, I am dressed to the nines; but I go out with the intention of having a laugh. I screech along to the lyrics, pull stupid moves... Surely anyone looking at me would know that I’m having a giggle, and figure I’m a fun-loving kinda gal? Yet I still get condescending glances, mainly from girls – the type that go out purely to let guys check them out, and don’t dare to venture into “big fish, little fish, cardboard box” territory for fear of looking daft. They stand in their small groups, four or five of them wiggling their hips painfully in time to the music, not moving their feet due to skyscraper heels.

            Honestly, though? What do I care? First impressions can be based on jealousy too, and if you’re both thinking negatively of one another, you still feel positive about yourself. So she thinks I’m drunken and unattractively insane. I think she’s a stuck-up cow. Fair’s fair.

First impressions aren’t always just, but contrary to the saying, they are not the be-all and end-all. People change, opinions change. After all, where would humanity be if we wrote each other off based solely on an irritable look from someone having a bad day?

We all play games. It’s a fact of life. Whether literally (drunken Twister is almost as fun as sex, in my opinion) or figuratively, in relationships.

I’ve always found it amusing how “The Rules of Dating” are really just games in themselves: miniature Monopolies. First there’s the meeting, and the who-makes-the-first-move confusion. According to the Rules, it’s meant to be the guy; daft though this may be. So the girl throws looks, throws the dice – praying for good luck and a double six – a chance at another go. The guy moves, the girl hoping they’ll end up on the same square, heading the same direction.

            They proceed around the board, drifting away from each other – the lull after the first meeting, and before the first date. The Rules state you must wait at least 24 hours of real time before contacting them – don’t want to seem too keen, too bunny-boiler like, but don’t want to seem uninterested. The counters drift back toward each other with every go, every text, taking them forward to their reunion. But you must wait for your go, take turns in texting, no one wants to seem pushy.

Some squares pose opportunities, Community Chest cards, openings for you to build the relationship. Some squares have Chance cards. It’s 50/50, could be good, could be bad – it all depends on how you play them.

A week in, she gives him a Chance, invites him round to “watch a film.” Now, in Dating Code, this often translates as “have sex;” but how much is correct to assume? How do you play it? I’ve had men who have literally jumped on me as soon as I opened my bedroom door – assuming far too much. Others, however, have been far too cool, choosing to ignore the flirty looks, the hand waiting to be held, and upped and left as soon as the film finished. Which, of course, leaves you a square behind, wondering what the hell is wrong with you.

Sometimes the games veer into the realms of dishonesty. Although they can easily start as white lies: “Yeah, I love that band!” they can quickly descend into complete untruthfulness. What, for example, would you say if you had met two people at around the same time, and the subject of making one of the relationships more serious arose? More often than not, it would be: “No, I’m not seeing anyone else at the moment....” You don’t want to disappoint them, let them know that you’d been playing them for quite a while – even if it was purely due to indecisiveness. Often, in relationships, it’s difficult to know where the games end and the lies begin.

And I’m not talking only about romantic relationships. Platonic relationships have just as many games spiralling around them. In most cases, it’s completely harmless. Imagine the scenario: you’re shopping with one of your closest friends, Little Miss Sensitive, and she picks out the most hideous dress you’ve ever seen. She tries it on, and god damn, the impossible happens – it looks even worse. But she loves it. You decide that, for the sake of your friendship, it’s not worth voicing the million phrases sparking through your mind depicting how repulsive it looks, and you bite your tongue; muttering a few “Mmm”s of agreement to her exaltations of its amazingness. If she feels confident in it, then well... You don’t really want to be the bitch that shatters that. In some situations, it’s really fairly easy to know where to draw the line.

Others however, are more complex. Another scenario: you and your mate meet a gorgeous guy, you both get on with him like a house on fire, and needless to say, fancy the pants off him. Unless “shotgun” is called by one of you (easiest way to resolve the predicament; no-nonsense yoinking), you face the dilemma: get with him and annoy your mate, annoy her by telling her she can’t get with him, or, let her have him. How much are you willing to risk? Likelihood is that she’ll get over it pretty sharpish if you’re the ballsy one and make a beeline for him, and vice-versa. But is it worth putting your friendship through that turbulence, even for a minute? I have to say, that the fair few times I’ve been faced with this circumstance, I’ve backed off. Chicks before dicks, and all that.

However, this recently happened with one of my mates, R. Unfortunately, the guy involved wasn’t consulted to who he wanted to spend the night with, and now seems exceptionally confused. Despite getting with R that time, he appears to like both of us. He’s been speaking to both of us, flirting with both of us; albeit secretly with me. R has no idea I’ve spoken to the boy since the night we met, and now my conscience is shooting fragments of my usual morals through my mind, highlighting a whole host of questions I should be asking myself.

She’s smitten with the guy... Although, how could she not be? He’s smart, funny, cute: everything every girl looks for; and from my experience, everything that is virtually impossible to find. So do I keep my mouth shut, leave her rose-tinted glasses intact, let her carry on building this relationship under the impression that he only has eyes for her? Or do I say something, plant that little seed of doubt in her mind, possibly ruin something that could turn out to be amazing for her? Conundrum.

However, everyone plays games when they date. Maybe this boy is just keeping his options open – sensible, if you ask me. I think we’ve all at one time or another related the opposite sex to buses: you wait forever for one, and then two or more turn up at the same time. And who knows which will be the better, the one heading in the same direction you want to go? As for me and R, it’s just inconvenient for this guy that we happen to be close friends.

But, as always, friends come first. Needless to say, I’ve stopped talking to him.

It’s difficult to tell when the games stop being plain fun, or an easy way out of a difficult situation, and start becoming more serious. However, where would we be if no one ever played games? Would we necessarily appreciate the blunt honesty that would come of it? I somehow don’t think so. A little bit of toying around is fine, as long as it’s in moderation, and dependant on the situation. Besides, even if you think that you’ve escaped any kind of game playing, look a little closer.... Ever told a white lie to make someone feel better about themselves? Thought so.

University dating has always somewhat confused me. Back in school, it was simple (although I say this with a retrospective eye…). You developed a crush on someone, you got people to drop hints; and, hey presto, if everything went to plan, they would become your boyfriend/girlfriend. And then, if you’re anything like me, you’d date them for a few months, get bored, and find someone else to fancy.

            At uni, however, as I have discovered from a good one and a half years of singledom, starting a relationship is infinitely more complex. The whole process of meeting someone generally starts drunkenly in clubs. And more often than not, the beer goggles are on. Picture the scene: you’re at least seven double-vodka lemonades under, on the dancefloor with your mates, wiggling those hips, pulling what you inebriatedly believe to be your best moves. Someone grabs your waist from behind, begins to gyrate against you; and after about a songs-length of praying they’re fit, you turn around. Awesome, they are fit. So you smile, and then find yourself attached to their lips for the rest of the night. When the lights come on, depending on how slutty you’re feeling, they get your number, or maybe even a shared cab ride back to your place…

            And the tedium continues. You have to wait at least 24 hours before texting them – it’s the rules, don’t want to seem too keen. You chat for a bit in disjointed sentences, ask the same mundane questions you asked the previous night, unable to recall the answers in the sober light of day. If they don’t seem like a complete cock, you arrange to meet for a drink. The first date usually goes alright – to be honest it would be pretty hard to screw up. As long as you keep the more odd aspects of your personality locked away, preferably in a titanium box to make sure none of the freakishness escapes; then you secure the second outing – probably another drink or dinner. For me, it’s then that the real problems begin.

            My housemates joke that I’ve got three reasons for dropping men: 1. He has no personality, 2. He’s not good-looking enough, 3. He’s no good in bed. Although the last point is unfair, (I rarely sleep with guys until at least the third date, by which the other two points are extinguished) there should really be a fourth reason: He’s a twat. Being a tall, size 10 blonde, I have found that the most common reason for dating me is, bluntly, to get me into bed. Fair enough, everybody loves sex; but a drunken fumble, a poor excuse and a dash towards the door is rarely what any girl wants.

Saying this, I am not adverse to the occasional one-night-stand. But that’s whilst I wait. To anyone who enquires to why I’m still single, I have one answer: I’m looking for the right guy, and I don’t see any point in settling for less that that. I’m still hopeful that there is a guy out there who: 1. Has a personality, 2. Is hot, 3. Is good in bed, and 4. Is not a twat.

After moaning incessantly about this to my friends, I have discovered (passing over the withering looks given by those with another half) that virtually every other single girl at university has the same problem. Maybe it’s something to do with the way we go about meeting men. It’s Club Syndrome, and most guys who pull girls with the gyrating-from-behind method are gladly affected. Of course, the inherent sleaziness of it all should have probably given me a clue… But when drunk, I suppose I just don’t care. It’s all just a bit of fun then. Which obviously makes me no better than the worst womanisers.

A mate of mine, H, has a past of being a bit of a womaniser. However, he is now in a relationship, completely and utterly smitten, and considers himself to be the Bible of mankind. Upon hearing my lamentations, he suggested coffee shops. Great: no alcohol, and no men with intentions other than grabbing a caffeine boost. One big problem though. If you begin a conversation, utterly randomly with someone in this environment, you will be forever labelled as “that freak from the coffee shop,” rendering the whole escapade fruitless.

So where else is there to meet guys? It’s got to be somewhere where drunkenness isn’t an issue; somewhere where people are scouting for potential; somewhere where it’s easy to begin a conversation…

A few of my friends have come up with what they believe to be an ingenious device to tackle this problem – they’ve joined Match.com. Originally the profiles were created “just as a laugh,” but over a few weeks and several browsing sessions, Match.com has been reassessed as a viable source of men. Apparently all you have to do is “wink” at the hotties, pray they like the look of you, and begin messaging. It’s almost like school all over again.

At the moment, they are in the process of coaxing me into joining them. But I’ve got somewhat of a problem with internet dating sites. Aside from the obvious – they seem desperate, which I definitely am not – I’m just not sure about the functionality of them. When you meet someone face-to-face, you get an immediate impression, ranging between lust and dislike. On the internet, however, you have a profile; a snippet of personality, carefully crafted to represent all of the pros and none of the cons. You have a list of hobbies, to try and make you sound more interesting: “Yeah, I love shark diving… Although I did only do it this once when I was eighteen…” You have a list of turn-offs and turn-ons: “Hate smoking, love a fit body.” You have the most flattering photo ever taken as your profile picture.

It’s fake. How can you accurately judge someone based on their own biased opinion of themselves? Even with a drunken, Club Syndrome affected meeting, you get a genuine first impression. A profile, a photo could be so compelling, yet once you meet them, there could be… nothing. But full of optimism, maybe you’d go out with them again. Maybe base an entire relationship on promise, on what you thought they would be; forever looking for, hoping to find that wonderful person described in the profile. Foolish, but it’s been done.

On the other hand, most people do take the internet with a pinch of salt. (I’m hoping you are with this blog, in fact...) You do immediately get an overview of a person from their page, displayed as so full of hope and desire to meet someone new; to meet someone who’s exactly what they think they want. They sound fun, exciting; could be a laugh to message them… But you take a step back. Oh hang on, they want a brunette non-smoker. I’m a blonde smoker; bollocks. Next profile, please… So what if someone likes a drag every once in a while, why let that exclude countless people? It narrows the field. Physical meetings don’t hold that problem – if you meet the right person, you know, it’s the feeling in the pit of your stomach. The foundation of personality is there before the little things come into consideration. After all, only the most twattish of people would deny you a conversation on the basis of hair colour.

It just seems like internet dating has even more pitfalls than meeting someone in a club. You don’t get the initial physical attraction, and have nothing to base them on but a few written words. And people are always different with the paced conversation of IM as opposed to the spontaneity of spoken words. I just find it hard to believe that intimacy and love could blossom from the trawling and harsh judging of Match.com profiles. I’m sure there are couples out there that could prove me wrong, but I, for one, want the “I just met someone amazing” butterflies, which can only be achieved from a physical first meeting.

And so I continue looking. I continue clubbing. I continue pulling.

See you out there.