Awkward ladies need love too.

Women are often misinformed that if they initiate flirtation, they can easily bag the guy. The idea is that men are subjected to the whims of their overactive genitals, and therefore cannot refuse. A prominent movie cliché (see: “The Phantom of the Opera”)  is that of the man lusting after the intangible goddess. And, according to Venus razor commercials, all women are goddesses.

Well, not me.

I have a long history with acne, a manly voice, and a giant, non-Kardashian ass. My social skills have been molded by comedies that exploit awkwardness. At my all-girls Catholic high school, my best friend and I were the not-even-mainstream-enough-to-be-stereotyped freaks obsessed with drag queens. In other words, I never won the superlative for “most desirable.”

But I thought I could get past that.

Recently armed with a Facebook profile glamour shot and an ex-boyfriend who once had abs, I overestimated my stock value in the department of love.

I tend to stare at attractive people. I try to restrain myself, or at least be covert when I’m aware of what I’m doing. Sometimes, however, I can’t control myself. I read my favorite justification for this kind of behavior in a novel called “The Fault in Our Stars”:

“I enjoy looking at beautiful people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of existence.”

But I’m not as charming as the speaker. Apparently, I’m just creepy.

I had been awaiting the start of my class when my eyes were overtaken by the sight of a beautiful man. As Cutting Crew’s “(I Just) Died in Your Arms” played in my mind, he strutted through the door in slow motion.

His jawline was chiseled like a sculpture, his Jew-fro bounced like a kangaroo, and his green eyes pierced like emeralds. I had found the Edward Cullen to my Bella Swan. I think I even saw a sparkle on his skin.

Then, the beauty in his face morphed into an expression of disgust directed at me. My blood wasn’t his heroin. I was rejected.

According to lady magazines, eye contact is flirty. Why didn’t he stare back?

My neurosis forced me to over-analyze my faults in this situation. Oh yeah, my mouth was agape, my hair-bun was wiry, and my eyes were widened. That’s why.

But I have, well, some things going for me. I get high grades, occasionally make people laugh, and have good aesthetic taste. Damn it, Edward should be all over this!

I realized that I am that same freak from high school when my phone vibrated with a wallpaper of me dressed as a drag queen from Halloween.

I have a photo album with pictures of my cat on Facebook titled, “Symptoms of a Crazy Cat Lady.” I’m no glamazon. I am the crazy cat lady!

All of my qualities from my past still apply to my present.

Ladies, some of us are the frumpy Liz Lemon types who need men who can appreciate our [insert grotesque yet endearing attribute].  We need to pull through the rejection and love ourselves in the meantime. No, not in that way.