Seven girls I 've dated in college

This is really what is sounds like. I probably knew more of the type than others. I'm really into the definition of words, the etymology of words. I guess its got something to do with my facination with August Sander's work. Eh. Enough of me this is about the jewel I found today.
This is an entry about girls you'll date in college. I've dated about 3 of these kinds of girls (ok ok, the safe one, the friend, the perfect one.). This is a truth nugget in my opinion.
Read below children:   (Further insight to follow)
 
Original from CollegeHumor.com
The Athletic One
The Beginning:

Maybe you were good at sports, maybe you always sucked, but a semester of 4am burritos hasn't helped either way. She'll be cute, blonde, and look better in track shorts than she does make-up. Through careful deception, you'll convince her you can still play intramural soccer sans heart attacks.

The End: 

This, of course, is a lie, and you'll both discover that, in the strictest animal-eating/shelf-building sense, she's more of a man than you. You'll have fun, but as soon as you try to keep up with her on the field (and elsewhere), she'll be forever left with an image of you, wheezing, doughy, and begging her to slow down.
 
The one who likes to party
The Beginnng:

Scene: An  awful club with a one-word name like "Velour" or "Prolapse". You hate  places like this. She's skinny, tanned, and seems to be wearing a  confusing handkerchief. She starts talking to you. You love places like  this. Your friend's a promoter or a DJ, whichever is cooler? She offers  pills, and you desperately wonder if there's a non-alphabetical  difference between "E" and "X". 

The End:

      A  few months later, you'll be broke, exhausted, and starting to resemble  Christian Bale from "The Machinist". She'll pout, amused by your  misery, and you'll suddenly identify strongly with those sleepy YouTube  puppies. Before even remembering if the sex was good, you'll be  dreaming of a world where naps are worth more than gold. Also,  dinosaurs with lightsabers.    

 
The one who goes to Church
The Beginning:

After years  of being told you're a "nice guy", you'll finally meet a girl who makes  you feel like James Dean, if James Dean had Wolverine claws and once  drank eleven Bud Lites in a single night. To her puritanical  sensibilities, you'll be a badass, and you'll fucking love it. 

The End:

Option A, she's the real deal and will try to change you. There may be a girl worth waking up at 8am on a Sunday morning for, but you'll quickly decide she ain't it. Option B, under the thin veneer of virtue there's a boatload of real crazy, and she'll quickly realize your Level 60 Badass is as lame as the World of Warcraft reference I just made.
 
The dumb hot one
The Beginning: 

Not  beautiful, not cute, just "hot". Whether it was Daddy, society, or the  media who ruined her, she's spent years fighting her natural looks to  end up in a place that should, by definition, be attractive, but feels  distractingly photoshopped. She finds you interesting, and, in a moment  of weakness, you're going to go for it. 

The End:

You two will last exactly as long as your tolerance for crippling insecurities and songs by former Mousketeers. As insufferable as you find her, she'll find you distant, inconsistent, and generally a jerk. You'll still keep a picture of her to show off. She won't.
 
The safe one
The Beginning:

Between the tough internship and the actually interesting classes, you'll decide that a girlfriend should be like your old Ford Taurus: not flashy, but reliable, low maintenance and often mistaken for an undercover cop car. One day after Lit class, you'll ask her out and, when she says yes, you'll pretend to be excited, just like you did when you were sixteen.

The End:

There will be movies, dinner, and perfunctory but satisfying sex. It will be, by all technical definitions, "a relationship". Then, as your schedule clears, you'll realize you want something more, and that you just spent the last four months with someone "just good enough".  As did she.
 
The friend
The Beginning:

You've spent  hours discussing weed, hoodies, and children's television from the 80s.  She was there when you thought you could play guitar; you were there  when she had that tat of Jem & the Holograms removed from her inner thigh. In fact, you're completely comfortable  with each other - did you just discover the magic warp pipe to dating  without fear or anxiety? 

The End:

Well, yes, but without fear and anxiety, without the unknown, dating is about as titillating as a five-year-old Slanket. And nobody only a certain percentage of people (whose websites I find personally very confusing) wants to fuck a Slanket.
 
The perfect one
The Beginning:

Beautiful,  funny, kind, she'll inspire you to acts of poetry that will inspire  your friends to call you gay. You'll say it's "love", defined here as a  one-sided activity comprised mostly of staring at her Facebook. After  ten months of carefully planned, slightly pathological courtship,  she'll take a chance on you. And it will be everything you hoped for. 

The End:

Aesop had a fable about a squirrel so scared of someone stealing his nuts that he lost them. Actually, it might have been a lion. Or maybe it was a Michael Crichton novel. Regardless, you will always be afraid of screwing things up with her. And (irony alert) this is what will screw things up. You'll realize you're in a relationship in which you can never truly be comfortable, and, five sweaty weeks later, just as graduation rolls around, you'll realize she's moved on. Your turn.
 
Well, now I think about it one of the girls I dated in college started out as the friend, then the safe one then the perfect one. I kept in touch with her but just recently found out she's a republican. Don't get me started.
Another one was kinda of like the safe one. But she broke my heart in the worst way. It still hurts. Sometime, everybody hurts. REM.
More to come after the break.