Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Average Frustrated Chumps

I'm frequently approached on false pretenses. AFCs stop to ask me where certain bars are ("Sorry, I don't drink") to whether I've been informed of my ethnicity ("Yes") before breaking into character and laying on the pre-meditated players' speech.

"Look," I always want to tell them, but can't. "Can't you see I'm heading somewhere? I'm obviously not looking to get picked up."

I tell them I'm in a hurry, they ask me what program I'm in. I say I'm running late between classes, they ask me to spell out my name.

Like I told Math Judas, the best time to approach a woman is when she's not in motion. Or better yet, help her out and cut it short when you see her making a real effort to run real fast. And though I realize I will only complain about not being noticed when my breasts grow to be spongy and glaucoma patients start ignoring my EHarmony invites, it doesn't make the situation right now any better.

I'm not saying I'm the best person to take advice from seeing how I was on my way to being promiscuous before cutting my career short to settle as a second-banana to a toilet plunger with a Jewfro, but I made this scale, so you're reading it, my friend:

<-- Clinginess <= Positive ATTN -- | -- Negative ATTN => Distance -->


Rule of thumb: If you can't stand her, she likes you. If she can't stand you, you're no better off. What you're looking for is that nice medium where you still remember her name the next day, and she promises not to call the cops. Match made in freakin' heaven.

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