Your job sucks and your hair cut is only "okay".
You dont get usually laid with handicaps like this. Lately, you wont get laid unless you are metrosexual with a mop in your head, and you are willing to go to the cinema watch twilight.
At least not in my country.
There are all kinds of people, who look for all kinds of partners.
While I believe in taking care to select what I wear and what my hair looks like, it doesn't take watching
Twilight in the theater. Nothing deserves that, and if you're doing any more than just banging someone who's a fan of Stephanie Meyer, well, then, you're part of a global problem.
Now, gather 'round for a story filled with woe and more besides.
Some years ago, I was in college. I met her there. She was a scene kid before the term scene kid came around, and had a great toothy smile, the kind that's as contagious as the common cold. Beyond the smile, it made me think she really liked me. So I picked her up from her parent's place, and we got lost in the part of town that you don't want to be lost in, especially with a fairy of a girl in diaphanous dress. You know, the kind that are designed to be hiked up. As a nervous kid, though, I wasn't thinking about that.
She laughed at all the right places, and the way she sword made the words 'bitch' and 'fuck' sound as coquettish as a giggle hidden behind a hand. That's a talent, let me tell you. The night ended and I looked into her eyes. She gave me that smile and slid her hand into my pants, and I might as well have been a marble statue. I was vulnerable to her in every way. Soul and boyhood both in her hand. She kept on grinning, though she batted away my hands when I tried to reciprocate. It was painful when I finally exploded, especially since she kept on going for a moment after.
Then she smiled and walked back up to her door.
And never answered any of my calls ever again.
