Less of this:
More ladies swooning over my creative genius;
less guys standing in front of BFF posters with me.
More artistic finesse; less awkward-ness.
More proportionate arm length; less disproportionate arm length.
(I mean, check out those arms? Have another look. It looks even weirder the second time).
Nothing against Steve, but he found a better BFF than long arms over there. So is it really too much to ask for the same? I'm talking ladies lined up at my front door and outside every class waiting to offer me their name, number, and favorite color. I can deal with that. But until then, I tell my dad, my hands are tied concerning the advancement of my relationship status. Pops isn't hearing it. You have to go looking, he says. What? Go looking? I don't have time for that. Plus, I liked the good old days in seventh grade when they came to me. And anyway, who said they could stop? Is my hair less attractive now? I used to have a bowl-cut. Maybe I should get one of those again--bring back a movement lost to the toddlers. What about a mullet--those are time-less? No? Well, come on Dad, what could it be then? I don't look 27. I'm as hot as I was at 21. And I didn't have to do much looking then. So when did the screening process turn into a hunt? What? Of course I brush my teeth, Dad. I'm telling you, it's got to be the hair or something. Personality? Well, I don't know. You may have something there, but again, that didn't used to matter. Girls dug my bowl-cut and personality was incidental. Maybe I should work on a few jokes or something--let them know I'm funny so they don't think I'm so into my hair, even though I can't stop thinking about it and how I'm going to lose this one if the wind doesn't stop fro-ing my curls out. If I'm funny, I'll have a personality right? Sort of? What do you mean 'sort of?' Long walks on the beach? Dad, you're killing me. How's that personality? No one does that up here. It's Ohio. And it's freezing anyway. Ok, so you think I should at least try to talk to girls somewhere, in some venue, somehow, about something. Nice. Well that just kills it doesn't it. Dad, you know I can't talk to girls. They're weird. And their brains work in a way I can't get. I never know if I'm speaking their language or not. They have this weird text language that gets into all forms of communication and I'm left squinting at them, something they don't always like. LOL, :), U R (a picture of a sun), all sorts of variations on a smiley face theme, about a billion of these !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and another lol. What are you saying (squint)? I'm no good at this pops. I don't know what it's going to take to match me up with a representative of the other gender, but if it ever happens, it will be a miracle. But I'm a big fan of miracles, so I'll bank on that.
less guys standing in front of BFF posters with me.
More artistic finesse; less awkward-ness.
More proportionate arm length; less disproportionate arm length.
(I mean, check out those arms? Have another look. It looks even weirder the second time).
Nothing against Steve, but he found a better BFF than long arms over there. So is it really too much to ask for the same? I'm talking ladies lined up at my front door and outside every class waiting to offer me their name, number, and favorite color. I can deal with that. But until then, I tell my dad, my hands are tied concerning the advancement of my relationship status. Pops isn't hearing it. You have to go looking, he says. What? Go looking? I don't have time for that. Plus, I liked the good old days in seventh grade when they came to me. And anyway, who said they could stop? Is my hair less attractive now? I used to have a bowl-cut. Maybe I should get one of those again--bring back a movement lost to the toddlers. What about a mullet--those are time-less? No? Well, come on Dad, what could it be then? I don't look 27. I'm as hot as I was at 21. And I didn't have to do much looking then. So when did the screening process turn into a hunt? What? Of course I brush my teeth, Dad. I'm telling you, it's got to be the hair or something. Personality? Well, I don't know. You may have something there, but again, that didn't used to matter. Girls dug my bowl-cut and personality was incidental. Maybe I should work on a few jokes or something--let them know I'm funny so they don't think I'm so into my hair, even though I can't stop thinking about it and how I'm going to lose this one if the wind doesn't stop fro-ing my curls out. If I'm funny, I'll have a personality right? Sort of? What do you mean 'sort of?' Long walks on the beach? Dad, you're killing me. How's that personality? No one does that up here. It's Ohio. And it's freezing anyway. Ok, so you think I should at least try to talk to girls somewhere, in some venue, somehow, about something. Nice. Well that just kills it doesn't it. Dad, you know I can't talk to girls. They're weird. And their brains work in a way I can't get. I never know if I'm speaking their language or not. They have this weird text language that gets into all forms of communication and I'm left squinting at them, something they don't always like. LOL, :), U R (a picture of a sun), all sorts of variations on a smiley face theme, about a billion of these !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and another lol. What are you saying (squint)? I'm no good at this pops. I don't know what it's going to take to match me up with a representative of the other gender, but if it ever happens, it will be a miracle. But I'm a big fan of miracles, so I'll bank on that.
Until then, "Table for one!"
