If I could have anything for Christmas this year, it would be a pair of balls.
I think I lost mine.
This is textbook "How Not to Attract The Opposite Sex." The saga continues: You remember that there is this girl, who is currently my flatmate, who I kind of fancy. Nothing deep, I just like the cut of her jib. Two nights ago we stay up until 4:30 talking about times past, the wonderful present, and the bright horizon of wonderful things to come over a nice bottle of 5 euro red wine (Spanish rioja), simultaneuously being seranaded by the soulful sounds of Miles Davis. Sounds nearly picturesque, right? Ended in a night of passionate exclamations of unending bliss? No. She asked if I wanted to use the bathroom first (that could be dirty out of context, but she meant did I want to brush my teeth before I went to bed, alone, first).
Here's how I fcuked it up: I just can't seem to make a move. I am paralyzed by pathetic ponderances. Overthinking every word she mutters, I am psyching myself out. Does that mean go in for the kill? Does this mean I should offer my first born son? Maybe this means it's time to consider a life of solitude scratching my hairy parts in a remote outcropping outside Lake Titicaca.
If I had those cherished balls for which I so dearly pine, I would walk into her room right now (she is less than 20 feet away from me on her cell phone) seize her arm (in a manly/romantic Humphrey Bogart fashion) lift her from her chair (she would clutch my bulging bicep to steady herself) and say "Hey kid, sorry about last night. **SMOOCH** (my fedora partially obscures the shot) It won't happen again." Then I would board the last departing plane and not look back. But she would run after me, her USO uniform flapping alluringly in the propeller draft, her high heels clicking on the wet tarmac, "But Matt, we barely knew each other." Then I'd turn around (the camera zooms fast to my face as I turn. I have a "I knew you'd say that" smirk) "We can fix that right now." After that, I throw her over my shoulder and slap her buttocks repeatedly, shouting "I'M THE KING OF THE MOUNTAIN, HEAR ME ROAR!"
Maybe I'll change that last part. Probably not.
In all seriousness, I feel like I have made it abundantly clear that I am interested. But then again, I can think big but often come up short. I need to be like "Listen, you know I'm asking you on a date right now, right?" But that seems forced.
I think my friends Jemaine and Bret explain the situation perfectly:
Enjoy my misery,