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I am really hungry
uck me you sound autistic as hell. Seriously man. Look at this;
They didn't laugh because that isn't a good joke, it's a play on words and plays on words are rarely funny unless you are Leslie Nielsen.In other news, I believe my jokes have been falling flat lately. The other day a man answered his door wielding a large machete, and explained to my cousin and I that he had to carry it in the evening in case local kids came by to mess around on his property. After a quick and urgent reminder that we were not the local vandals (this man was a family friend of ours), my cousin and I acknowledged the man's cunning in deciding to answer his door with a machete. I told him he indeed cut quite the intimidating figure, but neither the man nor my cousin laughed.
Your skillset? You're having a conversation for Christs sake, lighten up.Oh, and that's not all. Maybe the problem is my general conversational skills. In a disastrous chat today with a nice girl I'm currently working with, the topic turned to reading. This would seem to be a topic tailor-made for my skillset, but the main three points of the discussion veered wildly off the course I planned for them to follow.
Tell me all about authors other than the one I am currently bringing up instead of talking to me about why I like Jack London so much, I'm sure I'll be fucking delighted when I try to share my interest with someone and they respond by making an attempt to 'save face' and namedrop a bunch of people I probably haven't even heard of. Were you going to lay down a dope ass bassline while you rapped out the names of your wide variety of knowledge of non-fiction names?First, she was surprised when I did not know the work of an author she was quoting (Jack London). As it happens my experience is largely with non-fiction and London writes fiction, but before I could make this face-saving point by dropping a bushel of ripe non-fiction names in my library, workplace conversations interrupted us. We continued on a new tangent immediately afterward when she asked me (to my eternal frustration and dismay), "Are you not much of a reader?"
This worked out in the best possible way.Planning to illustrate just how much of a reader I was, I asked her if she recalled those twenty-pound English class texts from high school, containing a dozen sample works from every genre thinkable: the point was supposed to be that I read my English texts cover to cover, such a bookworm was I. Instead, she thought I was describing anthologies, and I tried to correct the misunderstanding, whence she proceeded to teach me what an anthology was and I never got to the part about reading literature texts front to back. I was left stuttering attempts at suave backtracking when more workplace conversations interrupted us.
so in your process of trying to impress some girl by your highly insightful words about things you ended up overthinking way too much and causing yourself to look like a bit of a moron, the opposite of what you wanted. Congratulations on not having a proper grasp on typical conversation I guess?Finally, hoping to reach the same point by a slightly different route, we took to talking about what we did read in high school. She mentioned missing out on the standard Scarlett Letter and having recently read it for leisure. Thinking this was a fortunate inroad, I began to mention my similar missed experiences, starting with The Great Gatsby, which I too had recently read for my own pleasure. The ultimate goal was for me to tell her that I, like her, was deeply disappointed at having missed so many wonderful classics years ago and that I was currently making headway on a to-read list of those classics, but once again the thread of conversation became quickly tangled and interrupted, and all she got to hear was that I never read any classic American literature, including The Great Gatsby (which shocked her even more than my not knowing who Jack London was).
And all you had to do was be yourself. Well done.Most of my life is spent between the pages of some book or other. Ask anyone who knows me to name the top three things I spend time doing, and invariably their number one answer is "reading." Statisticians at MIT are mathematically certain that I'll meet the future Mrs. Profesco in a library. Yet I managed to leave this nice girl with the impressions that, 1) I am not a reader, 2) I am hardly literature literate, and 3) I was a failure throughout my English educational career.
That's a considerable accomplishment, don't you think?
I don't mean this all in a "lol profesco what a faggot" way, I mean it in a "holy christ will you just lighten up a bit and be a bit more natural in conversation making?" way. Your description of everything makes you sound like a robot (hence my autistic comment). Stop thinking too hard and stop trying to impress people. Stupid things happen when you attempt either of those things. I'm pretty sure the statisticians at MIT will confirm that one for free.
lmao korusan u just got owned