As you can see: pretty hot. Some may say not the purest form of beauty, but massively smashable nonetheless.
I met her in a bar a while back. I bit the bullet and approached her. It looks like I’m finally manning up and growing a set.
When she asked me to add her on Facebook, she failed to mention that she had a boyfriend. This is possibly because she doesn’t want to burn any bridges: she’s not been with him long, and also, he looks like this.
A recurring theme in my life: wherever I go, I meet hot girls who are going out with total mongs. Yet I remain a single man. What. The fuck.
Why do I doubt myself? Why do I think women won’t like me, when women like this go for dog-ugly retards? You know what? I’m going to blow this fucking trumpet. I am a good-looking man. I’ve been compared to Michael Owen in the looks department. And Jim Carrey. And Harry Kewell. Okay, so I’m not going to take Milan by storm any time soon. But I can’t be doing too bad. And what the shit am I doing wrong? Why am I struggling to put conversations together with people I meet, whether they’re hot girls or not?
The fact that Claire has a boyfriend- is that why nothing happened? I doubt it. Let’s not kid ourselves that having a boyfriend matters at all. How many of us have convinced a girl to cheat? I know I have (on occasion). In 2008 I was sucking the breasts of a married woman, who flipped out at the last minute and wouldn’t give me any sex.
Add to this- check my December 15th post 2 entries down. How hot was Tracey, the first girl I shagged? For a 30-year-old woman, the answer is: A lot. I’d do awesome with women if I’d just believe that I could. Maybe I’ll start believing today. I’m too old not to any more.