I'm going home. Hurrah.
I got hit on so much down here in the SouthLand. I *never* get hit on at home. I didn't know what to do with it. I told one guy, "Ehh. You just have your beer goggles on. If you didn't you wouldn't be hitting on me." Which prompted an unusual response: a lecture from the drunk letch on how I shouldn't be so down on myself and I should have more self-respect.
That was surprising. It was like a drunk, male Oprah telling me to love myself, honey.
Don't feel like it. Especially when my pep talk was coming from a guy who talked to my breasts rather than my face.
::sigh::
Still, it was nice to be found attractive, even just a little bit.
Now, home, to rampant isolation and the call of NaNoWriMo.
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1 comment:
I never get hit on in NZ, but in Alabama I attract the type who all use the same pick up line: "Hey shawty, you lookin' fine! When you gonna gimme some a that? Standin' there with yo hands on yo hips in them fine ass jeans lookin' all mad, damn that's sexy!"
I'm usually too busy trying not to laugh to be irritated with them for talking to my boobs. It's nice that they notice, but damn it, I have brains too...and I hate that those brains make me feel guilty for that little boost I get from them talking to my boobs! Non-brainy girls don't have that inner conflict...
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