How to Talk to Anyone (Junior Talker #3) - DeYtH Banger (bts book recommendations TXT) 📗

a very specific set of eyelashes. You don’t care about being mistreated — not enough that you know, without a doubt, that you shouldn’t go back to your ex who mistreated you. You apparently don’t care about those long nights where you hoped your roommates couldn’t hear you cry, because, of course, you never cry, ever, do you?

 

I’m sorry. That’s rough. Nevertheless. Don’t do it. Do not take her back. Listen: I know that love is invaluable. We do all sorts of unwise things for love. We date people with drug addictions. We adopt shelter dogs who tried to eat their last owner. We do karaoke. If you really need this woman so bad that you’re willing to be a total dumb-ass so you can have her in your life again, well, there’s nothing I can tell you. What I can tell you is that you’d be a total dumb-ass for doing so.

 

I mean, what’s the best-case scenario here? The best-case scenario is that she really, truly changed her mind about you. When you were together, she was heartened by what a good boyfriend you were, or just how handsome you are, you handsome rogue, you — but she was also pulling out her (presumably pretty and nice-smelling) hair all the time because of all the ways you pissed her off. She didn’t like the fact that you didn’t trim your pubes. She was embarrassed by your Instagram filter choices.

 

But now she misses you. She realizes she took you for granted — that every person has profoundly annoying qualities, but that not everyone is as profoundly great a boyfriend as you were. Now, all day, every day, a little heart-shaped (or dick-shaped) thought bubble that you inhabit floats above her head. She really, truly wants you back.

 

Sounds nice, right? Wrong. This is terrible. This is a bad sign. Because she should’ve realized you were great before she broke up with you!

Think about it. She knew that dumping you would hurt you. She knew how you’d feel humiliated. She knew about how silly your constant Tweets about your relationship would seem after she nonchalantly broke your heart. And none of that made her stop and think, y’know, maybe I should stay with this attractive, caring person who is very good at sex, despite the terrifying fact that they aren’t literally perfect. Nope.

 

 

This says that she’s not a reliable person. She doesn’t yet know what every mature human being should: that really important decisions — like ones concerning you — should be based on long-term thinking, rather than short-term emotions. If you resume a relationship with somebody like this, how long can you expect it to last? Maybe she’ll break up with you again because she’s having a spell of indigestion. Maybe she’ll break up with you because she’s distracted by her hot new personal trainer. Whatever. You can’t be sure that she’ll remember how valuable you are. It’s vanishingly unlikely that, in the short time since your breakup, she’s become the kind of self-assured, steady-handed person who won’t screw you around again.

 

And, remember, that’s the best-case scenario. The worst-case scenario is that she just straight-up doesn’t care about you that much at all, and that she never really did. In this scenario, as lovely as you were, you didn’t leave a lasting impression — you essentially served as entertainment, not a three-dimensional human being she felt any responsibility for. So she broke up with you because she was bored, and, now, she’s bored again, after fooling around with 1-10 other guys, backpacking through Argentina, studying astrophysics, or whatever the hell she thought would be exciting. Now, you’re appealing again just because you haven’t been around for awhile.

 

There are people like this, of every gender — intense, charming, immensely self-involved people who care way more about their amusement than the people who amuse them. Dating someone like this is totally forgivable, because crazy, boundary-breaking people have a special kind of charisma — volatile people are exciting. But they also provide a special kind of pain. Get out as soon as you can.

And, finally, it’s not even particularly important whether your ex is a careless person, or a cruel person, or some wonderful salad of carelessness and cruelty. What’s important is that if you get back together with your ex, you show them that they can get whatever they want. They can destroy the relationship, and they can depend on you to put it back together again. They can scream at you, tell their friends you’re an asshole, tell your friends you’re an asshole, and you’re right back at it two weeks later, buying them extremely expensive eggs at their favourite fancy brunch spot.

 

This is always bad — it’s bad for you, and it’s bad for them. People do change, but they tend to change slowly. Generally, you mature at the exact rate that life requires you to. If you tell your ex she can’t have you, you’re delivering another, very important message as well — don’t screw around with people’s hearts. You’re also telling her (and telling yourself) that you have enough self-respect that you won’t put up with someone screwing around with yours.

 

 

 

C H A P T E R _ Z E R O - Read

So here is few erotic comics who you can go and read

Most girls enjoy reading fan erotic comics... but to get into the mind of a girl... you need first to go over the material which they squidish their minds...

 

ALICE NO TAKARABAKO - MIZURYUU KEI/CHINJU NO YAOTOME

 

Note: This shit is stranger than fiction

 

 

A SUNDAY SCHOOLING C H A P T E R _ Z E R O - Dash (Part 2)

 

Note: This is symbol of art... you either get it or not

 

 

 

 Strip Club Science: Stripper Jedi

 

 

 

 

Unlike most newbie dancers, I did not improve for a freakishly long time.

 

 

 

 

THE SLIPPERY SLOPE TO STRIPPING

 

Like more bad things than I’d care to admit, it all started with the Internet. Specifically: Craigslist.

My dad -- appropriately a software developer with a Southern Christian upbringing -- had a theory that the Internet was actually the Beast in Revelations . Beyond his vague crackpot theories regarding evil, he also had some solid parental advice that most upright citizens would probably agree with: “Nothing good ever happens past 2 AM.”

If I ever have children, I will probably warn them that nothing good ever happens when you turn to the Internet in moments of desperation.

It’s easy to knock conservative figurehead types, but maybe those guys are somewhat enlightened when it comes to erecting barriers between yourself and all the Shit You Definitely Won’t Do. Whether it comes from a legitimate place of moral strength or a fear of shady shit surfacing, the fabled slippery slope is very real my friends, and I’m here to tell my version of this universal tale.

I almost walked out within 10 seconds of walking in.

During our first meeting at the club, the owner fed a very shiny, terrified, trembling version of me beer after beer until I finally agreed to an audition. I got up there with a hula hoop, did the routine that I had been getting paid to perform at raves in front of a room of confused dudes, and was instructed to come back the following Tuesday for my first shift. I was in.

At this point, I just thought I was doing the same thing that I had been doing for the last year in the same clothes that I would have worn to a public beach but for way more money. I would come to learn that this job is a total deathtrap for voyeurs, chronically curious girls, and writer types.

I should have been wary; anything that is that hard and simultaneously that easy is bound to be devastatingly addictive.

 

INITIATION

 

“So, what do you wanna go by?” the manager asked me on my first night.

“Uhhmm, uhhhrr,” I stuttered. I thought of who I wanted to be, what kind of girl I would transform into after I walked through the door. Chloe Sevigny in "Party Monster" came to mind. Yes! Pigtails, lollipop in mouth, sexy but innocent vibes. What was her name again? Gitzy? Glitzy?

“Glitzy!” I announced, proudly. Manager looked at me like I had grown a penis on my forehead.

“Most girls pick, y’know,” He paused, searching for a way to state the obvious. “Normal girl names. Candy, Jenny, Lily, Mercedes.” I zoned out, trying to comprehend the difference. None of those names sounded very normal to me.

A week later, the manager held an intervention. A cluster of concerned strippers brainstormed a new identity for me. These fairy godmother-like figures christened me with yet another a cheesy name ending in the letter "y," and instantly my job became five times easier.

 

 

 

STRIPPER JEDI

 

Unlike most newbie dancers, I did not improve for a freakishly long time.

About a month into my fledgling stripper career, the same owner that hired me paid me a visit to see how I was doing. After my atrocious set he took me aside, poured me my usual (vodka and Redbull -- the official sponsor of 21-year-old girls across the nation) and, in a measured tone, shared with me the universal secrets to success as a stripper.

A Very Serious look came over me and I listened intently while scanning the stage. As I watched the hyperconfident 30-year-old with a bad C-section scar and Tigger tramp-stamp tattoo magically extract dollar bills from the ether -- I had to ask myself: Why are they throwing money at this ho instead of my nouveau jail-bait ass?

 

“It’s all mind control,” he said. “It’s got nothing to do with how good you look or dance. Just own it and look them in the eye.”

Petrifying shyness and a lifelong mildly Aspergic symptom of not being able to maintain eye contact canceled out any kind of points my lack of stretch marks had scored. I wondered if I should just quit now, but given my dire situation even $100 a night of predominantly sympathy tips was life changing. The owner sensed my hopelessness.

 

“Hey,” he said, cueing the bartender to refill my glass, “You’re a smart girl, you can do this. Once you master the mind control, you can do anything, inside or outside the club.”

 

“Maybe this is exactly what I need,” I thought to myself as I retreated to the sanctuary of the dressing room. I remembered all the things that I had missed out on in life simply because I was too afraid to