Journeys of jobless, boyfriendless college student.

Some things I've discovered...

1. You don't have to be old and single to feel like a spinster. In fact, I feel like a lame wad loser pretty much everywhere I go because I'm a.) alone, and b.) hmmm...alone.
I have nightmares of becoming the crazy cat lady...the saddest part is that I don't even like cats. My problem is not that I can't attract guys, it's that either too picky, or the guys are attract are total losers. This may be because I'm currently surrounded by many, many losers at the empire of all losers called the College of Dupage, but seriously, the guys who like me are like, the kings and princes of the empire of Loserville. It's true. And they want me to be their queen, but the day that I submit to complete loserocity, by dating one of the kings of Loserville, will be the day my grandmother runs a marathon in her granny-pannies wearing a large yellow hat. FYI - this will never happen.

2. Upon attracting those kings of losers, I've discovered that there are some techniques that might be useful in aiding you to rid yourself of these losers. Please observe...

a.) The prissy-church-girl-stick-shuved-up-her-rear-ice-queen lip purse. Simply gather your lips into a scrunching pattern, pursing them out, while furrowing your eyebrows. This is a sure-fire sign to any loser (all of whom are seeking bedding before the wedding) that they won't be getting any at all from you any time soon. This normally works unless you meet a particularly determined loser who likes a challenge. This is where you must apply lesbian tactics like wearing flannel and refusing to shave your legs. Other forms of this include throat clearing at behavior you might deem inappropriate, the cold hard glare, and the rolling of the eyes at everything and anything the loser in mention says and does. If you're really facing a clincher, then you can adopt a hybrid version of these things, combining all of them into one massive ice-queen action.

b.) Depending on the kind of loser you attract, nothing gets rid of a loser quicker than a loud fart, or extremely over ripe B.O. This technique, however, does not get rid of the awkward I-live-in-my-moms-basement-and-substitute-showers-for-more-video game-time loser, because their own specific stenches will most likely over power yours, making him immune to your efforts to ditch him.

c.) Generally, losers are mainly interested in one event in his life that usually lasts about 15 minutes...that's right. He's interested in sex. If he doesn't think he's going to get sex, but rather an obnoxiously clingy girlfriend that keeps him from his fellow loser friends or other girls in whom he might have a better chance at engaging in the old horizontal tango, he probably will cease from calling you. So call him 12 times a day, insist you see him every day, cry when he declines your invitations to go get ice cream or play board games with your parents, and end by having a "serious discussion" about your boundaries, and how you are not willing to go any farther than allowing him to briefly touch your hand.
If this does not work, then adopt A or B, or both.

3. Not having a job leaves up a lot more free time to think about the helpless situation of singleness I have gotten myself into. It's ok. Though I'd love to have both a job, and a significant other at some point in time, I'd rather gouge my eyes out than go out with one of the losers at my school. I've concluded that feeling like a spinster occasionally is so much better than getting creeped on by a loser.

And finally.

4. I've discovered that hiding certain bad habits until you've successfully snagged a guy to the extent that he's trapped, is probably beneficial. Telling a guy that I occasionally dig for gold and wipe my findings on furniture and couches that I do not own, or that my criteria for washing my hands after I go to the bathroom is whether or not my hands smell like pee probably are not qualities of a foxy future wife.

I rest my case.

P.S. That's not actually my criteria for washing my hands after relieving myself...