"So what I don't get is, I'm an ok guy, right?" I asked English Terry as I puffed on the joint he had just passed me. He grunted noncomittally, trying to watch America's Funniest Home Videos instead of listening to me bitch. "No seriously, this is important. I'm decent looking, smart, funny, have an ok job and as far as I know disease free. Why won't women go out with me?"
"Christ man, did you see that little bastard get hit in the balls with that backhoe?" Terry collapsed on the couch as he took the joint back from me. "They should call this show 'America's Funniest Testicular Injuries'. Get better ratings that way."
"Listen, this shit is important. Another girl in the office next door turned me down today. What's my problem?"
English Terry sighed, turned off the TV and turned to look at me. "Listen mate, here's the thing. Chicks like guys who DO stuff." He said it like it should be the most obvious thing in the world.
"Guys who DO stuff?" I asked, completely nonplussed.
"Yeah. Musicians, actors, outdoor enthusiasts, bodybuilders. Guys who DO stuff. You know, as opposed to guys who write code for the man all day long and smoke dope with their illegal alien neighbors all night while watching shitty television."
"Hey, whoa, I have interests! I want to put in a rock garden out back! I write! That's something!" I was adamant- I was not some uninteresting schlub. There had to be more to it than this.
"Yeah, ok, you write. How many people have read your stuff? How hard are you trying to get published? I mean, ostensibly I'm your best friend and I've never read anything you write. Chicks like guys who DO stuff and parade it around."
English Terry was a wise, wise man.