Perfect situation

Sometimes, life can be cruel. It always seem to choose the random few with dreams and hopes and bring all of it crashing down. And one of those poor sods might just be me. Yessir, little ol' me with a hundred bucks to my name and whose most prized possession may just be a tube of lip balm. I know not what I did to the Good God to have a life like mine and I don't think I ever will find out.

Last Saturday, two guy friends and I parted ways with the rest of our gang after watching a sad excuse for a film, to head home, seeing as to how we all pretty much live in the same area. So we stopped at Subway to grab a bite. So there I was, gobbling down my enormous, very stuffed sandwich, arguing with the two boys(Who are cute in a very small rodent way, if I may add. They're my best friends, yes, but hello?? Do I have to wait till I'm a hundred for them to grow taller than me?) about Thierry Henry and Mike Shinoda when in walks *Cue drumroll* The Guy Of My Dreams. There he was, with curly hair (Me likes.) an eyebrow piercing (Me loves and wants but is denied permission) and a black shirt (Me loves and lives out of these).

Oh what a majestic stride! What fiercely curly hair! Even the Amazonians would've lost their way in there!! I could just feel myself putting on sheep's eyes (When a sheep has a blade of grass stuck in its throat it tends to make a rather odd face. Eyes big and frozen. C'est est tres amusant.) and ogling him for eons and eons. Atleast, until he turned around. And saw me. Being beaten with a sachet of ketchup by my best friend. My pint-sized best friend squealing "Aaargh, I hate the Pussycat Dolls!!!" and the other saying "No. Their music is groovy, yaar!" Yes, I kid you not. He said GROOVY. Me, dumbfounded but screaming on the inside sitting with them, coleslaw and tomatoes on my fingers. The Guy Of My Dreams looked rather disturbed. Frightened even. I wanted to throw the sandwich, maybe on the dumb boys and yell out loud, "Where HAVE you been O pierced one? How long I have waited for you!!"

As luck would have it, the boys chose to have a food fight (Furfect timing) with MY sandwich in a restaurant I go to most of the time with The Folks. I could have died. "Dudes!!! Stooooppp eeeet. Pleeeease, yaa!!!" Yes, I went ultra-sonic. In front of the manager,the amused staff, half a dozen customers and The Guy Of My Dreams. And phat! went the cucumber on my t-shirt. Where's the bloody atom bomb or earthquake when you really NEED it? The Guy Of MY Dreams looks at me with eyebrows (Pierced eyebrow! Pierced eyebrow!) so high they almost merged with his hair. His face read "Poor kid". And the manager's face seemed to scream "Get out and don't ever come anywhere near my shrine of fast food ever again. Ever."

So I exit, annoyed, with a doggybag of cookies and two red-faced, loony loons.

See, see, see what I mean? Life S-U-C-K-S.