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So, there's this girl I like, and naturally, I become a detective on social media. I mean, who needs the FBI when you have Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter? I've become a professional social media stalker. I can tell you her favorite color, what she had for breakfast last Tuesday, and the name of her childhood pet—all without ever having a real conversation. But there's a thin line between being informed and being creepy. I accidentally liked a photo from 2010. Now, I'm not saying I'm bad at math, but I may have miscalculated how far down her profile I was. It's like trying to play it cool at a crime scene—I was caught red-handed.
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You ever have that moment when you see a girl you like, and suddenly you turn into a character from a Shakespearean tragedy? It's like, there she is, looking all amazing, and I'm over here transforming into Romeo, ready to recite sonnets even though I barely passed English class. It's a real-life romantic comedy, but I'm pretty sure I'm playing the role of the clumsy sidekick. I tried to approach her once, and my brain decided to take a coffee break. I walked up, opened my mouth, and out came something that sounded like a mating call for penguins. Smooth, right? But hey, I figured if penguins can find love, maybe there's hope for me too.
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You know how they say grand gestures win hearts? Well, they also have the potential to spectacularly fail. I decided to go all out and surprise the girl I like with flowers. Classic move, right? Wrong. Turns out, she's allergic to flowers. Who knew? The only thing blooming that day was my embarrassment. I thought I was being a romantic hero, but I ended up being the guy who sent someone to the emergency room with a bouquet of roses. Lesson learned: always check for allergies before attempting a grand gesture. Now I'm just waiting for the restraining order to arrive in the mail.
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So, you muster up the courage to talk to this girl you like, and before you know it, you're trapped in the friendzone maze. It's like entering a labyrinth without a map. You think you're getting somewhere, and then suddenly, dead end—friendzone. I swear, I've spent more time navigating the friendzone than I have trying to assemble IKEA furniture. And don't you love it when people say, "Just be yourself"? Well, I am being myself, and myself seems to be the mayor of the friendzone. I even tried the "treat her like one of the guys" approach. But apparently, when I suggested playing video games and ordering pizza, I was just reinforcing my membership in the buddy club.
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