When I was in middle school, a guy much more better-looking than myself graced me with the worst piece of advice ever. When talking one day about the adolescently-termed process of "scorin' some pussy", which in middle school meant acquiring a phone number and texting until that eventually lead to a date at the Orleans, he told me this:
   "Don't chase girls, girls will come to you".
    At the time, I thought this was genius - the very idea that me, in my gel'd up hair and dad's polo button-up combined with the denim jean shorts that fell below the knee and preferably to mid-shin could do absolutely nothing, and all the middle-school tail I could wrap my pubescent little head around would just come flowing in like the borderline-erotic dreams that at the time prevaded my psyche every night.
    It wasn't long until I realised I lacked the handsomeness needed to pull off such a stunt, and I hated that fucking guy for making me think that anything could be that easy.
    Don't ever just sit there and do nothing while expecting the world to magically unfold at your doorstep.