I asked a friend to bring me with his girlfriend. After the first date, we did nothing. I asked the best friend, what is wrong?

So I have, you see, subscriptions in VKontakte starters and it is immediately visible that the personality I am boring and not interesting.

I have groups on argon welding, DIY, and old metal bands, and NO MEMS!

A 23-year-old grandfather without a point of contact with a 23-year-old...

A Reddit user told how he distracted his aunt from daily visits to his home. He admitted that he had brought a spider, in the AmItheAsshole community (“Isn’t I a shit? “ )



He explained that he has been married to a Chinese woman for many years. According to him, the parents of the woman are very conservative and do not understand what privacy is, and the spouse can not set boundaries in the relationship with them.



"If you can agree with the test, then the maid is just crazy," the user described them. He that his wife’s mother came every day without an invitation and was constantly screaming.



A few months ago, a man learned that his maid was panically afraid of spiders. Then he decided to start a domestic tarantula so that the woman would not come again, but he did not reveal his motives to his wife. As soon as the pet appeared at their home, only a herd came to visit.



The user asked if his deed could be considered bad, given that he did not reveal the whole truth to his wife. “She hasn’t responded to my concerns about personal boundaries for years, so I didn’t have a choice. In addition, the tarantula is a great pet,” the man summed up.



Commentators suggested that the man’s wife understood everything and was glad that she managed to get rid of her mother’s excessive custody and avoid a quarrel with her.

Not further than yesterday we are sitting, therefore, with my immediate boss Konstantinich and the men from the workshop in the smoking room. And here Konstantinich decides that the time has come for "educational" stories. Further from his face:

“I had a case... We went fishing and forgot about the ear boiler. And then Maxim Stepanich stands up and says with an unwavering face:

I'll walk along the shore, maybe I'll find a paddle.

And he leaves. He returned in 10 minutes with a hole of some sort. The cage was dirty, but he immediately washed it in the river and sand. I washed my conscience. As if it wasn’t dirty.

For a long time, briefly, they cooked the ear from the caught fish, bitten it, and Maxim Stepanic carried the cage somewhere. He went with the bush in the bush and there is no one. We are behind him. We find him sitting on a cage without pants. I go to him:

Stephanie, have you been fooled? Why do you hide in the cage?

No one will take him from here.

How will we eat the ear afterwards?! to

We ate it this time...

I have a brother. He is 20 years older. Son of my father.

This is prehistory. And the story is this: when I was 7 or 8, my parents and I went to the sea. I asked my brother to look after the apartment.

There was nothing to look at. Give flowers once a week. That is all.

Now I think that in the process of supervising the apartment he got his profit. Maybe my mom decided too. Because when we returned we found in the refrigerator: a bottle of cream, ananas, bananas, strawberries, grapes and chocolate.

When I opened my little fist for all this, I was told that it wasn’t all for me. My brother comes and takes it.

It was 1995 or 1996. You have understood. A bubble of cream and ananas I saw in reality for the first time.

A month and a half has passed. The fruit died by the death of the fruit. Six months later, a bubble of cream went to that light.

Ten years later, it turned out to be a gift from a brother to us.

I know so much thanks to my dad.

And glass windows, and put tile and parquet board, and paste wallpapers, change pads on the car, assemble furniture, change sanitary equipment, understand legal issues, work in the field of electrical engineering, know how to make saltings / cooking, and much more.

Because daddy, my beautiful, diverse daddy, never does anything.

And I have to figure out how to do it and bring it to the end.

An interesting theory was presented today by my colleague.

He says, I try to please everyone at work. And always bad, and you, on the contrary, put on everyone, and always good. Why so? Your model of behavior for others looks like this: you never show initiative, you do not agree to work if it is not part of your responsibilities, and people get used to it. That is, people get used to the fact that this is your normal state. You are such. It is perceived as a given. And then you have helped someone in a good mood, and you are already good. And they remember exactly that. That is, you are normal, normal, and then good.

And I am the opposite. I try to please everyone. I do what I owe and what I do not. I refuse no one. People are accustomed to it. This is also the norm in my case. This is my normal state, and people don’t even pay attention to it. It is perceived as a given. This is my normal behavior. And then, suddenly, I refuse to help someone. A man is offending me. He condemns behind his back. I am bad. That is, there’s also – I’m normal, normal, and then bad.

Do you understand?

You are normal, normal, and then good.

I am normal, normal, and then bad.

This is exactly what they remember.

I listened to him. Yes, he’s overwhelmed, but in something he’s right.

It is no shame to be young and stupid. Old and stupid are not ashamed. It is a pity to be stupid only in the middle of life.

It was a long time. I didn’t have my family at the time, but it was enough.
And I was taken through India to the Andaman Islands. Yes, the same islands mentioned by A. Conan Doyle in his novel “The Sign of the Four.”
At first, the trip promised to be quite restless – landing at the airport of the capital of the islands Port Blair, inspecting the island, and then every few days moving between several of the largest islands by sea boat. Already during the flight from Calcutta to Port Blair, it became clear that something was going wrong. Suddenly a cyclone, unusual for these places at that time of year, shaken the poor plane so that it seemed to want to shake passengers out of it. There was a storm at sea, there were no boats, and in Port Blair we were stuck for an unknown period of time, taking into account the weather forecast, and hoping for the same sudden disappearance of the cyclone.
In a few days, we had time to learn a simple, but constantly thermonuclear Indian menu in local restaurants, to change several hotels, to use the island on auto rickshams along and across, to see the Andaman prison, to get under a tropical rain, and the cyclone never thought to leave. Once we were allowed to go into the sea by boat, but it was so swung and worn on the waves that the captain ordered us to return to the port.
The hotels were overwhelmed by the same stuck tourists as we were. We got to know each other, and we eventually developed a fairly varied company of Ukrainians, Armenians, Latvians, Hindus, Frenchmen and Germans. The Ukrainian, the Latvian and the Armenian communicated perfectly in Russian, the Hindu with everyone – in English, the French woman spotted only on her own, but she understood the Ukrainian, and the German broke out in English. The universe was transformed into a real bird’s market.
The Hindu turned out to be even the dwarf, and got to the reception with the Minister of Tourism of the Andaman Islands. He promised that the cyclone was left to burst for a couple or three days, so you should not leave their luxurious islands in any case. And while the boat does not go, you need to use a beautiful comfortable bus, which will take you to the north of the islands, where you will enjoy all the charms of this region, literally in some 11 hours of journey through the island jungles. Moreover, there are rarely tourists, and the almost virgin tropical region is at your disposal. He painted in our imagination wonderful captivating paintings: the uninhabited islands of Ross and Smith, connected with each other by a thin peak of land... absolutely virgin jungles... groves of mangrove trees... desert sandy beaches with palm trees hanging over golden sand...
The name of the end point of our journey – Diglipur – I remembered for a lifetime. 11 hours of shaking in the starting bus with no depreciation and rigid bars instead of seats turned my ass into a crush. The minister did not lie – there were no tourists even at the stage of boarding the bus. Only local intelligence.
The jungle was truly incredibly colourful, wild, untouched. The only thing that spoke about civilization was the road paved through them for a local bus. We were accompanied by the police on motorcycles, as the road lay across an island, banned from tourists. There is still a tribe that wears hip bandages, uses spies for hunting, and is panically afraid of cameras. It is absolutely impossible to put a camera on them - they are offended by their superstitions, they become very aggressive, attack the bus, and at the same time can hide jewelry and somehow red clothes. We saw them. A few people came out of the forest and stood looking at our bus, with spies in their hands, shining with little evil eyes. It was a surreal spectacle. It’s like a documentary movie showing behind the bus window. Eventually, it went without excesses.
Two times the bus had to be passed by ferry. All the passengers were discharged, and the old rugged ferry barely floating through the bay carried the bus first, and then returned for the passengers, because to ship all at once was equivalent to death for him.
At one of these crossings I wanted to go to the toilet, and I, as a shy girl, and already simply shaken by the indigenousness of the Hindus (the locals watched, ticked their fingers and discussed something all the time), sought to the only structure in my field of sight. Its architecture left no doubt why it was built, and I anticipated a few minutes of solitude.
And here in the very heart of the Andaman jungle, surrounded by island Hindu and mangrove groves, I experienced (as Mikhail Zadornov said) a sense of pride for our people!
On the wall of the toilet in Russian with huge printed letters a crumb was drawn JOPA MIRA

A person who thinks that 80% of the people around him are idiots and is outraged by this is a deeply unhappy person.
He who thinks that 80% of the idiots are around him and takes advantage of it is a rich and happy person.

We were at the guests of friends who recently just came together, we sat down, we ate dinner. The girl cooked delicious pigeons, the guy wraps behind both cheeks and says:

- Oh, what delicious pigeons, you finally learned to cook them, or last time they were - you won't break in your mouth!

Hi to you! The girl was upset, I’m actually cooking pigeons for you for the first time!

How is it? I don’t understand the guy, but who? Then he remembered that the unflavored pigeons were cooked by his ex and laughed confusedly.

The present, who perfectly understood his course of thought, looked closely at him for a few seconds, and suddenly laughed too. The man silenced and asked surprised:

What are you having fun with?

You laughed like my ex-husband.

We talked with a friend about funny and interesting names. She shared with me a case from her friend’s life by the name Blyn.

One day he was sent to a conference, at work, and after the official part, everyone who did not know each other sought to get to know. And here, approaching the next figure, A. Blin (abbreviated to the initials) extends his hand to introduce himself. The further dialogue:

Damn, it’s nice to meet you.

Oh my God! My friend said, I’ve been looking for you all my life. I. Skovorodka is very pleasant.