Since we’re getting close to Single Awareness Day, thought I’d add one more item to my collection of anti-Valentine’s Day postings from my favorite teddy bear of all time: The Misery Bear!
Since we’re getting close to Single Awareness Day, thought I’d add one more item to my collection of anti-Valentine’s Day postings from my favorite teddy bear of all time: The Misery Bear!
So the other day I was doing so random surfing when I came upon some statistics from U.S. Census, produced in 2004.
I’ve always wondered just how many eligible bachelorettes were really out there in the good old U.S. of A, so I started crunching some numbers. Here’s the skinny: there are approximately 8 million men between the ages of 25-34 who have never married. By comparison, there are only 6 million women in the same demographic who have never married.
Since I won’t likely consider dating someone younger than 25, not just because of the creepy age difference, but also because someone that young will have a different and more naive perspective on life that would undoubtedly clash with my own sadder (but wiser) worldview, I’ve thus limited my options to within this age range.
I also won’t consider anyone with kids either, not merely because of the inherent risks that comes with raising someone else’s children (and the fact that I would be playing second fiddle to the kids right from the start), but also because Mommy would hurt me really badly if I ever brought home a girl cradling Junior and Juniorette on each arm.
So, according to stats I found elsewhere, 34% of women who have never married have kids. That winnows down the list to less than 4 million.
Since subjective traits such as personality, etc. can’t be measured in statistics, I’ll use the voting record to at least filter out those with incompatible political views. Since I’m conservative that would rule out the 70% of women who voted for Obama, which leaves me with less than 1.5 million eligible women.
Even now that still fails to take into consideration physical chemistry, common personality traits, religion, etc. (and also hoping she is of a sound enough mind without the need for mind altering drugs to keep her from going batpoopie insane.) Using all these factor it would be a MIRACLE if there were even 500,000 women left, but I’ll be generous though and presume even accounting for all these additional factors, there are still 1 million girls left that I can sample like a tasty free snack at the local supermarket. 1 million though only is 0.33% of the entire United States population. Less than one third of one percent. Gees.
Compounding things even more is the fact that under these conditions, there are now 8 guys for every 1 eligible bachelorette I might be interested in. I have to contend and somehow beat out 7 other guys to get a shot at a girl who may or may NOT be the one. The odds I have to beat are enormous.
And now my experience in this country suddenly starts to make a little sense. It explains why single moms with looks that could freeze over a nuclear reactor could STILL see their inbox jammed with letters from single desperate guys on online dating sites. It has become a buyer’s market for women here, and under these conditions, I understand now why so many girls I run across would always be obnoxious, arrogant, mean spirited or just plain cold and aloof. They can afford to be that way, because the odds are overwhelmingly in their favor.
Even for a decent girl, imagine having to deal with a mountain of guys all vying for her attention and wanting to get into her pants. Imagine it happening so often, day after day after day, that by the time the 8th guy rolls around who isn’t a complete poopieface (say, yours truly) she’ll be so disgusted by men that I’ll get shut down before I even have a chance to say hello.
Given these numbers and what they reveal about the current state of affairs in America, the Census data has offered me irrefutable proof that that dating scene here has become absolutely IMPOSSIBLE. Unless I’m willing to lower my standards dramatically and hook up with some Prozac popping Sasquatch for some psychedelic Nightmare on Elm Street kind of funsies, I have no recourse but to remain single.
Or… travel. A LOT.
Even if I stayed within the states, just traveling everywhere I can and as much as I can would at least boost the odds that I’ll come across one of the 1 million decent girls who might be…. THE ONE. Heck even traveling just 150 miles into Pennsylvania opened up a few opportunities for me. One thing’s for sure, I’ve been stuck here in New York for 30 something years and I have not come any iota closer to finding anyone. There really may be nothing for me here, so maybe it’s time to see what’s out there instead.
Beginning with oh say, a 12 state road trip I’m planning to do this fall. :-D
UPDATE: I was sent a link to this interactive map that paints a DEVASTATING picture for young, single men. The tide only starts to turn as men and women get older. Basically if I was willing to date 40-50 year old cougars I’d be the life of the party. Awesome.
In the interests of full disclosure and so the powers that be don’t hunt me down and eat me, I received a complimentary ring from Jewelry Art Designs in exchange for a review of their products.
I received an email from the company asking if I’d like to write about them in exchange for a complimentary piece of jewelry. Since I was a dude and didn’t have a girlfriend, I wondered, who did I know that might appreciate a free gift like this? Hmmmmm…
*speed dials* “… Mommy?”
Together we surfed the entire store, which had a wide array of inexpensive selections from promise rings to pendants, all shown in a straightforward and easy viewing format. I personally liked the Patriot Ring, but my Mom picked out a ring that was a bit more… understated. :-D
I placed the order and immediately received an email confirmation, then another confirmation two days later when it was shipped out. All in all, I received the ring within a week’s time.
The package was neatly put together, and after I pulled the box out I took a quick shot:
The ring I ordered was a Tanzanite Twist Ring, made of cubic zirconia and a white gold rhodium bond. I have no idea what any of that means, but it sounds good.
I inspected the ring carefully and there were no deformities from what I could see. It was in perfect shape, and to me didn’t look any different from the more exorbitant $10,000 rings filthy rich people might otherwise wear. I’m sure those with an eye for jewelry would immediately see it’s zirconia and might wrinkle their noses at you for it, but then again such snobs are not really the sort you would want to have as your friends anyway, right?
In any event, this is a really nice online retailer to go to should you ever want to browse for inexpensive jewelry, and they include a nice selection of earrings too. The site could use a search function, but other than that I have no complaints. My mom is also pleased with the ring, which I’m considering as an early mother’s day gift, so now I don’t have to actually buy anything for her. Tee hee.
Uhh, don’t tell her I said that by the way.
One upside to being spurned by the entire female population that exists for no other reason than to do Satan’s bidding: I get to spend on me, and me alone!
Once I got my tax refund, it was time to spend, spend, spendspendspend, all for me, and nobody else but meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Well, maybe Momsie too. :-D
After coming back from Boston, it was time to finally make some much needed upgrades to my home office setup, a project that has at long last been legitimized by the fact that I am actually making some money off this blog now. My 8 year old desktop rig simply wasn’t cutting it anymore, making even the occasional Facebook use an aggravating bang-my-head-against-the-wall experience. My printer also fizzled out, not having printed a streak-free page for at least a year. So it was time… time to order the MOTHER OF ALL DESKTOP PCs, a custom build I put together that includes an Intel i7 CPU, a blistering fast Solid State Drive, the second fastest video card on the market from ATI, and a tower case fashioned with the same materials used to develop weapons for the military. OH YEAH, BABY.
Also placed an order for a new Canon MP990, a multifunction photo printer that scans and copies with the best of ‘em. I opted not to get one that includes a fax since I don’t have a landline, and even then I’d never use it. I can’t wait, as the photo printouts are said to be exceptional.
Finally, I’ll be plunking down for a new MacBook Pro, (if they ever release the new updates that is), and a GPS add-on for my iPod (if they ever get around to releasing that too). With that add-on I’ll be able to geocache, use Navigon for driving, and effectively utilize all the location based apps I have installed to help me find eateries and other points of interest while I get around.
Since I broke my old camera, I’ve also since upgraded with a Canon s90, the best compact digicam around for point and shoots and low-light photos, which seems to be my thing. I love me some night shots.
I am hoping this crazy nuts spending binge will all translate into a better blogging experience, both for me and you, especially with the acquisition of a MacBook. I’ve always wanted to compose music using GarageBand, and I’m hoping to dust off my electronic piano and see if I can’t finally put together some original tunes I can post here for my readers to enjoy, including my personal rendition of Air Supply’s All Out of Love. Tee hee.
On the downside, it also means I’m going to be very poor for a while, and I won’t be able to take another trip anywhere until May. Ah well, there’s always Manhattan in the meantime. I’ve made it here, so I know I can make it anywheeeeeeeeere!
Especially when there’s no female in my life to muck things up for me.
In the world of geocaching, people can release what’s called travel bugs, which can be any small item you’d like attached to a dog tag that travels from geocache to geocache. You can monitor their journey online too to learn where they’ve been and where they might be going.
To join in the fun, I decided to release two travel bugs of my own. So I went out and bought split heart necklaces, then took one half of the necklace and dropped it off at a cache in Boston, while the second half will be dropped off somewhere in Manhattan today on Valentine’s. The goal is for these two travel bugs to somehow find their way back to each other with the help of cachers so that they may be whole again.
I told you, I’m a disgusting sap.
Ironically enough, today also marks the 10th anniversary from when I was evicted from my home. Ten long years. It seemed the height of irony that an act of cruelty and hatred which forever altered the course of my life would occur on this day, but it did, and I have hated Valentine’s with a passion ever since. But even before then I despised the day, having to watch as couples snuggled and called each other schmoopies while it was all I could do to keep myself from pouring lighter fluid on them and then dropping a lit match. God, why won’t these disgusting happy couples just DIE, or get herpes or something?
But anyhoo…
I’m determined not to let the day get to me. I have been so far removed from the traumas of the past that I think it’s time I learn to let it go and move on with my life. I still have many plans and places I want to visit, many new experiences to be had, and much delicious pizza to sample.
So Happy Valentine’s Day to all you disgusting, diseased riddled perverts. May you find your flowers rife with poisonous thorns, your chocolates filled with dung, and your greeting cards laced with acid.
I went to the mall on Thursday in my neverending search for decent gloves, starting off with a walkaround inside Macy’s.
I finally found some cashmere gloves but, um, are cashmere gloves supposed to be THAT shiny? Even then they didn’t look like great quality, in some areas you could see the thread was already beginning to loosen. I guess that’s why they were having a sale for them. I found some Isotoners too, but it’s always the same deal: too small, too big, too plush, too thin or too ugly. Bah.
While I was trying out gloves a cute girl also showed up and started looking around as well. I smiled at her but she ignored me as she continued yakking on the phone. I lingered around and glanced every now and then, waiting for an opportunity to see if I could talk to her. I also happened to notice this old lady pushing a baby carriage nearby giving me the dirtiest of looks too. What was that all about? The answer came when the cute girl finally stopped looking and she and the old lady left together. Oops? Was Mommy watching me the whole time?
In hindsight I should have realized if she was looking for male gloves she probably had a boyfriend, and that’s who she was yakking with on the phone. Sigh.
Off to H&M!
I arrived at the store and immediately realized 90% of the clothes were for women, while the remaining 10% for men were stashed on the basement level in a corner somewhere. Yeah this should be productive, and yep of course they didn’t have any gloves at all. I went back upstairs and looked around for a few minutes more. I was just about to leave when I saw this unbelievably GORGEOUS blonde bombshell sifting through one of the clothing racks.
Oh. My. God.
Oh please, oh please, oh please let her see me or notice meeeeeee…
I walked close by and pretended to check out some girlie clothes like stuff, waiting for her to glance in my direction so I could smile at her. Give me a smile, a frown, something, ANYTHING! She continued to look around, but her eyes went past me like I wasn’t there. I stood next to her, walked around, walked in front, waiting for any kind of opening, but she wasn’t biting. It seems the only way I was going to get her attention was to throw a brick at her head, and unfortunately, I had left mine in the car.
Sigh.
I left the store dejected and depressed, checked out a handful of other stores before finally leaving the mall, gloveless and womanless.
You know, I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m not the kind of person who can approach somebody cold when I’m out in public, so there needs to be some kind of context I can work with that would encourage me to go talk to a girl. Even a friendly smile would do it, but nobody it seems wants to do even that. I just see an ocean of stony faced women all going about their business, and it breaks my heart.
So yeah, I give up. I’m just not going to look anymore. I’ll just go about my business in life, and if I happen to bump into a cutie at the supermarket who doesn’t sneer at me, maybe I’ll start a conversation. But for the most part I’m just gonna keep my head down low and stay away from the crowds as much as I can.
If only I could buy my clothes online without having to try them on, then I wouldn’t have to go out at all.
For those who have been reading this blog for some time, you’ll know that I occasionally like to use cute terms like “wubs” and “snuggles” and “sugar pot bon bon bunny cakes.”
I do it because it’s silly, it lightens the mood, and it tends to evoke more than a few laughs.
But who knew the darkness and virulent hatred that could spring forth just from using what I THOUGHT were innocuously harmless terms.
For this, I blame women.
I knew something was amiss because I had been using the same terms on a message board a few days ago, and this woman just went off on me on how she is not a child and could never respect anyone who said he “wubs” her and that men who did that are sex depraved, immature, stupid or some such thing.
So naturally I called her a whore.
Anyhoo, I always assumed (there I go assuming again) that the girl of my dreams would appreciate these terms of endearment, and that when you’re so in love with someone it’s only natural to start using silly terms of endearment. I didn’t expect that women could take such offense at it to the point that they’d start tearing their hair out and writing naughty things about me on bathroom walls.
So, in order to settle the matter, I’ve decided to take a poll! :-D
Depending on the results, if it’s readily clear that I am perceived as being something less of a manly man because I “wubs” just a bit too much, then I vow that I will never make use of such terms again. After all, far be it from me to scare away the girl of my dreams for saying “cuddly lumps boom boom honey pie” one time too many.