While I was out getting my ride cleaned up at the nearby self car wash, I noticed a couple behind me in an obnoxiously large pickup truck. The guy got out to get some change, so I glanced over to get a look at him. Fuzzy faced, sports cap on tight, shorts down to his kneecaps, and keys with a neckband so long it dragged across the ground as he approached the change machine. I couldn’t get a good look at the girl riding shotgun, but I could tell she was cute.

Normally, seeing a scum sucking scuzzbucket (apparently emulating Eminem or some other pasty white rapper wanna-be loser) like that with a girl would get me upset, but then I stepped back and took a deeper look here.

What was I getting upset about really? Because he had a girl, and I didn’t? But was it because no girl could ever want me, or was it simply because I had standards? Truthfully, I could go out right now and grab up some back alley ho that I could wrap my arm around and show off to all my friends if I really wanted to. But I wanted something better. I wasn’t content to have some two bit slut with the morals of a brain damaged monkey on crack in my life, just to prove that I could get a girl. I was looking for much more than that.

What’s really sad though is that even though I think my standards are reasonable enough, 80 percent of the single female population probably don’t measure up. Under ideal standards, 99.99 percent wouldn’t measure up, while the other .01 percent appear to live only in our dreams. Women today seem to vary from being skanks, whores, sluts, tramps, bimbolinas, etc., to being hellish female dogs spawned by Satan himself. Those who are godly, intelligent, kind and honest are an endangered species bordering on extinction, and even if I happen to come across one of them during my travels through life, there is usually some factor that would prevent me from pursuing them (like being married, for one). This is what our world has sadly has come to these days, and it is in this mess that I must somehow find the true girl of my dreams.

Yet as much as it would pain me to be alone, I recognize just how much MORE painful it would be to date a girl so obviously wrong for me, that to be with her would paradoxically make me feel even MORE alone and lost in the world.

It would seem impossible that I would ever meet anyone right for me, and yet despite the insurmountable odds I face here, I still have hope that she’s out there somewhere, a sweet and wonderful angel who is waiting and praying for me to come into her life soon. Call it delusion, insanity, or psychosis induced by food deprivation, but no matter what, this hope never seems to die. And for now, that will have to do as I fight to get my life in order again.

There are some women who are so far out of my league that if my league exploded, they wouldn’t hear the sounds for another three days. (Hat tip to the TV movie, The Librarian). Fortunately, the sort I’m referring to here are bright, elegant and morally upright girls who are simply a part of a culture I can’t relate to.

Then there’s that other sort, the sordid crack whore types who almost take perverse pride in the fact that they’re crack whores. They demonstrate all the moral aptitude of a brain damaged alley cat, and their pasttime consists mostly of getting drunk, fooling around, and then getting drunk again. You know the type I’m referring to here. They almost always have Myspace websites exhibiting lewd and crude photos of themselves, (usually holding ironically enough, a glass of beer or wine), and which predictably contain quite a long list of comments from horny men looking for booty.

I had this vain hope that law school might weed out the most putrid of these sewage inhabiting bimbos, but alas it was too much to ask for. Case in point, here’s an excerpt of an email sent to an ex-law student’s blog, highlighting one particular floozy’s adventures in law school:

…the three of us nearly all got kicked out of law school for laughing in court while a rather unfortunate prostitute was arraigned. We had to write apologies to the dean and the judge, seriously. In the quagmire, I found a boyfriend… who, incidentally, had a wife. This boyfriend more or less saved my academic @$$ by teaching me Civil Procedure – to a solid C-level…

This former bartender turned attorney quite matter of factly conferred upon her readers the breathtakingly and morally bankrupt details of her law school experience, seemingly oblivious to what a complete tramp from hell she was making herself out to be. I’m inclined to think the whole thing was really made up, but sadly, I know better.

From blogs written by women who proudly declare themselves “Law Bitches” to the “supposedly” female blogger billing herself as the Law School Virgin (complete with sordid postings indicating a perpetually drunk little girl who enjoys only sporadic moments of sobriety), it’s no wonder why I’ve seem to have lost a measure of faith in the virtues of the opposite gender.

To think, these people will someday become lawyers. Good God.