picky eater

judging from several marathon conversations i have had recently, and noticing that three of the top ten emailed stories on the new york times site are about sexual attraction and desire, i am hesitant to open a window for fear of hearing the energetic chirping of the birds and smelling the sweet night-blooming jasmine. there are some interesting studies cited in those articles, and they confirm what i already knew from my own observations. on the whole, the odds are stacked against finding a perfect mate.

one observation is that women are picky. really picky. i need to start robbing banks or something:

They found that a 5-foot-8 man was just as successful in getting dates as a 6-footer if he made more money — precisely $146,000 a year more. For a 5-foot-2 man, the number was $277,000.

wait, don’t taller people make more money as well? i am doomed. that said, i don’t blame women. most guys are idiots, and even i have been one in the past. i am sure my dear readers can’t imagine such a thing of this gentle author. (fair warning, i will delete unsubstantiated comments left by ex-girlfriends).

i think i fall into the category tierney describes as a “flaw-o-matic”. i am overly choosey about women i will date, and consequently spend a great deal of time by myself. there are periods, such as the spring, when discussions with single friends often have a trajectory along the lines of “what the fuck are we doing wrong?” there are a lot of answers proposed, and none of them quite get at it exactly. it seems like most of the reasons are ones you have little or no control over. my friend courtney joked that i should have bought the bmw over the vw when i answered that it had been a while since i had dated. i prefer money in the bank. it works against me i am sure.

i wonder if i can expect women i desire to be less picky than i myself am. the answer there is a clear “no”. maybe i need to adjust my standards, or wait for a magic moment (and timing is everything) like this:

…[they met] someone who shared their distaste for the others in the room: someone who was just as picky as they were. When they found that person, and neither one of them sneered or bolted, that hectoring little voice in the brain was suddenly transformed into a purring engine of love. They gazed dreamily into each other’s eyes, channeled a certain actress on Oscar night, and thought: “Your Flaw-O-Matic likes me! It really likes me!”

it would be nice for the hectoring voice to start purring some day. it sure seems like the struggle has been epic enough for hector to be laid to rest.

ahh hell. i’m opening the window. but i am not holding my breath. i think i agree with another friend’s opinion that the odds of meeting someone that defeats the hectoring voice are going to deteriorate in central america. it’s a little sad.

in other news, how are your taxes coming along? reading back over this post, i will add that for all this cynicism, i am actually in an ok mood.