“You have high standards” is a phrase constantly thrown at me when the topic of my relationship status is brought up. Closer friends have mentioned it; my parents have mentioned it; and even people who only met me one or twice in the last 10 years have made that judgement.
Every time I hear that sentence, it bothers me. A lot. My immediate reaction is that it’s a stupid statement. It’s stupid because people believe I’m in either two situations when they make such a comment:
A) I have a lot of models around me looking to fornicate while I refuse.
Or
B) There are some options around me that I could get with, but because of some incompatibility I imagined, I don’t.
Obviously, A is not my situation.
Which now brings us to situation B. In which I would say, if that was really the situation, is it really your advice for me to get with someone I don’t feel I am compatible with?
But in reality – neither A or B is true.
The point of this post is not to dissect my problem with the advice. Instead, I created this blog in part because I wanted a place where I would never lie – a place where I present the realest version of myself. So, in the spirit of radical honesty, I’ve taken a hard look at myself and assessed the reasons for my singleness.
Let’s start with physical features. The good thing is that I am on the taller side, over 6 feet. Looking at myself from a first glance I don’t fit any archetype. I am not skinny nor am I bulky. I don’t have a clear bicep definition or anything else that indicates I am a gym bro. I just seem like this average guy who just happens to be on the taller side.
I am not strikingly handsome. But I wouldn’t call myself ugly either. I would say that if my friend Mathew is an 8.5 and Forest a 4, I am around a 7.
Overall, I would rate my physical appearance around a 7. I also factor in presentation – I am not the best dresser nor have the best style. But I keep it clean and is at least aware of it.
In terms of personality – I think this would be my weakest factor. I can be impatient, offensive, and inconsiderate. Sometimes I get angry at myself and may have a small temper. But I would say that is on the rarer side. I guess I can also be pretentious and obnoxious at times.
However, I consider myself HILARIOUS.
Therefore, I think I would score a 6 on this bracket.
Moving on, we are going to assess my adaptability and potential. As Charles Darwin would tell you, this is the key to survival.
And as Charlie Munger would tell us: invert, always invert!
So, if we are building a man that would amount to nothing in his life, what vices would we want him to have? Some characteristics off the top of my head are if he’s an alcoholic; if he is a bitter person; if he’s lazy; if he’s rude; if he’s obese; can’t take care of himself; mommy’s boy; disgustingly ugly; horrible breath; horrible smell; terrible dresser; a midget; wears skinny jeans; calls himself a finance bro; wears branded apparel for the sake of showing off; lives off and wastes parents’ payroll; if he’s a cashier; if he drools over every women he sees; a rapist; a pedophile; a criminal; a heroin addict; a smoker; a gambler; a stand-up comedian; German; a chronic cheater; lives in parent’s basement; part of a band; a midget – you get the point.
Well, we can rule out the midget thing. As we have established, I am not a midget. I have nothing against midgets btw. One of my closest friends is a midget. I think they are incredibly brave human beings. Just like you and me. They just happen to have bigger heads.
I do admit that I have a bit of a drinking problem. When that clock strikes midnight and the rooster sings, I know I have been granted permission to approach my fridge. And pour myself a glass of Wild Turkey Bourbon Whiskey – followed by lighting a cigarette by my windowsill, and opening the doors to my deepest, wildest thoughts. As I sit there, enjoying the company of darkness, my good old friend, and recall the time I rolled double six and took home a gambling addiction. And since that distant night, I cannot ever walk by a casino without reaching for my wallet. And for the entire rest of the night, I can close my eyes and feel those rough green felts on the tips of my fingers, luring me to their playground…
And every night, like clockwork, whenever I feel too comfortable with the thought of packing a weekend bag and hitchhike to Vegas, I violently stand up, swing my hands in the air, breaking the glass in my hand, and tell myself “No! You must get yourself together!” And then, like clockwork, when that minute hand strikes 5, I put on my running shoes and storm out the door.
Then, for what feels like eternity, I never stop running. Even when the bleak night reminds me I am underdressed and my tobacco-filled lungs is running on hope, I just keep on running…with the river Thames in sight…and then London Bridge…and finally…yes…Tower Bridge is in my sight…I run faster and faster, like when a turtle sees a fat plankton in the wild…I finally reach my Everest. And as I stand on that bridge, with London as my witness, I look down at my watch, and it says 12:59, I think to myself… “I just made it.” And then, without a second worth of hesitation, I hop over the green-picked fence, look down at a fractured image of myself. And jump.
Then, for what feels like eternity, all the memories come rushing back. And in that moment – before my vulnerable bones hit the unforgiving water – a woman appeared. I could almost touch her. Smell her hair. Yes. It is her. The love of my life. But it was all too late now. Big Ben says it’s 1 o’clock. Only a minute has passed and yet all that’s left now is a naked Asian body on a British lake.
To be continued.
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