But I really think I should give up. Find women who share my interests, huh? You should see the women who are into computers and ham radio (and I apologize to those of you who meet those criteria, but you have a lot more guys available than you know what to do with so don’t read the next bit): they’re hideous. OK, so I’m exaggerating, but if they’re ever so slightly non-hideous, they have hundreds of geeks talking to them every single day. At MIT, for example, the women who you’d vote most likely to end up living in a house with 40 cats are treated like queens with all the adoration and gifts and paying tributes and whatever else queens get. (And I’m not talking about the queens who listen to the music in my iPod, either.) It’s all about the numbers.

I suppose I could take up other hobbies but nobody suggest swing or salsa dancing. I find them both to be rather obnoxious. I guess I could learn to waltz or something. I’d probably meet nice little old ladies waltzing.

So I can’t keep doing what I like to do and expect to do much other than live in a crumbling house full of crap with small paths from the sleeping area to the computer area to the filthy kitchen to the filthy bathroom. Oh, and maybe a path to the TV room stacked with empty pizza boxes and take-out cartons.

Now that I think of it, a lot of the women I’m starting to notice at the gym seem to share my interests. And by, “share my interests,” I mean, “they want to go out with women, too.” The number of available women gets even smaller.

Oh, well, I had a fine day of laundry and filling my dad’s pill minder. Oh, and minor yard work. I also went out to a Japanese restaurant with my dad and it reminded me why I put up with smoky bars when I get hungry: bars don’t allow children and so you don’t have to watch two-year-olds having temper tantrums all around you. I’m reminded of my friend Shawn and how she told me that her niece and nephew were the best birth control ever.