Greetings, friends. Tonight's entry is on the subject of girls, the subtleties and wonders of which provide a boundless topic for discussion. Within the vast field of all that is Girl, however, I shall be expounding on my interaction with them, namely, my seeming inability to attract them, and the speculation and various theories put forth by myself and those intellectuals with whom I have discussed girls (mostly during late-night forums among my closest cousins). I shall try my damnedest to avoid subjecting you, my faithful readers, to a torturous sob story, but rather simply speak as objectively as I can about girls, seeing as how I, of all people, could truly provide an unbiased perspective, as I have never been in a serious relationship. (I have often counseled friends on fickle Romance and her painful whims, as, somehow, it seems I am able to give advice on something I have never done.) And away we go...

Let us begin at the beginning. (A logical place to commence, do you not agree?) The first and foremost thing to realise when speaking of guys and the girls they like (or even love, be they so bold to claim it) is one, incontrovertible fact:

I would hope that this is obvious, as I have always considered it common knowledge. (Those t-shirts immediately come to mind: they offer the top ten things guys know about girls [or men women, or what have you]; the first nine are completely blank, the tenth stating "They have breasts," which certainly explains it pretty well.) The fact of the matter is, as simple as girls might believe themselves to be, the female mind is a complete mystery to every male on the planet. (Sigmund Freud once stated that after all the years he had spent in studying the human mind that he still didn't understand women. What chance does your average Joe stand of deciphering a girl's motivations and innermost thoughts?) Girls say they want one thing, then act completely differently, and, as the truism goes, "Actions speak louder than words." An example of this lies below.

What girls say: "I want a sensitive, caring guy who will listen to me."

What girls mean*: "I want a complete jerk who will disrespect me, ignore me, and openly stare at other girls while doing so."

* Before I am lapidated (or worse, castrated) for generalising, allow me to qualify my statements by saying that there are certainly exceptions to this rule, although from my experience (and that of other guys to whom I have spoken), not enough. True, there are girls who really do want a sensitive guy, but what the vast majority of girls seems to desire is a lecherous lout who will show them not one jot of respect, who chases anything with breasts, and relies more often on his rippling muscles than his staggering intellect. Brains do not fare well against brawns in high school, sadly.

As the above demonstrates, it seems as if girls themselves haven't the slightest idea what they really want, so how are guys supposed to figure it out? Are we to listen to girls extol the virtues of nice guys, then watch silently as they swoon over sweaty, often not terribly swift football players who are content to insult and otherwise verbally abuse the girls who flock about them while grabbing their derrieres? Is this the natural order of the universe? Do nice guys truly finish last? Girls claim, "Oh, no! I love nice guys." Yet very rarely do their actions reflect this. At least during high school (a pretentious, superficial microcosm to be sure), it seems as if nice guys do, indeed, finish last. And why is this? What is it that jocks and jerks possess that is so bloody attractive to girls? Is it their extensive muscular system? Yes, that helps. Their often rugged good looks? That doesn't hurt either. Or perhaps their often seemingly limitless pocketbooks? As much as girls would deny it, money certainly is a factor. But there is one thing that they have that most "nice guys" do not, and it is the lack of this one essential aspect of life that dooms the sensitive, caring guys and lionizes the jerks. What is it, you ask?

Quite simply, it is assertiveness. That is what separates the mice from the men, to use an analogy. Jerks have it, lots of it. In fact, it is their immense self-confidence that drives them to be jerks in the first place. "Nice guys" oftentimes have absolutely no self-confidence whatsoever, much less enough to compete in the figurative Big League with suitors suffering from a severe case of swelled head.

Take me for example. I am, from what I have been able to glean and gather from those around me, a very nice, caring, sensitive guy able to listen to problems and help through tough times; a rather intelligent guy at that, and one with a dry, but nevertheless effective sense of humor (often self-effacing, but still effective); and it has even been said, by girls who have actually met me, and by those on the Internet relying on poor pictures alone, that I am actually kind of "cute." So why am I not swarming with girls? It seems like I'm quite a catch. (Not to pat myself on the back; it has been said by others before.) Yet here I remain, painfully alone, desperately single, watching as the jerks get the girl. Why? Because I have been given the kiss of death: the title of "Nice Guy Extraordinaire."

I have little assertiveness, which means I have little self-esteem (despite my rather convincing faÁade that I am confident and sure of myself, I most certainly am not so inside), which means that I am not generally attractive to girls. Furthermore, with nearly every girl I've met (and this has been confirmed by real-life girls), I have instantly exuded a brotherly aura, one that gives the signal that I am excellent to talk to, a great listener, but absolutely not boyfriend material. And this will serve as an obstacle if I ever want to be in anything more than a platonic relationship.

So here I am, wondering what the Deuce could be wrong with me, what could be driving away all of these girls I'm attracted to. (I am reminded of the Dilbert comic strip in which he picks up a small book dropped by a beautiful woman and discovers something to the effect of "How to Avoid Dilbert: A Handbook," much to his understandable dismay.) Hence the title of this topic, a quotation that I feel perfectly describes my pitiful situation: "Am I to stand idle and unnoticed, so handsome and so heroic, all for nothing?" Perhaps I am not quite as handsome as the author of the quote, nor quite as heroic, but I do seem to stand idle and unnoticed.

Now, I realise that I have my flaws. Oh, do I ever, as they are a main topic for internal debate (read: in my head). For one thing, I am rather odd. Downright strange, in truth. (I prefer eccentric, but call me what you will.) That has always been something of a turn-off for most girls, who seem to like mainstream guys more than the oddball against-the-grain types. Also, I am never going to win a beauty contest, nor will my apparel appear on any runway model; I have never been among the avant-garde of fashion, I must admit. I'm a bit of a nerd (all right, I am an enormous nerd), a guy who often enjoys the company of a good book over that of living, breathing people (although the characters in any good novel are sometimes more complex and profound than the cardboard cut-outs of cookie-cutter popular people); a guy who actually reads books on the conjugation of regular and irregular verbs in English and the effect they have had on society; a guy who values knowledge and erudition over all things. I'm not popular, by any means. In fact, consorting with me will almost certainly degrade a person's reputation.

But really, none of these things matter. (Most of them are rather exaggerated as well, as anyone who knows me will most likely point out.) What hurts me the most, however, is my complete lack of confidence, a foible I have been working on, but which mars me still, despite my efforts to believe in myself as much as those around me do. I am constantly told that I have an inner strength that allows me to take anything the world throws at me and still have the stick-to-itiveness to stand up for what I believe in, to never show fear when sharing my opinion, no matter how controversial it may be.

As that most emotional of nights during Diamond Ranch High School's Senior Retreat for the class of 2002 showed me, a lot of people consider me to be a great guy, someone memorable and significant enough to be missed after high school, someone who contributed to the school and to the people therein so much that without me they would not have been the same. Yet I do not have this faith in myself, do not share this apparent admiration with the people who have allegedly harbored these feelings. For whatever reason, and in spite of the fact that no one who knows me agrees, I am stubbornly of the opinion that I am a boring, nerdy guy who no one really likes but that everyone tolerates lest they break his heart. (Amneh, please don't hit me; as sad as it is, I still, deep down, believe that.)

And that's where I stand. Oh, hell, that was a sob story, wasn't it? Sorry about that, folks. Just disregard the above, if you would, as no one deserves to sit through a sob story, much less my pathetic one. Good night, ladies and germs, until next time.

[Listening to: Free All Angels (Ash); The Last Broadcast (The Doves).]

[Exit Orpheum.]