There are many reasons why I am single.
Let’s start with a statistical approach. I derived this mathematical formula from an intellectual blog. I am number-blind.
According to the the Central Intelligence Agency, Malaysia has an estimated population of 25,715,819, as of July 2009. 63.6% are aged between 15-64 years old, of which 8,210,373 are male, neglecting the fact that I am not really into 64 year olds. Ignoring the criticisms of the 1948 Kinsey research and applying the ‘myth’ that 10% of the general male population is gay, my selection pool shrinks to 7,389,335. Assuming that I am a traditional Chinese who is only interested in males of the same ethnicity, my pool reduces to 1,751, 272. Further assuming that I prefer a partner who shares the same religion, my candidate pool shrinks to 336, 244. If you think that this is a large number and that if each of them gives me RM1, I will have more than enough money to read law and live in the UK for three years (and pay for my own resit examinations), please allow me to continue.
Should we assume that I expect my boyfriend to have at least, enrolled for a secondary school education (note: mere enrolment, not graduation), my pool of candidates decreases to 228, 309. Considering the fact that I would prefer a partner who stays at a place with water and electricity supply, thank you very much, the number of my potential boyfriends shrink to 159,816. If I expect him to have access to the Internet, my pool diminishes to 86,300. I like people who read, so this further slashes my candidate pool down to 38,835. I want a man who actually exercises, so I guess there are only 10,097 of them left. Look, now I wouldn’t even have enough money to pay the tuition fees for one semester at Taylor’s. I seek for a guy who is verbally confident, one who can talk the talk and walk the walk – 7067 left (probably lesser than this, really). Considering the fact that my candidate pool consists of men aged 15-64 years old, it should be noted that a lot of them are already married, hence my pool zooms down to 3533.Taking into account those who are engaged and those who are in steady, committed relationships, there are probably 1766 men left. What a beautiful number for a lottery ticket. Now, eliminating those who are possibly overweight, I have about 635 candidates left.
I may not be a neat-freak, but I certainly am a clean-freak, which also means that I can’t stand a man who leaves his dirty socks on the couch (clean ones are okay, seriously), or one who wets the washroom floor every time he washes his hands at the sink. Ladies and gentlemen, 127 men. Now I don’t even have enough money to pay for a Contract Law resit paper. I need a man who loves flat chests – 12 left (and 10% is still an understatement). He cannot be a diehard football fan – 7 left. He must be proficient in English and hopefully Mandarin. He needs to know that facial hair is disgusting when one is not Hugh Jackman. He must be able to leave home without styling his hair. He must not camwhore using DSLRs. He must not be into Mafia Wars and Restaurant City; and must not live his life asking Fortune Teller Genius questions. He must know that it is unnecessary to Twit about where he is and what he is eating – the Spicy Chicken McDeluxe or the Big Mac.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am pretty convinced that I will stay single for the rest of my life.
Anyway, that was just the appetizer. I can’t imagine using numbers for a main course. The statistics attained and my application methods are, honestly, highly doubtful and hence my previous conclusion may be flawed. Never mind that. It isn’t the only reason anyway.
I am not stylish but I am selective. And stereotypically, you have no right to be selective when you are not stylish. I wear glasses but don’t pull off the fuck-me-I-am-your-secretary look. When I was 10, our Assistant Head of School praised the way I wore my hair in front of a big group of peers. I was so proud of my hairdo I refuse to change it ever since. No, seriously. And don’t get me started on my braces. The biggest consolation is that a lot of people need them more than I do. I like sneakers. I like t shirts and jeans. They are cheap. And your friends’ mums will find you decent. But anyway, the fact is, I am not stylish, but I am still very selective. Trust me. Oh I just remembered that I forgot to include my height requirements while calculating the numbers earlier. What a vital physical attribute.
I am very stubborn. I am mean and sarcastic. I say the wrongest things at the wrongest times. I take criticism badly. I give bad impressions. I swear too often. I have a duck fetish. My Ellen marathons can last for hours. I am very afraid of lizards. I whine a lot. I live in denial. I ask myself ‘what is wrong with him’, and not ‘what is wrong with me’. I delete blog posts. I am lazy. I failed Contract Law. I am kind of tall. I put only one song in my playlist on repeat – I listen to it over and over again. I like to read about massacres and suicides, but I hate horror movies. I scratch myself when I’m upset. I play a few musical instruments, but I am a master of none. I am indecisive. I judge people silently. I know a lot of people who dislike me. I am a boring person. I talked about blowjobs during my first Tort lesson.
I got gloss on my lips, a man on my hips.
Haha, thank you Beyonce. You lit hope in Sydney, but drown mine right here. Thank you Beyonce, thank you very much.
Let’s start with a statistical approach. I derived this mathematical formula from an intellectual blog. I am number-blind.
According to the the Central Intelligence Agency, Malaysia has an estimated population of 25,715,819, as of July 2009. 63.6% are aged between 15-64 years old, of which 8,210,373 are male, neglecting the fact that I am not really into 64 year olds. Ignoring the criticisms of the 1948 Kinsey research and applying the ‘myth’ that 10% of the general male population is gay, my selection pool shrinks to 7,389,335. Assuming that I am a traditional Chinese who is only interested in males of the same ethnicity, my pool reduces to 1,751, 272. Further assuming that I prefer a partner who shares the same religion, my candidate pool shrinks to 336, 244. If you think that this is a large number and that if each of them gives me RM1, I will have more than enough money to read law and live in the UK for three years (and pay for my own resit examinations), please allow me to continue.
Should we assume that I expect my boyfriend to have at least, enrolled for a secondary school education (note: mere enrolment, not graduation), my pool of candidates decreases to 228, 309. Considering the fact that I would prefer a partner who stays at a place with water and electricity supply, thank you very much, the number of my potential boyfriends shrink to 159,816. If I expect him to have access to the Internet, my pool diminishes to 86,300. I like people who read, so this further slashes my candidate pool down to 38,835. I want a man who actually exercises, so I guess there are only 10,097 of them left. Look, now I wouldn’t even have enough money to pay the tuition fees for one semester at Taylor’s. I seek for a guy who is verbally confident, one who can talk the talk and walk the walk – 7067 left (probably lesser than this, really). Considering the fact that my candidate pool consists of men aged 15-64 years old, it should be noted that a lot of them are already married, hence my pool zooms down to 3533.Taking into account those who are engaged and those who are in steady, committed relationships, there are probably 1766 men left. What a beautiful number for a lottery ticket. Now, eliminating those who are possibly overweight, I have about 635 candidates left.
I may not be a neat-freak, but I certainly am a clean-freak, which also means that I can’t stand a man who leaves his dirty socks on the couch (clean ones are okay, seriously), or one who wets the washroom floor every time he washes his hands at the sink. Ladies and gentlemen, 127 men. Now I don’t even have enough money to pay for a Contract Law resit paper. I need a man who loves flat chests – 12 left (and 10% is still an understatement). He cannot be a diehard football fan – 7 left. He must be proficient in English and hopefully Mandarin. He needs to know that facial hair is disgusting when one is not Hugh Jackman. He must be able to leave home without styling his hair. He must not camwhore using DSLRs. He must not be into Mafia Wars and Restaurant City; and must not live his life asking Fortune Teller Genius questions. He must know that it is unnecessary to Twit about where he is and what he is eating – the Spicy Chicken McDeluxe or the Big Mac.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am pretty convinced that I will stay single for the rest of my life.
Anyway, that was just the appetizer. I can’t imagine using numbers for a main course. The statistics attained and my application methods are, honestly, highly doubtful and hence my previous conclusion may be flawed. Never mind that. It isn’t the only reason anyway.
I am not stylish but I am selective. And stereotypically, you have no right to be selective when you are not stylish. I wear glasses but don’t pull off the fuck-me-I-am-your-secretary look. When I was 10, our Assistant Head of School praised the way I wore my hair in front of a big group of peers. I was so proud of my hairdo I refuse to change it ever since. No, seriously. And don’t get me started on my braces. The biggest consolation is that a lot of people need them more than I do. I like sneakers. I like t shirts and jeans. They are cheap. And your friends’ mums will find you decent. But anyway, the fact is, I am not stylish, but I am still very selective. Trust me. Oh I just remembered that I forgot to include my height requirements while calculating the numbers earlier. What a vital physical attribute.
I am very stubborn. I am mean and sarcastic. I say the wrongest things at the wrongest times. I take criticism badly. I give bad impressions. I swear too often. I have a duck fetish. My Ellen marathons can last for hours. I am very afraid of lizards. I whine a lot. I live in denial. I ask myself ‘what is wrong with him’, and not ‘what is wrong with me’. I delete blog posts. I am lazy. I failed Contract Law. I am kind of tall. I put only one song in my playlist on repeat – I listen to it over and over again. I like to read about massacres and suicides, but I hate horror movies. I scratch myself when I’m upset. I play a few musical instruments, but I am a master of none. I am indecisive. I judge people silently. I know a lot of people who dislike me. I am a boring person. I talked about blowjobs during my first Tort lesson.
I got gloss on my lips, a man on my hips.
Haha, thank you Beyonce. You lit hope in Sydney, but drown mine right here. Thank you Beyonce, thank you very much.
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