My attraction-determination thingy is broken. I'm not a doctor, despite previous claims, but I think the button is broken.
Not the button that makes me attractive - trust me, if that thing existed it would have broken an hour after it came out of the box. That thing would have been pressed more times than the button on the condom machine at the senior prom.
No, the switch in my head that helps me determine what I find attractive in a potential mate. The fail-safe switch that keeps me from making decisions which will make me a guest on the Jerry Springer show.
A recent study done at Duke University found that it takes people 165th of a second to determine if someone is attractive.
Ladies, I urge you to utilize that whole 165th when considering me. Don't go making up your mind with time to spare and miss out on the (cough) joy that is me.
But I think my device is broken, I don't know if it's the stress in my life, the utter bitter loneliness or simply my lack of standards, but lately I have decided that a lot of women are attractive.
This is especially worrisome given the fact that I am out of contact lenses and can't see things far away. Why, just yesterday I saw this girl walking down the street in a white jean jacket and black pants and thought to myself, "Hello, Dolly."
Sidenote: That's much less "Hee Haw"-ish in my head.
And I was right, aside from being in his 60s and bald, he was kind of attractive.
But it's not just people I can't see. It's bank tellers, checkout girls, lawyers, computer experts, teachers, cartoons, syrup containers.
Let me put it to you this way - Disney's "The Little Mermaid" is ruined, totally ruined.
It seems to me the little switch in my head that flips on (attractive) and off (not my type), is glued into on, and frankly it's like being a dog in heat. It will have a meaningful relationship with the couch, if you let it.
Concerned about the permanence of this affliction, I confided in a friend about how to fix this problem.
His response, and I quote, "Your attraction button?!?! What the hell man. Oh, you mean you're desperate. That's not a bad thing. In fact, I know this girl ..."
Have I mentioned lately how much I loooooove my friends.
But he got me thinking, what if that's it? No, I can't be getting desperate, but just in case, I pulled out my copy of "Jarid's Field Guide to Desperation: Yes, Women Can Smell it on You."
This book has helped me out many times, plus Corey Feldman wrote the forward.
OK, Chapter 2: Ways to tell you might be desperate.
One, name the last three hosts of Saturday Night Live: Ludacris, Alec Baldwin and Hugh Laurie. Crap.
Two, are your condoms expired? Let's see, oh, Dec. 12. That's not - 2004, damnit.
Finally, have you begun using the phrase "Hello, Dolly"? OK, that's just a freaky coincidence.
I refuse to believe I have strayed from Normalville into Desperation Hollow. It's just simply a problem of my thingy being broken.
They have pills for that, right?
Been through a dry spell? Tell me about it on the Party of One blog at www.nevadaappeal.com/partyofone
• Jarid Shipley is a reporter for the Nevada Appeal. Contact him a firstname.lastname@example.org or 881-1217.