I've got a Google alert for "women + San Francisco" and that's how this little gem found its way to my inbox. How could I not click on a link that said, "Why there are no girls in San Francisco"? I was, like, but I'm a girl! (A woman, technically) And I live in San Francisco!
The site is helpfully subtitled "This blog is dedicated to understanding why there are no girls in San Francisco." Thanks for clearing that up. The writer posts numbered entries (he's up to 15!) devoted to exploring the reasons that women are both difficult to come by in the City by the Bay and why, when you do meet them, it's difficult to convince them to date you. (A quick trip to the census Web site reveals that "female persons" make up 49.2% of San Francisco's population, by the way.)
The writer, who identifies himself as "Samuel Snodgrass," laments women's love for tall men (Chicks are shallow! Just like guys!), wine bars (Girls don't get drunk enough at wine bars to talk to dudes. No, seriously.), and, imaginatively, Matthew McConaughey and Full House. Fair enough -- he may have a point, here. John Stamos has probably ruined me for other men.
"Snodgrass" parses the vagueries of parking problems and "metrosexuals" in an attempt to understand the finicky tastes of his scant prospects, but I think the real reason for his rampant availability can be found in passages like this:
The problem is that San Francisco is feminine without being girlish and this is because the city presents girls with two existential crises that makes them not want to be here. First, all the anti-corporate film festivals, Peta protests, and reduce your carbon footprint parades essentially constitute one continuous harangue on the evils of materialism. Girls irritate at this, not because they are shallow but because they don't accept the "either or" premise of the argument. Girls want to wear Juicy Couture shorts and wheel about in a BMV convertible while wearing sunscreen tested on rats. They also want to vote for Democrats and stem cell research at election time. They want both.First of all, who forgot to invite me to the carbon footprint parade(s)? Secondly, Samuel Snodgrass GET OUT OF MY HEAD. Seriously, have you been following me around with a camera? From Juicy Couture to the polling booth? Clearly the problem is that Snodgrass knows his subject all too well. He is akin to the lone naturalist accepted into a family of chimpanzees who effortlessly blends into the background like so many jungle shrubberies. Such is the price of knowledge.