An Open Letter to Blake Lively or Melanie Iglesias

Look, I'm going to be upfront here. You're ridiculously hot. Obvious, I know. That's the thing with looks; they're right there for everyone to see. Not necessarily the best way to judge people, but damn effective and pretty much universal. 

Unfortunately, for me, I'm not ridiculously hot. I don't mean that I'm Quasimodo here, but I can be honest. I tend more towards the average part of the looks spectrum. That being said, I don't think it's very fair that my conformity to norms of appearance should really be a hindrance to our getting married on top of a mountain (a mountain!) and having a baseball team of progeny. Married to each other, to be clear.

You see, I'm smart. I don't mean "Oh, he keeps his checkbook balanced!" smart. I don't mean "He remembers the quadratic formula" smart. (Actually, I really don't mean the quadratic formula smart; I'm borderline retarded when it comes to higher math.) Never mind about that. What I mean is I'm super-smart. Super-smart in that way that will inevitably result in my being hailed as a prophet of some sort. Plenty of people are fantastic at calculus, even quantum mechanics, but hardly anyone inspires acolytes/ cultists. That's the kind of smart I'm talking about here. Plus, I know things about the Byzantine Empire.

You've made a living off of your looks. I've made one off of my brains/personal magnetism. I say you should let me do the thinking for you and I'll let you do the being jaw-droppingly pretty for me. See? We're already making a fantastic team.

But no. That's not how it's gone so far. You've been off trying to think on your own. How's that worked? About as well as my trying to be stupendously sexy. Sure, I've attempted it, but it's been cosmically comical and people have said snide things about it behind my back. I know they have because I'm super-smart. Also, my quasi-mutant-large ears are sensitive.

You've been dating pretty boys, no doubt. Models or actors or rock stars or athletes. You may even have dated a "bad boy" (biker or some such) or two. No. Bad. 

I'm not any of those things (though I was captain of my high school baseball team...but that doesn't mean I was athletic), so I can definitely tell you you've been going about this all wrong. You were never going to find me that way. Hence why I'm having to post this for you on the internet.

Other than being historically brilliant, I'll give some of my qualifications. I mean, I don't want to just rest on that one thing, otherwise you might think I'm puffing myself up. As Schopenhauer said, "Intellect is invisible to the man who has none." Millennial intellects like mine probably seem like make-believe to most people, even relatively smart ones. Like Einstein. He probably wouldn't understand how awesome I am. Anyway, I'm not saying you don't (or won't, when we finally meet) get how brilliant I am, but I'll sweeten the pot, as it were.

I'm tall. Not freakishly so, but, yeah, 6'2". Women seem to appreciate that for some reason. Also, I'm not fat. At the same time, I'm not skinny. I'm sort of a nebulous in-between of out-of-shape. I'm like unmolded clay. Want me to be fat? I can do that. Want me to be heroin-skinny? I can do that too (though I won't be happy about it...unless you put me on heroin). I'm willing to work with you. See? I'm open to compromise.

Also, I'm manly. Now don't get me wrong. I don't mean that in the "micro" sense where it means I drink Budweiser, tell sexist jokes around the camp fire (though I've done that before), and punch people clearly weaker than me. No, I mean I'm "macro" manly. Historically manly. I don't do anything small-time.

I was (and sorta still am) a Captain in the US Army. And I wasn't a quartermaster, counting toilet paper rolls or whatever it is that they do. Nope. I was artillery. 30+ ton killing machines that fire 95.5lbs projectiles of death 18 miles away from out of 20' tubes. That's manly. Also, it's slightly phallic, now that I think about it. Whatever. Anyway, I wasn't bayoneting babies in the face or anything like that. I was an officer. That's the difference between micro and macro manliness. I had subordinates to do the distasteful stuff.

What else? Technically, I'm a lawyer. You disturbingly, aberrantly beautiful women seem to allow doctors, lawyers, and businessmen to paw on you from time to time, so I figure I should mention it. I do have to add a caveat to that by admitting that I don't practice, and not because I'm so wealthy that I don't have to practice. To be honest, being a lawyer just isn't a whole lot of fun. It's not like Matlock or Boston Legal, no matter what anyone may tell you. It's mostly paperwork and despair.

I would like to say I'm a writer, and I guess I can. You're reading this after all, but, as far as defining myself as one, I don't think I can quite do that yet. I've written a couple of books but I haven't been published...other than a few articles I got printed in a newspaper my dad assistant edits. Does that count? Let's not get hung up on this one.

So, I'm sort of a warrior, lawyer, and a writer. Those are all pretty bad-ass, I must say. Feathers in my cap. All three of those are macro manly. Macro manly tends to be a bit more boring than micro manly. Bikers and lumberjacks are micro manly. They're pretty exciting, I admit, but, typically, they're awfully dumb and they dredge up loads of drama. You don't want that.

Don't get me wrong though. It's not all responsibility and boredom when you're with me. I can be exciting. You see, I'm also an adventurer. It's hard to quantify what, exactly, an adventurer is or how I am one, but, basically, think of a not-as-sexually-intimidating Indiana Jones crossed with a slightly less-masochistic version of Bear Grylls and then add some boozy insouciance and tada! that's me.

Everything is an adventure to me. I don't say that to justify calling myself an adventurer when I haven't done anything objectively adventurous. Oh no. I've done some of the big stuff. I've been to war. I canoed 2,180 miles down the Mississippi River. I tried to date a female law student or two (Insanity personified). Hell, I even managed to get a $550 speeding ticket in a Fiat. Those were no simple tasks.

What have the guys you usually date ever done? Been pretty? Popular?

BOAARR-ING. I think it's time to go for a change of pace. Really, it's pretty clear that you don't have any other option but to fall head-over-heels in love with me.

Also, think about how popular you'll become. When "regular" guys (ie not anomalously good-looking) think they have a chance (disclaimer: I'm not regular, but they won't be able to tell I'm not because they'll only be judging by looks), your career will skyrocket. See? I'm looking out for you. It's not all about me.

I'm casting a pretty wide net here, writing this to both of you, I know, but, again, I'm super-smart. I have to double my chances. Unless both of you go for this. In which case it really will be an adventure. Or both of you call the law on me. In which case I guess I won't be coming home from Afghanistan any time soon. We'll cross that bridge when we get there.

To summarize, you're awesome; I'm awesome. I'm way, way more awesome than any other man you've ever met or will ever meet. We're "totes" meant to be. You'll see.

With Much Affection,

Ajax Carpenter