Personal Ad Hell, Part 8 Million

I’ve recently gotten a snowstorm of responses to my personal ad. My womanly sarcasm wants to ooze right now, as I think Gee, the holidays are over, so they don’t have to buy me a present. How sweet. One would’ve thought that they would’ve wanted to meet someone BEFORE the holidays, so as not to spend another one alone. But that’s just my humble opinion. 🙂

But what continues to astound me is how far these people are AWAY from the parameters I’ve set. Yes, I set preferred demographic and geographic information for a reason. Granted, I don’t care if they’re a year or two older or younger or an inch or two shorter or taller than my established preferences — information like that is a bitch to enter because that isn’t the stuff that matters. But it’s all about interests. Sure, I am so very flattered that they are interested in me (until they have one date with me and then disappear into that gentle good night — ::cough cough, RK, cough cough::), and some of them seem pretty sweet. But there are certain interests that I have as well, and there’s got to be some sort of either common bond or mutual attraction, or shit’s not gonna work out, even from the beginning. Oh, I could make myself sound like the true Pittsburgh redneck that I was reared to be, especially now that I live in such a *diverse* area and I’m looking to not add that much diversity to the mix. At any rate, I am entitled to look for someone who would make me happy, inside and out, just like them.

But even on a basic interests level, if you write to me that you want someone to go camping with, skip to the next personal ad. Please. Otherwise, be prepared to go with your buddies. Camping, to me, is renting a cozy cabin in the middle of nowhere with a wood-burning fireplace and a hot tub. And while I don’t often use my curling iron anymore, let there be electrical sockets just in case I feel like being poufy. And skiing — again, I see a cozy chalet somewhere with hot chocolate and a lounge full of hot ski instructors. I can barely walk in tennis shoes — don’t make me embarrass myself in a pair of skis. Because there will be bleeding and Ace bandages involved. Trust me. I admire those hobbies and encourage you to do them with your friends, but don’t be surprised when you ask me to “rough it,” I might end up saying “fuck it.” I might swear like a sailor in heat, but the rest of me is all girl.

That’s not to say that I’m not up for adventure. I am. But when it comes to meeting someone on paper (or on-screen), well, I give minimum criteria. At least TRY to meet the few things I want, which are charisma, wit, intelligence and class. When they fail to meet the “intelligence” part (especially when they’re responding from several states away! Gaaah!), they strike out before they even hear me say hello.

In interesting news, I will be meeting one of my faithful blog readers for the first time this coming Sunday. 🙂 You know who you are. While it frightens me that people actually read this stuff, to have someone actually not write me off as completely schizo after reading this page is an interesting concept. 🙂

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