Personals Version Of Hell

I think I may have mentioned this before, but I despise dating. However in a city full of things even more repugnant (posers of every stripe from hillbilly to paper thugs, open space, religious fundamentalists, Larry The Cable Guy live shows), one must choose the lesser of the evils to pass the time. Being that I'm even more of a fish out of water here than my previous location (another post entirely), it has been an exercise in elimination worthy of a junior high math class:




At the rate of 5 persons rejected per month, in a city with a population of 50,000 (45% straight male, 3% queer female) how long will it take TAFKA to have dated and rejected the entire community of sexual orientation compatible options and get chased out of town with flaming torches and pitchforks?



Submitted for your approval, future exile in 5 attempts:



Boy 1(The English Grad Student): Though my love for nerds, geeks and grinds of all sorts is quite large, the pretension that came along with your classical knowledge was strong enough to quite possibly be the only thing supporting your body weight, as opposed to a standard spine. Your sheer inability to fathom those who did not have parents able to pay our way through schooling, as well as your provincial views of anyone not of your sturdy West Virginia stock made you the perfect example of Ambrose Bierce's definition of "learning". Though given what crawls out of the foothills of your native state, perhaps you have reason to distinguish yourself as a more evolved primate (though all that means in this case is that you bathe and mostly walk upright).



Boy 2 (The Kindergarten Teacher): For someone in charge of forming young minds and teaching crucial skills like the alphabet and basic numbers, it would've been nice had you mastered them yourself, misspelling common words and hatcheting the difference between "it's" and "its" (plus a healthy smattering of wrong usages of "there", "they're" and "their") across a slew of typed communication. We all make occasional typos, but you're on a short bus all your own.


Boy 3 (Abs): You don't do drugs, but are full of the disjointed babble and conspiracy theory of the habitually high. Perhaps you were a nerdy kid and wanted to copy the far cooler badasses who smoked up and cut classes by imitating their cadences. However, to think that someone still thinks it's the new sexy to sound intentionally incoherent past the age of 20 or so is depressing. No matter how nice the 6 pack is, duct taping your mouth shut to admire it from the safety of my friend's car trunk is illegal, and that's just about the only way I could tolerate another 6 hours of your presence.



Boy 4 (Math Boy): On the surface I genuinely liked you, and you were amusing and intelligent enough. Unfortunately, your self imposed ignorance of the wider world, combined with a very large streak of petulant self righteousness made you unfit for even the most boring of afternoon time slots. Had I wanted to teach, guide, and babysit in equal turns I'd have stayed in childcare. Babies are far cuter and don't dare to claim to be punk rock musicians while never having heard of the Clash, Sex Pistols, or Ramones. I'll stay home and watch Maury, thanks.



Boy 5 (Local Boy): A drink and a few compliments do not make me automatically indebted to sleeping with you. Unlike most of the females in the area, I am fully aware of my own worth and am not that desperate for affirmation. For future reference, rarely is a girl who cares enough to wear $200 shades and $600 shoes to the corner store to grab cigarettes fond of actions that appallingly cheap.