I’m not turned on by Facebook and MySpace propositions

I made a promise to myself that if I ever started a blog I would avoid falling into the Carrie Bradshaw trap.  I made a solemn oath to myself not to turn Can’t Fight City Hall into the Oh Woe is Me, Why are Men so dumb? column.  Most of the time, I do not think men are dumb.  I’m in grad school.  I am surrounded by three really smart guys.  Granted, one is gay, one is married, and the other is so socially awkward that being in the presence of my vagina made him so nervous he wrote to me in an e-mail: “I really don’t know what I want out of my life.” Who really knows what they want out of life?  I don’t.  That’s why I’m in grad school.  Since my entire summer has been one miserable thought after the other about, ugh, boys, I’m going to write about them until I get bored.  And, I haven’t seen Polka Dot Girl since May and I could not justify spending $40 on spandex  just to make myself laugh in the wake of an unpleasant break up with the socially awkward classmate.  Please indulge me as I endeavor into Really Bad Sex and Syracuse. 

But this one’s not about said socially awkward classmate.  The socially awkward classmate is a very special episode–a bit like an after school special. This one’s an open letter to every guy on MySpace and Facebook who have tried to add me as a friend or hit on me with such romantic phrases like:  “You are really cute.  Let’s get together so I can eat you out for an hour.”  I must declare, I am not charmed by sweet nothings.  I don’t have an hour.  I am busy.  I have a thesis to write.  All I have is 15 minutes.  Is that enough time for you to work your magic?

So, men/boys/cretins, when you look at my profile are you actually comprehending my profile?  I’m not inventing an online persona only so you can become my friend and find out that I really live in a trailer park with three kids, another on the way and two different baby-daddys.  I’m really in graduate school.  I really like politics and good wine.  My favorite music really is an eclectic mix of indie rock, classic rock, and standards.  I have read all those books I profess to like.  And, when I say I want to meet smart, geeky, funny people, I really mean it.  So why do you think we have anything in common?  You generally have nothing more than a high school diploma.  You are divorced or single with kids.  You list NASCAR as one of your favorite past times.  Papa Roach, Linkin Park, and 50 Cent are your musical geniuses.  Also, you can’t spell and that is the biggest turn off for a girl who used to make a living as an editor.  I realize that part of the sport of MySpace and Facebook is to make your penis look bigger by having 50,000 friends, but I’m an old-fashioned girl.  I need to be interested in you first before we meet for cunnilingus. 

So please, do me a favor.  Stop requesting my meaningless, online friendship.  I’m not going to add you unless you have these qualifications:  Good speller, college degree, and mutual interests in music and literature. You never know–somewhere down the line, I might get bored with being lonely and single in graduate school.  I might send you a Facebook message and take you up on your previous offer.  And you never know, afterward we might want to trade music.