And it clear it up, primarily for Megan, I did not decide to give the vegetarian thing another go because of the PETA flyers that got shoved in all of our doors. And I'm not even going the whole vegan mile, primarily because my mother has successfully convinced me that if I don't consume enough dairy, I will crumble into a pile of brittle bone when I am an old lady. And we live in Wisconsin, so naturally, by extension, I really love cheese. Really, I'm just doing it because I don't want to be a meat and potatoes american who becomes insanely obese from all the steak and has horrid cholestoral levels from all of the saturated fat. And because I think it's really chic, and it's more healthy than smoking which I also wrongly find rather chic. Whatever.

Speaking of chic, my philosophy professor dressed all in black yesterday--an outfit that included a sweatervest. Superhot. And during class when someone asked what a particular paragraph meant, her response was, "I don't really know what to do with this paragraph because this is a rather poor translation. I'll have to check the original French and get back to you on that." The original French? If correcting grammar is a turn-on, foreign language fluency is like a mini-orgasm. She's even published in French philosophy journals. If that doesn't make you want to fuck your professor, I don't know what would.

This has all made me realize that one of the most important qualities that I look for in a potential love interest (which makes it sound like I'm actively looking, while what I'm really doing is passively waiting for someone to actively look for me) is intelligence. And by that, I don't mean someone who is merely functional, or someone who was able to skate through four years of college. When I say that, I really mean brilliant-- fucking brilliant. Blow my mind brilliant. But not, of course, pretentious. I don't have any room for that. I just want a witty, highly educated, fucking brilliant lady. And I don't want it to be a one-way street, so I'm doing my best to evolve to that point. Right now, I'd like to think that I have at least one out three--I'm witty (I think). Maybe not. Maybe I'm just sarcastic. I'm not really sure. Regardless, I don't think I'm all that bad. And yet . . . no one. I don't really mind being single, but it's not as if I'm single by choice. And that hurts my little ego.

One of my professors said that she would work with me to develop some of my class responses for publication. And I think I'm going to do it so I can use it to woo the ladies.

That'll work, right?

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