Call me when you want to have an intelligent conversation.

I had a date last week. Correction, a series of three bad dates.

I would like to think that I am an intelligent human being. I mean, I may not have much common sense, but I did manage to clamber my way through the rigorous Greeley District 6 education system and still be admitted into and graduate from a third tier university.

I hesitate to tell people that I am a graduate student. It makes me extremely uncomfortable (and feel obnoxiously pretentious) because a precedent has been set that I will unlikely live up to. This was never more evident than in the case of my most recent gentleman caller. He thought I was hot and knew I was smart. Apparently that means he KNOWS me, and never really bothered to ask me anything about myself. Or else I'm sure that what I'm about to say might not have been an extreme shock.

After three dates of listening to him ramble with nary a break for breathing about his political leanings, how he doesn't like Jesus the God but loves Jesus the Man, and how evolutionary psychology is the crux of the WORLD... I had enough. I thought maybe he was just nervous, but after three dates it was clear that this was it with this guy. And I can't help it. I hate that shit. Politics will never enthrall me, philosophy will always be dead guys with little scientific merit, and religious conversations tend to put me on edge.

When I called to eventually break off his plans of an eventual fourth date, he left me with a gem sounding something like "call me when you want to have an intelligent conversation."

Hey douche, if you are so disturbed about what's going on in Africa right now that it warrants 15 minutes of intense discussion, why aren't you there? Why are you in East Lansing trying to date me? Seems a bit counter-intuitive for the man who is planning to single-handedly solve the world's problems.

All I want out of my social life right now is to watch "The Hills" with the fervor of a 13 year old girl, drink a good Long Island, take bets on how long Lindsay Lohan will stay out of rehab, and bumble my way through the Hall and Oates classic "Maneater" at karaoke. And I'm not going to let a 26 year old with no college degree spouting off sonnets on how he wants to be like Jesus the Man make me feel bad about it.

I am so smart. S-M-R-T.