I am not too picky.

I really enjoy being single.

And it's a good thing that I have a enough self confidence to say that because it's looking like it might stay that way for a while:

Anchorman. Come on people. Our last date was in 1812. Don't hold any hope for him because I certainly haven't been. We had a few witty e-mail banters, but for the most part, he's history in my books.

And he is too old for me - a year shy of 30. That's pretty much what my sorority sisters and I like to call "old balls." Because after that? You might as well be sporting wrinkly nuts, be in a wheelchair and gumming on jello.

Plus Anchorman's extreeeeeemely athletic - like training-for-a-duathalon athletic - and that makes me rather nauseous and very self conscious with my less-than-bootylicious body.

And I recently found out a serious dealbreaker:

He's not a Christian.

Peace out, Ron Burgandy.

JackRussellChristian. He wanted to know if he could call me after about five e-mail banters. Okay. Cool. I sent him my digits ... nine days ago. I get an e-mail last Friday: "I'm sorry I haven't called. I promise I haven't forgotten. I will have some time tomorrow afternoon if that's okay." I wrote back: "That's perfectly all right, Jack. Just call when you have time." Then I get another on Monday: "I didn't have time this weekend to call you. I'm sorry. How about sometime this week?" I get another e-mail today with just about the same message.

Like I'm supposed to wait by the phone for this punk? Puuuh-leeeeeze. I have a life too, dude. If you call and I'm around, I'll answer. But don't hold your breath.

BlastFromThePast. No report. Seriously - did you really expect anything?

And that's that.

I'm not too picky, though. It's more like what Dating Dummy said:

"You're single because you're refusing to settle for anything less than you deserve."

I couldn't have said it better myself.