On a scale of 1-10, how hot would you rate…

Yea, I’ll admit it…I was recently rated a 3 — I didn’t argue. Maybe that’s why I have deep-seeded dating issues because I’m aiming for a 6, 7, 8…the bread that’s wayyy out of my league. I should go dumpster diving and slum it. Do you think I can find good bread while digging through the trash? Because the saying goes: One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. And I am a diamond in the rough, like a piece of coal.

There’s a quirky theory that runs rampant through the streets of San Francisco — that at best, only 6’s & 7’s exist here. The belief is if you transplant a San Francisco “10″ to any other place (Las Vegas, Los Angeles, etc.) they’re only really a 7. Gee…that grass sure looks greener on the other side…Good thing I’m a 3, so I don’t even have to deal with those calculations! I just find it disturbing that people even rate others, like some review on yelp. Stop complicating your life because you’ll get stuck in the decimals. Honestly, there are more important things to spend my time on — how to increase my net worth.

However, even though I’m a 3, I’m actually “hands down the best kisser EVER” …urbandictionary said so.

Dear Mr. Right (or Mr. Right Now),

We haven’t been properly introduced but I’ve dreamed about you ever since I was a little girl and old enough to wish on stars. You’re my star — knight in shining armor coming to rescue me, your damsel in distress. When we meet, I’ll know it’s you because I’ll be overcome with emotion equivalent to an asthma attack and you’ll sweep me off my feet, tossing me over your shoulder like a fireman…or pirate. I’ll exclaim to my girlfriends that, I’m gonna lasso that man, and marry him! because you give me goosebumps, heart palpitations and even come with joint healthcare!

You won’t need lines, or gimmicks, or routines, because you’ll have me at “HELLO” — actually words won’t be necessary at all. You’ll look deep into my eyes and fall head over heels where you’ll promptly whisk me away to our own private island / chateau in France / winery in Napa. Not only will you be rolling in dough from saving the lives of starving children in Africa, you’ll have made it big during the dotcom boom but have the sensibility to pullout before the Great Recession.

You’ll understand that when I say, “Do you want dessert?” what I really mean is “I want dessert, but I’m too much of a pig to eat it on my own.” But even if I gain 5, 10, 50lbs, you’ll still think I’m sexy and F*able. But please, never when I’m not in the mood…

You’ll throw rocks at my window in the middle of the night to capture my attention and hold a boombox over your head, professing your undying love in the middle of a thunderstorm. You will not be gay. You’ll burst in the chapel and save me from marrying the douchebag standing to my left, because you have the sixth sense to help me even when I don’t know it myself.

And I’ll wait for you because I’m a princess — my daddy told me so! From the moment I could comprehend, I’ve been force-feed feeble tales of Cinderella, Snow White & Pocahontas. The Little Mermaid ain’t got nothin’ on me because I already have both my feet. No flipper babies for us!

So, what do you say, Mr. Right? Let’s go get hitched and ride off into the sunset together…

Yours Forever,
A douchette baguette

My brother used to lament that Asian men were the plankton of the dating totem pole. He was constantly griping about how his slimmer physique = less masculine = perceived gayness. At 5′8″, he’s average height but would never be considered tall by American standards and social norms dictate that the boy should be taller than the girl. He blamed it on the portrayal of Asians by mass media. According to his theory, I fared marginally better because Asian girls = exotic = sex fiend nymphomaniac.

There’s a term for bread obsessed with Asian girls and after moving back to the Bay Area, I run into this type of boy a lot. What’s even creepier is when I’m given a passing grade by his parents based on my ethnicity! Because somehow my chinky eyes = I’ll take care of you forever, even when we’re old and gray. That type of comment should be reserved for an individual’s character & personality; never race or background.

Racial profiling exists — especially in the dating world. I understand that people have preferences, but limiting yourself to ONE type of bread means that you’re closing yourself off to the other possibilities of carb-laden goodness. And bread is always much more inviting dressed up in butter / cheese / nutella — think of the possibilities! Yum.