Mood:  incredulous

You already know my unhealthy obsession with Craigslist personals. What can I say? I am easily amused to say the least and these provide unending fodder. What I just don’t get are some of these folks who apparently live in an alternate universe or reality than I do.

There is just something unreal about a chick who goes on and on about how totally hot and amazing she is and then you check out her pics and her face looks like she got hit by a truck – or needs to get hit by a truck…or something…Seriously. This chick is overly impressed with herself and I just don’t get it. It is one thing to be confident and secure and then there is the diametric opposite of arrogant and totally misguided. I am not about the hate—but I am all about the honesty. If you are the hottest thing since roasted organic pinõn nuts, super but you’d better bring it and back your claims up. This chick is seriously delusional to say the least. Here is her encapsulated diatribe about her beyond questionable amazingness  as it was WAY too long and nauseating to post en totale: 

In short, I’m awesome. You’d love to date me, but you’d probably think I was out of your league and so you’d never come talk to me in public (it’s not all your fault). But frankly, that’s just fine, as most of you would be right.

I’m a successful, “up-and-coming” (as they say) artist. No really. The real kind. Not the café-art, slam-poetry kind. I am a gourmet cook who could make Martha Stewart weep in envy. I can build a suspension bridge across the Amazon using only discarded bubble gum and paper clips. I am so hot, I make myself moist. People call me cocky, but I consider it a good thing to be opinionated and confident.  I’m hot. No, really, I’m fucking hot. I collect those invite-to-an-open-call cards modeling agencies attack you with—for fun. But just for fun, as while I have a million dollar body, my profile and my slightly odd features would reduce me to “art house editorial with no real commercial power.” And frankly, unless I’m calling the shots, I have better things to do than be a drugged-out coat-hanger. I’m smart. I’m smarter than you. I have a graduate degree from an Ivy League school and I’m working on another. I can read a few dead languages, and a couple living ones. I’ve probably read the book you’re reading right now unless it’s trite and lame or features small words and pictures. There are few fields I have exactly no knowledge about but I could be mistaken. I can cook a 4-course meal for 10 on less than 3 hours notice. I can sing and play a variety of musical instruments. I’m not frigid, nor have “issues” regarding sex. This does not mean I do it all and then some with you and your buddies for a beer. I can shop at Bergdorf’s for a dress for the [insert event here]. I can make paper. Spin wool. I’ve been known to make jewelry and sew, on occasion. I know how to make sunscreen from popular trees.

You should be similar: smart, hot, interesting, confident, and cool. Generally awesome. I deserve someone as totally killer as I am. 

Now, scroll down for her stunning modelesque photos…not!!!! Seriously, is it just me being a heinous bitch, which is known to happen occasionally or are you wondering, much like me, what planet this chick is considered hot on? What is she the self-declared 'hot' girl on the planet Fugly AKA the chinless wonder (although the blower's cramp mouth is a postitive to some folks)? 

 You tell me!