To the twerp who lied about his age:
No, you can't say you're 45 if you're 63. No, not even if your friends always tell you that you look 45. And no, for the last time, I won't marry you.
To the guy who told me he didn't smoke:
Cigarillos count. Yes, even if you don't inhale. Yes, even if you're keeping it down to 2 packs a day. Yes, they do. Yes, they do. Yes they do, infinity.
To the iconoclast who brought out his medieval hand ax in front of the restaurant:
That exposition of twirling skills was very interesting, in a quirky, fun, and life-threatening way. With motor skills like that, I was sorely tempted. But I and the parking valet have to go now.
To my first Craigslist relationship guy:
The first 3 months were great. I'm sorry it didn't work out. I liked you a lot, but the fact that I wasn't getting an, um, basic need met, while your complaint was that I had a marginally functional gag reflex, was, ultimately, a deal-breaker. Oh, wait, no, sorry. I remember why we broke up – I was too high maintenance.
To the smart, complex, depressed guy:
I really liked you and enjoyed your company – you were a great drinking buddy. I hated to be unsupportive, but the arm-cutting thing was too much for me to take on. I was happy to hear that you were thinking of talking to the suicide prevention people. Take care.
To the great, well-adjusted guy who didn't know what I meant by toppish:
Hugs. Go buy yourself some vanilla ice cream and shake some sprinkles on it.
To the married guy who was refreshingly candid about his cheating plans:
Your remark that you might share your "...amazing number of frequent flyer miles and other awards..." with me got me so hot, baby. Best of luck in finding a co-betrayer of your soul mate.
To the self-deprecating Asian guy:
Just a helpful hint. Never, ever use this line in your response to an ad again: "Yes, this does make me somewhat of a sensual Renaissance man and great conversationist [sic]. There is only one catch. I am asian [sic]."
To the weird author:
Maybe you're right, and Alice in Wonderland is a ghost-written autobiography of how Queen Elizabeth murdered her way to the throne. And thank you for bringing me an autographed copy of your book. But the fact that you signed it "From The Author" instead of with your name means you're insane.
To my sweet second Craigslist relationship guy:
The first two months were like heaven on earth, even though it was all lies. I sure hope you don't use that "I'm a drowning man in the midst of a nasty divorce," line on anyone else. By the way, although surprised by her call, I really enjoyed talking to your wife; it turned out that we had a lot in common. Oh, and congratulations on your new baby.
To the absolutely brilliant author and pen pal:
Look, I don't care if we never meet. Just keep writing to me...please!
Updated for all the curious respondents: Yes, it's all true. No, I'm not kidding. Yes, I actually want to meet and find a partner. Yes, I'm going to claim the right to say I'm an optimist (never give up; never surrender:-) So what's next?