Love Me for My Resume!

(This is a satirical dating profile from my book, Fake Personal Ads (Or Real Personal Ads for Fake People).)


Love Me for My Resume!

Resume Woman

Salutations, gentlemen. To start, like most beautiful and successful women, I should have just cut and pasted my six-page resume onto this dating profile with the deluded belief that what men really want in a lover is someone who has two master degrees, eleven certifications ranging from Tantric Ass-Whisperer to Visual Braille Instructor, and who works 70 hours a week in “financial services.” But then I would have left out other feats meant to impress a guy who just wants to get laid. Ergo, call this my secondary resume.

I never just go on vacation in the usual sense of lounging on a beach reading magazines and sipping Margaritas. Instead I make a point of undergoing strenuous activity in exotic locations so that I can afterward brag about them in conversation or in personal ads. For example, I do not merely bungee-jump on the shores of the local lake, but rather parachute out of a plane flown by a former Sandinista in far-off Patagonia. I do not merely row a canoe in a river in my home state, but rather white-water raft off Victoria Falls in Zambia. I do not merely jog around the park during my lunch hour, but rather endure a grueling seven-day 150 mile run along The Great Wall of China with a group of other “passionate” people.

Yes, I never just do things – nay, I am always “passionate” about doing things, and am so fascinated by my chronic passion that I rarely stop regarding myself as the ultimate catch. Whenever I open my mail, it is done with the fervor of Van Gogh slicing off part of his ear.

I attend five fitness classes a week with names such as Left Posterior Boot Camp, Self-Love Boot Camp, Oblique Rock-Climbing Boot Camp, Stiletto-Heeled Boots Boot Camp and Obnoxious-Fitness-Instructor-with-Her-Own-TV-Show Boot Camp. Suffice it to say, I also do kickboxing, a requirement for the modern woman with the perfect resume.

My official resume cites how much I want to help people, especially when my charitable endeavors can be documented with various plaques, certificates and pictures in the newspaper of me in a sexy black dress smiling with other notables at a fund raiser for Kids with Cancer, Cystic Fibrosis and Other Fucked-Up Ailments. I will bake cakes for a shelter for battered women, and then hang around until every one of these traumatized ladies tells me how great I am to have donated my precious time – and they are more than obliging to put those sentiments on a piece of parchment that I can thenceforth hang on my office wall.

Imagine, men, what would happen to you during the three minutes a week that I would allot to you in my busy, passionate schedule. But a warning: if I decide to fill those three minutes with some ego-boosting activity, then you will have to settle for jerking off to my resume.

(To learn more about my book, Fake Personal Ads, or my three other books and two screenplays, visit my website: )


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