Changing in the car

I am starting to find that I'm more put off than I ever imagined when I find a woman can't spell. Typos, I can allow for, but when someone consistently misused or misspells words, I know we're not going to get along. As time goes on, I find myself surprised at how "professional" and presumably well-paid some of these non-spelling women are. Really, if they've got a reasonably-responsible position somewhere and make good money, but their written words make them look like a nine-year-old, how can you take them seriously?

Before you get in my face about being too picky, save it. I've read literally thousands of online posts and profiles from women, and what I've found is, I just don't get along with women who cannot use language effectively. This means that most of the time, they spell, punctuate, and build sentences that don't look like the "what's wrong with this sentence" examples on the verbal portion of the College Boards.

I'm meeting someone after work tonight and I expect basically nothing to come of it. She unexpectedly turned up two red flags, one being the "getting to be around 40 and never married" flag I've discussed before (I wrote back to her because for some reason I thought that she was divorced -- I had confused her with someone else) and the other being the "never bothers punctuating and writes everything as if they're writing in IM." We spoke briefly on the phone the other night and there was nothing attractive about her voice... flat, unmusical, a little too much square-wave in it, the voice of someone who used to smoke cheap cigarettes or something.

Another response I got from that same post has pretty much already disqualified herself: unattractive-to-me, can't spell, doesn't punctuate, and has a perm.

Tomorrow night, I get to meet the more interesting prospect, the one I wrote about the other night. She hasn't turned up anything that worries me at all, even though she's married and divorced twice and has two children in their late teens/early twenties, and what sounds like a slightly-crazy ex-husband somewhere in New Jersey. I suppose we'll find out.

I'm intrigued enough that my good suit is over at the dry cleaners across the street. Since it won't be done until 3, I'll have to change after I get out of the office. And yes, ladies, you aren't the only one who changes in the car, though I think you probably have it harder in that any actions involving pantyhose are probably a much more dire threat to the public safety.

The group that included the cute-but-overweight woman moved to another area in the building this week. I saw the building people measuring the area over there, presumably before moving in some new group from somewhere else. That whole area over there is devoted to transients and gypsies, but every once in a while an interesting group moves in over there for a time and I get to look at something other than blank walls and listen to something other than the numb-nuts rabble-rouser who does amateur EEOC counseling on the clock.

My sleep was considerably better last night, and I am not sure why. I was still awake moderately late, but found it a lot easier to wake up. Maybe the depressive burst has backed off as the situation on the Gulf Coast seems to be winding down. I have no idea, but I'll get past all this.