Diana Page Jordan | Book Reviews and Inspiration

Sexually, I’m More of a Switzerland

By David Rose

Published on February 2, 2010 (Hardcover) Scribner

It’s nearly Valentine’s Day, and I’ll put it out there.  It would be nice to be some really great guy’s girlfriend.  I was married all my post-college life. Until divorce, nearly seven-years ago.  We’d gotten married on Valentine’s Day.  In retrospect, not a good move.  Every V-Day, I can’t help but think how dumb an idea that was.

I’m rambling.  This is why I picked up Sexually, I’m More of a Switzerland. I was in the mood to read real personal ads.

David Rose, who edited the book after being cupid’s postmaster at a literary publication in London, admits he doesn’t know if any of the ads succeeded, only that he was asked for – and gave – copious bits of advice.

Which may explain why reading Switzerland makes for lots of OMG’s and a few LOL’s.

But good advice?  Not so much.  Actually, my literary friend Ellen has offered to vet my next attempt to Match or e-Harmony or Chemistry or whatever site.  So sorry, Ellen, I couldn’t make it to your appearance at Willamette Writer’s tonight – I had a “date” with Dan-the-amazing-tech at 7pm, after my Gentner failed me this morning.  But now – after reading Switzerland as Dan deleted the three extra copies of everything in my calendar, thanks to some screw-up in my BlackBerry or Outlook or both – I feel I should at least attempt a personal ad.  Hang on, I’m warming up to it.

Here are a few from Switzerland, that I will not be emulating – or answering, although Rose warns none of the ads is active at this time:

Woman, 36, WLTM man to 40 who doesn’t try to high-five her after sex.  You know who you are.

All humans are 99.9% genetically identical, so don’t even think of ending any potential relationship begun here with “I just don’t think we have enough in common.  Science has long since proven that I’m the man for you. (41, likes to be referred to as “Wing Commander” in the bedroom).

You’d have thought this magazine (London Review of Books) would be fertile ground for the acquisition of cocktail party banter and intellectual snippets to chew over while sipping martinis.  But I’ve been to LRB Bookshop subscriber nights and can promise you it’s not.  Woman, 37, consuming all the free chardonnay by the poetry section in the  basement.  Bring your discount card, and an opening line that doesn’t involve Ross McKibbin’s latest piece, and I’ll almost certainly sleep with you.

Most of the ads are from the desperate or the horny or the burned.  But they’re funny.  Sardonic, anyway.

Here’s one with all of the above:

Everyone.  My life is a mind-numbing cesspit of despair and self-loathing.  Just fuck off. Or else write back and we’ll make love.  Gentleman, 37.

Even with the bar set this incredibly low, I still have no idea what to write. And, did you know that there’s a New Moon on Valentine’s Day this time?  That could be lucky.

Hello, Ellen…?