Will I ever meet Mr. Right?

They say you'll find love when you least expect it.

Well, this is me, least expecting it. C'mon, I know there's knight out there who wants to sweep me off my feet. I'm young(ish), I'm attractive, I'm covered in homemade tattoos. What's not to love?

Sure, I'm a bit much to handle, getting arrested and all. (BTW, that bitch had it coming, looking at me like that. I put a screwdriver through her Achilles like a hot knife through butter.) And yes, 187 isn't my IQ. It's cop-code for murder (and a helliva movie starring Sam Jackson).

But I'm also a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking her to love him. (Top ten fave Julie film for sure!). So, what do you say, police dispatch photographer?

Why not take a chance on me?

Did I go too far?

And I don't mean about hitting that reporter at last weekend's Tea Party. That greasy East Cost liberal had it coming. Hit the road, "The Weekly Standard"... sell your commie wares someplace else!

No, I meant the tattoo. Sure, it's not my first. (My entire back is a kaleidoscopic rendition of Iron Maiden's "Piece Of Mind" album cover.) And I'm planning on several others, including Glenn Beck on my elbow and a silhouette of a lynching on my inner arm. I know... pretty damned cool.

But my forehead. Nazi flag. Strong imagery, for sure. But let's just say that it has hampered my professional pursuits. In fact, the nursery school I applied at showed me the door sans any actual interview. Heck, I couldn't even get hired as a waiter. I offered to wear a headband over it. Truth be told, the headband had a Swastika on it as well, just smaller. And pink. (I'm very concerned about breast cancer.)

I know my hatred of others is an intrinsic part of who I am, but with the Nazi flag emblazoned on my forehead, I might be showing my cards a little too much. I guess there's always work as a pundit on Fox.