I produce and report for TV and this thing called the Internet. When I'm not working, I daydream about having my way with well-read, well-traveled, cute, cocky white Midwestern men.

I want a partner in crime - the son of a saint - someone with whom I can run, create, and move mountains - someone who's man enough to keep up with my mind, body and spirit - someone who can put a motorcycle between my legs, and take me on a joyride ride across Asia.

For the most part I am a simple woman, feminine in every way, but a guy's girl at heart.

When I was a little girl, I watched the Chicago Cubs with my dad, beat up all the boys on the playground, and collected frogs from the swamp in my neighborhood. When I was 12, I sat on the docks of my bay, contemplating truth, justice, and the American way over a pint of Jim Beam and a pack of Marlboro reds. When I was 14, I sat on the shoulders of random dudes, so I could see better at concerts, such as Ted Nugent, KISS, Faster Pussycat, Skid Row and Guns and F-ing Roses. When I was 15, I successfully shoplifted $387 worth of propalactics and sold them to my classmates. When I was in 17, I inhaled nitrous with all the punk rockers on campus each Halloween. When I was 20, I wrote essays about conspiracy theories, gender politics, and the differences between Quentin Tarantino and Shakespeare. When I was 26, 27, and 28, I moved across the country three times in three years. Now that I'm grown, all I do is watch "Flight of the Conchords," drink beer, and lust after Brendan Moran.