He tapped me on the shoulder after class today. I turned around, and looked up at him. He was a good 6 feet tall, a complete prepster with his blonde hair, blue eyes, tan, and straight, white smile. He was also the same guy I had listened to approximately an hour earlier saying, “Dude, bro, I got so fucked up last night, and I got this blonde chick to come home with me, but then I passed out.” Ah yes, frat boy in the making.He grabbed my forearm and put my hand in his, shaking it hard. I immediately jerked away-anyone who knows me was wincing reading the ‘grabbed my forearm’ part. I have a very simple rule. If I do not know you, do not touch me. I leap onto/tackle/give big hugs to my friends when I see them. Strangers, however, are more likely to get their wrist broken.“Hi, I’m _____. How about we do a little studyin’ sometime?” He winked and grinned at me here.I dodged another attempted grab. “I don’t think so.”“How about a drink sometime?”“I don’t drink.”“Really?”“Yes.”“Well how about we-““No.”“But-““No.”As I walked away I heard, “Dude, bro, what a bitch. She doesn’t drink. Does that mean she’s like, Mormon or something?”I wish I was lying. Someone needs to impose a quality control screening around me for potential dates. Here’s what I’ve had so far since moving back to Arizona:A nineteen year old potential stalker, who finally went away after I ignored his calls, messages, and texts for three weeks.A guy who appeared to be nice, but then proceeded to go over the nuances of blow jobs with me over dinner.A guy who had never smoked a cigarette, done a drug, or broken any law in his life, and was absolutely astounded that I have tattoos. This one refused to call me back for a week, so of course I obsessed over him for the week he didn’t call. But then I realized how damn boring he was on date number two.Three different ex boyfriends who have decided they want to get back together.Slim pickin’s my friends. Slim like Nicole Richie before she got knocked up.