I’d like to dedicate this column to my first love: the ladies.

With that being said, I have an urgent, breathtaking and ground-shattering announcement to make. Ladies, I’m up for grabs this Valentine’s Day.

Let me give you a minute to digest that. Maybe you could take another quick peek at my picture. That’s right, that beautiful smiling face could be all yours and then some.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, what’s such a witty, intelligent, damn good looking man doing alone on Valentine’s Day, our great nation’s day of love? The answer, my female friends, is quite simple: I’m just too good looking for my own good.

Although my mother says that I’m ‘quite handsome’ and ‘a real catch,’ I know she’s just sugarcoating it. I’m simply too good looking to ever get reeled in by anyone in this great sea of love.

That’s why this Valentine’s Day I’m going on the offensive. Ladies, here’s your chance. It’s time for “Operation Shock and Awe: Blind Date.”

Here are the facts: There are eleven days left and approximately 3,000 adoring Loyola co-eds to sort through; I’m not too picky; all I’m looking for is a sweet, intelligent girl who doesn’t think I’m a complete moron (that’s a big plus); best of all, I’m not what you would call traditionally cheap. In fact, I might even pay for your meal.

But I’m more than just an amazingly handsome guy with lowered expectations who doesn’t quite understand the term “going Dutch,” I’m also an editor of two student publications: The Maroon and The Wolf. That’s right, I dropped the “E-bomb” on you all. Play your cards right, and you might just get the title “Mrs. Lord of Student Publications.” Go ahead, be the envy of all your friends.

When I’m not lording over my band of terrified journalists, I often find the time to call ‘mother’ and discuss my day. Some people tell me this is odd, but according to ‘mother’ it just shows that I’m a sensitive man. Women like that, right? I read somewhere once that there’s a corollary relationship between sensitivity and sobbing uncontrollably like a blubbering man-baby. If that’s the case, here’s a list of things I have cried about in the past week or so: the sunset, that “Fast Car” song by Tracy Chapman and, like Hootie, the dolphins make me cry as well.

The die has been cast, ladies. If you’ve ever wondered what it might be like to spend a romantic Valentine’s Day with a handsome, charming, mama’s boy journalist with a slight chemical imbalance, or if you just want to let me know what an idiot I am, now is your chance. Interested parties can feel free to e-mail me by Feb. 8 at [email protected].

And yes, I promise, I’m only sort of kidding.