Too many relationships

I placed a personal ad last week on a really large scale. It's not like I'm desperate or anything. I get my kicks where I can (the vibrating toilet in my dorm room is a nice touch -- thank you, Facilities).

But yeah, I was feeling a bit lonely recently. A SWF looking to get her feet wet, you could say. Likes? Pretty much everything. Dislikes? Nada. I want someone who shares my passions, my dreams and my love of free food.

I was looking to expand my social horizons, but I didn't quite know which direction to go in. And to be honest, it was getting to the point where I was going to have a crazy one-night stand, maybe with the Penn Jugglers -- because, you know, they're good with their hands and stuff.

But instead of having an evening I would most definitely regret (how many balls am I juggling?), I did what any normal girl in my situation would do. I signed up for every single Penn activity last week during the activities fair. I went from table to table, writing down my real name and my real e-mail address and telling clubs from the African Art Club to the Ballroom Dancing Squad to the Republicans that I was looking to, you know, get out there and give it a chance. I wanted to play the field.

As I was going down the walk, though, hopping spastically from interest to interest, the people behind the tables were a bit apprehensive about my open relationship approach. "Are you hitting up everyone?" College senior Jackie Scena asked. "Have you been tested? You're insane. Wait until you wake up in the morning with an inbox the size of ...." She gestured with her hands.

Maybe I was naive. Maybe hopelessly romantic and in over my head. But in the course of two hours, I hooked up with every group on campus. I didn't have to worry about details and, at the time, it just seemed like one of those crazy things you do in college and then forget.

But it became apparent over the next few days that I had many suitors. No one-night stands here. I started receiving their e-mail, their flirtatious love letters to my soul. "Dear Mel," these e-mails would say. "Our first date is being held next Tuesday night. We will provide the food. You just show up. We'll do the rest." How romantic. The e-mail, I thought, would be enough to tide me over until I could get back and contemplate life on my toilet.

As of Friday night, I had 84 e-mails in my inbox. As of Sunday, I had 143. And I started to realize that maybe I was in over my head. There seemed to be no end to what these people would do to get me to come and see them. It was like JDate on crack.

From the synchronized-swimming team: a pizza party! From the Muslim Students Association: free ice cream! Upcoming in medieval and Renaissance activities: a chance to throw "knives, axes and other weapons into targets." I hope we don't end up breaking up.

And at first, I was really excited when I would open my e-mail and see a slew of messages from people I don't know. But what I wasn't prepared for was listserv abuse, listserv stalking and listservs that wouldn't let go. It reminded me of a bad '80s after-school special -- in my inbox. And there was no restraining order to prevent it.

College junior Dan Glass agrees. "The more activities I get involved with, the more listservs I get on, and not just the ones from the activity." he says. "I'm apparently a member of the World Sikh Council. I get their newsletter."

Some listservs send out one or two messages a day, a normal amount. It'd be like getting a phone call and waiting a few days to see if a second date was coming up. But other groups totally abuse their power. And I don't think there's a support group at CAPS for battered listserv members to sort things out and get back on their feet.

But there are things that can be done, I think, if you want to maintain long-term relationships with your members. Don't go nuts with the postings. Let people out if they want out. And don't abuse the forward button. Everyone needs time to recover in between rounds ... if you catch my drift.

And please, take me off your listserv. It's not you, it's me. And we're just at that stage where I really can't commit.

Melody Joy Kramer is a senior English major from Cherry Hill, N.J. Perpendicular Harmony appears on Wednesdays.

Please note All comments are eligible for publication in The Daily Pennsylvanian.