I'm so happy Crazy Eyes from last week did not go psycho killer on me because I wouldn't be able to share with you my latest nickname. You see, I've always had a thing for foreign men. My ex husband was Turkish and I've dated guys with names such as Alejandro, Hans, Faraz, the exotic list of names go on and on. These guys are tall, dark, handsome, and represent a mere fraction of the foreign-born who have stamped my dating passport. There are more. So many more. And, lucky you! You get to meet one of them right here.

His nickname is Germ Sperm.

What could be classier than a guy nicknamed “Germ Sperm”?

A guy who actually nicknames himself “Germ Sperm”!

Honestly, it’s not as bad as it sounds. First of all, he called himself Germ Sperm because he’s German. Not exactly an excuse, but at least it’s an explanation that doesn’t involve an STD, right? Plus, he was incredibly, totally, severely hot. He was 6’5”, with the kind of body you’d expect from a one-time pro rugby player—which he was back in his native land.

He also had an awesome personality (as evidenced by his self-nicknaming sense of humor), a huge you-know-what, and, my personal favorite trait in a potential mate, he was still learning English! (Does it say something about me that I prefer guys who can’t actually communicate with me in words? Oh well, I guess that’s one for my therapist.)

When I was introduced to the Germ Sperm through a friend, I definitely thought I hit the jackpot. He worked for an international real estate company that exported him into my life via a U.S. work visa. There was just one small problem. The company was based just outside of Holmes County, Ohio, which is right up there with Pennsylvania for boasting one of the largest Amish communities in the country.

This meant my new foreign obsession actually did live in another country—the Midwest.

Once a month, he would hop on a plane and leave the cow pastures and Amish people for the bright lights of NYC, and we would hang out and have an insanely wild time together.

This went on (well, off and on) for three years. I really liked Germ Sperm (as ridiculous as it feels to write those words). I had a blast when I was with him, and when we were apart, we would spend countless hours on the phone just being silly. It never turned into anything too serious, though, because there was no way on earth I could ever, ever move to Ohio.

I need restaurants. Stores. Civilization.

Still, I felt like I could tell him anything and I thought he could tell me anything—including who we were dating. I guess I secretly hoped we would maybe end up together one day. I felt like the connection we had was so strong that we were meant to be.

Once again (this is getting to be a habit with me), I was wrong.

I knew he had been dating some chick in Atlanta, but when I arrived home from a vacation in Spain (more on my foreign travels later), his Facebook status suddenly said, “Married”!

Married?

WTF?!

He married Atlanta!

Exactly when did that fall through the cracks? At this point, I still don’t know. Maybe he was afraid it would upset me. Maybe it did—a little—but even though I wish them nothing but happiness, my instinct tells me they’ll probably end up divorced in a few years.