I was born nude, helpless and unable to provide for myself. Not much has changed. Not Really. But I thought it would be fun to say that...I'm smart, loyal and handsome. Not necessarily in that order. I am also a bad spellr. I'm mischievous. I like to get into trouble, but not the kind you can't get out of. I've never gone to jail. I sound like a real catch so far? Huh? Let's keep going. I really don't like to take things seriously, unless the situation calls for it. Otherwise, I love to joke, make fun of people, or be made fun of. I prefer to look at the humorous side of things, otherwise life is sooooooooo boring. I love to find out about people and get to know who they are at their core. I have an appreciation for every one's uniqueness and like to bring that out. I am not very judgmental so people feel comfortable revealing themselves to me. I like to make other people feel special, even if they're not. If I keep going like this, I'm never going to get a date, but on the other hand, if you don't find this funny, we're probably not a match, Which leads me to how handsome and humble I am--two of my finer qualities for sure. I am not your stereotypical GQ model type or what you'll find in most of the clubs in Long Island. I'm not hard on the eyes, but I am more George Clooney than Tom Brady.
For me, the key thing in relationship is trust, honesty, and open communication. I will want what's best for you and I would love it if you want what's best for me.
I'm considered by women to be 'manageable'. Many have attempted to tame me, and all have succeeded in a matter of days. I'm like an old baseball glove, beaten down by life with a lingering leathery musk. It's completely coincidental that I cover my body in mink oil daily.
Our perfect date:
I pick you up in my 2002 Mazda Protege. ES edition. As you enter my sensible, fuel-efficient vehicle, you’re enveloped by the erotic perfume of pine air freshener and cool ranch Doritos. Perched in the cup holders are two wineglasses. On the armrest, a box of Franzia Reserve. We clink glasses, toasting the evening ahead: “Isn’t this illegal?” you whisper sensually. “Only if driving under the influence of passion is against the law” I reply sexily. And with that, my 4-door compact sedan slowly accelerates us into the night.
I take you to a fine restaurant. And as we enter the grand lobby of the Cheesecake Factory we’re warmly greeted by the maitre d, Tiffany. They know me here. By the time we get to our impossibly large booth, you’re already enchanted by the restaurant’s stucco elegance. I watch you struggle with the multi-volume menu. The epicurean possibilities have overwhelmed you. So I take control and order for us. All 237 items.
An endless line of former art-history majors and improv enthusiasts forms a processional of Buffalo wings, sliders and Chicken Piccata, all destined for us. After sampling the Tex Mex Egg Rolls and French Toast Napoleon, you rest your fork, defeated. The luxurious presentation of food continues unabated.
Emerging from your food coma, you ask in a low husky voice, “Can you afford to pay for all of this?” Reaching across the faux-marble table, I take your hand in mine, gaze deeply into your sparkling eyes, and charmingly reply: “I forgot my wallet at home. I’m going to need to borrow some money from you. And by some, I mean a lot.” You are speechless.
Initially, I fear that my words of seduction have rocked you into a catatonic state. But then I notice your eyes looking up and to the right. Towards the entrance. Your yearning desire to pay the bill is clear to me. As is your desire to make out with me in the parking lot of this casual, but upscale, chain restaurant. The sexual tension between us is so thick that we could cut it with one of the many steak knives that litter our table.
But instead of paying the bill, you excuse yourself to visit the restroom. You take your purse, jacket and all other personal possessions with you, saying you’ll return shortly. 10 minutes pass. Then 20. I start to worry that you’re not coming back. But then I remember something that puts my fears to rest. Of course you’re coming back. We still need to order dessert.
What I’m doing with my life
What I'm doing with my life: I'm thinking about opening a topless cleaning service for women. I would parade around older women's homes lightly dusting their trinkets. I would wear white gloves and cut off jeans. Nothing else. The old birds would purr as I would wipe my feathers across their china, making subtle eye contact. I would see the sadness in their eyes, longing for the touch of another. Sweat would bead on my face as she bends over to pull up her diabetic socks. After the brief, shameful sex, she would pay me in quarters and ask if I need a ride home.
I’m really good at
I'm really good at filling out dating site information and correctly making lists! I'm good with numbers and would totally do your taxes ;) (that was sexual). Everything I'm good at is nearly worthless. I can hit a fastball, skate backwards and solve differential equations. I can build a computer from scratch but don't ask me why your laptop has a virus (your dad was looking at naked ladies).
The first things people usually notice about me:my ridiculously long eye lashes. Food gets in them a lot. I stare a lot. It's not that I'm rude or have special needs, I'm just interested how some individuals have lived as long as they do.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, :
I really want to say books are for prisoners. Talented Mr.Ripley. Game of Thrones. LOTR. Crime and Punishment. Sam Harris. Dan Dennett. Kurt Vonnegut. I like my metal loud, my NPR boring and Taylor Swift dead. Pandora is nice, do I look like an arrogant DJ? I want Thai food so spicy it makes my face numb.
But honestly I like to read spiritual books.
Conversation with God by Neal Donald Walsh,
Dr. Wayn Dywer
Dr Deepak
Alan Watts
The Six things I could never do without:
1.) Jebus (correct spelling)
2.) Craigslist missed connections
3.) Coffee.
4.) Interwebs
5.) Pizza over 16 inches across
6.) Legs. I like legs
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Maybe you have loads of responds in your mail box. Maybe you go on lots of dates but always come home disappointed. Or maybe you never go on dates because you believe that all it takes is to meet just one suitable man and that could happen anywhere at any time—there’s no point forcing it. I am sure you have your list of your ultimate Prince Charming! He’s got to be tall, dark, handsome, drive a Porsche and have abs like Matthew McConaughey! He’s got to be super-attractive and we’ll have amazing chemistry and he’ll call you everyday and buy you beautiful gifts!
Unfortunately, ladies, it doesn’t quite work that way. Even Charlotte from Sex and the City learn the hard way.. While the show is fittingly fantastical, the scenario proves a point. Charlotte is happily married to Harry, a balding Jewish lawyer with a flabby butt who speaks with his mouth full. He’s the love of her life and she can’t imagine being with anyone else. But rewind a few years and she was married to Trey, who checked every box on her list He was tall, dark, broodingly handsome, and rich.. But her Prince Charming turned out to be a dud in the sack. And their marriage turned out to be a dud too. No happy ending there. Hence she had to chuck out that list and start all over again with entirely different criteria. Not lower, or ‘settling’—just different.
I had a similar situation. I was married to a woman who had everything on my check list. She was absolutely gorgeous, a physician as well like myself. younger than me...ect. And my marriage didn't go well. I throw out my check list and I am looking for something different. I have an amazing life, but probably a lot like you, I am here hoping to round out my world with an honest, sincere, fun loving person who will share the warmth and companionship of a meaningful relationship. I am looking for my Charlotte.
Its so hard to find any woman now who has a heart, and willing to give up everything for love. Charlotte in the show went so far as to change religions for Harry, converting to Judaism, an act that could be seen as a way of subsuming herself just to please a man. Does that necessarily make her the perfect mother and wife, the dream of every man who’d prefer not to be challenged by a woman? Many of us like to think that “difficult” women are somehow superior to easygoing ones . But even if — or maybe because — Charlotte has sometimes seemed blindly hopeful and optimistic, she’s the show’s most demanding character. Her attitude toward love and sex isn’t as casual as that of the other three, and her expectations are definitely higher — she seems to want more out of life than any of them, a tough bill for any ordinary man to fill.
Of the four women on “Sex and the City,” Charlotte is the one who has historically demanded the impossible out of romance. But instead of being disappointed, she has ended up being happier than she ever could have imagined. That sounds more like the direct opposite of guileless simplicity. Throughout the run of the show, there’s always been something resolutely sensible about Charlotte. She’s like a Jane Austen heroine transplanted to modern Manhattan, coming around to the fact that having a plan is not only useless, it’s plain old boring — not nearly as thrilling as welcoming the surprises that life cooks up for us.
I might be your surprise...if you let me.
I've carefully constructed my profile along psychological principles to weed out women whom most men don't want, and the result has been that I've been meeting some really incredible women who are genuinely attractive, intelligent, confident, and playful. I have this naive hope that maybe I’ll get lucky and meet someone who won’t be a total waste of time; Someone who will turn out to be a person I can really see myself with. I think deep down most of us have that hope.I am on this epic journey of 'Life' and there is something thrilling about having a woman along on this ride with me. You will be my psychic and my partner in crime and all the goodness that flows. My whole life is about living life passion.
I have a confession to make. Right here, right now, I'm going to let you in on my dirty little secret. Ready? Here it goes: I hate dating. I really, really do. I would rather sit through ten hours opera music than go on a first, second, or third date. But what I have learned is that the more you hate dating, the more inclined you will be to do what it takes to get it over with and settle down in a healthy, happy, monogamous relationship.
I wish that I lived in Bangladesh or someplace where they have arranged marriages. My parents would just arrange the whole thing, and all I had to do was show up. An arranged marriage means never having to date and sometimes that seems more appealing
On a typical Friday night I am
On a typical Friday night I am: I usually find the worst bar and put on a Miley Cyrus party to get the night started properly. From there I tell the drink drone to keep bringing me whisky until I have the courage to order chicken fingers. 30 minutes of shame. Cigarettes to bring it down. More whisky to wash away the menthol. The most difficult part of Friday night is when you realize it's Tuesday afternoon.
The most private thing I'm willing to admit: Head injuries have limited my memory. What was the question?
You should message me if
You can get past this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3v98CPXNiSk
If you decide to message me, I want to know: What was the most beautiful moment of your day?”
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