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JonStrange

27 M Baltimore, MD

My Details

Last Online
Yesterday – 10:25am
Orientation
Straight
Ethnicity
White
Height
6′ 3″ (1.90m)
Body Type
Fit
Diet
Mostly anything
Smokes
No
Drinks
Often
Drugs
Sometimes
Religion
Atheism, and very serious about it
Sign
Education
Working on med school
Job
Student
Income
Less than $20,000
Relationship Status
Single
Relationship Type
Offspring
Doesn’t have kids, but might want them
Pets
Likes dogs and likes cats
Speaks
English (Fluently), French (Fluently), Latin (Poorly), Spanish (Okay)

Similar Users

My self-summary
Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
I'm the snark at the end of the frabjous hunt: a little bit of know-how, savoir-fair, and hoo-doo crammed together in a solitary chuckle as the punchline comes on stage. Cheeky Anglo bastard.

I'm a wandering chuckle with a few ideas of my own. I grin a lot. Sciency person in the Doctory place. Borderline workaholism, with a considerable blood-workahol content. Mouthy little so-and-so, I am.

Please, allow me to introduce myself; I'm a man sans wealth or taste. Jonesy, to my friends, or Jon, whichever leads to fewer misspellings.
I'm both happy to fill your void, or to collect those salacious rumours that gather around us, or at least let me know about what's being written on the bathroom walls with liscivious charicatures. Some of it may end up being true.

I think I fancy a drink. Mind if I get you one while I'm up?
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
I'm doing to it, much as I am with it--

Life, and I've got something of a lust.
A Lust for life
The kind of lust that tends to burrow itself deep into your skull and turns everything into a guilty growing gnawing-on-lip grin. A lust that crests in the moment, or that teases over weeks of tantalizing promise. Lust that's good even when it's shit, because it's always ready to go for another round and see what you've got.
And I know that when I'm done, lying back and gasping for breath, I'm still far from spent. There's still that hungry grin.
The scars are half the fun.

And now I'm the one balancing his pen between his lips for the kid with the IV lines, while the more serious medico-types chart progress and talk turkey. Kids seem to like my malleable face.

I decided to start living the moment I jumped out of the shallow end and into the murky bottoms. I started studying one of the most stressful and time-consuming practices-that-never-make-perfect, Medicine. This, I exacerbated through the rigours of living in another country, driving two-wheeled vehicles on 45-degree angle roads with cars whose drivers frequently took stock of the lack of drinking-and-driving regulations, needing to replace the better part of my bodily fluids due to a variety of nauseating realities, and going out of my way to be well-thought-of to the point where it was detrimental to having any amount of time to take care of myself.

I'm followed myself to the newer world to conquer, and still, I have a hungry heart for the more, the other, the next.

So, yes. Long story short. Transplanted from Her Majesty's Empire and Its Colonies into los Etados Unidos-- I'm something of a Nouveau Americain. It's not my fault.
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.
Finding humour, my little snickering milquetoast on my shoulder, offering comfort, pleasance, misplacing pain for others.

I like making fun of myself. I invite it. It brings in others, distracts from my high points (literally and near-entirely my height), it gives them power and focus. And I love that. A minor but noticeable slip of something. Mockery. Friends and giggles, even in the worst situations.
The first things people usually notice about me
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
I'm a tall fecker with a taste in some kind of eclectic combo of yester-year fashion, and 'Wishes he was alive during the Sex Pistols'. So, in short, like a ponce and a wanker. A punk and a wastrel inasmuch as my profession permits me.

Really? A BBC accent?
Yes. And it gets worse, slurring Northwards towards Scouse if I'm good and proper sloshed.

I turn up at the right times, creased in the acceptable perpendiculars of attires both collared and cuffed. Shoes polished enough to hide the scuffs of wear, tear, talk-and-walk, as with that certain degree of pseudo-epileptic Saturday Night Fever on the dancefloors of the world. Pockets choked with enough small-print-palm-size medical information, to be whipped out at the merest suggestion of a diagnostic gauntlet (mostly because I consistently forget that I have a smartphone now).
Else, soft demeanor, bespectacled and proto-professorial.

I'm an information sponge, or knowledge whore, depending on the time of day. And I'll happily spew forth at great length paragraphs of lightly grilled/braised logorrhea, likely washed back with whiskey (which, I will here say, includes the one sin that you Yanks got correctly: bourbon).

I talk medicine, I live medicine, and on occasion, some people are very quietly grateful that I take medicine.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Help your potential matches find common interests.
Books: A wankload of science, with a smattering of classical fiction to show that I'm only partially illiterate. Oh, and a few flicks that are basically thriller backwash. But satisfying. My reading list is far, far too large to include everything in without putting a strain on even the most patient readers, but I like: Anything Feynman or by Ben Goldacre, The Grapes of Wrath is likely the favorite I can identify in a classy establishment; I take exceptional enjoyment out of Mikhail Bulgakov especially if you include his doctor-ly stuff Pre-Stalin, The Emperor Of All Maladies is a sexy jaunt, Trainspotting is the novel that I love to read aloud to myself, whatever Umberto Eco I have the patience (kinda) to get through without compulsively losing hours and days to Wikipedia-- Jose Saramago's 'Blindness' recently beat out everything else unnerving that I read.

Movies: I've seen a shiteload. My likes? Mind-wrenching movies. Thinking flicks. And some classical movies to avoid voiding my Film Snob license. Think: Memento, Pi, The Lives of Others, Amelie, and Trainspotting again. Because Scoattash.

Music: I'll listen to most anything, given the time of day. Jazz, classic rock, and blues-rock merit special mention.

Food: Oh, man, did this sandwich have your name on it? I'm terribly sorry.
The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
1. The internet. A hunger that burns into my fingertips at the sight of every little entry-box waiting for my input-- there's a lot to have learned, and less to be remembered. Very deficient in attention, but very rewarding.
2. Scotch, Bourbon, dark rum, stouts, porters, and London gins. All else fails, and mine's a Guinness, if you'd be so kind. I know, I've little ability to defy the stereotype.
3. Interesting things-- I'll spare you the essay by stating simply but obligately that I'm rather fond of them. And in the absence thereof, I'll gladly load myself up on whatever stimulation I can grind out of a fine roast of bean. Mind rebels in stagnation donchaknow.
4. My will. Go and mock with great dignity. Be strong in will-- to strive, to seek, to find, but not to yield.
5. Something to do. The problem of my pendulous attention, swinging from one spot to another, but it has a problem staying in place. And, yes, chances are that while re-reading this sentence, I looked up 'pendulum', 'Umberto Eco', and 'Oscillation'. Nope. Attention is not my strong suit. The switch between inattentive and obsessive tends to be worryingly incidental at points.
6. Humour (or its American-spelling equivalent, you seditious Colonial, you). I'm a laughing fool, a smiling idiot, and a martini-dry crack-up artist(e). I like disarming people with something funnier. It's my preferred social lubricant (presumably cherry-scented). Speedball of the masses.

I like wrangling ideas and hearing impassioned speech as much as unique outlooks. I like hearing the technical, especially if someone is good at explaining it [engineers take note]. Especially if there's passion behind the words. Spirit is sexy, so if you have an affectation towards a particular aptitude, a sentiment for skill, or any kind of intimate intensity for your vocation, trust me when I say that you're above and beyond what it takes to sit down and spill out some mind.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
I may have a fondness for the types of vehicles disparagingly but not incorrectly referred to by some members of the medical profession as 'donorcycles'. Worsened if, like me, you haven't ridden in a period of time for which 'yonks' is a synonym.
On a typical Friday night I am
Netflix and takeout, or getting your party on — how do you let loose?
Realising that if I keep volunteering to help with surgical patients, I'm going to have Varicose Veins by, like, 29.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
'Secret' things that, really, you'd find out just in casual conversation:

-Tend to hum out favourite drag queen singles while in the operating room
-Probably ruined a relationship by describing a girlfriend's sexface as being one of 'pleasant surprise'; she didn't seem to think that was as flattering as I'd meant
-Have been around the block enough to know that orientationally, I'm straight (but pliable in my queerness)
-Replaces 'dollars' with 'quid' on an irregular basis
-Terrible at guitar. Like, awful
-Only 23 ribs, vague idea of where the other one got to
-Sings Pavarotti in the shower, in the kind of tone and tenor not in the least recognizable as Pavarotti. "Do you hear a... nasal Lewis Armstrong with partial hearing loss doing Pagliacci?"
-Accepted at this point that my 'thing' for tom-boys goes far beyond being just a 'thing', it's practically an insistence
-Has a secret thing for the blandly routine anarchy of the Hawaiian shirt.
-Hasn't paid for a haircut in ~3 years, and, no, not because I'm used to stealing them.
-Is British. Accent is mostly because.
-Is Canadian. But will insist on correctly mispronouncing the city of birth because that's the way it's phonetically done, dammit!
-I use the metric system with impunity
-That's a lie. I absolutely fear punishment for using the metric system.
-Signed up to pose nude for a student newspaper; they cropped out everything from the neck up, leaving me as a headless scrawny albinoid erection in the top corner
-Secret delight is to be had in using British English spelling: Oestrogen. Diarrhoea. Paediatrics. Just try it. You'll love it.

I'm a softy. Alofty. Wafty. Maybe.
I'm the soft tingling fizz over what's freshly, generously poured. I'm the kind of water that makes you go skinny-dipping in winter.
Variable. Uncomposed.
Warm, uncomplicated, squeaky.
Rising like slow vapor in thick evening air.
I'm that bubble bath (with an added mouth beyond the faucet's), as much as I am that element of dirty, sweaty fun you needed to grin and gasp out of your system.
Relax and let your toes curl.

...And if you read into 'softy' as an unflattering un-sexual euphemism rather than its intended meaning, I nevertheless applaud you wholeheartedly.
I’m looking for
  • Girls who like guys
  • Ages 19–30
  • Near me
  • For long-term dating, short-term dating
You should message me if
Offer a few tips to help matches win you over.
If you cut your hair short to remind you that nothing's going to get between you and what you want. If you have tattoos, an accent, dyed hair, boy's hair, no hair, your own style, leather-y boots, a lip-biting expression, can throw a punch, know your way around an OS kernel, can pick a lock, are an excellent poker player, can flex a bicep, have bright eyes, if you're facetious, your arguments are specious, or you wear a necktie but will never work in an office. Really, whatever you think is awesome about you. I want to hear it.

I don't give a good goddamn if you've got graduation sinch'd up in your belt-- but have some drive and have some passion. The highschool-dropout dedicated woodworker who plays the bass in a band you'd listen to beats the Business major with the yacht fetish any day of the week. Bonus points if you're used to driving a tank through post-Apocalyptic Australia.
Look at your hands and the labour they profess. If your typical coat is that of splatters, splinters, or stains of the vocation-- and you're proud of it? Oh, yes, please.