I'm sorry, but you have to move along to someone else's profile. I simply can't keep getting romantically entangled with your type. I'm too old to keep jumping out of high windows onto horse's backs to escape the wrath of your angry fathers and the guards or the servants they send after me at 4am as I disappear into the distance with only 3 stitches of clothing on.
TO EVERYONE ELSE:
I have tons o' great stuff on my plate but could happily allocate 1-3 nights a week to date somebody clever and fun with amazing style.
Or some kind of style, really. Who the hell am I to judge your style? An opinionated jerk, that's who.
I love Seattle and spend at least a few nights a week there, but I'm not so in love with bad parking and humourless white people that I'll pay the going rate for a studio apartment.
The fact that Gilda Radner and Gene Wilder found each other, fell in love, and got married makes me believe there may be a God. Especially the fact that she then died of cancer.
Gilda, not God.
I know I'm not for everybody. I'm short. I don't own a boat, or any abs.
I DO have a hairy chest. I am a smart-ass. I challenge people because I know I need to be challenged by others. Usually, this works.
I think the pinnacle of manliness happened in a detective novel in the late 1940's, not in the octagon or in a movie with computer-generated explosions.
I think I know when someone's working an angle, which might just make me more of a sucker than I imagine.
I think people who say, "That which does not kill you makes you stronger," are people who just want you dead.