Twice-lived, cynical southern blood in the big city finding success in the crevices of dreams. Here is a redacted narrative*:
Man of letters. An opinionated 52 year-old Jewish woman battles it out with an 1980s male sex symbol inside of me; meanwhile I wait to be swept off my feet by some spectacular natural disaster of a human being. I am a total nutjob, rarely alone: another microcosm of arrogance in a self-perpetuating pool of squirmy matters.
Part-time slave, full-time artist, Don Giovanni; most recently a bad-ass until I kicked my own ass.
I gravitate toward people who demand effort, not a lot of work.
Used to want to change the world, but now I just want to leave my door with a little bit of dignity.
Judging conversation by the effect it has on others, not its contribution to our self-esteem
When life throws at you lemmings - make fur coat with scarf to match.
I believe in compassion. Takers?
Life too short for boring food, cheap fragrance, and bad sex.
I don't tolerate stupidity, especially that of others. I'm a crude intellect with refined tastes and sense of humor. I'm often annoying, but never obnoxious. Like any good Western, I spot rugged individualism, offer at least one good chase scene, and have a great score. Clinically diagnosed combination ADD-OCD: I can't focus on the things I'm obsessed with.
*This is me on dating QVC. Actual results may vary.