I'm pretty dedicated to the role of jaded bastard. Expect sarcasm (mostly gentle and harmless). Expect non sequitur. My emotions are deep but not particularly wide. Someone should put up warning signs around them to prevent children from falling in; the last thing I need is a media spectacle involving some kid stuck in my angst well.
I'm not hip. I don't spend much time trying to impress people. If you're looking to be impressed, I'm sure there are plenty of ironic-banjo-playing multi-instrumentalists out there with mustaches that look like they should spin around with the push of a hidden button and tattoos of nipples on their backs so you'll have something to hold onto regardless of orientation in flagrante delicto. Go to them.
Sometimes I feel like a hidden world. There's a hint of hopeless romantic to me, heavy on the hopeless. Few people ever see it, but it's in there, deep in my murk, somewhere between my inner teenage girl and the part of my lizard brain that makes me bite your hand if you try taking my last french fry.
If you're familiar with the Myers-Briggs typings, I'm an INTJ, but I can't claim to be particularly good at it.