Find better matches with our advanced matching system

—% Match
—% Enemy

iwasafraid

31 F New York, NY

My Details

Last Online
Yesterday – 7:44pm
Orientation
Bisexual
Ethnicity
White
Height
5′ 7″ (1.70m)
Body Type
Fit
Diet
Mostly vegan
Smokes
No
Drinks
Socially
Drugs
Never
Religion
Agnosticism, and laughing about it
Sign
Virgo, but it doesn’t matter
Education
Graduated from university
Job
Art / Music / Writing
Income
$150,000–$250,000
Relationship Status
Single
Relationship Type
Mostly monogamous
Offspring
Doesn’t have kids, but might want them
Pets
Likes dogs and likes cats
Speaks
English (Fluently), LISP (Okay), Sign Language (Poorly), German (Poorly), French (Poorly)

Similar Users

My self-summary
/*************************************************
Want to play a game?

THE RULES
If we like each other, we rate each other highly. This automatically starts a new conversation for us despite my relentlessly full mailbox. Then we ask each other questions, both agreeing to answer honestly. You can start with these.

1. Do you see any moral or aesthetic differences between a woman being a surrogate mother versus being a prostitute?

2. Around what kind of person do you feel the weakest?

3. Imagine you walk me home from our date. I invite you in. But I say you are not allowed to talk anymore. If you want something, you will just have to take it. Do you come in or go home?

*************************************************/

TL;DR: We probably won't get along.

I like orgasms and stories. I make them nearly every night. Sometimes, I let your mom watch.

I need someone to help me learn French. So far, I just sing along with Jacques Brel all day. Voulez-vous m'aider?

My longest-running relationship is with my calculator, Leonhard. He's an HP-48GX. I like my function notation like I like my sex: reverse-polish style.

I drink a lot of coffee. I'm probably not where I say I am. Doubt everything.

I'm glad that someone as accomplished as Leonardo had many unfinished projects. It lets me feel justified when someone gives me a hard time about my many unfinished projects and I punch them in the face. That's for Leonardo!

I appreciate peer review and poop jokes because, eventually, we all produce $#!+.

I may seem crude on the surface, but I have a heart of iron. (This would set up a good hemoglobin joke if such a thing were possible.) Around the middle, I stick to your teeth like caramel. Towards the bottom, there is a solid ethical base. I am but mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.

I drop a lot of Shakespeare.

When I was a wee lass, the truth appeared to me, and I found it helpful. As we grew closer, the truth at times refused to speak or slow down or play how I wanted. To keep up, I have become habitually curious, honest, and tough because, though the truth remains indifferent to me, I don't know how to live without it.

When I grow up, I hope it doesn't last long.

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

I don't think you're ready for this jelly.
What I’m doing with my life
I am doing whatever I want as much as possible.

I enjoy spending time alone. I also enjoy spending time with people who enjoy spending time alone. I know how to make myself happy.

I often hum while I walk. When the music or mood calls for it, I will twirl, sometimes while smelling a flower. I know CPR. I floss daily. I always sit by the window.

Someday, I want to climb the Rockies. I also want to have a yard where I can plant a willow tree named Barbara. Barbara and I will sit beside each other when we feel forsaken, and her arms will sway gracefully above me when I roll in the grass with my bloodhound friend Major Major.

I like telling bedtime stories and making kids smile. I like naming things. I don't like owning things. I try to understand how things are built and broken. I find the heat death of the universe poetically satisfying.

Someday, I want to have a house with a ​secret door on the side. ​It's the only door you'll ever use. In the center, it will ​have a window, which you will reach through to ​unlock the door. You'll jingle the wind chimes to let me know you're coming in. Then ​every time the wind blows, my heart​ will​ perk up.​ ​Unless someday I know you're ​not coming ​back. Then I'll likely ​take the chimes down.

I think that creating fictions is among the most beautiful things I can do, so I do that a lot. I used to do math and science. I still use them sometimes to get out of conversations. For money, I am an escort. No, I don't want to talk about it. We can talk about math.

I am comfortable with silence.

Someday, I want to wrap my arms around my favorite person in the world and feel that they love me.

I pay more attention to leaves than to gossip. I sometimes stop on sidewalks to stare at clouds. I feel an animal calmness watching interference patterns in water. I love the refreshment of running on the beach at night in a cool breeze. I love the emptiness of running in the sweltering heat through thick walls of steam rising from puddles. I love the secrecy of running between fat trees along the river when the sun is low in the sky. I love the tenderness of running my hand over the delicate tracts of a body collapsed beside me. I love the doggedness of running drenched in a cold, stinging rain.

Someday, I will take Major Major running with me.
I’m really good at
- Accidentally saying things that make uptight people uncomfortable
- Masturbating
- Accidentally saying things that give guys boners
- Tying knots in cherry stems with my tongue in under 5 seconds
- Accidentally saying things that make me sound insensitive
- Pleasing your mom
- Accidentally saying things that I should never admit
- Faking orgasms with clients
- Diagnosing medical maladies from patient history alone
- Telling my friends what's wrong with them
- Imagining that the future will be wonderful
- Recovering from disappointment
- Eating iced cream until something hurts
The first things people usually notice about me
My hand is in their pocket, and I am sighing for want of a burrito tree.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Shakespeare is the only person in my life who has never let me down.

I read nonfiction for several hours most days, mostly in the form of hard, long textbooks, primary literature, and possibly-true stuff that someone said on the internet. I am attracted to articles with titles so abstract that I have no idea what they're about. (E.g., Symplectic reflection algebras, Calogero-Moser space, and deformed Harish-Chandra homomorphism; Bertini theorems and Lefschetz pencils over discrete valuation rings, with applications to higher class field theory; or Bayesian framework for least-squares support vector machine classifiers, Gaussian processes, and kernel fisher discriminant analysis (Actually, I know what some of those things are, and it's less glamorous than it sounds).)

I saw myself so readily in David Foster Wallace that I'm sometimes scared that he couldn't find what he needed to stay here with me.

My favorite pretend lies are by Shakespeare or David or have a naked man in a tree. If you want me to read you "Why Don't You Dance?", I will, and I'll consider it time well spent. I think that Raskolnikov was a dick, but I still root for him. I didn't find Meursault strange.

I take a heaping of hops in my beer and nothing but scotch in my scotch.

One summer, David John Matthews stood alone on a stage singing a quiet song with his guitar. As I watched, the weight of the dirty, muggy evening, the sting of the spotlights, the screams of the drunken idiots around me, all faded to insignificance next to how beautiful he was. All you need is love, love, love.

I know a boa constrictor digesting an elephant when I see one.

I don't watch TV or read the news, so I have no idea what's going on with the other monkeys until I have time for a Jon and Colbert marathon. I often have conversations of the following form, or I would if I wasn't so adept at avoiding them:
Them: Can you believe [some person(s)] [some event]?
Me: What? Is this about math?

I know a man with a bluebird in his heart, but he (the man) is too tough for him (the bird).

I have seen Hamlet over 400 times, in over a dozen variations. I love a good movie fight. I do not watch romantic comedies. (Note: The Princess Bride is not a romantic comedy. It's a classic tale of true love and high adventure.)

I try to avoid food that was obtained inhumanely, which means that I am practically a vegan and opt for organic and fair-trade products when possible. When I cheat on my diet, it's usually with cheese. I am, after all, mostly human.

I wish Chopin had written more for the cello.

I am on a quest to find a nonempty, nontrivial, minimal set S of seasonings such that, for all dishes d, there exists some s in S such that s is already in d or s can be added to d in some perceptible amount without making d taste any worse. So far, the contenders are {cardamom, tarragon}, {garlic, cinnamon}, and {saffron, dill weed}.

One summer morning, I staggered in the door from a long, hot run, washed a bowl full of strawberries, and ate them standing at my kitchen sink. The quiet focus from my exhaustion made their red granules shine more vibrantly in the dawning sunlight, their sticky juice roll more thrillingly down my hands, and their flesh salted with the sweat on my lips taste sweeter than any strawberries have tasted since.
The six things I could never do without
Well, if they aren't going to specify an ontology by which to enumerate our things, they are just asking for trouble.*

0.0) Ice in my coffee when I'm hot
0.5) Heat in my coffee when I'm cold
1.0) Consistent reasoning systems
1.5) Mathematical objects
2.0) Playtime
2.5) Environmental variety
3.0) Appropriate running shoes
3.5) Assuming responsibility for my decisions
4.0) Progress
4.5) Artistry
5.0) Stillness
5.5) My inner voice reading poetry
6.0) Mercy

* By which, I mean to point out that it is not clear whether, say, a pair of socks should count as 1 thing (a pair of socks), 2 things (each sock), 3 things (1 pair and 2 socks), etc. If you need a pair of socks, don't you also need a sock-maker, a sock-maker-maker, etc.? What if you couldn't do without a pair of socks but don't need it to always be the same pair? Isn't permanent identity in an ever-changing world just an illusion? I mean, come on, how is anyone supposed to take this question really, really seriously?
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Balls.

The cocks of the grandfathers of Kansas.

Cake or death?

Is will more valuable than love?

Is it too late to become a ballerina?

If I built myself a lover robot and it left me, would I be too heart-broken to build a killer robot to execute my revenge?

What's the best way to thread this rope through my headboard?

Why didn't anybody expect the Spanish Inquisition?

How was foie gras discovered?

Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
On a typical Friday night I am
Writing or reading like a fox

a lonely fox

in the forest of solitude.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
My mother was a hamster and my father smelt of elderberries.

Also, not all of my dead plants died of natural causes.

Also, I find gay porn disappointing. At first, it seems like a dream come true because there's twice as many guys AND they're super hot. But you soon realize it's just a lot of hot guys who have no use for you.

Also, a friend once called me a "juicer", and it still makes me giggle like a schoolgirl.

Also, 100% of my friends are guys, and 90% of them have had sex with me at some point in the past, roughly. You needn't feel threatened by them. The sex wasn't good, which is why they're only friends now. None of this is by design, at least not my design. You could conclude from this that (a) I'm easy, (b) I have few friends, (c) my standards are high enough that I remain friends with many of my sexual partners even after our romantic interest has ended, or (d) further testing is needed.

Also, I talk tough, but I sometimes wear skirts (that I could kick your ass in), and if I like you, the first time you undress me, I'll wear soft black lace and smell like oatmeal cookies.
I’m looking for
  • Guys and girls who like bi girls
  • Ages 27–35
  • Located anywhere
  • For casual sex
You should message me if
You didn't read anything that I wrote above, and you never will. Good job. I only wrote it to slow down all those decent fools.

You want to ask me to sit on your face. It's pretty much the best way to introduce yourself to a stranger.

You don't get sarcasm. I don't either. Tis the lowest form of wit.

You want to improve my decoding skills by sending me a message devoid of punctuation, capitalization, and standardized spelling. Don't even bother including spaces. I love a challenge.

You just want to say "hey" or "gorgeous" or some combination of those words. I appreciate your parsimony. Given all the care and effort I've already put into this introduction, you can obviously afford to be lazy and demeaning.

You think online dating is like picking up chicks in bars without having to buy them a drink. True, cheaper sex is why Gore invented the internet.

You earnestly dislike sarcasm. Me too. I only pretend to like it to be ironic like those cool hipsters whom everyone seems to admire.

You don't understand the difference between casual sex and indiscriminate sex. Why should I care what you're like anyway? It's not like having sex would require us to spend any time together.

You're British.

You're clearly not what I'm looking for. You might get what you want from me anyway. I'm desperate and not very perceptive.

You think that I owe you a date, out of fairness. Granted, it is only fair that I do whatever you want.

I have already politely told you that I'm not interested, and you think that I just need more convincing. I'm probably only playing hard-to-get, like most girls who reject you.

I have already bluntly told you that I'm not interested, and you think that I just need more convincing. I'm a sucker for someone who has no respect for my capacity to make decisions.

You're French. I'm serious about this one.

You're in town on business, you don't know how to plan ahead, and you want to invite me to your hotel for the night. I'm actually sitting by my computer most evenings watching my inbox waiting for someone like you to write. It's practically my job. You should offer to pay me. (Update: I did become an escort (joking, mom), but you still need to plan ahead.)

You're a Scroop, and you want to thoroughly disappoint me. I do have a thing for pain.

You will treat me like a piece of candy. That always turns out well for the candy.

Fair Warning: We probably will not end up spending time together unless you like to think a lot. And by "thinking a lot", I do not mean asking a profound question once a month or philosophizing aimlessly or using big words with zero accountability. I mean asking well-defined questions, finding the answers that exist, and getting other people to check for any mistakes that you made in the process---the kind of thinking that builds stuff that doesn't fall apart.

P.S. Also, between 7am and 10pm today (4/24/14), for example, I received over 100 messages. And the site was not working for a couple of hours. We're talking a new message about every 8 minutes. They don't even paginate the inbox anymore, so sometimes good shit gets buried in normal shit, i.e., just shit, despite my intentions. So please give me and yourself a break if I don't get back to you immediately.