I take this whole process incredibly seriously. So if you're just clicking around, looking for lighthearted amusement, then you came to the wrong fucking profile, lady. Because I am here to online date the living shit out of you. There will be no frivolity-- only deadly serious romance. I will take your loneliness and violently crush it out of you. Prepare yourself.
Imagine you're laying in bed right now. Imagine your eyes are closed. Imagine an amazing magical man that has the power to transcend the confines of your lucid mind and step out into a tangible reality. Now open your eyes. What do you see? That's right, it's me, girl. Now imagine you take hold of my hand and fire shoots out of our feet as we burst through your roof and rocket off into the night... and like... all these little animals on hoverboards come flying beside us... and maybe the sky starts flashing all sorts off really cool colors... and this thick daft-punk-style guitar solo kicks in... and we're just a-flyin and a-groovin to the ends of the earth!!! Cause that's what dating me is like. It's like some kind of amazing roller coaster-- with pizzas instead of wheels. And George Clooney and Samuel L. Jackson are on that coaster sitting right behind us... they're laughing and giving us high fives and asking us to be their BFFs. I seriously would like to know what other men are offering you that tops a metaphorical mid-coaster high-five from Samuel L. Jackson. Regardless, my love just keeps on roller-coasting and nothing can stop it. Okay, fine, Batman could stop my love, but that's the ONLY thing...
Listen, the point is, unless you're in close personal contact with Batman, you better get ready for some goddamn romance!!!!!
In all seriousness, I am primarily interested in the following types of relationships: Movie-Mates; Correspondence-Colleagues; Artshow-Allies; Thriftstore-Teamsters; Baking-Buddies; Concert-Confidants; Painting-Pals; Tabemasu-Tomodachi; Roller Coaster-Radical Comrades; Any other alliterated combination of Activity-Accomplice type persons of a friendly nature.
A few things I like:
-- I like rainy days. Thunderstorm + cozy bed + tin roof = heaven.
-- I like playing board games at a cafe.
-- I like taking polaroids and giving them cryptic titles/captions.
-- I like anthropomorphic representations of everyday concepts.
-- I like anything related to 1980's Epcot.
-- I like trees (daily) and waxing philosophical with fellow ents.
-- I like cute and cuddly. I like dark and twisted.
-- I like robots and cowboys and astronauts and monsters and such.
-- I like writing music, recording music, listening to music, and hitting people with musical instruments.
-- I like boys that look like girls. I also like girls (cis or trans) that look like girls, but where's the fun in that? Get with the stick-on mustaches, ladies!
-- I like aminals.
-- I like cheesy horror movies and musical theater.
-- I like categorization: I'm apparently INTJ, if that matters to you.
-- I like nerdy things like classic era video games, sci-fi, computers, coding, tabletop RPGs, retro-technology, and the like.
-- I like snuggling up with someone and watching the giant-evil-mantis-people devour our city.
-- I like going on walks. I like walking on goes. I walk liking go ons.
--I like wordplay and its prerequisites: vocabulary, grammar, etymology, etc.
tl;dr profile summary: I am romantic as fuck.
My day job is the Sr. Marketing Coordinator (I manage the brand reputation, do in-house writing, handle press, content, etc.) for a medical software company.
This year, I'm really interested in breaking into scoring music for game development.
...classy overload is when one person is so unbelievably classy that their classiness sort of repels all other things, like attractive women.
I suffer heavily from classy overload. I probably should have started with that.
BOOKS: Kurt Vonnegut, Italo Calvino, Carl Sagan, Dave Eggers, Stephen King, Haruki Murakami, William Gibson, Douglas Adams, George Orwell, Richard Adams, Kelly Link, Kazuo Ishiguro, Herman Melville, Margaret Atwood, John Kennedy Toole, Terry Pratchet, Daniel Keyes, Richard Dawkins, Malcolm Gladwell, Jonathan Safran Foer, Banana Yoshimoto, David Sedaris, McSweeney's Quarterly, most multi-book epic fantasies, and my all-time favorite: "The Monster at the End of This Book" by Grover.
COMICS: Neil Gaiman, Chris Ware, Bryan K. Vaughan, Alan Moore, Craig Thompson, Daniel Clowes, Jeffrey Brown, Bill Willingham, David Mack, Mike Carey... the Grant Morrison and Joss Whedon runs of X-Men, the entirety of the Perry Bible Fellowship and XKCD to date, and an embarrassingly large amount of this TMNT spinoff called Mighty Mutanimals when I was younger.
MOVIES: Practically any well-made documentary. Wes Anderson, Charlie Kaufman, Shunji Iwai, Coen Brothers, Paul Thomas Anderson, Pedro Almodóvar, Kar-Wai Wong, Jim Jarmusch, Jim Varney, Hayao Miyazaki, Christopher Nolan, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, The Coppolas, Terry Gilliam, John Waters, Quentin Tarantino, Walt Disney, Todd Haynes, etc, etc, etc.
TELEVISION: Whedonverse, Kimmie Schmidt, Arrested Development, Doctor Who, BSG, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Seinfeld, Breaking Bad, Walking Dead, Sherlock, Flight of the Conchords, Game of Thrones, Madmen, Star Trek TNG, Gainax series, Parks and Rec, 30 Rock, Always Sunny, Rick and Morty, Community, and such. I generally binge and purge entire seasons at a time.
MUSIC: Pretty much just kazoo bands. I mean, all the same kazoo bands that you're into... plus a few more obscure ones.
There's little point in even beginning to seriously document my musical taste. As a student of composition, I have spent more time with music than I have with other human beings. I absolutely guarantee we have common ground.
As far as classical goes, though, I'm fond of the late romantic, impressionism, minimalism, and the like. Also, 8-bit and 16-bit video game scores.
(Get it? See, "Your mom" is something hilariously unexpected that clever people put in their dating profiles. It's a reference to the fact that they have inserted their (sometimes fictional) penises into your mother's vagina. You are now thinking about your mother's vagina. You are now breathing manually. Same goes for blinking. You are now aware of the weight of your clothing. I'll stop now.)
2) Game theory.
3) Learning to dance. Needing a partner. Paying a talented gay man to teach me and developing a lifelong friendship in the process. Becoming kickass wingmen for one another. Entering the big dance championship, but both of us injure our ankles during a wacky dance montage scene (the part where we're doing this cool running-man/shuffle-- backwards-- up the down escalator). Hastily developing a routine that incorporates our novelty over-sized casts. Being beaten at the championship by those douchebags Jerry and Veronica... but receiving a slow clap and the audience choice award. Seriously... I really really want to learn to dance. Please find me, talented gay man!!!
4) How unlaid back I am. Fuck all you laid back people. That's probably the actual solution. Alas, I am so constantly concerned with the world around me that it was legitimately upsetting for me to use "unlaid" in this context. I wrote this paragraph. Then I read it. Then I pondered it for about a week before finally deciding it wasn't that important and *probably* won't end up ruining the life of someone I love in the distant future.
5) Groundhog day scenarios.
6) Could God make a God so big that even God couldn't eat God?!? (Answer: No, there is no God and everyone you've ever loved will die alone, then cease to exist- even within memory- in a matter of about two centuries. For example: Tell me about your great-great-grandmother-- What sort of a person was she? What did she enjoy? What. was. her. name? ...I thought not. Now, go hug someone you care about.)
7) Dogs wearing people clothes.
And/or getting together with friends to make funny songs.
I met "Nina" in 2003 at a pirates vs. ninjas party during her freshman year at the Atlanta College of Art. For reasons beyond me, she had associated herself with the traitorous seamen (band name?)... but I do like eyepatches, so in the end, it was alright. I was there with my friend Travis and we were ninjas. Travis already knew Nina and so it seemed to be a pretty natural progression when the party eventually moved upstairs to her dorm room. Nina and her room mate danced and goofed off with Travis and me for a while and we engaged in various G-rated activities. She only had the faintest hint of an accent, but when her mother called her on the phone, Nina launched into fully fluent Russian. It was mesmerizing. Alas, I went home and that was that. Nina would contact me via myspace from time to time, but that was basically the extent or our friendship.
Maybe a year or so later, some friends and I were watching an Antonioni film called Blowup. It's about the perception of reality and so our conversation afterward started out as a discussion of this and other pseudo-intellectual topics, but of course, quickly shifted tone to somehow end up a full-on discourse on eating cheese off of a woman's chest. None of us remembers how this dialogue came to be. I remember what specific people had to say about the subject... just not how we ever got there in the first place. Anyway, we talked about this into the wee hours of the morning. Mostly, it was a conversation about whether or not the act would actually be sexual... could it be truly arousing... what separates erotic from absurd for each of us... and such. It was determined then and there, that one of us needed to achieve this task and report his findings back to the group. I was the elected official.
Thus began a process of trying to determine any girls we knew that might consider allowing me to eat cheese off of her naked breasts in a purely experimental fashion... but eventually came to a dead-end. We each went home stumped and saddened. Until I logged onto myspace, that is. Nina! Nina would be perfect! I didn't know her well enough to destroy any actual friendship, yet she knew I wasn't a total creep and understood my sense of humor well enough.
I wrote her what is very likely still the most lengthy (and probably most convincing) formal request to eat cheese off of one's breasts that any woman has ever received. She loved it. Her exact words were "fill your pockets with gouda and your mouth with my breasts."
She was more enthusiastic about this idea than I could have ever imagined. In fact, she was more enthusiastic than I was. She began doing research. She set up a website where we were going to input the collected data for the world to see. I was supposed to rate which fine cheeses were the best to eat off of a fine lady's bosom. She was to rate which were the best to have eaten off of her own. Nina was a very small framed girl and at some point during the preparation, she expressed fear that her breasts weren't big enough to do the project justice. She assured me she was not backing down, only that she felt unworthy of such an undertaking. I assured her in turn that she was perfect for it... which I sincerely believed. It was all going to be very scientific and hilarious and everything until she proposed that it be done in a candlelit room... record player on... her in a chair, wearing half of an elegant dress... and reading aloud The Brothers Karamazov in Russian. This was when I realized that it was going to be sexual. Just cheese and boobs? Fine. Not necessarily deeply arousing. But cheese, boobs, vinyl, and girl reading classic literature in its native tongue? That's crossing into sincerely erotic territory for me. It wasn't the ingredients themselves so much as that they were her idea. All the same, I absolutely could not wait. I built the night up in my mind. It was starting to become too good to actually happen.
And, so as to avoid an anti-climactic ending, it didn't.
On the night that the grand experiment was to happen, Nina threw a party at her new apartment. I arrived with a vast assortment of cheese. The place was pretty packed. Some knew what was going to be going on later behind closed doors, others not. I was having a good time. Nina was having a bit too much of one. She ended up passing out. Again, she is tiny... it didn't take much. A brief discussion on the ethics of eating cheese off of an eager, yet unconscious, participant, in front of friends and strangers ensued. One of her best friends urged me to go ahead with it... attempting to convince me it was what Nina had wanted all along. I didn't buy it. And so the night ended in vast disappointment for many. Less for those that had no idea what was supposed to be going on in the first place.
For no real reason in particular, Nina and my relationship began to flicker out after that night. We would bring up the experiment from time to time... but it seemed more of a joke now than an actual plan. In time, she met a nice fella that had no desire to eat food off of her and they moved to New York. I never saw Nina again.
I did eventually eat cheese off of a woman's breasts. She loved me, and wanted to fulfill my old desire after hearing about the story from friends. I won't say that it was an underwhelming experience... but something about the magic of the event had forever faded for me. I'll never let that girl know, of course. I'll always remain grateful that I was able to find someone that wanted to share this with me, and put in the effort to follow through. But sometimes these things require a little something more. Sometimes they require the Brothers Karamazov.
Kei and I had fallen into the habit of eating breakfast at her place before I drove her to classes each morning. We were one of those insufferable couples you see on tv that had yet to realize (or were too scared to ask each other if indeed) we were a couple. At this point, we hadn't so much as hugged each other, but only because we had zero balls between us. I was a teenager, if that makes a difference to you. Anyway, this particular morning I made crepes. I remember this because after the sex that I promise I'm about to get to, Kei called me a "pretty crepey dude," and I laughed.
So we were making smallish talk and being all disgustingly cute and sheepish and everything, when completely out of nowhere Kei looked at the ground and declared, "I need to fuck you in the kitchen!" She almost seemed troubled by it. Her sudden realization -- that nonchalant, yet determined attitude -- and especially the use of the word "need" flipped some primal switch in my brain that sent me immediately into a groping/kissing/ravaging fury. I'm talking about a full-on, sweeping plates out of the way, cinematic bullshit that never happens, frenzy. She needs this! I must provide! Kei looked absolutely bewildered.
"What the fuck is happening?"
"Do you want me to st--"
And so we went, solidifying our status on the goddamn kitchen table.
There was a very large and very beautiful woven rug which lay beneath this table that had accumulated crumbs throughout the week. Those tiny bits of biscuit and bread were the catalyst for the innocent comment that lead to the rug's glorious ruin. For now it had been stained with juice and fruit from the scattered dishes. It had four bald spots where the table legs had torn into it. All for the sake of a silly misunderstanding between two stupidly nervous young lovers:
I'm not sure how long after our conquest it was that I figured out she had actually said "I need to vacuum the kitchen," but neither of us ever regretted the confusion.
There are so many sexy food adventures that have yet to be explored and documented. Join me in another?
Or if we have an exceptionally high Enemy % and you want to fight to the death. Or have really weird sex. Or have really weird sex then fight to the death about it.
If we match pretty well and you still want weird sex, I'm sorry. I promise you, I do too, but it's just not happening unless you bring at least one person that either you or I will fight.