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roman_brandt

30 Muncie, IN Man

Man

I’m looking for

  • Men
  • Ages 19–40
  • Located anywhere
  • For new friends

My Details

Last Online
Dec 26
Orientation
Gay
Ethnicity
White
Height
6′ 3″ (1.91m)
Body Type
Average
Diet
Anything
Smokes
No
Drinks
Not at all
Drugs
Never
Religion
Atheism
Sign
Sagittarius
Education
Working on university
Job
Art / Music / Writing
Income
Relationship Status
Single
Relationship Type
Offspring
Doesn’t have kids, and doesn’t want any
Pets
Likes dogs and likes cats
Speaks
English (Fluently), Spanish (Poorly), C++ (Poorly)

Similar Users

My self-summary
Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
Hello, people of the Internet.

There will be no "self-summary." There will only be my thoughts. That way, you can come to your own conclusion. There's too much emphasis on selling oneself like a slice of processed cheese. I much prefer to be the cow.

I'm not going to describe myself as a "laid-back person" because that's how all people describe themselves when called upon to do so. I don't slink around saying "that's okay, man" every time something awful happens to me. I don't "go with the flow," especially if the flow is a flow of dung. I'm simply not that calm, because I have a human circulatory system. I'm not an "open book" either. An open book has nothing to reveal upon further reads. An open book is something more like a magazine. It's something people read while they wait to board a plane or have a tooth yanked out of their heads. It's a time killer or a distraction, nothing more. No one ever comes back to read an open book, because the open book was a space filler between novels. No one invests any useful amount of time in a magazine. They read it while they wait for something to happen. AKA, if you are an open book, you are not that something. I am not a magazine, and I have no intention of sharing my space with one. Go find another magazine and the two of you can compare stories about being skimmed and tossed aside. If you still don't get what I'm talking about, the point is that a little mystery goes a long way in keeping someone's interest. It's once there's nothing left to discover that people really become boring. Sure, it's a natural part of being human, but why speed up the process?

There also seems to be this misconception among gay men that having flooded the internet with nudes of oneself and having "done porn" are positive attributes that a sane human being actively looks for in another person. Quite the opposite in most cases. If the world has seen your junk, you had better have one hell of a good personality to make up for it, because if everyone's already seen it, I'd rather just google it. And don't suddenly act like you're such a lady and tell me I have to earn the right to see what the world has already seen. If you're one of those people and lack a distinct personality, you might as well just flap it out as people walk by and that will be the extent of it. Few intelligent people want something that the world has already had before them.

My generation seems to have mistaken being ripped and well traveled with being interesting and worth knowing. I'm not fooled. Also, there seems to be this huge emphasis on making sure to mention that your ideal match needs to be "financially stable and know what they're doing in life." That's unfortunate. I'm an artist. I possess neither of those traits. If that disqualifies me, I'm sure I'll spend the next five minutes sobbing my eyes out. Pass the tissues.

I'm just kidding. Behold, the field in which I grow my fucks. See that it is barren. I've been called bitter, but I'd like to think that I have defense mechanisms akin to a moat full of alligators to protect me from people who have no intention of thinking of anyone but themselves in any situation. That already describes me most days, and I feel like two of me would destroy one another. Hard pass.

Since everyone is all big on the Myers-Briggs nonsense (which is apparently the new zodiac when it comes to smashing people together based on one very vague piece of information), I am an ENFP, if you must know. Zodiac signs are out. After all, while you can willfully choose the wrong birthday for yourself, you will eventually be found out. With Myers-Briggs, you can fake that shit your whole life and no one will know aside from subtle personality cues that hint at you being a great big donkey dong. If you play the Myers-Briggs card, good for you. While I've disclosed my score here, I'd like to think that the person messaging me isn't doing so based on four letters whose results are just about as specific to who I am as my daily horoscope. I would like to think that I am more interesting than that, but who can say? Maybe in today's world, I am not an author or a human but merely an ENFP. I wonder if I ought to be trendy and list my quiz results for what Disney princess I am, what tree Barbara Walters thinks I am, what blend of coffee I need, etc.

Apparently, I am riding the bitter train. You may call me bitter. I've accepted that people call me that, especially within the gay community. You want to know why I roll my eyes so hard they pop out if someone tries to get me to go to Pride? You want to know why I don't go to the one skanky awful gay bar in Muncie? Because there's nothing there for me. I don't consider lower management at Macy's to be the ultimate job. I don't live my life according to the gospel of Gaga. I don't dance my life away and hope that tomorrow is better. I am actively trying to learn who I am, and while Macy's is pretty and Gaga is catchy and dancing is fun (when I'm alone; dancing in public is a real, recurring nightmare that I have), there is much more to life than simply being gay and living up to stereotypes. I suppose if you have no ambition, talent, resources, or desire to be anything beyond a dancing, cigarette-smoking human sex toy, I say: good for you. I wish you luck.

You might ask where I'm from. I'd like to say Mars or the bottom of the ocean or somewhere exotic like that, but in fact there is a terrible little town in northern Indiana called Portland. I fled it years ago. I've hardly been back since.

Walmart is a crazy place. Too many people get some kind of fap-grade joy out of walking around in SpongeBob pajama pants and t-shirts with some sassy Jerry Springer saying paired with a looney toons character. Classy shit. It's the one place where Portland is never far away. I like to frolic amongst the open bags of grapes and stolen shopping cards and think of turning the whole place into a parking lot.

Speaking of retail and parking lots, I hate watching people leave the cart by their car and drive away. The cart goes back in the cart return, three feet from your car, you lazy moron. Don't worry, I'll take it there for you, so your kids can see through the windshield that at least one of us has sense enough to keep the way clear for other cars, even if it's me rather than you. You are welcome.

I don't do transitions very well, so I'll just dive right into my next topic.

I wish I had a megaphone rigged up to my car that would let me say things like "the speed limit does not mean plus or minus 20mph" as I'm passing or being passed. The freeway is a scary place, causing most cars to shake themselves apart at some point. Let's all cooperate and try not to cause a pileup that will shorten the lives of innocent cars.

I am also an atheist, as my profile states, but I'm not an asshole atheist. I don't go around disproving the religious beliefs of others for fun. I merely have my own beliefs, and they may differ from yours. We don't have to discuss anything about it, you and I. Life is too short to hold one's religious convictions or lack thereof against them.

I know atheism is scary from the outside, but we don't eat babies. At least I don't. Babies are really too chewy for my taste. I prefer the cows and chickens and soybeans that everyone else eats.

A note about my photos on here: The reason I chose grainy, awful arty photos of myself rather than the face-and-abs combos known to sites like this is simply because I feel that as an artist, it's my duty to represent myself in a truer light than others might represent themselves. I'm supposed to be more self-aware, after all. Right?

So one day, when I was ill with what I can only assume was the plague, I decided to liven up my photos and make myself look a bit more like a relevant dead guy.

I recite poetry on city buses. You may ask me why, and that's a good question. I bet my therapist would know the answer to that one.

I love everyone who has a picture of them visiting some awesome expensive destination. You aren't better than me, poopmouth! I just spend my money on making sure my car runs and my rent gets paid.

So there.

Oreo cookies denied. You don't get any.

I'm here for friends. I said it. Relationships are nonsense. How do relationships happen for my generation? Quickly, like a car accident, and just as traumatic. Here's an example (from experience, so don't judge me, or I'll point at you accusingly and the scream the lyrics to Friday):

You've known him two weeks. Been dating for one and a half. It's practically your one year anniversary. Move four states away with no money and no job so that he's the only person you know. You start to resent him after about a month. Break up. Move back somehow. Three weeks later, you're in love again. Repeat.

Never mind all those pesky family and friends you stop talking to every time this happens. They get in the way. Bridges: burn them.

Who needs a career either when you have love? You'll be with this guy forever, and by forever you really mean one month. Make some sacrifices for this unsatisfying stranger you will never change. Cut some parts off yourself to fit inside.

It's always a surprise when you're stuck trying to glue yourself back together later. You've known forever so many times you must be immortal.

I'm referring to all the people who remain teenagers and are terrified to be alone. The people who go from meeting to dating in 24 hours. The ones who just can't be bothered to know the person before proposing marriage.

They are the ones who suffer. It's all preventable from an outside perspective of course, just like drug addiction. Why don't you stop you ask as they try to fit parts back into healed over wounds.

Eventually, they will. I was one of those people. You either stop because you die, or because you start to resent anyone who shows interest.

In the mean time, you learn to live life as a frantic game of spin the bottle. You create whole new people in your mind to paint over the strangers you find and date. When the paint chips away, reality is uglier for it, and reality becomes a deal breaker.

I stopped that pattern years ago, because I realized I had reached 25 with nothing to show for it but a calcified, bitter husk of a heart. After years of heaving it blindly into oncoming traffic, which is what dating is, it had hardened to protect itself, and in doing so it made me angry and bored and judgmental. Self respect is more important than not being alone. Remember this, because it will save your life.

Also, if you came here because I rated you on here... well, I don't take it too seriously. It's like a very terrible game where I can rate strangers. If you know me in real life... I am sorry. I promise I am not trying to be creepy and rub myself all over your walls and invade your underwear drawer. I was just feeling judgmental and you were judged highly! I have no genitals anymore, after all. I lost them in the wars. All the wars. Mostly the war of 1812. That shit was brutal.

Luckily, the world is suddenly filled to spillover with saxophones!

Saxophones: suddenly popular again thanks to dirty, bearded, skanky hipsters with cartoon network ninja hair buns. I want to be happy for Saxophones, but I can't help feeling like they're the Carrie of instruments in pop music. Hipsters playing them to be ironic, with the other instruments like "they're all gonna laugh at you!"

Side note: the best modern playing of a saxophone is in M83's Midnight City. That song makes me believe that not everyone plays them to be "ironic" and "edgy" Up yours, bearded skankasaurs!

Who watches Grace Helbig?

Water was invented by Paula Deen in 1997.

I made Grace's funfetti brownies and had to be rolled end over end around my apartment for days and all the doorways lubricated with cooking oil. I ate ALL OF THE DAMN BROWNIES. SAVE YOURSELF. DON'T MAKE FOOD!
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
Writing and blogging.

My blog: http://idontwantyouramoebas.blogspot.com/

I'm also a mildly successful indie author. I know, I know, that's fancy talk for "eye rite bad" in most cases. I'd like to think that's not me, but here's the link. See for yourself: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/romantheodorebrandt

iYAY!

I was going to try to become a professor of English, but then two things happened. I shall share.

1) I read my profiles on social networking sites, and realized I do not have the grammar chops for it.

2) I realized that there would be a big pile of dead bodies in the corner of my classroom.

So, I have decided to pursue a Masters in Creative Writing, which has literally no practical application in the real world unless you have a career before your first year of school (check.)

I am also going for computer technology, because tech students get hellagrants, and I am poor.

I do not necessarily want to work with computers. I do that right now, and my goodness people are silly. "It won't turn on." "Is it plugged into a wall outlet?" *silence* "I thought this thing was wireless."

@_@ NO. Never again.

I want to be a writer, and a professor. I want to reach that level of pomposity. I do not want to die working in a call center for a soulless computer company, a withered shell of a writer. I don't want to ever have to tell anyone that I tried to be a writer. I want to tell them that I was an author.

I want to reach the end of my life the way Bradbury did, a portfolio stuffed with hundreds of stories and novels, some destined to be part of literary canon for at least a century.

I want to leave this world a wonderfully tortured old man in a creaky old house with all my stories behind me, and having been made better for telling them.

I want to be part of high school English anthologies, so that the only people who read my work are teenagers forced to do so by teachers. The stories you read in high school and hate are the ones you re-read later in life and love. I want to be so loved that I rot away on the shelves of antique malls and book stores decades after I'm gone, waiting for that one person to pick me up and read me again.

What an afterlife :3

Ignore my faces, I make them against my better education, because text alone on websites is largely emotionless. Besides, no one looks at the text when there are pictures to be seen. Even if the person you're looking at resembles some kind of super constipated water buffalo, you go right for the pictures.
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.
Fixing computers. I have become the computer guy of my family. All my crinkly old relatives call me when pogo and AOL go down. I have godlike powers and can restore servers from my home, it seems. This likely warrants a medal of some sort.

I'm about to ride the ego train all over your ass. Get ready. I'm sorry, it can't be helped in this case. I am good at writing. Don't judge me by this profile, because I wrote it at a fourth grade level.

I'm great at sleeping, too. Getting to sleep, I'm not great at. I lay down on the bed (aka: mattress on the floor. Don't judge me) and look at the door and I'm like "did I lock the door?" So I get up and check, and I lay down and my brain is all "it's unlocked" and I'm like "no, brain, I just checked" and its all "how do you now? Is anything real? DID YOU EAT LASAGNA??" And then I have to get up about a thousand times to check the lock. I wear ruts in the carpet. Fuck you, OCD.
The first things people usually notice about me
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
My eyes and my sense of humor. I mean who really knows? Who knows? Maybe it's my hump. Or my frozen dairy beverage, which attracts the males of the species to the garden. I may be inclined to instruct you, but there would be a fee.

Let's make another section called "Last things people notice about me."

My body, because I wear clothes. I don't shower with people unless they are me, so that excludes everyone. Kidding, I think.

No I'm not.

I'm naturally blonde. We're talking platinum. Don't even try to imagine it, just know that it has been filed away through the miracles of hair color and cosmetics. You think guys can't wear makeup? That's unfortunate. I disagree.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Help your potential matches find common interests.
Favorites are overrated and allow people to think things like "ohhh no no, no Shirley Jackson fans." Nevertheless, there they are. Judge me at will. I am the one with the Oreo cookies, and you may find yourself lacking in that department should you think unsavory things in my direction.

Books: Mostly mid-century or victorian. Kate Chopin is a god, as is Ray Bradbury and William S. Burroughs. I am currently having a love affair with The Catcher in the Rye, and I don't care what you think of that.

You know, modern fiction just doesn't do it for me anymore. I know that's really old people-ish and hipster-ish to say, but I am not going to put myself through the trauma of reading 50 Shades of Gray just to find the sex scenes. I'm sorry that so many people find it necessary to do so. It's a 500 page newspaper with characters. It is difficult to find modern fiction that isn't clunky and unreadable from adjective abuse and a vague misunderstanding of language use. No thank you. It's still on the shelf for a reason.

You can look at me however you like as I buy yet another Shirley Jackson novel. You are not me, and if you want to go fap to Twilight, that is your damage. I can't stop you, but I will inform you that there was another novel called Twilight before that one came out. It was about life inside a concentration camp, and it was beautifully written. I've always thought it was unfair that sparkly pedophilic vampires stole that book's thunder. If you want something that doesn't read like a novelized pop-up book, you should check it out.

Movies: I love Fight Club, mostly because Brad Pitt never ages. Fight Club is vintage Brad Pitt in a little segment of 1999, like a cube of time-space cut out at then end of the last millennium. Absolutely. Require.

I love Gravity. That movie is so full of my fear of heights. I adore it.

I also love Identity Thief. No, I do not need your approval. If you like this movie, we should watch it together and talk about how awesome Melissa McCarthy is. I typed this paragraph with one finger. It literally took hours. Whole worlds were formed while I typed it. I grew a beard and died.

TV Shows: See, this one is hard. I don't hate shows with huge fandoms, I just fear their cocaine qualities. Get Doctor Who away from me. Everyone likes that show. EVERYONE. EVERY SINGLE PERSON ON THIS PLANET. Except me. Hate me if you like.

I like the X-files, Absolutely Fabulous, Saunders and French, Robot Chicken to some degree, South Park, and The Golden Girls. If you like these, we are instantly best friends.

Music: It varies. Right now I like retro mid-2000s bands. I rotate Franz Ferdinand, The Arctic Monkeys, The Hives and Kaiser Chiefs with Marilyn Manson. I have no fucks to give.

Food: I like pizza. I like it a lot, because I am trashy. I eat like trailer trash. Someone bring me a can opener! I locked myself out of my house!

Click away! Avert your eyes! @_@
The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
My car is a pretty badass sheet metal lesbian. I'd put her at number one, because she takes me places.

I think science is also pretty badass. I think that one needs no explanation.

The sims. Because I am addicted and I talk in fragments.

The writing of dead authors. Cannot get enough of those dead people.

The ability to write. I hope I never lose it, because the world would actually be terrifying to me if I could no longer describe it. It would be hostile and alien. It would be cold as the stars rotating over the hookers down the street. True story.

My friends! Those awesome people that my brain alternately wants to have around me all the time and then cannot wait for them to leave. Fuck you, brain!
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
Exploding buildings. Iced coffee. Buying my hometown and turning it into a parking lot. Not that I'm bitter.

I think about plot lines as well. I think about little people living lives and interacting, and eventually I have to drag my sleep-deprived ass out of bed and get my computer so I can write it all down, lest I forget. And I WILL forget.
On a typical Friday night I am
Netflix and takeout, or getting your party on — how do you let loose?
Lying on my bed or floor realizing that I hate ladybugs with more intensity that I can describe.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
You ready for this? I have a secret to tell you. Lean closer to your computer/phone/dog's asshole.

No one cares what the fox says. No one gives one single fuck. But you know what? It's probably something similar to a dog's chuffing, since they're related. Stop watching that ridiculous video and telling me to watch it. Take off the damn T-shirts before I set them on fire while you're wearing them. When the trend trickles down to valley girl barbies in my college classes, it is over.

OMG JUNNUFUR WAT DUZ THE FOKS SAY DINGIDINIGNDIDNGINDGINDLIGNIDGNIDNGFIDN ID JGFIDH IOGD NID HIO: ID FIDDIOGLIDN GIN DGIPDN IGFNED I

Restrain that pop culture zombie! Slap some cuffs on her! Citizen's arrest for stupidity!

I am very selective about Internet memes. I retract my beak in horror at the Harlem Shake, What Does The Fox Say, anything Doctor Who related, planking, and anything that goes along the lines of "long cat is long." No. No no nonononononONONONONONON. I refer to them as meme cancer.

I adore Pusheen, Meme Bon, Doge, Grumpy Cat, Lil Bub and a few others that I cannot remember because I suck at life. Animal memes basically. Anything cute that licks itself.

If you don't like Pusheen, Pusheen doesn't like you.
You should message me if
Offer a few tips to help matches win you over.
You want a new friend. Just message me. Of course, you might read my about me and think "oh boy, this dude just flipped his table" and move on to someone shiny and thin and who opens with "OMG I NUVUR NO WUT 2 SAY IN THEES THINGZ" and message him. Those guys tend to be less threatening, and you don't have to feed them as often, because they only eat really expensive food purchased by rich old men.