DBurrSF
57 San Francisco, United States
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DBurrSF
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My self-summary
Update: Let me jump right in. My girl and I have a comfortable, interracial relationship, and we both wish to broaden our embrace to include a woman. Someone who is over the drama years and is looking to share her many splendid experiences. Long-term is the goal. (We're not just looking for a plaything. If we wanted that, we'd get a puppy.) Regarding the all-important attraction, let’s trust each other’s judgement. We're adults, after all. Everyone ought to have the kind of sex that takes your breath away. Then again, everyone ought to experience a brilliant sunset over the ocean, raw oysters and a martini.
* * *
I grew up in a very small town in upstate NY (the birthplace of Jell-O); went to college in New England; then migrated with a dozen classmates to SF. We're all still close, good friends.

I do my best thinking while in motion; I take long walks. Sitting and staring out the window, as I'm doing now, doesn't quite work.

In addition to my ridiculous charm, intelligence, good looks, and sexual prowess, I'm a very private person. I don't last long in noisy crowds; I've been told I'm quite appealing one-on-one, however.
What I’m doing with my life
After a couple decades working as a book editor, my eyes have gone numb. I still edit for a living. I just do it with my eyes closed. All those words, they just get in the way of meaning. You've noticed this, no doubt. Too many words in the world.
I’m really good at
What month is it?
How 'bout this:
-I can cook chicken and not dry it out. Usually.
-I know how to properly use semicolons
-I routinely put the toilet seat down
The first things people usually notice about me
Hats. Men should wear hats.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Favorite books? Really? Isn't that like choosing a favorite child? (Seems so wrong, doesn't it? Yet, admit it. Deep down . . .) I try to re-read Moby Dick every year or so.

Because I edit books for a living, I don't do movies well. Stories take time to unfold. A rockin' soundtrack does not equal a good movie. (Frankly, the same can be said for cooking with butter.)

Music = jazz. Mostly. Although, listening to Beethoven's sixth the other day drove me to distraction. I was a heavy metal kid in high school, have been laid flat by the blues, have flirted with new country. I absolutely do not understand pop.

Food = anything that isn't moving on the plate. Sushi. A martini and raw oysters. A steak (rare, please). Fried in butter, no; sauteed with a little extra-virgin olive oil, absolutely. I'm philosophically undecided about organic. On the one hand, I'm all for it. But let's be honest--What did they DO to that organic asparagus to get it to me? Did they nestle it against the breast of a virgin and sing to it? Or did they perhaps wrap it in god knows what and bathe it in truck exhaust? Just sayin'.
The six things I could never do without
Beisbol
A good steak
mind-numbing, eyes-crossing sex (yes, I said that out loud)
. . .
(uh, hang on. I'm a bit distracted)
I spend a lot of time thinking about
The Kardashians! I stumbled upon the ridiculous reality show, and now I'll never get those particular brain cells back. I want a do-over.
On a typical Friday night I am
. . . not seeking loud, noisy environments. At the week's end, I need to turn down the volume. Fridays usually start with a cold, dry martini. Then, PBS (Washington Week). Unless the Giants are playing.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I rented "Caddy Shack" for Christmas day. This could be a new tradition.
You should message me if
you or someone you know has appeared in a pornographic movie. Just kidding. (No, I'm not.) (Okay, I am.)

I've noticed that many of you ladies have had professional photos taken. Makes me wonder if I should do the same. Tell me, please.
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