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The profile below is long. Take a moment to scroll down and look. If you are looking for something more succinct, then most of what you are probably looking for can be found in the "You should message me if" section at the bottom of this page. Alright then. I wrote all this in bits and pieces over the time I've been on here. Some parts are entertaining. Other than that, I promise nothing. By reading on you agree to the following:
Any and all opinions generated as a result of reading the contents of this profile, its individual components, or any combination thereof is the sole responsibility of the individual reader, their perspective, and/or any drugs, prescription or otherwise, of which said reader may or may not be under the influence. By continuing to read the profile written below this statement, you, the reader, agree to release the individual represented thereby from all liability for any damages or discomfiture, real or imagined, experienced by you or any parties observing with or near you. Side Effects of reading this profile may include: Irritability, facial spasms, irregular breathing, cynicism, uncontrollable eye-rolling, feelings of depression, feelings of comparative superiority, and/or the occasional halfhearted chuckle. If symptoms persist longer than one hour, close your browser and consult a psychiatrist. No purchase necessary. See stores for details.
Right, so, formalities and questionably binding legal agreements aside, the following is my best approximation of me:
Born in July of 1987, I came into the world at the tail end of what was arguably the most confused decade in American history. Nestled uncomfortably between the drugged haze of the 1970's and the pop-culture overdose of the 1990's were the 80's, when clothing was brightly colored and obnoxious, the music industry enjoyed a brief and deeply regrettable fling with synthesizers, and the video gaming clique was still discovering itself. The cold war was just wrapping up, but those pesky terrorists were making a lot of noise over in that ancient, sun-scorched shithole they've been fighting over since time immemorial, so nobody really knew what to make of the new status quo. It was appropriate, then, that my first experience after being brought home from the hospital in the loving arms of two caring parents, the world new, its problems not yet known, was that my older brother should proceed to punch me and sit on my head. It added a sort of awkward symmetry to the experience of joining a family. Good and Bad intermingled to give a young me a fairly accurate, if somewhat difficult to understand at the time, perspective on the world:
A place filled with loved ones and assholes.
The family moved a lot after that. The old man was a military sort, and that meant systematically transplanting every so many years. Not that I minded much... mind you. I was small, and my life consisted mostly of crying, pooping, and trying to remember which family member provided milk, which one scared away the scary things, and which one occasionally hit me when he thought the folks wouldn't notice. This went on for a while, and somewhere along the way I gained two younger siblings, a brother and a sister, and subsequently discovered that I had four much older half-siblings floating around somewhere in the world, making me one of eight by my last count.
We kept moving even after Pop stopped wearing a uniform and started wearing a suit, but it happened a little less often. I think, looking back, that this is partially why I am something of a recluse. I typically made *one* friend per new area of residence. I would observe patiently from an isolated area of the cafeteria, that one desk that was pushed to the back of the class because it was missing a foot and wobbled, or from the tall grass near the fence at the edge of the playground until I spotted my prey. The weakest member of the local pack was often my first choice. Easier to separate from the others. Not much chance of getting pulled into a group. No drama to worry about. Once identified, I would move quickly. This individual would be promptly informed that they were to serve as my friend until such a time as it was no longer reasonably convenient, and given their observed desperation for any form of acceptance, an understanding would typically be achieved. Then the family would move again, and I would start over. Remember this was all before cellphones were really a thing, so this moving away business meant severing all contact with those left behind. Eventually, we ended up in Georgia, wherein I spent most of my school years from late elementary through College.
I eventually emerged from my odd sort of childhood to find that I was now an odd sort of man, having been molded as much by my circumstances as I was by the choices I'd made along the way. I'm an introverted sort, I think. Social interaction isn't necessarily unenjoyable, but I find it draining. I need time with just myself or very close friends and family during which to recharge my social batteries. Where most people seem to recharge each other through interaction, I have to spend my sociability like an awkward sort of currency, and because of this I tend to be very selective about who I spend my time with.
Now I find myself wearing a uniform that's very similar to the one my father used to wear. I've returned to the state of my birth on orders that will, most likely, soon send me elsewhere, and even though I've been working my entire life to get to where I am right now, I can't shake the feeling that this is a temporary arrangement.
Maybe that I'm short for my height? It's not all that bad, you know. Public transportation has always been relatively comfortable. I rarely have to duck, and I fit very nicely in most overhead storage.
Hm. How about that I'm a solid 6.5 out of 10 as reviewed by a panel of anonymous sorority sisters and one dude with a lisp who I think just snuck in?
I suppose if I had to give an answer, then the first thing anyone is guaranteed to notice about me is that I'm there, which isn't always as easy as it might sound.
Books: Dune, White Fang, Call of the Wild, The King Killer Chronicles (so far), Robinson Crusoe, The Count of Monte Cristo, Ender's Game, Starship Troopers, The Song of Ice and Fire series (until George R.R. Martin kills off all of his remotely likable characters), The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (except for the last book), Hard Luck Hank (all of them), The Hobbit (the rest of the series was only okay), the Hunger Games, Confessions of a D-List Supervillian, etc.
Movies: Lucky Number Slevin, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, City of Ember, V for Vendetta, Wreck it Ralph, Zombieland, Stranger than Fiction, The Man of La Mancha, Die Hard. This is a sample of the sorts of things I like in movies. Movies like these, in general.
Shows: Firefly, Archer, Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood, How I Met Your Mother (ended poorly, but the early stuff was good.), A Game of Thrones, The Walking Dead, and the first two seasons of Misfits (British).
Music: Anything but rap or country. Those two genres make my skin crawl. Ironically, I can sing Kenny Rogers' version of "The Gambler" pretty well. Old/classic rock and roll is preferred, but I listen to a lot of different music. "Eclectic" (seems to be a word people like to throw around on here...). That said, my absolute favorite song is Sweet Child O' Mine by Guns n' Roses.
Food: I can eat almost anything - a result of my mothers earlier culinary experimentation as she learned to feed her growing brood. She's a great cook now. Going home for holidays doesn't come with the risk of food poisoning anymore, but those early years forced me to develop a sturdy dietary constitution in order to survive. I love Italian, Chinese is a staple, and I generally like the things I cook myself. I would like to eat healthier foods, if possible, but the ingredients are usually a lot more expensive. I do what I can.
NUMBER 6: Coffee!
Once, long ago, in the mists of prerecorded History (pre-college) there was a time when I did not use coffee to propel myself through the day. I remember this, though dimly. The wonders of coffee are many, I know, but I cannot shake the feeling that before the advent of this organic propellant, there was something else. A sort of happiness that stemmed from some other source of energy. I cannot remember what this was, but sometimes, as I stare ahead at the coming work week with jittery, caffeine powered omniscience, I think it may have been a thing called "sleep."
NUMBER 5: A GPS!
I heard once that some people have an innate sense of direction. I am not one of those people. For Christmas a couple years ago my father bought me one of those Garmin GPS things for my car - I call her Sheila - but before this I was left to my own devices. A trip anywhere that I hadn't driven at least a dozen times before was guaranteed to get me lost, and not just, "oops I took a wrong turn" lost, but "I'm reasonably sure they shouldn't be speaking this language here/Did I cross a timezone?/What year is it?!" lost.
NUMBER 4: Literature!
I have to have something to read. Don't get me wrong, there have been dry spells where I went without for a while, but when this happens there is always a relapse. I go a year without a good book, and the next thing you know I've walled myself in with a stack of dusty tomes, reading with bloodshot eyes, and muttering to myself. Any attempt to excavate me from my papery tomb results in me, like Moses at Mount Sinai, raining suggested reading down on any poor, unwary fool who comes within throwing distance.
NUMBER 3: Procrastination!
I know this one might seem a bit strange, but this has become such a central pillar of who I am that I think, should I actually attempt to be proactive, the fabric of space and time would be rent asunder. A black hole would take my place, and all of reality would be consumed by its gaping maw.
NUMBER 2: Family!
As I mentioned before, my family moved a lot during mine and my siblings' formative years. Because of this, we filled for each other a good number of the rolls often filled by extra-familial acquaintances. We were bullies, and we were rivals. We were confidants and co-conspirators, instigators and arbiters. We were good influences and we were bad, and in the end, through the stalwart efforts of two determined and amazing parents who decided with saintly patience not to smother us in our sleep, we were the best friends we'd ever have.
NUMBER 1: Faith!
I find it hard to believe that anyone can make it through the day without faith in a benign God. Knowing that I am a tiny speck hurtling through a hostile universe on an insignificantly larger tiny speck without the assurance that comes with the love of an almighty God would very certainly take the pleasure out of damn near anything. And even though my fellow man tries desperately to shake my faith with such spectacles as Black Friday shankings and Honey Boo Boo children, I maintain that belief is a choice, and I chose 8 lb. 6 oz. baby Jesus.
I sometimes think about what sort of old man I want to be. Sometimes I think "crazy old prospector on a senile quest for undiscovered gold in his back yard" and other times I think "crazy old man with the scary house and the unreasonably large but very likely arthritic dog." It varies.
I'm also thinking about having an official 'Application for Paramour/Significant Other Status' form notarized for submission by potential romantic interests. I've just been going back and forth on what to include. I mean, all the basics would have to be there: Height and Weight as determined by a competent medical professional; Official Attractiveness Rating (OAR)* from the Board of Bros (BoB), the Federal Eugenics Council (FEC), or the National Association for the Advancement of Attractive and/or Cute People (NAAACP)*; and, of course, all relevant records of Parental Lineage on both sides of their family tree for three consecutive generations. I know that's kind of bare-bones, but I would like to leave a little mystery to the process. I know, call me a romantic.
*Any and all ratings submitted must conform to Frat and Bro's graduated 0-10 scale of attractiveness. While the above listed organizations are preferred, other nationally ranked institutions may be utilized but will receive a lower priority of review. Ratings by organizations not nationally recognized or using a traditional 1-10 scale will not be accepted for consideration.
I should add at this point that being physically attractive (according to my own preferences), while necessary, isn't enough to merit a response. I'm not quite arrogant enough to make myself believe that the perfect woman is going to fall into my lap, but a man ought to have standards, and mine include an interesting personality. I know you can't always have your cake and eat it too, but if I can't have both then what the hell is the point?
Now, as is far more likely, if *I* send *you* a message that is awkward, uncomfortable, nauseating to the point of immediate physical illness, or otherwise off-putting, then I apologize. I picked up my meager arsenal of social skills somewhat ad hoc, so I'm not all that good at holding or even starting meaningful conversations with people I don't know. This doesn't stop me from trying, but I can almost guarantee that at some point in our conversation, I'm going to shove my foot in my mouth. It's a statistical inevitability at this point, and I'm at peace with it. Please, feel free to cut off the conversation at any time you feel uncomfortable or otherwise unenthused. It's the only sensible thing to do.
I might "like" you. As in I may press the "like" button, but then never send a message. This might come across as timid or at least confusing, so I'll go ahead and explain, since I've been asked about it a few times. I press like if, after reading through your entire profile, I end up feeling like you're pretty great all around. However, I typically won't send a message if, even though I enjoyed what you had to say, I don't really have much to say about it. It happens. I also won't send anything your way if, while reading your essays, questions, and general information I come across anything that indicates that you wouldn't want me to: "Near Me" when I'm not; Age Ranges I'm outside of; Height Requirements I'll never measure up to (*ba-doom-pish*); etc. You are welcome. After all, getting a message can be a little stressful. Do you respond? Do you not? Is it rude to just ignore it? Etc. But a little notification that some random person liked your profile? It feels good, right? That, and most people aren't on that A-List thing, so it is effectively anonymous. That being the case, if I like your profile, please don't read too much into it. I just wanted pay a compliment without it being misinterpreted as some corny pick up line.
In closing, while I would like to find the person who fits this odd puzzle piece of mine, I'm in no rush. That being the case, I'm probably only going to send you one message at a time. If I don't get a response, then I'm not going to hold it against you, I promise, so please don't feel obligated to answer. At that point I'm just going to assume that you have a firm grasp on what you're looking for, and you've identified that it's not here. *You afford me the same courtesy, and we'll all get along just fine.*
I hope this profile at least made you crack a smile, and best of luck out there.