34Chestnut Hill, United States
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My self-summary
TL;DR: We probably won't get along.

I like orgasms and stories. I bang them out almost every night. Sometimes, I let your mom watch.

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 glad that someone as accomplished as Leonardo had many unfinished projects. It lets me feel righteous 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 we all inevitably 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.

Really, I'm just looking for someone to wear this t-shirt I have that says, "I don't need google, my girlfriend knows everything."

I don't think you're ready for this jelly.
What I’m doing with my life
I don't know where I'm going. I just keep on rowing.

I enjoy spending time alone. I also enjoy spending time with people who enjoy spending time alone. I know how to make myself happy. This is one of my resonant frequencies.

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 I feel forsaken, and her arms will sway gracefully above me as I roll in the grass with my bloodhound friend Major Major (who bears a sickly resemblance to Henry Fonda).

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.

I think that creating fictions is among the most beautiful things that humans can do, so I am trying to figure out how we do it. I used to do math and science. I still use them occasionally to get out of conversations. If anyone wants to talk about categorical logic for a few hours, let me know.

I am comfortable with silence.

Someday, I want to wrap my arms around my favorite person in the world and have no doubt 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 through thin spaces 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
- 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.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Shakespeare is the only person in my life who has never let me down.

I read nonfiction several hours most days, mostly in the form of hard, long textbooks, primary literature, or 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 I'm frightened that he couldn't find what he needed to stick around this place with me.

My favorite pretend lies are by Shakespeare or David or feature 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 suspect Emil Cioran is on to something.

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

One summer evening, David John Matthews stood alone on a stage singing a quiet little song with his guitar. As I watched, the sting of the spotlights, the dirty film on my skin, and 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 dozens of 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 nontrivial, minimal set S of seasonings such that, for all unseasoned dishes d, there exists some s in S such that 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}. (Sorry, salt and sugar don't count as seasonings. It wouldn't be much of a quest otherwise.)

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 tiny, 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.
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.*

Let each of these count as 6/13 of a thing.

06/13) Ice in my coffee when I'm hot
12/13) Heat in my coffee when I'm cold
18/13) Consistent reasoning systems
24/13) Mathematical objects
30/13) Playtime
36/13) Environmental variety
42/13) Appropriate running shoes
48/13) Assuming responsibility for my decisions
54/13) Progress
60/13) Artistry
66/13) Stillness
72/13) My inner voice reading poetry
78/13) Mercy

* By which, I mean 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

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?

How was foie gras discovered?

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

a lonely fox

in the forest of solitude

sighing for want of a burrito tree.
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 highly 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 don't want you.

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

Also, 99% of my friends are guys, and 90% of them have had sex with me at some point in the past, roughly. 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 warm oatmeal cookies.
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 invite me to sit on your face. It's pretty much the best way to introduce yourself to a stranger.

You don't care for 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. That tells me all I need to know about you.

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've got 8 to 12 inches for me and a photo to prove it. Good, because your dad was very disappointing.

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 more than a few minutes 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 told you that I'm not interested, and you think that I just need more convincing. I'm a sucker for someone who doesn't respect 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.

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

If my mailbox here is full, I have another at gmail with an obvious name.

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.
The two of us