You may or may not be aware that I’ve got a lure dangling in the water on a personals site or two. Yes, I had some success this spring (well, success in injecting my life with glorious complications), but towards the end of the summer I reeled in my line and took a nap in the dating boat. I had travel and stuff. Really. Anyway, despite being crunched for time during the week, my weekends are reasonably open and I need to find people who are neither male computer nerds nor giggly freshman girls to hang out with and do things like:
- see shows
- go to the fucking museums
- eat delicious food
- see movies and films
- ride around the city on a fucking bicycle built for two
- drink the world’s beers and wake up in a cellar somewhere
How is that so hard? You’d think that a smart, funny, charming, bitter, sarcastic bastard like me would be swimming in a pool full of ladies. Literally full. No water, just the ladies. Imagine me as Scrooge McDuck, and you’re on board the awesome train.
That reminds me of what I told Zach that I was doing on Halloween:
I’ll tell you what I’m not doing. I’m not going to wake up in a field the day after missing a kidney again — not three years in a row! Fool me once, shame on… shame on you, fool me — can’t get fooled again.
Uh, you only have two kidneys to start with.
Shit. I’d better get me on some dialysis.
Here’s something that I’m not putting in my ad, but maybe I should, because it would weed out people who wouldn’t think that I’m funny.
- The first thing(s) people usually notice about me:
- People tend to notice the blood on my hands and clothes. Sure, I try to play it off as a ketchup making accident, but eventually they figure out that it is murder most foul, and then I have to start the cycle of killing again with a new witness. It’s really getting kind of tiresome.
Note to self: get some sleep, dude, you are all over the place today.