On dating...
I posted this to the Nerve personals. Wonder if it'll work:
My friends say I'm a jerk; at least, that's what they say when they've asked me for an opinion and I forget to sugarcoat. When a friend asked about his dying car, I responded, "they shoot horses, don't they?" When another griped about her beau, I told her to quit using him for rides (despite that I couldn't stand the guy). I install carwashes, teach math at the community college, and fix cars to make my bread, and all the rehabbing I've got planned for my house suffers for my lack of time. Musically, I listen to whatever I like, though I'd rather develop stomach cancer than listen to commercial radio (I lerve KDHX though). My favorite artists right now are Calexico, Marah, and Townes Van Zandt; the current crop of pasttimes in which I engage include learning to fingerpick my guitar, drinking beer, scenic photography while on road trips, riding my road bike, and spending too much time on the computer. I'll admit to having no fashion sense whatsoever (I'll wear boots with shorts and sneakers with jeans), and I own three vehicles, all of which run. Stacked sloppily on the shelf by my toilet are issues of at least five magazines, a book on MC Escher, Uncle John's Supremely Satisfying Bathroom Reader, and some catalogs for things I don't need.
My ideal match doesn't go to tanning salons and hates the Landing. She can remember lyrics better than I can and isn't afraid of a little grease, nor the mud, the blood, and the beer. She'll prod me to actualy get off my butt and do something about the mess this country's in. I want someone who can suggest a half-dozen philosophy books to read; out-drink, -cuss, and -smart me; and not mind that, although I make great attempts to be thoughful, I'm occasionally a complete lout.
My friends say I'm a jerk; at least, that's what they say when they've asked me for an opinion and I forget to sugarcoat. When a friend asked about his dying car, I responded, "they shoot horses, don't they?" When another griped about her beau, I told her to quit using him for rides (despite that I couldn't stand the guy). I install carwashes, teach math at the community college, and fix cars to make my bread, and all the rehabbing I've got planned for my house suffers for my lack of time. Musically, I listen to whatever I like, though I'd rather develop stomach cancer than listen to commercial radio (I lerve KDHX though). My favorite artists right now are Calexico, Marah, and Townes Van Zandt; the current crop of pasttimes in which I engage include learning to fingerpick my guitar, drinking beer, scenic photography while on road trips, riding my road bike, and spending too much time on the computer. I'll admit to having no fashion sense whatsoever (I'll wear boots with shorts and sneakers with jeans), and I own three vehicles, all of which run. Stacked sloppily on the shelf by my toilet are issues of at least five magazines, a book on MC Escher, Uncle John's Supremely Satisfying Bathroom Reader, and some catalogs for things I don't need.
My ideal match doesn't go to tanning salons and hates the Landing. She can remember lyrics better than I can and isn't afraid of a little grease, nor the mud, the blood, and the beer. She'll prod me to actualy get off my butt and do something about the mess this country's in. I want someone who can suggest a half-dozen philosophy books to read; out-drink, -cuss, and -smart me; and not mind that, although I make great attempts to be thoughful, I'm occasionally a complete lout.
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