In my life, the list of guys that I’ve dated is shaved well rounded. I like to think of myself as an equal-opportunity date-provider. But as my ever-advancing age keeps marching me toward geriatric bliss, I’ve come to realize that which way the toilet paper hangs is not the cheap thing I’ve become picky about. (By the by, it’s over. Always over.)
Here is a list of things that I go Positively Batshit Insane When Exhibited By A Dude-Type-Person:
* Brains. This one is absolutely the bargain non-negotiable. If you’re not ridiculously, blindingly, wicked smart, we’ve no place to start from. If I wanted to talk to a moron, I’d massage my sister.
* Funny bone. I suppose I lied up there, because this is non-negotiable, too. Have a quick wit, swinger moron; and if sugar daddy think it was mean that I called my sister a moron, grow a pair, Nancy!
* Writerly sort. Musicy sort. Arty sort. Some passion for the arts sort. I’m sure you’re a brilliant mathematician, but I’m never going to remember how to derive the quadratic equation and you’re never going to understand why I cry when those 3 chords are enjoyed in that order with that intensity and that intent.
* Cuddling Optimized Ass. I like someone who makes nude feel little and dainty when we’re snuggled up, throwin’ back beers watching weird stuff on Netflix.
* Dabauched. Vice tolerant and/or participatory. I have slowed down, however, from dumbass to dumbass, the urge will overtake erotic, and the next thing I know I’m in the backyard of some dive bar, 3 cocktails in, and I’m entertaining the booze denizens with 1 of my many ridiculous stories. It’s just going to happen. Sorry.
* Sarcastic. Someone who would think that none of this was over-the-top snarky because, lads, this cynical streak runs deep.
What’s on your list?
SWF in SF, 41, 5’6, active.
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