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Mostly divorced, approximately HWP male seeks LTR for fun and friendship. My friends say that I am honest, caring and Caucasian. They also say that I like moonlight walks on the beach, where I might spend hours staring pensively at the crashing waves, scanning the horizon for unregistered watercraft bearing packages addressed to Fat Salvatore. Friends say that I love dogs, and will only recoil from one if the dog is a malamute or if its name is John-John. My friends will also tell you that my hands are preternaturally soft. And then they will add that there seems to be no explanation for this considering my part-time gig as a calf roper. I've explained to them that my smooth hands are testimony to the restorative properties of Jergen's hand cream, which I endorse on the northern California rodeo circuit. But my friends will tell you that they have never actually seen me near a live farm animal of any kind, though I do disappear for weeks at a time. They know to feed my cats if I stop returning phone calls. I have a knack (my friends say) for showing up at the very moment when they are thinking about me. While dining out with them, I might, for instance, return from the restroom just after the check has been paid. I could also arrive at the end of a moving day to help carry a box of dishtowels, just as the beer and pizza arrive. My friends will tell you I have great timing. My ex-girlfriends have a thing or two to say, too! They will insist that my prosthetic nipple is indistinguishable from the real thing, except when it rains. They'll probably tell you that my snoring sounds exactly like a Harley-Davidson VRSC with a rich carburetor mix – but in a good way. They will also tell you that, at mealtimes, I can become very quiet and distant, that I sigh a lot, and that I line up my vegetables into military formations – and then attack! They'll tell you stories about how, afterwards, I might try to engage them in a Siskel-and-Ebert-style review of the dinner, insisting that they take the role of whichever one was the fat guy. My friends love to talk about that laugh that wrinkles my nose until I look like a Shar-Pei with hay fever, a laugh that erupts easily and explosively, especially during chamber music concerts and funerals. They'll tell you right off that one of my most endearing qualities is my sense of humor, which came through at the Saturday Market the day that Silver Man – you know, the street performer who paints himself all silver? – was performing and I dropped a corndog fresh from the deep fryer down the back of his silver jacket. Ha ha! I'm sure my friends would have loved that if they hadn't disappeared. But I'm not all fun and games. Oh no. I like to take long walks in the countryside, alone with my thoughts and my metal detector. For it is there that I can clear my head of the concerns of the day, tuning out the little voice that tells me to go back and finish truck driving school. In those lonely places, I can freely do that thing for which I have been placed on earth: seek buried treasure. My friends have all seen my collection of antique bottle caps and car parts, which – and they will tell you this – if you and I begin dating, I will show you, too. |
