Holy Shit! The Woman Of My Dreams: 'Do You All Know Who I Really May Be?'

SWF, young enough, not yet old, weird, fine-enough looking (and that’s not just therapy talking), absolutely no interest in or patience with mingling, machinery, or the usual fanciness. Likes nasty weather, flying and creeping and vulnerable things, C-SPAN when people are just sitting around sipping from glasses of water or clearing their throats, Jeff What’s-His-Name, boiled eggs if someone else does the boiling and knows what they’re doing, Michener (just kidding), Albert Schweitzer (his mustache, anyway, if I’m thinking of the right guy, and I’m probably not), canned goods if they have interesting labels, Chick-O-Sticks, chili, dogs if they do what they’re told, coffee, cold beverages, hippies (although I suppose it kind of depends on what you mean by hippies and if you mean what I think you mean, then no), certain types of music when I’m in the mood for certain types of music, driving on bad roads, sitting on my ass listening to you play your harmonica or whatever it is you play, sitting quietly in the dark, eavesdropping, the sun when it’s least expected or most welcome, people who care enough to wave signs (just so long as they don’t try to get too close to me or ask me to sign anything), hot sauce, roaring fires, mashed potatoes, fried potatoes, potatoes, books if they’re any good, and You: If you ask questions, own at least two forks and one plate, know your way around a microwave oven, have so much passion you don’t know what to do with it all, and would please please please at least make a conscious effort to be kind and gentle and sweet.