I’m 22 years old, I’ve got a liberal arts degree with a handful of minors in topics too narrow to mention. You’ll probably be enrolled in some bullshit art major. Fibers most likely. That’s ok, I’ve got a job in the software industry. I can afford to pay for your coffee and thrift store habits. If this is going to work out at all you’ll have to give up your shitty vodka obsession and start getting into high brow Irish whiskeys. Speaking of food, I’m ovo-lacto vegetarian, look it up. I look at pescatarians and omnivores with disgust and disdain, respectively. Veganism is fine, but it better not get in the way of my whiskey.

I’m into girls that are teetering on the edge of sanity; I myself probably ought to visit the psychiatrists. I’m almost certainly armed with a case of atypical depression. I’ve got experience with dystemia, mania, psychotic depression, schizophrenia, and most disorders related to the Parasympathetic nervous system, so whatever you’ve got I’m fine with it. In fact, I’m going to say that its required. I dig damaged women.

I’m a rather militant agnostic. I don’t know and neither do you. Are you into spirituality, new ageism or other hippie shit? Make sure to keep mum about it and maybe we’ll get along fine. I dislike liberals. But that doesn’t make me a republican. My political manifesto would read like the spoiled only child of Mills’ On Liberty and Murphy’s Kill The White People. I’m probably not going to get out and protest, but I will talk shit about your parents.

I ride a fixie; if you live far away, you’re going to need a car. I’m not going to bother coming to your place if its more than 5 miles away. Ideally you’d have a fixie too, but I’m willing to entertain the idea of dating even crusier riders: providing you make up for that defect with some other perk. If you can’t ride a bike, don’t respond; that’s really the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.

Pictures necessary. No shots from above to diminish your body issues.