Dear Sexpot:
Hi there! Needless to say your ad caught my eye. I respect a woman who orders "1 or 2" of something she really wants. Your list of quality characteristics shows that you are sensible and confident. I like that. I love it! You are so straightforward.
Anyway, as to meeting up to your standards...hmmmn! We would have to be our own judges of that now, wouldn't we? I can say honestly and confidently that I am all of those things. Except 5-10+. I'm 5-9. Does this mean that I can't go on the ride? 'Cause I'll throw a tantrum. I'd wear high heels for ya, babe. No, really...if you wore garterbelts and fishnets. Accessories are optional. Ah, now we digress.
I hope to keep this letter short and to the point, so I will tell you forthrightly that I do not have AIDS or HIV or whatever they are calling it these days. My history has been one of religious celibacy and long term monogamous relationships. Except for high school, but I think we can forgive anyone of high school excesses. If they were committed before 1983.
That's when I was flung into the monastery, but I don't wish to speak of that now. It makes my loins burn with anger to think that for 5 years I did not plow. My seed went unsown. Poor Henry, poor poor Hank...But I have become vulgar. Let's just say I'm back.
But the world has changed. No more free love. Nome more safe love or safe nuthin. I guess life is a game of chances, but the prudent--who live--don't chance jumping in front of a train every day. Now, on a good day, with a good running start, favorable tailwind, and a Wheaties breakfast behind them...the prudent might try just about anything! But prudently. Which, at times, means being a prude. Better prude than dead. Ha. Enough on that, I am a completely safe risk.
But other qualities, which are equally important, I find hard to discuss without sounding pompous. I really am attractive, considerate, in shape, respecting of women and--ahem--erotic and sensual. So why waste this lovely sheet of paper on subjective delusional abstractions?
I am 27 years old. I stay in shape by bicycling, swimming, canoeing and weight-lifting. I keep my fingers in shape by playing guitar. I read a lot, but mostly on the job. I'm graveyard shift at the local board and care for the mentally ill. Nice job. Nice people. Schizophrenic and bipolar, mostly. I like camping and fishing. Regular sort of guy. Who looks like a cross between John Lennon, Jesus and, oh, yes, Adonis. Or was it Narcissus?
Anyway, 'nuff about me. Let's talk. Let's meet. Let's get wild and crazy. In a sensible and prudent fashion. Much affection, hugs and kisses.
Andrew
343-2372
Monday, March 30, 1992
Response to Sexpot (another personal ad)
Hi, I'm Andrew, AKA Hoodyup the Evil Caregiver, and I approved this blog post. I may not have been in my right mind at the time, but what's done is done. I stand by my sins. Eppur si muove.
I started this blog as a way to vent my frustrations with life, the universe and everything (not the book by Douglas Adams; that was quite good, actually).
My seemingly charmed life took a turn in 2004 when my wife Sharon was diagnosed with MS. This blog documents the fallout and revisits the past, as well as chronicling my dreams and rants throughout the years.
Be warned - explicit language and content that runs the gamut can be found in these posts, which describe personal events, both real and those dreamed up by my overactive nocturnal psyche.
Also, I use real names whenever possible, so if you see a post with your name on it, it probably refers to you. Unless, of course, you don't know me, in which case it is purely coincidental.
Enjoy your visit. Comment, if you so desire, or lurk privately. This blog can be your guilty pleasure (or displeasure).
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.