I’ve decided I’m too old for men with potential anymore
But the other side of the story is that well over half of those young men with potential in Los Angeles become so enamored of the trip they don’t go anywhere. They coast along indefinitely on that promise of unexpected success over the next hill with no map to get there and no intention of buying one.
I’ve been in the passenger seat for many, many of those outings. I can now safely say I’ve gotten wild rides to nowhere out of my system. I’m ready to be with a man who has a direction, a map and who’s already gone halfway there.
But before I go into great detail about that specific “him” it’s only fair to tell you about the “her.”
I’m 29, 5’11”, clever, dryly witty, quite pretty and I have a slim figure that, when naked, I’m happy with nine days out of ten. (Truthfully, I’m only mildly disappointed that other time.) I enjoy sex but I’ve no inclination to go further beyond that statement and risk adding to the pointless luridness that passes for personality on the site. This city is too explicit for it’s own good as it is.
I’ve a job I enjoy, a home I’ve just recently re-decorated to my comfort, and friends and family who couldn’t be more supportive. I’m literate, well-traveled and I appreciate both passion and civility. That said, I don’t shout pointlessly about globalism, indulge in narcissistic intellectualism or have sex on the first date without a tremendously good reason.
And if you think I’m being obvious with “tremendous” clearly you’ve missed the point so far.
And that point is – really the crux of all of this so far – is that I’m happy with myself. Not giddy, satisfied or surprised. I’m genuinely happy being who I am and I’m very content with the company of who I've turned out to be.
That said…this ad.
To clarify: I’m not in the market for a savior, a fix-up project or any of the heretofore mentioned “boys with potential.” I’m looking for a man who, quite simply, adds to me. And I to him. A fair exchange, a genuine connection and a good place to build something better.
It’s simple. Not terribly profound but simple.
The man I’m looking for should have achieved something of substance with himself. Not necessarily of material means, but general aversions to financial success cut simply too close to the sandy-haired, aimless boys I’m trying to move on from.
He should be intelligent, thoughtful in his speech and should have finished at least one book in the last year that he learned something more significant from than cocktail recipes. And, respectfully, he should not be involved in Dianetics. Given, it’s blunt and unforgiving, but I’m hardly in the mood for new age dogmatism in any new relationship. It’s a bit of a mood killer.
He should be tall – because I am. He should be at least 31 – the age where men start to begin. And no older than 41 – the age men begin to take stock. And he should be moved by something. But which he shares rarely with others…if at all.
It’s a tall order and the only incentive I can give to men who’ve been interested this far is that, with all due modesty, I am worth the time it will take to reply if you’re the one. And when all is said and done, we’ll make each other certain and happy. And there will be nothing left to say or do.
I thank you for completing my far too long ad and indulging my inability to edit myself. If you’re the man I’m looking for, take a chance to re-read this, mull and decide on something of substance to reply. I wouldn’t want to lose you among the inevitable “N-E-Wayz write me soooooN!” notes that will be filling my inbox shortly.
And, honestly, if you are one of those boys – at this moment, readying your cut and paste replies and your photo-shopped nude pictures – this is as good a time as any to tell you that you’ll have far more luck with the athletic, bisexual girls of the San Fernando Valley who are looking to add more “friends with privileges” to their roster. Play the percentages and send them your note. They’re far more eager for it than I am.
Thank you for your discernment.
Everyone needs a handle, so I guess I'll just be...
(because even I know that a car counts for identity in this town).