The year is 2017 and no one should ever, ever be uncomfortable.
People have all sorts of ideas of how one should spend vacation. Touring around cities; looking for the best night spots and parties; drinking your face off, or at least until it’s numb, at the beach.
We do none of those things.
I love Snapchat. I cannot lie.
I love Snapchat!
I like no one. Really.
You should definitely swipe right and then I can tell you that in person when we go an awkward date in a too dark bar that serves wasabi kale peanuts in a trendy neighborhood that is overpriced, gentrified, and simmering with anxiety and hostility.
However, that probably won’t happen because see above: I like no one, so that means I will never swipe right on you.
Swipe right anyway. You know you want to.
I am humanoid. All of my parts are working. I keep to a rigorous maintenance schedule and I am happy to share with you the range of outcomes. Ha ha, pun intended. (Was that funny? You thought it was funny. I’m taking a class on that.)
Have a preference for a sun-filled bedroom so that I no longer need an alarm clock or an iPhone to rouse me from my deep, Oxycontin-induced slumber. Hopefully, there are few neighbors across the way, or are at least at some distance, for I do enjoy taking my rest in as little as possible, that is to imply my preference is for absolutely nothing. I find it helps me to commune deeper with myself.
Speaking of communing, would enjoy a neighborhood where glitter-yoga and community kale brewing is not just a thing, but a daily celebration. While I am certain this area will be particularly expensive to live in, and therefore I do and must continue to work for The Man, I am categorically, indisputably, and unrepentantly against The Man, and so when I am not chained to my desk, I like to do subversive acts in places where The Man cannot see me (but I am sure The Man knows and feels the spit of my subversive communalism on its capitalistic face).
Kitchen required. Unsure of how to use it. Bathroom a necessity, clawfoot tub is ideal, but I’ll take a modern-retro shower with a Grohe Rain showerhead, because that also helps me commune with myself. And nature. And overnight guests. While I eschew enslavement to The Man by owning a large, flatscreen TV, if one happens to be left behind when I take leased possession of said apartment, I will hold my nose and not complain. Exposed brickwork. High ceilings. Pets must be allowed: I need comfort.
Bar downstairs would be great. It will be my living room.
Must be a mammal that is able to meet me at the door…or somewhere around the apartment, therefore, likely a dog or a cat, but perhaps a rabbit would do, too. Hypo-allergenic, as furry animals are all in the realm of “things trying to kill me.” Not fussed on color, but very fussed on temperament; I already date enough women that tend to claw at me, emotionally and/or physically, do not require it in a pet. Some potty training required, but recognize that complete potty training may be a myth from the Interwebs. Animals never flush. I will provide all sorts of toys. Opposable thumbs not necessary.
Willing to pay $$$; not willing to sell my soul to Cthulhu. (Therefore, if there is an extensive owner interview, I am not down for that, because it’s just a bit much). Will care for pet with all my heart and make sure it eats organic…ish. Me casa es su casa. Must love humans; this one in particular.