My childhood wasn't just odd, it was epic.
Ray Bradbury taught me how to make a hot fudge sundae and Herbie Hancock taught me to play chopsticks.
I wasn’t named until I was 5 years old. I was given the moniker “Donavan” by Santa Claus. In July. We kept the Christmas tree up all year long. Until that fateful yuletide summer, I was called “Baby.” I shared this name with the family dog, a freakishly small and very cute Yorkshire terrier.
In comparison to my childhood, being a grown up pales in comparison. It's hard not to get depressed about this, so I try to draw on the walls whenever possible.
Sometimes I carry a purple crayon, sometimes I go to funerals, but I am always a Harold.
I've hugged Kermit The Frog. Twice. He smelled like your grandmother's coat and was just as comforting.
I read medical books for fun. See also: Hypochondriac.
49% Clark Kent/51% Houdini
Invisibility over flight, but it's close.
I am certified by the Red Cross in advanced first aid. If you choke on a milk dud, I will know what to do. I once gave CPR to an old lady and when she awoke she asked me if we could order room service. I said yes and when the paramedics got there she told them to keep her pancakes in the warmer. I was smitten immediately. She may have been close to 90, but Harold & Maude is after all, my favorite film of all time.
I often feel like a cross between an old man and a little kid.
My Starbucks drink name is "Daddy".
I feel itchy a lot, but more on a soul level than a dermatological one. I also feel tired a lot. When I'm not feeling manic.
I am a walking paradox...except when I'm lying down. Which I often am. I hate straining myself. If you run marathons or do Yoga more often than you eat corn dogs, then you're probably not for me. Unless you do yoga and eat corn dogs at the same time. Then you're DEFINITELY for me.
What I'm looking for:
I like muppets. Not just the Henson kind, the human kind.
I like the quote, "Never trust anyone without a limp". If you ride the short bus, I want to ride in the front. Scratch that, I want to drive while you scream out the window.
I want you to message me if you fall into any of the following H's...
Harriet The Spy.
Our ideal first date:
I pick you up in the DeLorean and we take it up to 88 miles per hour. Once the flux capacitor kicks up to 1.21 Jigawatts, we go back in time of course. But not too far back. The early 90's should suffice. We buy as many shares as we can in Apple, Microsoft. Google, Facebook and Starbucks. Then we come back to the present day and pull into our Beverly Hills mansion. We ride up the long driveway to the front door. Our butler Raymond shows us into the main foyer and into the elevator behind the giant staircase. We take it to the basement where we have the roller boogie rink. After skating a while, we get all hot and sweaty so we grab a couple of Tabs and run outside to the ten million gallon salt water pool where we swim with our dolphins. When we feel tuckered out, we go back into the house, make a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches and take them up to the bedroom where we eat in our ridiculously huge bed, getting crumbs everywhere. Then we'll put on our matching 700 thread count jammies and have a frisky french kiss-a-thon. Perhaps a game of naked twister will follow.
On second thought, maybe we should save all that for our second date.
Our first date should probably just involve getting coffee and seeing if we have any chemistry.