My name is Michael.
I can be a strange guy. My buddy Kray says I'm the spryest 50-year-old he knows. Apparently, I dance like a white man on fire, but it's never stopped me. Sometimes you just have to groove with the lounge music. My buddy Marshall says I sound informed and I talk fast like a white boy American pimp trying to sell him a toaster. Actually a lot of people keep referring to me as a "pimp", but I'm pretty sure I haven't had a date in about two years. Maybe it's an honorary title or something.
I'm a total introvert. Honesty and respect are really important to me. I enjoy meeting new people, but I hate crowds. Dealing with the public totally wears me out and I do it every day at work. I enjoy low-key activities like: Talking over dinner. Road trips. Hiking and backpacking. And... stuff.
I'm very career-oriented. I'm a damned good bartender and barista. Sometimes I slip into East Coast or Mid-West accents for no apparent reason, despite the fact that I've never been to either. I have a secret past in the technical industry that I don't like to talk about. I wear combat boots and cowboy hats. I feel more at home on a ranch than anywhere else, but I grew up in Los Angeles. I have a secret love of knots, shoe polish and corny jokes, but not at the same time. I have a compulsive desire to own real estate and an innate fear of hippies. I know how to unjam a gun, program in over 20 computer languages, repel from a building, and bake lasagna. A government agency has determined that I can run a 200-yard course, jump over a 6-foot wall, weave in and out of parked cars, crawl through a tunnel, jump through a window and drag a body 10 feet -- and all in 62 seconds. If that’s not an applicable skill then I don’t know what is. I hold doors open for people, I say "Thank you", "Please" and "May I", I shake hands like a gentleman and I tip excessively, but I am still a smirking bastard.
I'm just this guy, you know?
-Michael
