Wednesday, September 15

Day 10149: It’s not who you can live with… It’s who you can’t live without

It’s always disturbed me when people ask me about my type… what I look for in a boy… what I want for my SO, my better half, my I-can’t-live-without-you-‘til-death-do-us-part etc. etc. blah, blah, blah… yada, yada,yada. Disturbed me because I didn’t know, and scared me, because I never really cared enough to sit down, think it through and create that list of what’s hot and what’s not. I always kind of figured that when the right person came along and accidentally smacked me in the face with his snowboard in the parking lot, our eyes would meet (the one that wasn’t swelled shut by the wack upside the head), we’d gaze longingly at each other (as he examined me for a concussion – him being a doctor and all) and he’d take me into his arms and hold me forever (as he half carries/half drags me across the grey-brown oil-slicked icy parking lot to the first aid hut).

But these days, in my newly singled state (ok, continually singled state, seeing as how the Triscuit “relationship” never officially existed), what with all the recent discussions of speed dating (I can’t believe I’m actually considering it), internet dating (I’m putting my foot down on that on, BMW), blind dating (wait… that issue has never come up…am I not good enough or something for your friends…?), self dating… oops… nix that one... I’ve begun to think about my wish list a whole lot more. *ahem* A whole lot more.

And why shouldn’t I? I’ll be the first to admit it. I’m not getting any younger. Oil of Olay aside, I might look like I’m 21… ok… 23… and I might act like I’m 23… ok… 21, but I haven’t been 21 or 23 for a very, very long time. And if the reports are right, and the best age to have kids really is 27-34 (considering health, wealth and mental abilities to raise semi-decent children), welp, I’m running out of time. Not that it really is a consideration at all, seeing as how a pack of rug-rats underfoot really does not appeal to me at the moment.

Regardless, it’s time to let go of the whole-wheat-nabisco-brand-product and move on (or get a rebound boy). It’s time to open my eyes, look deep inside me and figure out for myself that if the snowboarding doctor in the parking lot has “forgotten” to find me, well, I’m going to have to go out into the great blue yonder to find him. And I have to know what I’m looking for. No sense in waiting for fate to come hit me in the face, when I can stick my face out at fate. No sense in letting every single guy in the world become a prospect. This is a sit down, order a la carte kind of thing. I’m not interested in the buffet line… I don’t want a little of everything (and usually crappy-ass quality too)… I want what I want… and I want the best one out there… or the best one for me, at least.

So here goes, in no particular order, except how they popped into my head...

Laugh with me, not at me…

Be spontaneously silly. Have a sense of humour, a sense of wonder, a sense of fun, a sense of jest, a sense of merriment. Be ye not the serious fuddy-duddy who stands there in the corner with his arms crossed glaring at me when I say or do something silly. Because it’s bound to happen. I know it, you know it… everyone who’s seen me in a drunken, happily befuddled state knows it. But know what is appropriate. Sometimes, my fine fellow, it is important to act your age. You can’t be the froshie twenty-five year old prankster forever. Life doesn’t work that way…

Live a little, love a lot…

Be passionate about something. Love something other than yourself. Be it a sport, a place, a thing… your dog. I don’t care. Have a great past, a great present and a better future. Work towards something. Don’t accept things as they are. Strive to make things better… be the best darned person you can be. But do something. Travel. Ski. Snowboard. Paint. Don’t sit on your ass day in and day out and watch someone else’s life on the boob-tube all day. If you really need to stare at a boob… you can look at me. Live life as it’s meant to be lived, not as someone else wants you to live it... it makes good stories when you’re retired and have our grandchildren to dangle upside down from the 3rd storey balcony.

Talk to me…

Tell me how your day went. Tell me when you’re happy. Tell me when you’re sad. Tell me more than “yes…no…I dunno… whatever you want, honey…” Have an opinion. I’m really bad at guessing and if you don’t talk to me, I will not get it. I’m not good at communicating my feelings. I can’t do the guesswork for two. Tell me a story of the time you and your dad smuggled beer in from Quebec and tried to sell it to all the bars during the Ontario prohibition. Just talk to me. And tell me the truth – even when it hurts. I’ll love you more for having the courage to do so. That’s all I ask… that, and know when not to talk to me…

Touch me…

…hug me, kiss me. Pinch my butt when no one’s looking. Hold my hand when we’re grocery shopping just because you feel like it. Jump me in the middle of the afternoon with the windows wide open and the neighbours walking by. We don’t have to be at it like bunnies, but hell yeah, it’s important to me. Real important. Teach me, tease me. Want ME (and not the tall, skinny, blonde bimbo who lives in 12A).

I’m not your mother… or your housekeeper… You, on the other hand, are my handyman…

I promise that I’ll love your mother. How can I not love the person who brought up the boy I love? But I am not your mother. I won’t pay your bills, I won’t cook all your meals, I won’t clean the house by myself. For goodness sake, I barely know how to do my own laundry. So, unless you like your tighty-whiteys really tighty-pinky, lunch is not a PB&J everyday, dinner is not Mac and Cheese, just because it’s got broccoli in it doesn’t mean it’s yucky… and yes I still forget to separate my whites from my reds.

Know yourself…Love yourself

Be secure in yourself. Like who you are. I don’t want to deal with your insecurities too. Be open to new and wonderful things. Try something new. Not once, but twice. Just because you don’t like it the first time doesn’t mean you won’t love it the second. Experiment a little. Learn a lot. Teach me something. Know more than I do about something, anything, everything…

Miscellaneous…

Love me, love my family. Respect me, don’t just humour me. Open doors for me (especially car doors… mmmm). Pay for me on the rare occasion. Buy me flowers, make me lunch. Do things just because and not because I have to beg and plead for it. Try not to hurt me. Really try not to kill me. Be a gentleman in every sense of the word – all the time. Not just when it’s convenient.

And, last, but not least…

tall dark and handsome… ;)

Seriously… need I say more??? In all fairness, I’ll settle for tall, fair and reasonably cute… ;)

And in return? I promise to love you forever, and ever, bear your children, hold your hand when it thunderstorms and marry you for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until the fat lady sings and the pigs turn blue.

So, Mr. Snowboarding-hockey-playing-dragonboating-doctor-dude… ready or not, here I come…

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