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thought i was a donut, ya tried to glaze me

2.28.2007

boyfriend application

I was sitting in one of the local watering holes a few months back, with some old friends who've been with me since the days of magic diaries and pogs (if you don't understand the reference, just know it's a long time). There are certain things we always talk about-- local gossip and what we've been watching on TV and what we think of Gwen Stefani's new song and tampons and stuff. You know, girl talk. A lot of it is just drunk talk--the type of thing girls talk about at a table, early in the morning, with more than a few in. And someone will ultimately complain about their love life, and then we'll all chime in, and complain about the lack of decent men out there. And we'll curse the Earth for putting us in these predicaments, and order another round. We'll talk about love--the pursuit of it, the way it can leave your life as quick as it came, the way it can be hiding right in front of you. The way we thought it would be different when we were younger and the big questions of "where is he?" or "is this all there is?" and...

...damn. Anyone else need another drink?

Now this all goes back to high school, when we had half an hour every day to sit around a table and talk. Back then, though, we were younger and dumb enough to think that it'd be easier when we got older, that we still wouldn't be sitting around a table trying to figure it all out. And we're young, yet, and still under the assumption that in 3, 5, 10 years it'll all be easy. That we won't be meeting at the Irish Circle to sit at an empty table and let it all out.

But where was I going with this? That night a few months back, at the table--right. One of my friends asked about who our ideal guy would be, and seriously--no jake-gyllenhaal's-face-with-david-beckham's-body responses were acceptable. I think at the time I said something dumb and sarcastic--"fatter than me, so the wedding photos look proportionate. and doesn't beat me."

The friend who asked and I came up with something we thought explained who we wanted: "someone who can build me a deck." It sounds vague, and no, we don't have a thing for woodworkers. But the idea of someone taking care of you and building you a deck to throw parties on? That carries over into a lot of things. And no, the whole deck-building thing isn't necessarily a deal breaker for me...he can always call a contractor. This whole discussion got me thinking, and months later I still think about it. Usually when I'm coming home on the train, which might explain my requirement of "lives in an apartment closer to work, has enough room for my clothes."

So who's my ideal mate?

Like I said earlier, someone who's fatter than me. Because who wants to be the Ashley to someone's Mary Kate? (does anyone get that anorexic-twin reference?)

He also shouldn't beat me, but I guess shouldn't verbally abuse me either. He has to be funny, and sarcastic, and smart (but not pretentiously smart) and like to go out and get drunk, but not all the time. He has to like sports, because I don't trust guys who don't like sports. I can't deal with someone who's obsessed with the gym, or with his hair, or with his clothes. He has to look nice, though, and smell nice too. We have to be able to have a conversation--actually, conversations. I like to talk, and I want someone to talk to.

He has to understand my references and watch a lot of TV and have shows he can't miss, but not so many shows that he can't share the hard drive space on his DVR for the shows I can't miss. It won't hurt if he can cook, but I'll just take any appreciation for food. I'll take a true partner, especially a dance partner.



So the hard part's over--I know what I want in an ideal mate. Now for the easy part; finding him.


But I'm lazy. Can't he can just find me? I have a feeling I'm gonna be at that table in the bar for a few more years.


Listen, I want to have an interesting life; I want to have a crazy journey. All I'm looking for is someone to sit shotty, and maybe take over the wheel when it all becomes too much.

2 comments:

Fortune said...

le sigh.

Morna said...

Well said.

I wonder if my writing has even improved?