1) He must have world-class take my breath away intelligence.
In short he needs to know lots of stuff that I don’t. Good luck with that mere mortal boys.
Ref. Skyhammer, Pablito, Frenchiepants, Hoosie, The Analyst, Angel Boy
2) He must laugh at my jokes.
More than that he must motivate me to tell even greater jokes.
His laughter. I relish it, I crave it. It is a new addiction with no calories and only side effects are sore cheek muscles from smiling and sore abs from laughing.
Ref. Hoosie, Pablito, Angel Boy
3) He must enjoy to give and receive frequent massages.
The memory of just how good he was at the art of massage. And he loved doing it too. Mind you it was part of his training in physical education and if memory serves one of the few classes he actually bothered to attend. This is really just a euphemism for the idea that he really, really has to like touching me. But you knew that.
Ref. The Fiancée, The Analyst, The Baritone
4) He must embrace his sense of silly.
A man who can giggle without then turning around and leaping on the table in the presence of a mouse? Someone who would be happy to eat cinnamon toast and tea every morning for a week, simply because you announced that it was “cinnamon toast and tea” week. Makes me feel cinnamon toasty just thinking about it.
Ref. Skyhammer, Hoosie, Pablito, Frenchiepants, The Cossack, The Analyst, The Skateboarder, Angel Boy
5) He must make me feel brilliant.
Because he IS brilliant in some way and then when he gets that very considered look and says to me “You’re brilliant” – I actually believe him. More than that, he has to not mind that I just might, in some ways be more brilliant than he, and instead of finding that frightening, finds it exciting.
Ref. Skyhammer, Hoosie, Singer, The Jester
Showing posts with label perfect man. Show all posts
Showing posts with label perfect man. Show all posts
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
My Perfect Man Part III The Hoosie List Part I
He must laugh at my jokes.
More than that he must motivate me to tell even greater jokes.
Hoosie laughs at all my jokes and I do mean alllllll my jokes. He can deal with me all me for 7.5 hours and still be laughing at my jokes. I amuse him. And he is so continually surprised and delighted by my hyperbole that watching his reaction to my most outrageous of comments is a singular pleasure that I suspect will never be repeated. I relish it, I crave it. It is a new addiction with no calories and only side effects of sore cheek muscles from smiling and sore abs from laughing.
There will be more from Hoosie, but right now I must attend to things like eating and showering and playing guitar. Not however all at the same time.
More than that he must motivate me to tell even greater jokes.
Hoosie laughs at all my jokes and I do mean alllllll my jokes. He can deal with me all me for 7.5 hours and still be laughing at my jokes. I amuse him. And he is so continually surprised and delighted by my hyperbole that watching his reaction to my most outrageous of comments is a singular pleasure that I suspect will never be repeated. I relish it, I crave it. It is a new addiction with no calories and only side effects of sore cheek muscles from smiling and sore abs from laughing.
There will be more from Hoosie, but right now I must attend to things like eating and showering and playing guitar. Not however all at the same time.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The Perfect Man List Part II
Hello Lactic Acid my Old Friend.
Yeah, I’ve missed you. And yet here you are again delivering your message of intra-muscular love with all the intensity of youthful passion. Ow. Just because I know you’ll all be so fascinated by the process of a computer bound writer daring to step away from the keyboard and resurrect her once significant athletic prowess. Ow. For the record though all 656 or 850 muscles in this human body are speaking loudly. And hey, how can it be the 21st century and we still can’t figure out how many muscles are in the human body? What’s that about? Can academics really NEVER agree? Lock yourselves in a room kids and duke it out. The world needs a definitive answer to this burning question.
Whoooosh. I had to use the word “burning’ didn’t I? But I digress, now there’s a surprise. Yes my knees ache a bit as do the biceps and the hands but the winner in the “how loud can muscles scream” competition today are the Latissimus Dorsi and Trapezius along with the associated Thoracolumbar Fascia. In short, I need a back rub. The Ibuprofen and the hot bath can only do so much. I need a man’s strong hands to get back there and do some serious work.
Fine, a thought which leads me back to the serious work of the day the Qualities of My Perfect Man list Part II.
He must enjoy to give and receive frequent massages.
Though there have been a few aspirants over the years the crown still belongs to The Fiancée. Who it should be pointed out was seriously in doubt of making this list at all until the tide of Lactic Acid and the concomitment memory of just how good he was at the art of massage. And he loved doing it too. Mind you it was part of his training in physical education and if memory serves one of the few classes he actually bothered to attend.
So there you go, he has to be able to play this body like a piano. Which, come to think of it maybe should be a separate line-item. I’m going to go away now and soak my hands in hot water and think about that a bit.
Yeah, I’ve missed you. And yet here you are again delivering your message of intra-muscular love with all the intensity of youthful passion. Ow. Just because I know you’ll all be so fascinated by the process of a computer bound writer daring to step away from the keyboard and resurrect her once significant athletic prowess. Ow. For the record though all 656 or 850 muscles in this human body are speaking loudly. And hey, how can it be the 21st century and we still can’t figure out how many muscles are in the human body? What’s that about? Can academics really NEVER agree? Lock yourselves in a room kids and duke it out. The world needs a definitive answer to this burning question.
Whoooosh. I had to use the word “burning’ didn’t I? But I digress, now there’s a surprise. Yes my knees ache a bit as do the biceps and the hands but the winner in the “how loud can muscles scream” competition today are the Latissimus Dorsi and Trapezius along with the associated Thoracolumbar Fascia. In short, I need a back rub. The Ibuprofen and the hot bath can only do so much. I need a man’s strong hands to get back there and do some serious work.
Fine, a thought which leads me back to the serious work of the day the Qualities of My Perfect Man list Part II.
He must enjoy to give and receive frequent massages.
Though there have been a few aspirants over the years the crown still belongs to The Fiancée. Who it should be pointed out was seriously in doubt of making this list at all until the tide of Lactic Acid and the concomitment memory of just how good he was at the art of massage. And he loved doing it too. Mind you it was part of his training in physical education and if memory serves one of the few classes he actually bothered to attend.
So there you go, he has to be able to play this body like a piano. Which, come to think of it maybe should be a separate line-item. I’m going to go away now and soak my hands in hot water and think about that a bit.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
I think I'm wearing Hoosie's Socks
It's not really as much of a creepy stalker thing as it sounds, but I'll get to that in a minute. First we have to get through the speaking of the dream.
If you've been following the current events in my head, you'll know that I spent some time last evening ruminating on the qualities of my Perfect Man. Cause it's research don't you know. The co-protagonist of the rom-com that I'm writing is on the hunt for her perfect guy. I've decided though, that a straight up check list of qualities is too dull. If I am concocting my own virtual Frankenstein's Love Monster, I need to be much more engaged in the process than just getting down 1) sense of humour 2) kind eyes, etc. Thus a bunch of guys from my past and present will form the big amorphous lump of qualities from which I will select specific items that appeal and apply. For the record, these are not just past boyfriends, these are just guys I know that have something about them that I like. And if you don't spot yourself on the list, you are quite welcome to remind me why you should be included. I like white roses, Veve Cliquot and diamonds of pretty much any kind. And hand massages - did I mention that before? Between the writing and guitar playing, I need a good hand massage from time to time.
After posting my first batch of qualities I was about to move on to Hoosie's list, but since his listing will be a long one, for many reasons, not the least of which is that I'm writing this bloody script for him so he is in my head a lot. And when I say a lot, I mean almost a creepy a lot so maybe I'm entitled to the damn socks people. Anyhoo, I digress. I decide to wait until tonight to launch into the Hoosie list as it will be a key part of the character development of Elliot, who is meant to be portrayed on screen by the aforementioned Hoosie. Thus I decide to play a bit of guitar and go to bed. Which I did. As I was drifting off, still sorting thru the boys in my head - realizing that most, though not all would be from the My Boys list, who are a select and secret group of guys for whom I would do a Favour - but that is for another post. And so while thinking these thoughts the great ocean that is sleep rises up and gently carries me away.
The dream starts as one of those weird office dreams that is every office you've every been in and yet none of them at the same time it was meant to be my current office at the university I think and I was supposed to be making a short ten minute film about our operations problem was everyone started running around and talking all at the same time about all the things that I absolutely must capture on film and a bunch of folks start roaring around with hand held video cameras and now the whole thing is a big giant Busby Berkley musical number with a big group of graduate students in robes doing an elaborate step dance number I'm chasing around shouting instructions to the very few co-workers I recognize take a left turn down the hall to the accounting offices only to discover that I've walked into an Office version of a Fellini orgy scene and when I tut and shake my head because these people are supposed to be helping me make a movie not getting each other off behind the assistant accountants filing cabinet one of them shocked and embarrassed by my scrutiny asks what I'm doing and i say what am i doing what are you guys doing if you are going to do that one of you should at least have a video camera so we can recoup some money out of this fiasco i shove a video camera into his hand and take off for the main bull pen area shouting instructions to the clueless production assistants trailing in my wake the dancing students have now broken into little gangs of break dancers and I shout for them all to get over by the big giant purple curtain which i pause to note is a very particular pascal purple used by the catholic church to cover statues and crucifixes during lent i can't remember why so the dancers scurry to form a kick line and i move into the kitchen which is much smaller and quieter but messy and we need to shoot in here so I put some hot water and soap in the sink to wash the stack of dirty mugs and my boyfriend is standing right beside me...
... calmly and happily asks what he can do to help and i say you could wash and then i put my hand in the water and it is hot and nice and eases the ache in my hand a bit definitely too much guitar and typing going on and then i say or dry and he says no he'll wash and i say you don't have to and he says no i want to and i say you do and he says yes and he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me into him a bit and kisses my forehead softly just above my left eyebrow and says sure it will give us a chance to spend some time together just breathing each other in then he does breathe in and hold me a moment steps back just enough for me to see his face his hands holding me loosely by the elbows he is about 6 foot one inch tall and his face is young and sweet and his long thick straight blond hair is a bit too long and hangs in his eyes and his body is lean and cut it recalls a cross between a skateboarder named rabbit i dated in my mid-twenties and Brad Pitt circa Thelma an Louise he smiles at me and deep dimples wink and his eyes twinkle but his eyes are not blue they are dark dark green like forest pools almost black around the edges and the color of new growth and sunlight near the pupils he smells of ocean and fresh sweat and grass hot in the sun and he smiles at me and i say good answer and he kisses me and tastes of berries and the kiss deepens and the alarm goes off.
So I get up and write this. Now I have to go to work. Sigh.
If you've been following the current events in my head, you'll know that I spent some time last evening ruminating on the qualities of my Perfect Man. Cause it's research don't you know. The co-protagonist of the rom-com that I'm writing is on the hunt for her perfect guy. I've decided though, that a straight up check list of qualities is too dull. If I am concocting my own virtual Frankenstein's Love Monster, I need to be much more engaged in the process than just getting down 1) sense of humour 2) kind eyes, etc. Thus a bunch of guys from my past and present will form the big amorphous lump of qualities from which I will select specific items that appeal and apply. For the record, these are not just past boyfriends, these are just guys I know that have something about them that I like. And if you don't spot yourself on the list, you are quite welcome to remind me why you should be included. I like white roses, Veve Cliquot and diamonds of pretty much any kind. And hand massages - did I mention that before? Between the writing and guitar playing, I need a good hand massage from time to time.
After posting my first batch of qualities I was about to move on to Hoosie's list, but since his listing will be a long one, for many reasons, not the least of which is that I'm writing this bloody script for him so he is in my head a lot. And when I say a lot, I mean almost a creepy a lot so maybe I'm entitled to the damn socks people. Anyhoo, I digress. I decide to wait until tonight to launch into the Hoosie list as it will be a key part of the character development of Elliot, who is meant to be portrayed on screen by the aforementioned Hoosie. Thus I decide to play a bit of guitar and go to bed. Which I did. As I was drifting off, still sorting thru the boys in my head - realizing that most, though not all would be from the My Boys list, who are a select and secret group of guys for whom I would do a Favour - but that is for another post. And so while thinking these thoughts the great ocean that is sleep rises up and gently carries me away.
The dream starts as one of those weird office dreams that is every office you've every been in and yet none of them at the same time it was meant to be my current office at the university I think and I was supposed to be making a short ten minute film about our operations problem was everyone started running around and talking all at the same time about all the things that I absolutely must capture on film and a bunch of folks start roaring around with hand held video cameras and now the whole thing is a big giant Busby Berkley musical number with a big group of graduate students in robes doing an elaborate step dance number I'm chasing around shouting instructions to the very few co-workers I recognize take a left turn down the hall to the accounting offices only to discover that I've walked into an Office version of a Fellini orgy scene and when I tut and shake my head because these people are supposed to be helping me make a movie not getting each other off behind the assistant accountants filing cabinet one of them shocked and embarrassed by my scrutiny asks what I'm doing and i say what am i doing what are you guys doing if you are going to do that one of you should at least have a video camera so we can recoup some money out of this fiasco i shove a video camera into his hand and take off for the main bull pen area shouting instructions to the clueless production assistants trailing in my wake the dancing students have now broken into little gangs of break dancers and I shout for them all to get over by the big giant purple curtain which i pause to note is a very particular pascal purple used by the catholic church to cover statues and crucifixes during lent i can't remember why so the dancers scurry to form a kick line and i move into the kitchen which is much smaller and quieter but messy and we need to shoot in here so I put some hot water and soap in the sink to wash the stack of dirty mugs and my boyfriend is standing right beside me...
... calmly and happily asks what he can do to help and i say you could wash and then i put my hand in the water and it is hot and nice and eases the ache in my hand a bit definitely too much guitar and typing going on and then i say or dry and he says no he'll wash and i say you don't have to and he says no i want to and i say you do and he says yes and he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me into him a bit and kisses my forehead softly just above my left eyebrow and says sure it will give us a chance to spend some time together just breathing each other in then he does breathe in and hold me a moment steps back just enough for me to see his face his hands holding me loosely by the elbows he is about 6 foot one inch tall and his face is young and sweet and his long thick straight blond hair is a bit too long and hangs in his eyes and his body is lean and cut it recalls a cross between a skateboarder named rabbit i dated in my mid-twenties and Brad Pitt circa Thelma an Louise he smiles at me and deep dimples wink and his eyes twinkle but his eyes are not blue they are dark dark green like forest pools almost black around the edges and the color of new growth and sunlight near the pupils he smells of ocean and fresh sweat and grass hot in the sun and he smiles at me and i say good answer and he kisses me and tastes of berries and the kiss deepens and the alarm goes off.
So I get up and write this. Now I have to go to work. Sigh.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
My Perfect Man Wish List. Part I
So the men referenced here, by in large, are referenced by nickname so as to afford them all a modicum of privacy. In case you are asking. Don’t. If you don’t know who I am referring to, then you don’t’ get to know. Deal with it. They are also not in anyway listed in chronological order, nor in order of IMPORTANCE, though of course since they all appear on my list they are, always and ever, cherished.
Skyhammer.
From my acquaintance with Skyhammer, my Perfect Man needs to have that world-class, take-my-breath-away intelligence. In short, he needs to know lots of stuff I don’t. Good luck with that mere mortal boys.
He also needs Skyhammer’s sense of silly. A man who can giggle without then turning around and leaping on the table in the presence of a mouse? That is valuable indeed ladies.
Someone who would be happy to eat cinnamon toast and tea every morning for a week, simply because you announced that it was “cinnamon toast and tea” week.
The way he makes me feel brilliant. Because he IS brilliant when he gets a very considered look and says to me “You’re brilliant” – I actually believe him. Makes me feel cinnamon toasty.
Gosh, so many great men to get to, but I’m not done with Skyhammer. He can Tango. Never seen him Tango. Never Tangoed with me, but when he describes his love of Tango – I believe him.
Last and not in anyway least – he knows the pointy end of the sword from the edge, and the tang and the hilt and pommel and the cross guard and the fuller and the grip and the scabbard. Not to mention his understanding of the bow and the arrow and the shaft and fletching and nock and draw and nevermind – you get my point. If there is a Dragon around this is one guy I would like to be around to slay him for me.
The Cossacks
There are two. Who have never met each other by the way. One an old friend, one of new acquaintance. Big. Blond. Tall. Light of eye and quick of laugh.
Strangely the thing they have in common was they look surprised to see me and always seem to be surprised at how happy they are to see me. Does that make any sense? I like their sense of confidence in their bodies. Tall, strong and fit and they know it. And they know what to do with it. Comfortable in their own skins in a way few men of my acquaintance are. At the same time, no real sense of arrogance over their beauty or physical prowess. They don’t poster, because they don’t need to, they just are. Their ability to be in the moment.
The Runner
Not that he was technically my first kiss, but he was actually my first French kiss. Side by side on a schoolyard swing set, on a cold fall night. What we need from him is the taste of raspberries. He tasted of raspberries. And I kissed him longer and more diligently than perhaps anyone since – that is one of those glorious things about teenage necking sessions, isn’t it? You kiss for hours and days and months. Be honest, making out has never really been as much fun since, has it? Kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. He always tasted of raspberries. Day after day, regardless of food and drink, he tasted of raspberries. I wonder if he still does?
Skyhammer.
From my acquaintance with Skyhammer, my Perfect Man needs to have that world-class, take-my-breath-away intelligence. In short, he needs to know lots of stuff I don’t. Good luck with that mere mortal boys.
He also needs Skyhammer’s sense of silly. A man who can giggle without then turning around and leaping on the table in the presence of a mouse? That is valuable indeed ladies.
Someone who would be happy to eat cinnamon toast and tea every morning for a week, simply because you announced that it was “cinnamon toast and tea” week.
The way he makes me feel brilliant. Because he IS brilliant when he gets a very considered look and says to me “You’re brilliant” – I actually believe him. Makes me feel cinnamon toasty.
Gosh, so many great men to get to, but I’m not done with Skyhammer. He can Tango. Never seen him Tango. Never Tangoed with me, but when he describes his love of Tango – I believe him.
Last and not in anyway least – he knows the pointy end of the sword from the edge, and the tang and the hilt and pommel and the cross guard and the fuller and the grip and the scabbard. Not to mention his understanding of the bow and the arrow and the shaft and fletching and nock and draw and nevermind – you get my point. If there is a Dragon around this is one guy I would like to be around to slay him for me.
The Cossacks
There are two. Who have never met each other by the way. One an old friend, one of new acquaintance. Big. Blond. Tall. Light of eye and quick of laugh.
Strangely the thing they have in common was they look surprised to see me and always seem to be surprised at how happy they are to see me. Does that make any sense? I like their sense of confidence in their bodies. Tall, strong and fit and they know it. And they know what to do with it. Comfortable in their own skins in a way few men of my acquaintance are. At the same time, no real sense of arrogance over their beauty or physical prowess. They don’t poster, because they don’t need to, they just are. Their ability to be in the moment.
The Runner
Not that he was technically my first kiss, but he was actually my first French kiss. Side by side on a schoolyard swing set, on a cold fall night. What we need from him is the taste of raspberries. He tasted of raspberries. And I kissed him longer and more diligently than perhaps anyone since – that is one of those glorious things about teenage necking sessions, isn’t it? You kiss for hours and days and months. Be honest, making out has never really been as much fun since, has it? Kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. He always tasted of raspberries. Day after day, regardless of food and drink, he tasted of raspberries. I wonder if he still does?
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