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?

Never Send a Writer to do a Programmer’s Job

So okay, Skyhammer, you have to take the blame for manifesting this one. The string of lights that did fall down in the middle of the night scaring the shit out of me were the icicles Po and I hung, not any of the numerous strings hung by the team you spearheaded with Duder and Fast Mike. But since Duder and I helped and we are both writers and you guys are both programmers…Oh, never mind, cancels out I suppose. But that is just the math and my head hurts a bit today. Wonder why.

Did just find three tiny cheese puffs hidden under a couple baguette slices thou. Num. Breakfast. Hah, The Puffs made yet another convert last night. Mandolin Mike was truly skeptical I think. Informed me he wasn’t really a cheese puff kinda guy. Yah. He fell hard and fast like all the rest do. Good man wasn’t too proud to admit it immediately though. Thanks to Squish and Skyhammer for helping me with the heavy lifting on that, you either need some serious guns to do a double batch of choux pastry or a tag team of friends that respond well to my bleating, “Beat it! Beat it hard!” The Mikes were standing bye for the hand off, but Skyhammer pulled it across the finish line, the last great spate of beating motivated by Squish and I screaming cheers in his ears, no doubt. Oh, can’t forget Po’s cubing of the cheese either. Exactly what is it that you did Coco? I supervised of course.

Alright, need some scrambled eggs with the leftover chorizo and some serious coffee. Not fresh-roasted Jamaican Blue Mountain, like Mandolin Mike is no doubt enjoying as I write this. Can’t imagine having the patience to roast my own coffee beans. Hmm. Okay back with some musing on writing from last night that will be infused with caffeine, not red wine. Cripes as I type that I can hear one of the writing Nazi’s in my head whining that coffee is to red wine as caffeine is to alcohol. Shut up. I had too much of one last night and not enough of the other yet today, so if you don’t want me to unleash my supernatural freak collection into your damp little interrogation room, you will SHUT UP! And I will eat scrambled eggs and chorizo, with a little Guinness cheese grated over top.