A sigh carries the weight of a million emotions.
The nook, what a lovely place to be.
Nestled against the temperate tuft of your chest is where I find
the quiet contentment that lulls me to sleep.
Legs entangled,
and bodies twisted together in the jigsaw
fashion that matches my being to yours.
The nook is love; it is that place between dreams and sleep
and whispered conversation that deciphers the diction of my skin against yours.
I love that place of safety, and I crave it
after tireless weekdays and work induced stress.
I find comfort, and ease in the embrace of the nook.
It is settling. It is intoxicating. It is paradise.
It is pressed into the space between your neck and your chest -
against your collar bone and curled into your side.
With every moment of my cheek against your skin,
I fall deeper into a satiated place of absolute love and affection.
And here, I sigh, and kiss away the weight of a million emotions.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
[rewind] Drink Your Wine
I wrote the excerpt below in the spring of 2009. I recently uncovered a forgotten blog, and this piece was one work that stood out. It is now four years later and I still have these philosophical convictions about life, my life, and where it's going. For an extrovert, I am pretty closed off when it comes to dealing with my own emotions and the stressors in my life. For whatever reason, I find the easiest course of action against defeat is solitude. I think that it is easier to self-destruct and push your emotions to the extreme than it is to take pause and really reflect on your demons. But read, and develop your own opinions.
Breath taking moments, require no introduction.
A leap of faith sends chills down the spine of an irresponsible lover. Momentary lapses in judgment have left this heart brash. Immobile. And fierce.
Irony should be drunk like wine; appreciate the crisp bite as it transcends through your being and casts a thick fog of doubt over your beautifully correlated plan. Life is a plan, whether you choose to acknowledge the itinerary or not. Each moment breaks into the next – strung like beads: ornate. Unique. But patterned together for a larger purpose. Building blocks of the future, so cliché and generic that these moments slip into minutes, and hours that consume years. This future draws rapidly and leaves in a blink, dusting memories in its wake. Life is measured in discovery, anniversaries, and achievement. It is the girth between beads and the substance of our purpose. As young adults, we plot success. The world waits, bated, at our fingertips. Our minds are full of ideas; innovation inspires confidence, and a ‘can-do’ attitude that fuels this ego and pushes the belief that we can conquer the world. And we do. The top of the mountain blazes, and draws to it an army of creative minds. The early years fly, and the victory found in achievement creates frenzy. Having tasted the brevity of success, we feel exalted and push forward. Drive and ambition are powerful traits of a person's character, they define an individuals ideals and create a divide between those that DO, and those that DO NOT. Face it, we're not all crafted for victory. 'The road less traveled', so to speak, rears greater reward. But the journey is perilous and not all are crazy enough for the challenge. So these peers find comfort in their lack of ambition and fall into a monotonous wasteland. For them, it is easier to live in chaos than it is to try and tame it - they settle. This portrayal of the comrade and the fallen is evident in every generation.
This journey consumes a lifetime - and in a breath, we stop. We measure our gains in losses and achievement; our life has been threaded together in beads and bracelets. The moments of the inbetween, at the time, seemed so tedious and penniless. But upon recollection, those moments come to life and curve the lips upwards into that small, private smile. To appreciate life, or to understand success, we must overcome regret and pay acknowledgement to the smaller details. Insert irony here. Years spent focused on the prize end in nostalgia, and recollection of life's more minute bringings. Drink your irony, and embrace its pithy. Paint your portrait in shades of vibrance; this is your life, Live It.
Breath taking moments, require no introduction.
A leap of faith sends chills down the spine of an irresponsible lover. Momentary lapses in judgment have left this heart brash. Immobile. And fierce.
Irony should be drunk like wine; appreciate the crisp bite as it transcends through your being and casts a thick fog of doubt over your beautifully correlated plan. Life is a plan, whether you choose to acknowledge the itinerary or not. Each moment breaks into the next – strung like beads: ornate. Unique. But patterned together for a larger purpose. Building blocks of the future, so cliché and generic that these moments slip into minutes, and hours that consume years. This future draws rapidly and leaves in a blink, dusting memories in its wake. Life is measured in discovery, anniversaries, and achievement. It is the girth between beads and the substance of our purpose. As young adults, we plot success. The world waits, bated, at our fingertips. Our minds are full of ideas; innovation inspires confidence, and a ‘can-do’ attitude that fuels this ego and pushes the belief that we can conquer the world. And we do. The top of the mountain blazes, and draws to it an army of creative minds. The early years fly, and the victory found in achievement creates frenzy. Having tasted the brevity of success, we feel exalted and push forward. Drive and ambition are powerful traits of a person's character, they define an individuals ideals and create a divide between those that DO, and those that DO NOT. Face it, we're not all crafted for victory. 'The road less traveled', so to speak, rears greater reward. But the journey is perilous and not all are crazy enough for the challenge. So these peers find comfort in their lack of ambition and fall into a monotonous wasteland. For them, it is easier to live in chaos than it is to try and tame it - they settle. This portrayal of the comrade and the fallen is evident in every generation.
This journey consumes a lifetime - and in a breath, we stop. We measure our gains in losses and achievement; our life has been threaded together in beads and bracelets. The moments of the inbetween, at the time, seemed so tedious and penniless. But upon recollection, those moments come to life and curve the lips upwards into that small, private smile. To appreciate life, or to understand success, we must overcome regret and pay acknowledgement to the smaller details. Insert irony here. Years spent focused on the prize end in nostalgia, and recollection of life's more minute bringings. Drink your irony, and embrace its pithy. Paint your portrait in shades of vibrance; this is your life, Live It.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
That boy's got my heart in a silver cage.
"....the answer is simple. Love is a mix tape." -Rob Sheffield, Love is a Mix Tape
I spent hours of my youth pouring over melancholy music and crying my way through teenage angst. I didn't have a "real" boyfriend until high school, but I still tortured myself with the sing-song lyrics of Tony Rich Project, Stone Temple Pilots, and Jann Arden. I longed for love, even as a pre-teen - I longed to feel the emotion that serenaded me to sleep every night. I begged God, on the rare occasions that we spoke, to deliver a boy to adore me. And love me. And make me mix tapes. I wanted to feel the brutality of love, as I had come to understand it through boombox speakers.
Now, here I am in my mid-twenties and I don't know much more than I did as a girl with tear-streaked cheeks. My relationships, the few that I have had, have all spiraled into unsuccessful paint spatters and irreparable disasters. I suppose the only common denominator in each of those scenarios is me, a fact I accepted after my last horrific breakup. And I suppose that no relationship is really "successful" until he puts a rock on your finger and coaxes you down the aisle. But is that how success, with love, is measured? I would like to think that marriage isn't the only peg tilting the abacus. There has to be more - something, anything, more.
In 20 years I have aged, but I haven't really grown up. Despite my cynicism and inner battles with dating, I still just want a boy to listen to music with. I want a boy that will listen to tracks, and in my absence, think of me. I don't know if it is the music, the idea, or the need to feel validated by song - but I think my obsession with love stems from an inability to lower my unreachable expectations. Expectations that, ironically enough, have been built on lyrics. Tony Rich taught me to keep my turmoil inside, and hide my feelings from everyone but myself. STP preached skipping town on a southern train, and Jann Arden told me to chase and change insensitive men. Conflicting? Absolutely.
For me? Say Anything. Hold a boom box over your head and stand outside of my window. Stake your claim - in my life and on my heart. Stuff vulnerability into a casette tape and hand pick your emotions, only to lay them out - track by track - in a wildly romantic demonstration of love. I am convinced that texting and tweeting and - dare I say - Facebooking has pickled the concept of bravery, especially in regards to the heart. Phone calls are replaced with sms messages, and Valentine's cards come via email. Mix tapes? Extinct. And without a viable substitute. While I am, admittedly, a social media drone I still cling to the idea that love exists beyond your laptop, iPad, or cell phone. Technology and the instant gratification of the Internet have put a hex on the already-delicate world of love, and dating. This era, or generation xxyyzz - or wherever it is that we are - has created one million more stressors and obstacles to eradicate in the quest to find love! It is exhausting.
I will close with this:
"I had this guy leave me a voice mail at work, so I called him at home. And then he emailed me to my BlackBerry, and so I texted to his cell. And then he emailed me to my home account. And the whole things just got out of control and I miss the days when you had one phone number and one answering maching - and that one answering machine had one casette tape, and that one casette tape either had a message from a guy or it didn't. And now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies. It's exhausting." -Drew Barrymore, He's Just Not That Into You
Amen sister. To be continued..
I spent hours of my youth pouring over melancholy music and crying my way through teenage angst. I didn't have a "real" boyfriend until high school, but I still tortured myself with the sing-song lyrics of Tony Rich Project, Stone Temple Pilots, and Jann Arden. I longed for love, even as a pre-teen - I longed to feel the emotion that serenaded me to sleep every night. I begged God, on the rare occasions that we spoke, to deliver a boy to adore me. And love me. And make me mix tapes. I wanted to feel the brutality of love, as I had come to understand it through boombox speakers.
Now, here I am in my mid-twenties and I don't know much more than I did as a girl with tear-streaked cheeks. My relationships, the few that I have had, have all spiraled into unsuccessful paint spatters and irreparable disasters. I suppose the only common denominator in each of those scenarios is me, a fact I accepted after my last horrific breakup. And I suppose that no relationship is really "successful" until he puts a rock on your finger and coaxes you down the aisle. But is that how success, with love, is measured? I would like to think that marriage isn't the only peg tilting the abacus. There has to be more - something, anything, more.
In 20 years I have aged, but I haven't really grown up. Despite my cynicism and inner battles with dating, I still just want a boy to listen to music with. I want a boy that will listen to tracks, and in my absence, think of me. I don't know if it is the music, the idea, or the need to feel validated by song - but I think my obsession with love stems from an inability to lower my unreachable expectations. Expectations that, ironically enough, have been built on lyrics. Tony Rich taught me to keep my turmoil inside, and hide my feelings from everyone but myself. STP preached skipping town on a southern train, and Jann Arden told me to chase and change insensitive men. Conflicting? Absolutely.
For me? Say Anything. Hold a boom box over your head and stand outside of my window. Stake your claim - in my life and on my heart. Stuff vulnerability into a casette tape and hand pick your emotions, only to lay them out - track by track - in a wildly romantic demonstration of love. I am convinced that texting and tweeting and - dare I say - Facebooking has pickled the concept of bravery, especially in regards to the heart. Phone calls are replaced with sms messages, and Valentine's cards come via email. Mix tapes? Extinct. And without a viable substitute. While I am, admittedly, a social media drone I still cling to the idea that love exists beyond your laptop, iPad, or cell phone. Technology and the instant gratification of the Internet have put a hex on the already-delicate world of love, and dating. This era, or generation xxyyzz - or wherever it is that we are - has created one million more stressors and obstacles to eradicate in the quest to find love! It is exhausting.
I will close with this:
"I had this guy leave me a voice mail at work, so I called him at home. And then he emailed me to my BlackBerry, and so I texted to his cell. And then he emailed me to my home account. And the whole things just got out of control and I miss the days when you had one phone number and one answering maching - and that one answering machine had one casette tape, and that one casette tape either had a message from a guy or it didn't. And now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies. It's exhausting." -Drew Barrymore, He's Just Not That Into You
Amen sister. To be continued..
Monday, August 20, 2012
casual goodbyes.
I haven't had a summer romance in, what seems like, years. I have always confessed to being a pathetically hopeless romantic - and the depth of my belief in cheesy, irrevocable love is unending. At 26, I have probably felt real love once in my life. Just once. But I have had countless brushes with butterflies; butterflies being the precursor to love. Butterflies being, in my opinion, the best part of love. I am an addict for that feeling. I am shamelessly hooked on the body rush that accompanies the heart's lust for another beating body. However, in my brief and very limited experience, I have learned that no encounter will ever match your first "high". The subsequent, and fruitless, flirtation with butterfly wings will never amount to much more than exactly that: lust.
I can't explain how it feels, or how it makes ME feel. I would have to slip out of the trench coat of my skin and offer it to you, in order for you to understand how love, for me, feels. There aren't enough adjectives in the English language to describe how my heart quickens, and stubbornly lodges itself in my throat - how that feels. It is maddening. Unpredictable, uncontrollable, and addicting. The mere mention of love's name, his name, sends a circuit of firecrackers over my skin; bottle rockets erupt in succession, and blanket the circumference of my body in tremors, and instability. It is incredible. It is more than loving someone for their qualities, or fine personality quirks. It is loving someone because of the way they make you feel. Not just happiness, or contentment, or even joy - the way they make you feel inside of your body. Inside of your skin. That feeling is the heart of what makes my heart turn somersaults beneath my ribcage. It is the rhyme behind love's lack of reason, and its presence in my body. In my life. The absolution of knowing that I would do anything for the person, the source of my love and adoration. The certainty I feel in his presence, and the unyielding desire to secure and ensure his happiness. That feeling is the source of my addiction, and damn does it hurt once it escapes.
The heart wants what the heart wants; logic has no dog in love's quarrels. Only in the wake of destruction does logic surface, and smirk. Hind sight is 20/20 - cliche, irritating, and true. I am still grappling with the I-told-you-so's; my own stubbornness is relentless and causes more internal chaos than necessary. How do you free yourself from that? That feeling of uncontrollable possession that masks itself as love. It is sobering to witness one's own coveted cache of physical, and spiritual emotion, unravel one tear at a time. Detox is so painful. So painful, that it seems easier to attempt repair than to endure the hemorrhage of heart's defeat. I am guilty. I have dug out my hard hat and charged into the operating room; I have sewn, and bandaged, and pleaded, and promised things I didn't even have. All for fear of losing that fleeting, and unmatched desire for another human being. All for that high. If I could bottle my addiction into a mason jar, I would. I would do so, only to open the lid before a hurricane and mimic the paralyzing rush that had once consumed me in love's presence. How is that for hopeless?
I suppose it would be one thing if love's rush to the exit were self-inflicted - it would be easier to wean from its intoxication. But it isn't self-inflicted. It is surprising and disappointing and confusing when love is ushered away by the object itself: by the lover himself. His sudden absence from your life begs questions and stirs emotion that would have otherwise stayed dormant. For me, the loss of that power has never made sense. If the energy of love isn't between you and that person anymore, where has it gone?
I wish I could control how I felt. I wish I could stabilize the fluttering of my heart - at least that is what I tell myself. If I could dictate the language of my lust, and of my love, would I coax myself into loving a little less? Or prevent myself from loving at all? The fear of never feeling that first high again is terrifying; the fear I have of letting go is crippling, and obviously irrational. But it is there. It cowers in the corner of my subconscious and gloats in private - but I still feel it. It is taxing, it is exhausting, and it fills a space that I didn't even know was empty. It is funny how quickly a storm can change direction. Though, I am not laughing.
Summer romance? Maybe. For now, I will just chase butterflies.
I can't explain how it feels, or how it makes ME feel. I would have to slip out of the trench coat of my skin and offer it to you, in order for you to understand how love, for me, feels. There aren't enough adjectives in the English language to describe how my heart quickens, and stubbornly lodges itself in my throat - how that feels. It is maddening. Unpredictable, uncontrollable, and addicting. The mere mention of love's name, his name, sends a circuit of firecrackers over my skin; bottle rockets erupt in succession, and blanket the circumference of my body in tremors, and instability. It is incredible. It is more than loving someone for their qualities, or fine personality quirks. It is loving someone because of the way they make you feel. Not just happiness, or contentment, or even joy - the way they make you feel inside of your body. Inside of your skin. That feeling is the heart of what makes my heart turn somersaults beneath my ribcage. It is the rhyme behind love's lack of reason, and its presence in my body. In my life. The absolution of knowing that I would do anything for the person, the source of my love and adoration. The certainty I feel in his presence, and the unyielding desire to secure and ensure his happiness. That feeling is the source of my addiction, and damn does it hurt once it escapes.
The heart wants what the heart wants; logic has no dog in love's quarrels. Only in the wake of destruction does logic surface, and smirk. Hind sight is 20/20 - cliche, irritating, and true. I am still grappling with the I-told-you-so's; my own stubbornness is relentless and causes more internal chaos than necessary. How do you free yourself from that? That feeling of uncontrollable possession that masks itself as love. It is sobering to witness one's own coveted cache of physical, and spiritual emotion, unravel one tear at a time. Detox is so painful. So painful, that it seems easier to attempt repair than to endure the hemorrhage of heart's defeat. I am guilty. I have dug out my hard hat and charged into the operating room; I have sewn, and bandaged, and pleaded, and promised things I didn't even have. All for fear of losing that fleeting, and unmatched desire for another human being. All for that high. If I could bottle my addiction into a mason jar, I would. I would do so, only to open the lid before a hurricane and mimic the paralyzing rush that had once consumed me in love's presence. How is that for hopeless?
I suppose it would be one thing if love's rush to the exit were self-inflicted - it would be easier to wean from its intoxication. But it isn't self-inflicted. It is surprising and disappointing and confusing when love is ushered away by the object itself: by the lover himself. His sudden absence from your life begs questions and stirs emotion that would have otherwise stayed dormant. For me, the loss of that power has never made sense. If the energy of love isn't between you and that person anymore, where has it gone?
I wish I could control how I felt. I wish I could stabilize the fluttering of my heart - at least that is what I tell myself. If I could dictate the language of my lust, and of my love, would I coax myself into loving a little less? Or prevent myself from loving at all? The fear of never feeling that first high again is terrifying; the fear I have of letting go is crippling, and obviously irrational. But it is there. It cowers in the corner of my subconscious and gloats in private - but I still feel it. It is taxing, it is exhausting, and it fills a space that I didn't even know was empty. It is funny how quickly a storm can change direction. Though, I am not laughing.
Summer romance? Maybe. For now, I will just chase butterflies.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Fitness: Day Three
Every single day, I eat the same five things. Surprisingly, I am not bored yet. But this is only day three. And, tomorrow is cheat day.....!!!!
I have noticed that my energy levels are a little low. I am learning this is from lack of protein. With the level of activity I have been inflicting on myself in the studio and in the gym, my body needs a lot more protein then I have been giving it. Otherwise, I just get sleepy.
Afterthought: I allowed myself four delicious glasses of Pinot Noir, as I didn't take advantage of the two glass allotment on Thursday. I worked my rear into a sweat at the gym Friday morning, so I rewarded my hard work and indulged, just a little ;)
I have noticed that my energy levels are a little low. I am learning this is from lack of protein. With the level of activity I have been inflicting on myself in the studio and in the gym, my body needs a lot more protein then I have been giving it. Otherwise, I just get sleepy.
Afterthought: I allowed myself four delicious glasses of Pinot Noir, as I didn't take advantage of the two glass allotment on Thursday. I worked my rear into a sweat at the gym Friday morning, so I rewarded my hard work and indulged, just a little ;)
Friday, August 3, 2012
Fitness Journal: Thursday, August 2nd.
Holy glutes and hamstrings. My lower extremities are definitely standing at attention. I signed up with my trainer (again) and spent about 45 minutes on the stair master this afternoon. I am every salesman's dream: you're selling fancy air? I'll buy! Overpriced water? Sold! Consumerism at its finest ;) I was happy to learn that my body fat percentage has not risen, and is still in the healthy range (27%). I would like to drop it to 23-24%, which would be right on par with the 6-8 pounds I wish to eliminate from my rump.
In addition to my quick stint in the gym, I made a presence at Ballet Austin's pm Hip Hop class. I haven't seen the inside of a studio in awhile, and I forgot how awesome dance makes me feel. I also forgot about the bruises and blisters my poor little pads incur after an advanced Jazz class (Wednesday night). I have vowed to attend four dance classes a week - not necessarily for the awesome cardio workout, but for my supreme mental health. Dance is where I have always gone to recharge, and work through my stress. Oddly...breakups and work chaos have always sent me pirouetting into the studio. Why "talk" about feelings when you can just sweat them out? I digress..
Below, my super boring caloric intake. I am going to need to up my protein, I am not getting nearly enough to balance my physical activity. I picked up some Muscle Milk lite (I hope it doesn't taste like dirt) in an attempt to keep my muscles nourished. Fingers crossed....!!
Side note: I tried my hand with homemade refried beans, as I have learned that beans are a good source of protein. Let me tell you, they were delicious. Quick, easy, and great for a snack. One can of pinto beans, dash of garlic (freshly minced), salt&pepper with a pinch a cayenne pepper and chopped red onions. YUM!
In addition to my quick stint in the gym, I made a presence at Ballet Austin's pm Hip Hop class. I haven't seen the inside of a studio in awhile, and I forgot how awesome dance makes me feel. I also forgot about the bruises and blisters my poor little pads incur after an advanced Jazz class (Wednesday night). I have vowed to attend four dance classes a week - not necessarily for the awesome cardio workout, but for my supreme mental health. Dance is where I have always gone to recharge, and work through my stress. Oddly...breakups and work chaos have always sent me pirouetting into the studio. Why "talk" about feelings when you can just sweat them out? I digress..
Below, my super boring caloric intake. I am going to need to up my protein, I am not getting nearly enough to balance my physical activity. I picked up some Muscle Milk lite (I hope it doesn't taste like dirt) in an attempt to keep my muscles nourished. Fingers crossed....!!
Side note: I tried my hand with homemade refried beans, as I have learned that beans are a good source of protein. Let me tell you, they were delicious. Quick, easy, and great for a snack. One can of pinto beans, dash of garlic (freshly minced), salt&pepper with a pinch a cayenne pepper and chopped red onions. YUM!
Thursday, August 2, 2012
A man. Not a boy who thinks he can.
My recent stints with dating have brought me an abundance of knowledge. From this experience, I have learned a handful of lessons, and a few deal-breakers, that I will absolutely implement on future relationships. It has never ceased to amaze me how quickly love can breed hate. I once wrote, "the loss of love is so strange to me. Picking people from your life is such a horrible outcome of the heart's defeat." I suppose it is much easier to be mad, than it is to feel the weakness and vulnerability of hurt. I don't know if it is betrayal, in all of its colorful forms (not just cheating, or lying, but the betrayal of character) or just the loss of love all together. Or lust. Or maybe love was never present to begin with. Who knows, I certainly don't. What I do know, is no amount of love can discount incompatible quirks and character flaws.
Here is my want AD for Dream Man:
*First and foremost, before anything else, any man I select to share my company with MUST get along with Gabel. There are absolutely no exceptions. Oh, and Berkley too.
*I like a smart, funny man. If he can't hold his end of a conversation, we probably won't have a whole lot to talk about.
*Please make me laugh. It isn't hard. I giggle at everything. I just ask that dream man has some sense of humor.
*I need a partner with ambition; I need someone that is continually trying to be his best self in addition to furthering his career/hobby/passion at every opportunity. I would like to take over the writing world, and it would be awesome to find someone with a similar drive.
*I need support. I can offer relentless love, support, and encouragement and I need a counterpart that can reciprocate. I think that lovers should feed and grow from one another, and that is easily done through mutual respect and of course, support.
*Getting along with my friends is crucial. I have an awesome group of people I love, and care about, and their opinion carries a lot of weight with me.
*It would be nice to find someone that can handle logistics. I am a creative; I'm an idea girl and I often float away into the clouds. I need someone to grab me by the shoestring and keep me grounded, when necessary.
*I need someone that isn't intimidated by a successful woman. I need someone that isn't threatened by any success I may have; maybe he should use my success as a platform to push him toward his own goals. A little competition is harmless ;)
*I think that separate togetherness is an important part of any relationship. I want a guy that takes time out to spend with his dudes. Likewise, I love traveling to see my girlfriends. Insecurity and mistrust have no wiggle room here.
*Quirks are a plus. I am an oddball; I am somewhat bizarre and completely erratic. I like someone that can jive with my ADHD ;)
*KIA's (also referred to as: Know It All's) are a very intolerable pet peeve of mine. If I am wrong about something, please correct me. I take criticism very well (at least I think so). What I don't care for, is a person's inability to accept their own misgivings. It is just plain rude.
*On that note, I also won't tolerate a man that refuses to take responsibility for his actions. If you hurt my feelings, just apologize and try not to do it again. Don't throw nonsense in my face simply because I express a concern. That is so childish, and mean.
*Apples are apples. Don't create a mountain out of a mole hill. IE don't turn a small disagreement into an outlandish World War Three power struggle. It is normal to fight, say "fuck you", find a solution, and move on. Right?
*I will probably need a fellow pet lover. I have big plans to build a dog farm, and I am always trying to bring home a new rescue. It would be best if my spouse also had an affinity for the furry children :)
*My dream man must also like the outdoors.
*Dream man: please come find me in five years. I will likely still be in Austin. Look me up ;)
As I read over this "list", I am convinced that I - like many other women - have just described the mythical man-unicorn. Does this exist? I sure as hell hope so!
The older I get (and I suppose 26 is not THAT old), the more unyielding to change I become. I am not completely set in my ways, but I don't have a whole lot of patience for the undesirable tendencies of others. I think I have been burned a few times, and as a result I lost a lot of my "give-a-damn". I said once that, "relationships are NOT 'about' compromise. Compromise is only one component that makes a relationship work. Relationships are about mutual respect and an unshakable desire to not only be with someone, but to be a part of them." I stand by that.
Here is my want AD for Dream Man:
*First and foremost, before anything else, any man I select to share my company with MUST get along with Gabel. There are absolutely no exceptions. Oh, and Berkley too.
*I like a smart, funny man. If he can't hold his end of a conversation, we probably won't have a whole lot to talk about.
*Please make me laugh. It isn't hard. I giggle at everything. I just ask that dream man has some sense of humor.
*I need a partner with ambition; I need someone that is continually trying to be his best self in addition to furthering his career/hobby/passion at every opportunity. I would like to take over the writing world, and it would be awesome to find someone with a similar drive.
*I need support. I can offer relentless love, support, and encouragement and I need a counterpart that can reciprocate. I think that lovers should feed and grow from one another, and that is easily done through mutual respect and of course, support.
*Getting along with my friends is crucial. I have an awesome group of people I love, and care about, and their opinion carries a lot of weight with me.
*It would be nice to find someone that can handle logistics. I am a creative; I'm an idea girl and I often float away into the clouds. I need someone to grab me by the shoestring and keep me grounded, when necessary.
*I need someone that isn't intimidated by a successful woman. I need someone that isn't threatened by any success I may have; maybe he should use my success as a platform to push him toward his own goals. A little competition is harmless ;)
*I think that separate togetherness is an important part of any relationship. I want a guy that takes time out to spend with his dudes. Likewise, I love traveling to see my girlfriends. Insecurity and mistrust have no wiggle room here.
*Quirks are a plus. I am an oddball; I am somewhat bizarre and completely erratic. I like someone that can jive with my ADHD ;)
*KIA's (also referred to as: Know It All's) are a very intolerable pet peeve of mine. If I am wrong about something, please correct me. I take criticism very well (at least I think so). What I don't care for, is a person's inability to accept their own misgivings. It is just plain rude.
*On that note, I also won't tolerate a man that refuses to take responsibility for his actions. If you hurt my feelings, just apologize and try not to do it again. Don't throw nonsense in my face simply because I express a concern. That is so childish, and mean.
*Apples are apples. Don't create a mountain out of a mole hill. IE don't turn a small disagreement into an outlandish World War Three power struggle. It is normal to fight, say "fuck you", find a solution, and move on. Right?
*I will probably need a fellow pet lover. I have big plans to build a dog farm, and I am always trying to bring home a new rescue. It would be best if my spouse also had an affinity for the furry children :)
*My dream man must also like the outdoors.
*Dream man: please come find me in five years. I will likely still be in Austin. Look me up ;)
As I read over this "list", I am convinced that I - like many other women - have just described the mythical man-unicorn. Does this exist? I sure as hell hope so!
The older I get (and I suppose 26 is not THAT old), the more unyielding to change I become. I am not completely set in my ways, but I don't have a whole lot of patience for the undesirable tendencies of others. I think I have been burned a few times, and as a result I lost a lot of my "give-a-damn". I said once that, "relationships are NOT 'about' compromise. Compromise is only one component that makes a relationship work. Relationships are about mutual respect and an unshakable desire to not only be with someone, but to be a part of them." I stand by that.
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