What I want in a Relationship.....

So we all know what we want in a relationship, right? Well I have had time to think about it and came up with yet another list........

o I love the way he tells a story
o Not commitment-phobic
o Nurturing, sensitive and gentle
o Well educated / intellectually stimulating
o Funny/witty smart humor (not at the expense of others' feelings)
o Hearty seexual appetite, but not so much so that he is willing to stray
o Successful and driven yet will always put family first: Family oriented but not to a fault… realizes that “our” family comes before either of our own families. Not a mamma's boy.
o Non-yeller, should know how to fight fair… not call me names or bring up insecurities.
o He has stones and knows how to throw them.
o He'll know to show up in the middle of the night if we're fighting on the phone. He wouldn't want us to spend any holidays apart.
o He doesn't smoke, EVER.
o He'll show up just because. He won't worry about pride. He'll want to be with me. Period.
o I shouldn't wonder and question what he thinks or feels: open communicator… A man who knows how to tell me things I don't want to hear. Should be a man who doesn't tiptoe around when he's afraid to say something. He should say, “fcuk what anyone else thinks…this is my woman.” Someone who adores me, thinks of me all the time, and doesn't show his love with words alone but with actions, too.
o Should love me just a smidge more: He must gush over me. I need to know that he adores me, thinks I'm a goddess, and that he would do anything in his power to ensure my happiness. He must put "the unit" first.
o He should call. He should know when to call. He shouldn't make me anxious, and he should know how to relieve it…but only if he means it. Shouldn't do it just to make me feel better temporarily. I shouldn't feel jealous or insecure, because I should feel it deep within my bones during those times, that he would never ever ruin us.
o It should be friendship, not games. If he isn't flooding me with love and showering me with affection, I should still enjoy his company. He should genuinely make me laugh out loud, since I don't do that often. I should feel a deep sense of connectivity.
o We'll have fights; he'll understand my drama. We'll continue on, us against the world. But always an us, a team of two.
o Picks me up for dates, plans things for us to do, makes reservations.
o Likes watching movies, eating, and drinking wine.
o Likes Riggs.
o He's introspective and not afraid of changing what he wants to.
o He's a whole person, who has things to teach me.

I know I probably can't have everything; there's a bit about compromise. I also know sometimes what we think we want isn't really what we want deep down. I have a strong sense he'll be creative, not necessarily for a living, and he'll have energy. He'll teach me things and ADD to the relationship.

Never doubt your instincts, but be aware of familiarity breeding unhealthy dependencies.

Exspectations

I know that as people change they grow apart and indeed we all have. Moving to Florida was a huge transition for both of us, and we were both very vulnerable. And we have both grown and changed in different ways.

We've all had that feeling that someone or something has let us down. It's a lousy feeling on both sides of that equation. Honestly I think it comes down to expectations - or more specifically managing those expectations. And we expected from each other what we knew in the past. We didn't expect to transition and change.

Have you ever asked yourself what makes you - YOU? I do. I look to myself, and try to figure out if I'm getting away from my core self - getting away from the things I value most, the things that I like most about myself. A half a thought away comes the other side of that - what don't I like - what is it going to take to change those things I don't like? And yes - I'm honest with myself even to realize that list is not a short one either. We have to choose to change. - Life is all about choice - and I believe that to be true above a lot of other things. Above all else? I'll get back to you on that one. Rethinking the idea of choice - about finding something that matters is inspiring to me. It also makes me want to get back in that old beater of a car and drive somewhere - anywhere! But choices do not have to come at the event of a geographical change - or even a change in a job. Choice is an every day reality. I am driving home from work using different routes. Why. Just because - that's the way I'm built. Sure I could go months driving the same way - and there was nothing wrong with THAT way - but sometimes I just wanted a different way - a choice.
I'm faced with choices now - sure the obvious one is a job, or maybe even a career - but then there are things that wrap into just that one choice, around it, before and after it. I've spent many days sitting down here on my patio trying to answer these questions.

The point of this is that choices have made you, you…and me, me. With choice comes change.

When you are faced with life choices - people typically classify this as making changes. But if you fall into the same habits as before - good or bad - then what changes have you made other than the environment that your in.


Ok so I guess that is all.

Likeness leads to liking

I have a beautiful stomach. It’s white and smooth and sinks concave, exposing a shallow bowl of skin, hollowed to my hipbones. I feel desire so strong, sometimes it masquerades as hunger; I can feel it there, warm and purring. I like watching it move, pulsing in pleasure. I smell my odor; the deodorant has worn thin and ineffective as I rub myself. I am seexually attracted to myself, to my stomach and odor, the way I breathe and quiver. But I’m sometimes not enough, so I evoke thoughts to help the pleasure along, like singing on a trip. Lately it’s a strong hand pressed into my back, practically marionette strings. I can’t see the hand; I only feel the warmth and strength in it, as though I could collapse my weight into the palm, and it would still catch me. I fantasize about safety. Even in my seexiest thoughts, I conjure security and crave for it to press into me.

There’s nothing as seexy to me as a man taking what he wants. That strong hand feels safe, protective, and upon thought and dissection, even selfish. But I understand about that, and give way to it, feeling safe, powerful, and good. I can get lost, even as I type this, eyes closed, in the thought of a man with his arms around me, his hands pressing me, pulling and pushing me in a kiss, all while I’m really very still and going nowhere at all, that kiss can be ecstasyA metroseexual does not kiss like that. A man with lust and passion kisses like that. And I’m afraid lust and passions have way too much mental real estate on my block.

Sweet is fine. Sweet is slow and steady and usually wins the race. Sweet is never fantastic. Now, here’s my admission. I draw and pull too much emphasis on lust and passion. I gravitate toward it like it’s all that matters. It governs my decisions; you’d think I had a penis. It makes impractical decisions, makes me want to wear a short skirt without panties to the supermarket. I don’t know how to get over its importance. Maybe I need to go shoe shopping, some track shoes for the big race on Saturday. I can hurdle this. I can.

Okay, I can’t. I’m stuck all day in my head, lazy with seex and drunk on my thoughts, the rich spasms of my stomach as I climax over and over again. Maybe I just need a boyfriend. Playmates don’t bring you soup and movies when you’re sick—don’t ever learn your Starbuck’s pick, that you hate licorice and like your Tomato soup without noodles. Boyfriends fall asleep and wake up too early.

I worry that I’ve never fully loved a man solely based on who he is. I weigh how he treats me, and how he feels about me, and when I like that bit all right, I jump right into “I love you.” And once that gauntlet is thrown, there’s no rewind. But you meant, I love you… really as… I love everything about you that loves me. I love everything about you that looks like me. I love that you love that song, too. It’s catchy. It’s also kinda wicked witch talking to the prognostic mirror. We love the reflection, the “likeness leads to liking” thing. The birds of a feather two-bit. I don’t know what it is anymore to really truly even like someone.

Perhaps the only way I will fall in love is to fall in like first. And how boring is that. Put it right up on the table beside the sweet, will ya?

The Perks of living @ Bridgewater

I think I have a pretty high tolerance for such things, but enough is enough.

At 4:30 this morning I was jolted out of bed by a banshee-like shriek. The noise appeared to be coming from my air conditioner, and it sounded like the goddamn thing was letting out one last wail before it exploded right in the fucking apartment. Groggy but surprisingly spry, I darted out of bed over to the AC to shut it off, hoping to prevent a major catastrophe. I turned it off, but was not able to relax. The noise remained.

A look out the window proved that the unconscionably loud noise was not coming from my air conditioner, but rather from a hose, coming from truck, snaking underneath the proch of the complex next to mine. Apparently, building 1 needed some work done, so they called in Jenny Exhaust System Services to do the job.( Not sure if that is really the name of the compant but it sounds good for now.) At 4:30 in the morning. On a Wednesday.

Over the next hour, I am surprised that a homicide did not occur. First, I should try to further describe to you the nature of the noise. I've already used the words shrieking and wailing. I would also add to that list shrill, screeching, piercing, and I felt as if doesn't stop soon I was going to start ripping my fingernails out. If the drills that put together the carny stands for the October Festival sounded like dentist drills, the exhaust hose outside the my apartment sounded like a saliva sucker times roughly 15,000.

What was worse was its intermittence. Instead of a steady, loud, lasting commotion, the hose would suck for thirty seconds, then break for forty. Then it would suck for ten, break for ten. Not only that, there would sometimes be long stretches of silence, long enough that I'd start thinking, "OH YES! The good Lord has come to the rescue and the noise has stopped! It's still only 4:57 - I can still get a solid two hours of sleep!" But after four minutes of gorgeous comforting silence, that fucking hose would start up and shriek again. It was heartbreaking.

When I first looked at the window just after 4:30, all was dark. The buildings around me were unlit, and the only thing/people on the prpoerty were the damn stray black cats, before 5am (it's kinda eerie and dreamlike almost; these old cats, waddling around in the pre-dawn hours carrying heavy looking mice, coming from wherever, going to wherever. If I were high, it might freak me out more than a little bit).

When I checked out of the window again, this time at almost 5am, EVERY single apartment in my building had at least one light on. These assholes had woken the entire neighborhood. This gave me only a small amount of succor, knowing that I was not alone in my suffering. But more importantly, I thought, "You know, if I went out there and murdered these guys right now, the only witnesses would be the people they're keeping up with their racket. I could probably get away with it. I haven't murdered someone in like three years, but it's like riding a bicycle: once you go black, you never go back." Ultimately I decided against killing them, because that would require me putting on pants and actually walking outside (it was chilly out this morning).

So instead I sucke dup the fucking noise put on mp3 player, running shorts, a sports bra, and sneakers, left the apartment and went for a run, giving the drilling men a nasty look, the finger, and a very loud fart!