By the time this post posts, I will probably be in my car heading back home to good ole Knoxville, TN from Florida. It’s been a great two weeks. Got to hang out with some cool cats. Literally, I was hanging with cats. Sweet, long haired, spoiled cats. And a few men, but you’ve read all about that. I didn’t get to see Chris, my sexual soul mate, before I left. Thank God a person can have more than one soul mate. Forever optimistic. Since I’ve been here in Florida, I have had an overwhelming number of men show interest in me. And not just here. A few at home. One from my past. And another, apparently from my future if I’m catching what he’s throwing. I guess now would be the perfect time to pick one and settle down, but I’m just starting to have fun again so I don’t really see that on the menu anytime soon.
Unless I happen to run into the elusive Mr. Perfect, who will basically have to not require that I “settle down.” He will just have to meet me at my crazy fun level. He’ll have to be handsome. Maybe tall. At least taller than me or eye level. Funny. Exciting. Like to dance even if he’s not good at it, but if I’m building the perfect dude, he’ll be good at it. Like to listen to my stupid love poems about him and my stupid on the spot made up poems about random strangers. He’ll also have to want to watch the stupid, funny movies I love. He’ll be good in bed, of course. Or at least willing to learn how I like my sex…. and my tea and my eggs. He’ll be willing to take Salsa and Zouk dancing classes with me or not get mad when I take them alone and end up dancing with a gorgeous single Spaniard. He will cook for me and let me bake for him. He won’t look at me crazy when I ask him to come shower with me just to wash my hair. He won’t want to live with me… maybe ever. And if he does want to cohabitate, he will understand that, in my head, that means buying a duplex and just being neighbors. Did I mention he has to be funny? Like hilarious funny. And a good conversationalist. And easy to talk to. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings any if he had tattoos and/ or dreadlocks. It’d be even better if he was a Marley (Kymani specifically), but I’m not going to push my luck. I got to meet him, I missed my opportunity to sweep him off his feet. Moving on. And since it seems there may be nobody that fits that bill, I’m probably just going to have to piece together 12 random men to please one (not so) simple girl.
I know, I know, “Angie, you’re never going to find the perfect guy, slutting it up.” Well, I say, there are no perfect guys so why not have fun with all the imperfect ones?
RouletteWeekend 