Well, with all the talk lately of bailing on OkCupid and Ashley Madison, of wailing over the “morally bankrupt” ex’s heinous antics and generally “going negative,” I thought perhaps the prayers and appeals to the universe might work a bit better if I actually delineated what it is I want. I’ll start with the lists I made out in the desert last year and perhaps add a few details.
I want to be loved.
I want to love someone.
I want a thoughtful man.
I want a man with a great job and enough money to keep us both comfortable.
I want a man who can communicate.
I want a man who gives good massages.
I want a man who is tall — 6’3″ or taller!
I want a man who loves my friends and my family.
I want a man with great teeth and great hair.
I want a man who enjoys puzzles and games.
I want a man who will cherish me.
I want a man who will make me laugh.
I want a man to grow old with.
I want a man who I have great sex with and great sexual chemistry with.
I want a man who loves his work.
I want a man who is a great kisser.
I want a man who is generous.
I want a man with nice skin.
I want a faithful man.
I want a man who is physically and emotionally healthy and strong.
I want a job I enjoy.
I want to experience mastery — or at least appreciation and fulfillment.
I want to make a great living — $80,000 a year!
I want my job to be creative and challenging.
I want to work with fun and interesting people.
I want to be in a position with responsibilities.
I want a cool boss — or to be my own boss!
I want a job with flexible hours.
I want a job with great health benefits.
I want a job.
I want a home.
I want a home I can afford.
I want a little Poodle and wifi and my head vases on a little shelf all around the ceilings.
I want clean floors and a coffee maker.
I want a comfortable bed with a fluffy quilt and matching pillows.
I want colorful walls and stained glass.
As you can see, I have a lot of wants! Seriously, it’s been a long year of trying to figure out exactly what it is I do want. I wrote these lists last September, while holed up in my glamorous Burning Man trailer, a glorified box on wheels. It’s home three months a year, with a reasonably comfortable bed (no fluffy quilt or matching pillows, though!), electricity and a dorm fridge. A veritable palace!
Over the past six or seven months I haven’t gotten a whole lot clearer on what I want and it’s pretty tough to visualize your desires when they aren’t fixed in your mind. So I’ve been trying. I now have a home. The floors are clean, if littered with foster dog hair. I’m enjoying the white walls at the moment so I think I’ll keep ’em. I already had some stained glass and my bed is not only comfortable, it has a fluffy quilt with matching pillows! Of course, I’ve had the quilt and pillows for well over a decade, so they could use some updating.
As for being able to afford the place, well, that’s where the “career” comes in. Or the lack of it. For now I am committed to head out into the desert again and work for The Man. But when I get back it’s gonna be time for some serious soul-searching. I can’t afford to be choosey anymore. If I have to clerk at KMart, I will. Whatever happens, I’ll figure it out. And I’ll be writing this blog, along with a book or two, even if I have to self-publish. It’s been long enough.
Which brings us to relationships. If you’ve been reading — and I know you have been! — you know where things stand. I have to wonder how I’m going to meet this mythical man. I’ve more or less given up on the online dating. The parties I go to are attended, primarily, by people half my age. Any men I meet who are over 45 and not using a fucking walker are so impressed with themselves — “Look at me! I have HAIR!” — and I suppose I can’t fault them; I’m pretty impressed with myself, too! But their confidence means they think they qualify for someone hot and young, not a 50-something broad with a blogging problem.
But I’m doing my best to be positive here, right? I’m trusting the universe to provide me, eventually, with the man who will be by my side when I take my last breath. I’m not in too big a hurry. Well, okay, maybe I am. But realistically, perhaps I’ll find someone when I’m older. Or even older than older. When I won’t turn my nose up at a man who looks like Santa or a guy without any hair. But at least I’m putting my shopping list out there.
I could get really particular and say I want someone who can spell and punctuate, someone with blue or green eyes and a foreign accent. I don’t want to narrow my search down to an impossibility but I also don’t want to settle. If you want the elevator pitch, I want someone who will love my like Eric did, kiss me like Johnny did and fuck me like James did.
There was one more list I made. It’s a list of my attributes. What I believe I have to offer a man.
I am attractive.
I am talented.
I am in great shape.
I am healthy.
I have a great body.
I have nice hair.
I have good skin.
I have nice teeth.
I have a great sense of humor.
I am witty.
I am smart.
I am clever.
I am funny.
I am experienced.
I am interesting.
I am a good listener.
I am a great story teller.
I am a great conversationalist.
I am sexy.
I am strong.
I am compassionate.
I am understanding.
I am NOT broken.
I am eager to please.
I am passionate.
I am a considerate lover.
I am a great kisser.
I am fun in bed.
I give great head!
I give great massages.
I am great company.
I am vibrant.
I am powerful.
I am gregarious.
I am exuberant.
I am hopeful.
I know you’re out there! Here I am!