I’ve been meaning to make this list for awhile; a list of the qualities I hope to find in the next man that I enter into a serious relationship with.
I think because I’ve never really set expectations for myself in terms of choosing the right guy, I’ve mostly ran vagina first onto the wrong ones.
Why vagina first? Because instead of knowing exactly what I want from men I’ve always just let chemistry guide me- and chemistry can be a dirty whore.
We all know there is a very fine line that separates lust and love – and when there is AMAZING chemistry between two people that line is harder to see.
Chemistry affects me much like vodka- it blurs my vision, leaves me incoherent, and 9 times out of 10 when it strikes I end up with my favorite pair of panties wrapped around my ankles.
Ya know what’s a better guide?
I think “Bitches Gotta Eat” said it best in this crude-tastic post: You need to stop fucking dickbags who are reckless with your heart
You’re right, you fabulously foul-mouthed wench!
We all need to expect more and settle less. Then – and only then – will the dating world be a happier place.
What’s my contribution to bringing more sunshine, lollipops and rainbows into the date-o-sphere?
The following how-to guide to watering my lady garden.
Step One: Be a funny fucker. Chances are if you can make me laugh, you could look like the kid from Mask and I would still start to part my thighs for you. For those of you who are too young to know what the hell I mean by that, a reasonable facsimile would be Carrot Top. Or the Ice King from Adventure Time. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Laughter is the key to my vagina.
Step Two: The pitter patter of little feet should make your heart pitter patter. I have a kid. An awesome one. An awesome and smart one. An awesome, smart and funny one. If you don’t like awesome, smart and funny kids or have no interest in sharing the rest of your life with one please tell me so I can tell you to talk to the hand.
Step Three (Which relates to Step Two): If your own pitter patter sounds more like a stampede, I’m not interested in knocking boots. I have to be the asshole here by saying I don’t want to spend the rest of my life raising a house full of kids. I just don’t. I’m actually not even interested in having any more of my own. My uterus has no vacancies. If you don’t already have a kid, but someday dream of being a father and can picture yourself loving mine like your own at some point in the future, then we’re cool. If you want to someday have a child with your DNA, I’m not the girl for you. If you already have one kid with another lovely lady, feel free to try to woo me. I wouldn’t be against blending our families someday – but living with two kids is my limit. Anymore than that and I will surely become a full blown alcoholic or end up smothering you in your sleep with a pillow for ruining my life. If you’ve got a bunch of young kids running around your house right now, swinging from the rafters, I don’t want to waste your time and you shouldn’t be wasting mine either.
Step Four: Cook and shit. I recently had a guy cook me dinner and it was the biggest turn on of all time. I think every guy should be ready, willing and able to seduce his woman with the stovetop every once in awhile. I’m not saying I expect you to cook for me everyday, but I do expect us to be a team – and here comes the “and shit” part. If I cook, I want you to help me clean the mess I made while preparing it without me having to ask. Vice versa, if you cook me dinner I will take care of the dishes. There is no “I” in team, but there is “meat.” Coincidence? I think not.
Step Five: Hold my fucking hand. Guess what? I’m affectionate and if you want me to be your ride-or-die bitch, you better not care about looking like my bitch when we hold hands in public places. And I’m not just talking about when we’re walking down the street either. I want it in the movie theatre. I want it when we’re in a parking lot. Maybe we’re standing in line at the grocery story. Perhaps we’re driving in the car. Surprise me. Affection matters to me and if it doesn’t matter to you I will be drier than the Sahara if you ever accidentally stick your hand down my pants.
Step Six: Love me, love my dysfunctional family. I’m not going to lie, I come from a long line of crazies. But we’re good hearted crazies and we’re close and over the years I have realized how much family matters to me. I have dinner with my Mother and Stepfather every weekend, and with my Father at least once a month. I also spend time with my extended family during the holidays and if we’re in a serious relationship I expect you to come with me. If you’re the kind of guy that would rather sit at home alone in your underwear than come with my son and I to a family get-together a few times a year to eat, drink and be merry then I’m never going to call you babe – but I will probably end up calling you an asshole.
Step Seven: Have some aspirations, for fuck’s sake. Goals give my life meaning. I’m not the kind of girl that likes to sit around playing videos games or watching TV & movies 24-7. If that is how you spend most of your free time, then you will probably never see my boobs. Are you a serial texter? I don’t have time to text you all day long. Sure I can talk here and there, but I can’t have an hour long textual conversation with you. If you have enough time on your hands to text me all damn day I am going to get completely turned off because it’s obvious to me that you ain’t doin’ sheeet. I’m passionate about creating things and making a difference in people’s lives. I have dreams, and when I make those dreams come true I intend to come up with more dreams. Do you have dreams? You better if you want to get past first base. And while we’re at it – if we’re in a relationship, I would like us to set some of our own mutual goals so that we can cross a few finish lines together. If that last sentence made you roll your eyes – go fuck yourself right now because I am never going to fuck you. Period.
Step Eight: Low self-esteem? Ain’t nobody got time for that! Seriously, I don’t have time to coddle you. I have a career. I have a kid. I have hobbies. I am one busy bitch. You better have enough confidence to chase me or you’re never going to catch my va-jay-jay mmmkay?
Step Nine: Wiping my tears will get you laid. A few weeks ago I had a guy staying with me. I ended up having a little too much to drink New Year’s Eve and crying shortly after midnight when my son called me. It was the first year we weren’t together to ring in the new year and as hard as I tried to ignore that fact it still made me sad. As soon as I felt the tears coming I ran to the other room because I didn’t want to make my male guest uncomfortable. After all, he flew here to have a good time, not to deal with my drunk crying. But instead of ignoring my weeping and leaving me to deal with my emotions alone like every other man had done in the past, he completely blew my mind when he came to find me, wrapped his arms around me and comforted me. That simple act meant the world to me; it made me realize there are men out there who are willing to stand by me – even when I’m crying. If you bust out the Kleenex and wipe my tears, I will help you bust a nut. True story.
NEVER SETTLE IN LOVE OR LIFE, BITCHES. I know I won’t.