Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Are Men Like Real Estate?

So on the heels of yesterdays TMI post about my coochie cobwebs (I'm totally taking ownership of that phrase... I'm NOT afraid of spiders AT. ALL.), here's a sort of part two to all that.

It hit me walking back to my office from the library as I ignored the icky looking dude walking towards me who looked ready to utter an "Excuse me, miss" or some such nonsense- I'm never going to find the perfect man. I'm never going to find the one with all the components in place that I am looking for- aesthetics, intelligence, street smarts, pleasant/tolerable demeanor and most importantly, maturity.

Then I remembered that while Celia was taking me on a mini tour of her new place in the Keys, she pointed out that the Master Bedroom was not as big as she'd like it to be but it has it's own separate bathroom, so it's a trade off... and that when dealing with real estate, you can't always get what everything you want.

Isn't it the same with a mate?

12Kyle recently wrote a post asking what kind of people do we attract, and my response was:

You want to know who I attract?

The dregs of the dregs of the dregs of society. Hence why I'm still single.

Find the biggest loser in any situation and I GUARANTEE he's making googly eyes at me.

Very rare is the gem that comes my way, and when he does I barely notice because I'm so used to the dregs, so I end up treating him poorly.

c'est la vie

It never fails- the dude will be smart and witty but FUGLY as all hell and have questionable homosexual tendencies and/or mannerisms.

Or he'll he really cute with an AWESOME body that just makes you quiver from head to toe but will have the intelligence of a box of erasers.

Or he'll be good looking and smart and tall and have that body that OOH you just wanna slap his momma for birthing such an Adonis and then KA-BLAM- he opens his mouth and he's a total jackass.

See, when I would think of my dream house I would say- I want a wrap-around porch, and I want a beautifully finished attic to use as my personal writing room and a lush yard with a vegetable and herb garden and an in-ground pool and bay windows in the Master Suite, an old Victorian or something, and then I remember- I don't want to leave NYC... so I needed to compromise on my dream home just a tad. Like I may have to settle for an attached brownstone with no attic and a shady basement, a 2'X4' cement yard and membership at the Y so I can swim on weekends.

But do I really have to compromise on a man in the same fashion? Can't he please be a grown-up and not play games (or Xbox)? Tall? Smart, with at least a Bachelor's Degree from an accredited University? Can he not be a total jerk-off or mama's boy, and can he know his way around with needing me to hold his hand? And can he please be sterile and/or allergic to babies? And know how to dance in and out of bed, so I don't have to supplement his wack-ass love-making with reruns of Soul Food or internet porn?

And please please please, for the love of Buddha- can he be LOCAL?!?! Not from Jersey or Philly or other outer limits... if I can't get to him using the NYC MTA, I don't want to even answer his phone calls! I'm not hopping on the light rail NOR am I getting on the Metro North for NO ONE. Not anymore. I've been there and it just doesn't work. And EWWW- who wants to go all the way to freakin JERSEY CITY for some dick? I don't care if you DO have a massage table- your bed is a futon! Stop calling me...

I'm willing to deal with a brownstone off of Flatbush Avenue or even Parkside, because I'm not afraid of the 'hood and sheeeee-it- in NYC a brownstone is a brownstone, right? My only requirement at this point is that it be in move-in condition. No fixer-uppers, please! I don't want to repair, adjust or refinish ANYTHING.

Same thing with a potential mate. You have issues? Here's a tissue... take your ass to therapy, okay? If I can do it, anyone can.

The next guy I let in? Nah, I cannot compromise. Will not compromise. Even if it means I sail into retirement solo, with only my John Cusack DVDs and Fiestaware collection to keep me company...

Call me greedy, selfish, stuck-up, WHATEVER, just don't call me if you don't make the cut. I know me, I know what will make me happy, and I will know him when I see him, hold him, look up into his eyes with my third eye and, with my Orishas looking out for me, most definitely will know it when he kisses me.

*smooches...just tired of the bullshit and determined not to settle*
and you can thank that gross semi-homeless dude smoking a nasty-ass cigarette who hit on me in the street for this rare relationship post for the second day in a row... I'm not trying to dog dudes or anything- y'all know I love you like Palin loves guns- but UGH! A girl can only take so much before she becomes unhinged!