Thursday, January 6, 2011

New Year's Resolutions and the Perfect Man

In an effort to break away from my usual type (skinny, wildly effeminate, complete and total douche bag), I've begun compiling a list of all the things that a man could do to make me happy, leaving out the usual top-of-the-lister: An incontrovertible desire to emotionally destroy me. I'm not saying I am karmically worthy of the following traits, but honestly believe that at some point everyone should have something good happen to them, and gosh darn it if my number isn't up by now. But before we get to the list, let's take a dip into the shallow end of Lake Flaccid.

2010 was the year that life decided to serve me a big heaping portion of crap chowder, and at midnight between the two years, I hoped that 2011 might serve me something a little less steamy. January marks my attempt to control my alcoholism and so far I'm at day 3 and all I can think about is booze.  Last night I went through what I would describe as purgatory; my body would not fall asleep, AND was riddled with panic attacks and night terrors, (or, alcohol withdrawal). Annnnnd- oh happy day! The root of the anxiety turned out to be true in real life the next morning! Thanks January, so far you've proved only that you are the bastard, fetal alcohol poisoned son of December, and fuck that guy. My usual response to being hurt is to drink copious amounts of alcohol every day until black out, but obviously this is not an option at the moment. I have no shame in admitting that the past two days I've consumed one to six whole pints of Mint Chocolate Pity-Party, mostly because, well, I have no shame.

It's crazy after three days of not drinking the childish emotions that I've tried to sedate and numb out of me for the past 5 years that flood back. "Boo hoo life is so hard, people are like, so unfair." Rather than the drunken wrath of Maggie that would normally know how to utterly mishandle and drunkenly text this situation at 3am, we've got Maggie from before she started drinking- 14 year old Maggie who still had braces and a hymen. How would she handle it? Light candles, write poetry, and cut herself? Instead of that youthful glimpse of angst, I'm resolved to continue not drinking and get the fuck over it already. I'm Maggie fucking McCombs, and I've dealt with far greater shit than this.

I've never been one for drama, (I like to save my mean, degrading, and occasionally racist thoughts for writing humorous stories), which is why I have never understood how people legitimately and passive-aggressively do things to hurt people outside of the literary realm. Thus, I'd like to start the list with the number one deal breaker in any relationship from here on out.

1) Do not, under any circumstances, do anything to maliciously, intentionally emotionally hurt me- making me jealous and flirting with girls in front of me is unacceptable and will not be tolerated. Especially post-break up when the shitdick decides to sleep with friends/people I have to work with.

After that, the list is pretty simple. 

2) If you don't like soccer, you can stop reading now. If you are a Seattle Sounders fan, stop reading and drown yourself.
3) Be %100 stab proof. This is to say that when my Italian rage bubbles up and spills onto surfaces around me, be able to withstand the burns.
4) Drop everything at a moments notice to make me guacamole- and not that pussyshit mild kind, I mean the kind that lights your mouth up in sun flares.
5) Have the comedic timing of a fucking legend.
6) Be able to clean up cat shit, and not complain about it. Listen, she's almost 9 years old, she has earned the right to crap wherever she wants to.
7) Be able to co-captain my official title, "Ambassador of Fun".
8) Have at least 7 different funny voices and/or accents in their arsenal. 
9) Enthusiastically share my passion for judging people.
10) Must possess GREAT ass. Bitch gotta have something to brag about to her girlfriends.
11) Knows, and will perform in front of a crowd, the boy part in Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow's 'Picture'.
12) Let's be honest, if you have any sort of accent (ok let's narrow that down a bit, I'm talking about Irish, Scottish, English, Australian, New Zealand, etc. [the hot ones]) you get a free pass to my panties.
13) If I say, "Get up, we're going to Spain." You better have your fucking bag packed in less than 15 minutes.
14) Must love sex, but that's a given.

And that's about all it takes, really. Alright, so I'm a bit picky. Basically, I'm looking for a guy who can entertain me more than I already entertain myself. So... the bar is set pretty sky high.

1 comment:

  1. When you find him, make sure he has a brother for me. A straight, employed, not-living-in-someone's-driveway brother.