Saturday, November 06, 2004

Don't ask, don't tell

So recently a number of things* have come up that highlight my singledom. Honestly, I don’t mind being single – I’m way too focused on myself right now (read: always) to focus on someone else, let alone someone-else-and-me-as-a-unit [shudder.] But just because I dig being single doesn’t mean I want to talk about it or think about it all the damn time. I'm no Carrie Bradshaw.

In the interest, then, of steering my day-to-day conversations away from things you’d expect to find in Chick Lit [double shudder,] I have compiled this easy-to-access list.

The perfect guy must: require some kind of vision enhancement (20/20 freaks me out); read at least one book a month (alternating between novels and non-fiction, please; I need someone well-read and well-rounded); call me on my shit, no matter what (I don’t really mean that); let me win (in fights and at board games); write poetry (but not let me – or, God forbid, make me – read it); have impeccable grammar; excel in some kind of art (music is acceptable, but I prefer something visual); choose beer over liquor (most of the time); own something vintage (clothing’s OK, furniture’s better); be a cat person (even if he tells people he’s a dog person); be a Mac person (even if he used to be a PC person); tolerate my terrible taste in music (and sing along); be good at spur-of-the-moment math (because I’m useless in that department); subscribe to at least one magazine with great content and even better design (no, Maxim doesn’t count); be a morning person (who stays up late, too); be able to cook something (toast doesn’t count because I’ve got that covered); own some kind of hair-styling product (and use it – Boy Band Hair does it for me); write a letter every once in awhile (good handwriting’s a plus); know his way around a Home Depot (better than I do); know his way around a Crate and Barrel (there’s no way he could know this better than I do); be able to pull off pink (only occasionally); have a few bad habits (that I can break him of); have a few bad habits (that I’ll pick up and make my own bad habits); be sarcastic; be realistic; be the opposite of clingy; giggle like a girl sometimes; say nothing when I ask him to open a jar (because I got it started, dammit); refrain from using my sorority-girl past against me; hold my hand; believe in something (Russian literature, coffee, abstract art, the changing seasons, yoga, me ... anything).

So there it is. Of course, this list is by no means all-encompassing (I mean, I don’t want you to think I'm picky or have outrageous standards!) Now there’s no need to ask me about my perfect guy, no need to get all Sex & the City-girls-at-brunch (why don't they ever WORK?) on me, and, most importantly, no need for me to waste any more focus-on-me time by giving the standardized “smart, funny, cute” answer.

* Namely: being privy to Mary’s newfound obsession with “Sex & The City;” staying home from the decidedly-couples-only Cirque du Soleil and watching 20/20’s sex study instead; being asked on more than one (more than two) occasions about “my perfect man;” and being invited to the first (of many, I’m sure) of my college friends’ weddings.
** If anyone reading this happens to witness me on the brink of a Chick Lit conversation, please assist me in directing whomever I’m chatting with (bi-othces) to this site.