This is an excerpt from an email written almost exactly 4 years ago that I happened to have saved to a disk and which I think at least one person would find very interesting:
What is wrong with people, Paul? And are you one of the people who has something wrong with them? If you are, perhaps you won't understand.
It's just that I keep getting to know people, who seem like nice guys, and really who are nice guys, but then ...
Okay this is both inappropriately sexual and demented. Advice and or commiseration needed.
They get to the point, eventually, where they make it quite clear that they want me to stick my tongue up their arse. Or vice versa, or both at once.
Which I must admit would probably be a great feeling .. but a lousy taste .. and it would probably kill me. I don't have the immune system to support that sort of weirdness.
My list of wants, as regards the perfect man, grows!
Over 5 foot tall and under 8 foot tall ( I don't want anyone spraining their neck just to get a kiss)
barking mad but not actually a dog
Does not want to stick his tongue up anyone's ass or vice versa
Will send me the song. The one we discussed.
Irish. No offense to anyone who is not Irish. Irish by blood, which can be mixed, and/or by virtue of being raised there and of similar mentality whether by blood or just oxegyn deprivation.
Unabashadly himself
Able to watch pornos and see the idealisms of natural selection defined within the micro-cosmic realm of ... or able to watch the Smurfs and react as if it is a porno and a good one.
Understands the vital importance of crooning T-Rex lyrics into my ears "Well , she ain't no witch and I love the way she twitch ah hah"
When asked to make the beast with two backs, immediately rushes out and to by sculpturing material and also a bucket of fried chicken or ribs.
Is not the real Slim Shady and stays comfortably seated to prove it
Tries to win a democratic election with the slogan "Breastfeeding .. it's not just for breakfast anymore."
Would wear bright orange pants to the opera .. or a tuxedo to a dude ranch. Would not apologize for either.
Thinks that the rain is God's way of evening things out for the poor, so they can run about their house and do laps in the water just like the rich do in their swimming pools.
When presented with a dish that has things in it that he doesn't like, such as broccoli, will quietly take the pieces out and eat it anyway. Then beg the cook not to do it again the next time he notices her chopping the offending ingredient up, or somesuch.
Reads Reggie The Evil Milkshake and lauds it as pure brilliance
Actually I havent' finished any Reggie The Evil Milkshake story yet, so there.
Nor have I made a real and proper list of what I want in a man. This lady had us do that once, the idea being that if you did this, made a list of what you thought you really wanted, and what you definitely did not want, then narrowed things to what you could live with and what you could not live without, then you would have a much easier time of finding the right man.
You would have a firm grip on what you wanted and could say .. uhm .. no .. that's not you. Or maybe quit rejecting men who were oh so good on many levels but were too poor or .. okay, so that bit makes sense.
Only I got as far as he would be Irish, have brown or black hair, brown eyes, be around 6'4", not a heavy drinker, not a drug user, very affectionate but not clingy, and, of course, a nutter. Or, whatever Sean turns out to be. Sean being the guy I fancied myself madly in love with at the time. Who was most of those things, except he drank too much and he was a slutty little freak .. who also, as it turned out, had a thing for misplaced tongues, but that wasn't the half of his problems. So ...
The thing is, I don't know how to make up any such list, because, for one thing .. I told you that I think there is someone out there who is right and I have no idea of what he looks like, or anything. So I would hate to categorize things and weed him out.
Besides, I am not always the same. And that's what it comes down to. I mean, I need a man who suits me, right? And to suit me, he would have to be changeable, and insane, and wonderfully rational, stable, brilliant, enjoy really dumb stuff, a slutty pervo, Jesus type. Like me, but with smaller tits and a bigger penis.
My rambling is done for the day. You shall have to pardon me, but I am feeling very restless ... sometimes it hurts, because I can feel that there is someone out there, and I wish he would hurry up and get here so I could make him spaghetti and find out if he likes Clint Eastwood movies.
If you happen to run into him, by the way, remind him about the song and ask him how he feels about cobalt blue glassware as I have a wee dessert cup for him made out of just such.
Thank you for putting up with me.
Bye, for now
Arletta
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