My kind of man October 27, 2008
Posted by alysette in Uncategorized.Tags: crushes, Men, Seti
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Or, why I am (perhaps luckily) still single.
So, I’ve been watching what the other ladies have posted on their blogs as far as the type of guys they like and I have to admit that they have made some mighty fine choices. Naturally, looking at their preferred guys got me to thinking about the kind I like.
I am in trouble. I seem to prefer older, smarter, and (usually) British men. Yeah. There’s a distinct lack of Brits over here, not to mention that smart people of any kind are in short supply.
I have a major thing for Hugh Laurie. All y’all can keep Patrick Dempsey. I much prefer the bitter, sarcastic, bitingly truthful House.
Hugh Laurie
I suspect I would like Mr. Laurie even better than that particular alter ego; he has a fine tradition of comdey to back him up, and I have always liked his performance in Sense and Sensibility.
Actually, Sense and Sensibility was a great movie for me. For one, I have such a crush on Emma Thompson (or her abilities) it’s not funny. So there’s the great admiration, you-go-girl aspect of it.
Emma Thompson and Hugh Grant
Then, it had Hugh Laurie. And then it had Alan Rickman. (Also, not to forget the delectable Hugh Grant – but he’s more like a snack than a main course.)
I’m not quite sure what it is about Alan Rickman: I suspect it is the brooding, intense, involved aspect that he has. Alan Rickman as Severus Snape, Harry Potter’s loathed Potions teacher? Oh, I am so there. (I was so happy when book 7 came out – not the least to find that I was not alone in my suspicion of Snape’s passionate, dedicated nature- or in having a thing for him).
Alan Rickman in real life and as Severus Snape.
Very intense, very brooding, very Mr. Rochester (Jane Eyre‘s hero, for those of you rusty on your classics).
Before you get mired in how hopeless my choices are (before even considering exactly why they’re so hopeless) – or even how bizarre – I feel that I should mention that I do have the requisite crush on Brad Pitt. It seemed, at least for a while, that every woman I knew had a crush on him.
Yeah. I like him when he’s crazy. Like in 12 Monkeys. Or in Fight Club. What would possibly be the purpose of liking a good-looking guy when he’s good-looking?
I think I’m out of luck. No one broods in the Midwest.
Requirements October 17, 2008
Posted by alysette in dating, Relationship, Single.Tags: crazy, dating, Seti
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I do a lot of driving, and I spend a good deal of that time lost in thought, either working through book plots or pondering the mysteries of the universe or inventing new curses for bad drivers.
Some of that time is also given to pondering what I want out of my next romantic relationship. This occurs especially if, for some reason, I have been given cause to think of previous relationships.
The most prominent requirement I have is that I get to be the crazy one. I get to be the flibbertigibbet, the one who’s allowed to drift off into daydreams.
In all of my previous relationships, I’ve been the responsible one. I find it ironic, given that the people I dated were, at least on paper, seemingly more sane that I: I mean, for gosh sake’s, I have a B.A. in Creative Writing. Yet I’ve always been the one to make sure bills got paid, trash got taken to the curb, the dog got walked, the dishes got washed, the appointments were kept.
You know what? I’m sick of it. I want to ease up on my responsibility reflexes.
I want to trust that someone will take care of me.
I’ve never yet met anyone I can trust.
Too much a grammatician September 30, 2008
Posted by alysette in Uncategorized.Tags: internet, rant, Seti
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Egads.
My eyes are still bleeding from reading an email sent to me by one of my best friends. How she wrote it is more responsible for my headache than what she actually wrote.
We met in a class about four years ago (although it seems we’ve known each other forever), and had not emailed much as she had not had ready access to a computer until recently. She’s bright, clever, and funny (obviously, or why would I love hanging out with her?). She’s a powerful do-it-yourselfer who is always cooking up new projects and always coming up with new, innovative, ideas.
You would never know this by how she writes.
I guess it struck me forcibly tonight as, right after I finished reading her email, I got two unsolicited emails from random guys. All had text-message English, if it can properly be called that.
I’m not giving them a chance. To me, one of the first indicators of character is how well a person writes. I don’t expect them to wield a sentance like a scalpal, or even spell everything correctly – I do expect, however, that they will take the time to actually write full words. Especially when they are words of one syllable. If you can’t even take the time to spell out a word, why would I expect that you will take the time to do anything else? You’re obviously in too much of a hurry to be contemplative or thoughtful.
I was feeling slightly remorseful, as by this standard if I had met my pal through the internet, it would not have gone very far. I do think there is one huge difference – she knows me, probably better than anyone else I can think of. It’s much more acceptable to write a long-standing acquaintance using IM-speak (although I would rather not read it again, all the same) – but to actually write that way to a person you’ve never communicated with before? Oh, puh-leeze. Cold-heartidly murdering the English language (or any other, for that matter) is not going to impress me.
Forget looks, wealth, previous relationships, pets, kids, or employment situation – I’m not going to get that far simply because I can’t overlook the writing. If you can’t take the time to formulate your thoughts and put down nice, cohesive sentences, why on earth should I take the time to read it (much less care?).
Like the song said, I want a man with a slow hand.
And, just in case it occured to you to wonder, I can’t even bring myself to abbreviate on my text-messaging. Everything in me rebels against such random slaughter of letters. That’s one of the reasons I don’t text-message much – it just takes too long to spell out.
