My Ideal Man – or – Why I am holding out for Morrissey

I was recently asked by a friend what my ‘ideal’ man would be like.  I was also told by the same friend that my token response of ‘like Morrissey’ couldn’t be accepted, and that I had to tell them specific characteristics.  I suppose I had never really thought about whether I had an ‘ideal’ man before – I suppose previously I just ‘liked’ who I ‘liked’.  But, having been posed the question, I decided to give it some serious thought.  So here it is:

My Ideal Man.  By Laura.  Aged 27.

I suppose my ideal man would have to be a little eccentric.  I’m not at all turned on my normality (what’s normal anyway?), but then again, I wouldn’t want someone to be so eccentric that they were bordering on lunatic.  My ideal man would not care too much what other people thought of them, yet not to extent that they forgo bodily hygiene, or to clothe themselves etc.

A good sense of humour is very important in a man I think.  What I mean by ‘good’ sense of humour is someone who laughs at my rubbish jokes, and knows how makes me laugh.  I like a man who doesn’t take himself too seriously, yet…can sometimes take himself somewhat seriously.  After all I like a man to be intellectual, and like nothing more than to be able to debate existentialism or the philosophies of Nietzsche.  But then again, I also like to talk about Eastenders, and the weather, so I wouldn’t really like to a man to be too intelligent either.  Or arrogant.  Sure of himself but not arrogant.

I also quite like a man to be a ‘manly’ man.  That is, someone who knows how to pick up things that are heavy, can fix things like taps, can put up shelves, aren’t afraid of the dead things that Smelly Cat brings in sometimes, and could have a fight if he really wanted to.  Yet, I don’t like a man to be so ‘manly’ that they are the missing link – all testosterone and muscles – that just makes me feel a little sick.  Conversely however, I like reflective, artistic men.  I’m endlessly impressed by creativity, whether that be painting, writing, playing an instrument.  Poetic and interesting are ace.

I quite like thin men to look at – the angular the better, but feel uncomfortable getting down to business with a man who is slimmer than me.  I also quite like men with a bit of meat on their bones you see for the very reason that they tend to be more attractive than thin men.  I don’t like a man who looks like he has never had a good meal (of course ideal man would also need to be able to cook, but only food that I like mainly)  Pale is interesting.  My height or taller – but not freakishly tall like a giant.

My ideal man would also have good hair – ‘good’ as defined by me of course. Short or long, black or blonde, mohawk or skinhead, it doesn’t matter as long as it is good hair.  Bad hair would include comb-overs, friar-tuck bald patches, and the mullet.

I have always been slightly attracted to older men, but not that much older.   My side of 40 please.  Scrap that – I’ve been there and got the t-shirt – I’ll keep them my side of 35 please.  (Unless of course Morrissey asked me for a date, and then I’d make an exception).   I also quite like men with furniture faces – i.e. wear glasses – as I believe glasses make a man look intellectual.  Contact lense wearers are ok too – I’m just a little uncomfortable with 20/20 vision in a man, being that I am blind as a bat myself.

I’m not keen on men who are money / status orientated, as I’m not that way myself I find it all very nauseating.  In fact, the poorer the better in my book. Although, not so poor that I have to buy them food of course. That would be irritating.  Sort of middle ground poverty, if there is such a thing would be ideal.  Time & experience rich but money & assets poor.  I like that.  People who have ‘careers’ in banks/civil service/accountancy/actuarial services just don’t appeal.  Good on them and all that but I’d rather a painter with holes in his shoes than a city boy with a hefty bank balance.

I also quite like a man with tattoos, but only ‘good’ ones – ‘good’ being as defined by me on the day. But then I like a man without tattoos also.  Tattoos optional I think.  My ideal man would also not have an addiction to (or perversion with) any of the following:  hard drugs, hard women, animals, kids, porn, feet, football, sild or booze.

I also like a man to make me feel good about myself.  Complimentary but not sycophantic – i.e. can say the right things but also take the mickey a little.  And who isn’t a creep…

…or in fact a stalker.  I like a man who will give me the space to do the things that I like to do, yet will come running on demand.  Actually, perhaps not on demand, as that would put him back into creep status.  But someone who is there at all the right times.

And obviously, I wouldn’t like a man who was a murderer or any other sort of moral degenerate either.  But I think that goes without saying really.

So in a nutshell my ideal man is someone who:

• Is not too tall but not short
• Is funny but serious
• Is intellectual but not too intellectual
• Is slim but stocky
• Is interesting and poetic
• Is manly and artistic
• Is complimentary but not sycophantic
• Wears glasses or contact lenses
• Tattooed or not tattooed
• Is eccentric but not lunatic
• Is older but not too old
• Can cook the things that I like to eat
• Isn’t a creep or a stalker
• Has good hair (as defined by me on the day)
• Isn’t a pervert
• Isn’t a murderer

When put like that…I think I’m better off holding out for Morrissey…

I keep mine hidden…

Today V moved out.  It took him a while (in fact nearly 4 weeks since we broke up) to find somewhere else to live.

It’s funny, but even know I knew this day was coming, and also that I have also been very hurt by what it transpired that he had been doing behind my back all that time, I still feel so very sad that he’s gone.  We have lived together for a few years, and I always genuinely believed he was ‘the one’ (if there is indeed such a thing).

I suppose today it’s all hit home finally.  I’ve been holding it together quite well – it has always been V’s prerogative in the relationship to cry and be very outwardly emotional, but I generally keep my emotions hidden. I’m the ‘rational’ one, whereas V puts his very much in the public view.

But today I feel so sad because of waste. And, despite it all, I’ll miss him terribly.

One of the most awful feelings in the world…

… is loving someone very much, but knowing that for the eventual better for both of you, you have to say ‘goodbye’.

I have no doubt that walking away is the right decision – there was no respect for me on the other persons part, and it turns out that I am not a bottomless well of understanding and forgiveness after all (sadly we had been in this situation before on several occasions).

But knowing it is the right decision doesn’t make it any easier at all.

Shouldn’t but Would…

As anyone who follows my Twitter activity or read last week’s blog post is aware: I’ve been having a rubbish week.  Mainly on account of having just moved house, and then subsequently breaking up with long term boyfriend two weeks after we move into said new house.

(Note:  Full details of this will not be flogged to death here or in any other public space, being that mutual friends / family read this blog)

Anyway – as a result of feeling sorry for myself, I have been on a misery croissant* and comedy panel show TV binge now for almost a whole week.  (Everyone has their own ways of coping).  However, as a result of this, I have been led to two horrifying epiphanies:

1. If I carry on eating misery croissants like they are going out of fashion then I will either go into hyperglycemic coma or become as big as a house
2. As a result of watching too many TV comedy panel shows I have developed a ‘shouldn’t but would’ crush on David Mitchell (pictured).

I don’t think that I am alone in keeping a mental ‘shouldn’t but would list‘.  In fact I believe that everyone has a secret list of people that they really really shouldn’t fancy (or admit that they fancy), but inexplicably do – i.e. they would ‘do’ them anyway.

Let me explain.  Other gems from my (scarily long) ‘shouldn’t but would‘ list include; Angus Deyton, Stephen Fry (sexuality is no barrier to a ‘shouldn’t but would’ list), the guy who plays ‘Superhands’ from Peep Show, Obama, Alexander Armstrong, Hugh Dennis, Emilio Estevez in ‘Young Guns’, and John Lydon in his younger days (not his age now I hasten to add!).

Now, if I pluck one of these bad boys out of the air at random – lets say Angus Deyton – I can illustrate my point.  Angus Deyton is not an aesthetically pleasing man. Not in any way.  In the past he has been caught having sex / cocaine parties with strippers (or something), and he is about 25 years my senior (I imagine) – so he’s hardly pin up material.  Yet…there is equally something quite attractive about him at the same time. I can’t place my finger on exactly what it is – perhaps it’s the witty humour?

But you get my point.  Even though he is uggo, I would do him anyway.

(Actually, on thinking about it, perhaps that just makes me a slut?)

Anyway, the David Mitchell crush can probably be explained away by the fact that I’m on a bit of a relationship low at the moment, and that he is also a very funny man (as you can see from the other ‘stars’ from my list – I’m attracted to very funny men).   And, or course, the fact that I’ve been watching too many comedy panel shows in which he features, of late.

I’d be interested to find out who is on other people’s ‘shouldn’t but would’ lists…or if, in fact, I’m alone in this madness…

*misery croissants are normal croissants that are eaten in times of misery / floods of tears.  Of course this can also apply to other foodstuffs such as cake or chocolate, but I prefer a croissant in times of stress.

Here we go again…

Shame – it seems that my natural propensity to naturally trust people / give them the benefit of the doubt has turned round and bitten me on the arse again.

I’m in a very difficult situation having just moved house down to Leigh on Sea to find that a person that I had trusted very much had in fact been making a fool out of me for a very long time.

But on finding out, telling that person to go get f*cked was the most sensible thing that I’ve done in 2 1/2 years.

(On the plus side, the house by the way is very lovely indeed – and Leigh on Sea is a fab area where I have lots of friends and family)

Anyway I’ll blog more when I have a little more inclination to do anything other than eat misery croissants* or batter this other person senseless with his own shoes.  And also when I have a reliable internet connect at home which I don’t at the moment.

*misery croissants are normal croissants that are eaten in times of misery / floods of tears.  Of course this can also apply to other foodstuffs such as cake or chocolate, but I prefer a croissant in times of stress.

The Dolls House

In the 1960s or thereabouts, my Grandad (being an excellent carpenter, and having four daughters) made a dolls house.

It was made of solid wood (although I couldn’t tell you what type) and it was perfect. 

The front of the house opened out on hinges, it had an upstairs and a downstairs, and a set of real stairs that connected them. 

The outside walls were papered to look like red brickwork.  The roof papered to look like green slats.  And inside, each room was decorated in the taste of the day – which was garish 60s patterned wallpaper mainly.

Every room had a little door on that opened and closed and fit into its frame perfectly.   The windows opened and closed too, and the house even had a back door that led out onto an imaginary garden. 

I think I mentioned that my Grandfather was an excellent carpenter, but he also knew a thing or two about electricity as well.  Each room had working lights and there were even plug sockets for a little lamp in the bedroom and a little pretend fireplace in the living room.   I thought this was magic as a child.

There were no battery packs in ‘those days’ – the electrical system plugged directly into the mains (possibly contravening every modern day health and safety law!) 

My grandmother made tiny net curtains for the perspex windows, and furnished the house with tiny tables and chairs, little beds, wardrobes and dressers, a miniature oven and kitchen sink, and a small bathroom suite. 

The kitchen cupboards were stocked with tiny plates with plastic food in bright colours – sausage and eggs, fish and chips, cakes and jellys.  The kitchen even had tiny knives, forks and spoons so that the dolls could eat their synthetic food. 

The two dolls that lived in this house where a mother and daughter I think.  They had plastic hair and material clothes.  Their skeletons were made of wire, and they had plastic/rubber skin. 

The dolls house itself was appreciated by many of my relations. 

Three of my Aunts – now in their 50’s – played with the dolls house as children.  My mother, being the youngest probably got the most amount of mileage out of it.  My older cousins also used to have fun with the dolls house when visiting my grandparents. 

When I was a small child I also used to play with the dolls house whenever I went to visit or stay with my grandparents. 

I was fascinated with the miniture yet functional things inside.   My favourite game in the evenings was to put the lights on inside, close the front of the house, and peer in from the outside.  While my parents probably worried that I was displaying an early sign of voyeurism,  I was hoping that the dolls would maybe move about or something.  (In hindsight that is a very scary concept!) 

One day – when I was perhaps 7 or 8 –  my grandparents let me take the dolls house home.  I was pleased as punch.  Why my grandparents decided I should have it and not any of my cousins I will never know – but from then on it took pride of place in my bedroom.   

Over time in my care, the dolls house became home to more modern toys – my plastic dinosaur collection moved in for a while, as did my sylvanian families (remember them?).  The original dolls stayed however, making friends with the trendier toys, although they became increasingly decrepit and bent over time.  

We never replaced the 60’s wall paper or the 70’s furniture – the house remained in a time warp.

When I got too old for the dolls house my sister took over its care and maintenance.  I remember one Christmas she decorated the house with (real size) fairy lights much to the chargin of my mother who worried that the lights would somehow set the house on fire.

A true testiment of craftsmanship, the dolls house lasted nearly five decades and withstood the play of two generations of children.  

It saw the births of me and my siblings, it survived the divorce (and subsequent battle of property) of my parents, and it outlived both of my grandparents who took such care in making it in the first place.   

My dad smashed it to bits and threw it away anyway. 

Was it because he wasn’t very fond of my grandparents (they were my mother’s parents)?  Was it done out of spite in some way?  Or perhaps he just felt that because he had no emotional attachment no-one else did?  I just don’t know. 

All I do know is that he did it without telling anyone, without asking anyone else if they might want it, and that he doesn’t understand why it broke my heart a little when he told me what he’d done.  That by smashing up the dolls house he somehow smashed up a tiny little piece of my childhood and that of my sister, my cousins and others in my family.  And a little memory of my grandparents. 

And it really wasn’t his to smash.

Equality isn’t for Everyone…

“Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognised in California”

Proposition 8

Sad news today that the Supreme Court in California has backed the gay marriage ban.  Proposition 8 has been passed, which means that same sex couples are not allowed the privilege of marriage in the “Golden State”. 

Surely everyone should have the right to marry if they wish to?   Doesn’t part of the US Constitution read;

“…all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness”

Thomas Jefferson must be turning in his grave.

One small blessing is that at least the 18,000 same sex weddings that took place in the 6 month window before the decision, were not annulled – as they could have been.  (Although this decision in itself is confusing – is the message here that some gay couples are more ‘equal’ than others?)

The Golden State doesn’t seem very golden to me – in fact in this sense it is perhaps less progressive than some developing countries.  I suppose I just find it unbelievably sad that in the year 2009, this degree of homophobia is still prevalent in one of the most powerful countries in the world.  

Granted, in the grand scheme of things perhaps this decision doesn’t top the league table in terms of world importance.  But there is so much work being done every day by civil liberty groups, campaigners and communities worldwide to bring down barriers of hate…and so its disgraceful that the Californian government still supports these antiquated laws.

However, I am heartened by the fact that the decision of the minority does not reflect the attitudes of the majority.  At the time of writing #rejectprop8 is top of the trending table on twitter, and the general view on the ‘bloggosphere’ is that the majority of people – Californians or not – oppose this decision.

As Ghandi once said “First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, then you win.”

This is not about being gay or straight, bi-sexual or a-sexual, or even debating what is right and what is wrong.  Its about being human, and protecting the basic human right of happiness.  Isn’t love for everyone?

What would you rather? (or ‘Why I should be worried about my boyfriend’)

Today I had a rather worrying conversation with V…he has invented a new game called ‘What would you rather…?’.  This is an actual transcript of the conversation:

V:  I’ve invented a new game ‘What would you rather…?’

Me:  Go on…

V:  Ok, I give you two options and you just tell me which option you would rather do.

Me:  Ok, hit me

V:  Ok, so what would you rather – eat a dog or a cat?

Me:  A dog I suppose…more meat on a dog

V:  But dogs sometimes eat their own shit

Me:  But cats eat their own vomit more often than dogs eat their own shit

V:  You mean you would rather eat something that eats it own shit than its own vomit?

Me:  Now I’m not sure…

V:  Well you’ve chosen dog now.  Your stuck with it.  Ok, next question, What would you rather: french kiss your mum or your dad?

Me: What?!  Can I have the option of ‘neither’

V:  No you HAVE to choose

Me:  Why do I HAVE to choose?

V:  Because its the point of the game Lores!

Me:  You can’t make me choose!  Why don’t you answer the question: who would you choose to french kiss between of your mum and dad?

V: (no hesitation)  My dad.  My mum has false teeth

Me:  Remind me why I am seeing you again…?

I am an alcoholic and I need help

I’m not actually an alcoholic.  My father is.  But these are the words that I have been waiting for him to say.

Let me tell you a little bit about my father – he is in his mid-50’s and slowly killing himself.  His excessive alcohol abuse is damaging his health – he is chronically obese, sufferes from gout, high blood pressure and has been diagnosed with diabetes.  He is also damaging his relationships with his family.

Christmas day 2008.  Since my mother left, I have gone to my father’s house to visit him and my brother and sister, and also to cook dinner (the one year that my dad tried to cook it ended in disaster).  As always, my dad was hideously drunk by 3pm, caused an arguement with my 20 year old brother, where he became physically abusive (picking up a baseball bat at one point – although I managed to disarm him), and verbally abusive towards my younger sister (18).  He was threatening and I honestly felt that my younger brother and sister might be at risk, so I took them to my house (an hour and half drive away) where they stayed for a couple of nights.  That was Christmas.

Christmas 2007 and Christmas 2006 went more or less the same way in terms of his drinking, but this was the first time I had felt threatened by my father. 

And as usual, come Boxing Day when I called him to ‘tell him off’, he was his usual apologetic self – he was sorry and couldn’t really remember what he had done. 

Now, you may think that this post is written in a very factual way – believe me, there is a lot of emotion behind this, but not having lived with my father since I was 17, I perhaps find it easier to take an observer’s viewpoint, and to be a bit more objective than perhaps I could be if I was there everyday.  I am also treating this blog as a form of therapy in a way, as well as a day to day diary of my musings and recipes.

I am very aware that he is very depressed – being made redundant last year, and with his health problems (he is very overweight), and lack of education and training limiting his employment options has not helped this.  Because of his violent temper exaserbated by the drinking he has isolated himself from friends and family and as a result is lonely.

So he drinks.  And so the circle continues.  I am concerned not only for his mental health, but also for the mental health of my younger brother and sister who still live with him.

Believe me when I say I have tried to help.  My mother also suffered from alcohol addiction when I was younger, which changed her as a person into something hideous.  I was with her for most of this period and so have the experience necessary!  Eventually, sadly after burning many bridges,  she finally admitted she had a problem, attended treatment and counselling and changed her life around.

I have helped my father with job application forms, have written him healthy eating plans, have cajoled him, have had stern words with him, and have been there to listen to him.   But I am also very aware that I cannot help him any further until he admits he has a problem.  

I’m hoping that this day will come sooner rather than later, when he can has a chance to save his life.  I’ll keep this blog updated with progress, but if anyone reading this blog post has any advice I would be very happy to hear it.