I’m a single lady. I’ve been single for a little while now. I fucked up a few times and I needed to take a time-out and figure out what I was doing. I’m still in time-out. Getting a pep talk from the coach. So I’ve had lots of time to think about what I want from people in general, not just people I decide to date.
You know what I really want? I want to hang out with someone who makes me laugh. Genuinely. Throw my head back and feel it in my stomach laugh. My friends claim I am a “laugh slut.” That I’m easy to make laugh. Easy to entertain. Is that such a bad thing? I like to be happy. I have an odd sense of humor and so whenever I get a chance to express it, I go for it. Es okay. I’m not self conscious about it. I have found though, in my experience, that for some reason, laughing at people makes them self-conscious. But it shouldn’t! It should be like a verbal high five. You’re awesome! You just made someone laugh. Go you.
I want someone who makes me feel good. I want someone who doesn’t make me feel self-conscious or second guess myself. I want someone who will take me on a date and do stupid things with me and ask me to come over and do nothing. Kill time. Who will cook for me and open a beer for me and surprise me. Someone who will let me sleep in. I have this great memory from Charleston. Oh, college. One of my favorite memories of Michael. My first semi-adult relationship, I guess. Yeah, we lived together, so it counts. But before that, before we started seriously dating and fucked everything up, we went to college together. And we would meet up at the library late and run into each other on campus and smoke hookah and eat pizza rolls in his dining room. We would go to parties together and play beer pong and drink beer illegally. We even went to the movies together, once or twice. I usually went over on Wednesdays because I didn’t have class until 11am on Thursdays (or was it 10, who can remember?) College. And he always had to get up around 9 or 10 to go to class. One morning I stayed late. Usually I left while he was gone, but that morning I skipped class (it was Brit Lit, alright, which I’d had a million times before. It was basically senior English and every other English lit class I took at community college. And which I took again. in England. WORDSWORTH). Anyway, I skipped class and slept in and was still sleeping when Michael returned. I remember he busted into his room and was so excited to see me still there, in his bed. And I laughed at him and he laughed at my laziness. And then he got back in bed (even still wearing his sock hat. Cause it was November). And we hung out and talked until I really did have to get up and go to my much more serious class on Research for Literary Theorists or something else similarly ridiculously titled. (The only class I got a B+ in all of college. jerks.) There was a time when I really cared about him. When he could make or break my day. I hope he has a good life. He deserves it. If only for that one time we laughed randomly together on a cold November morning in central Illinois.
“Fall in love with someone who treats you how Kanye treats Kanye.”