I am what I hate in men

I went to Matt Damon’s graduation dinner last night for his MBA. Quick recap: Matt Damon is one of those great guys I previously mentioned that I never allowed things to progress with. Yes, as currently discussed with Cindy and Cremello, risk of hurting him was too great. Traveling to Puerto Rico allowed me to avoid dealing with this situation. I suppose I believe it would dissipate; instead this is what has transpired:

Last time I was in New York, I truly enjoyed seeing him, which consists primarily of daytimes as we work from the same coffee shop in New York. I do love talking to him, and a dialog of whether I should give it a shot continues looping through my mind. However, in my gut, its not there . . . a lack of that sexual attraction, perhaps or my inability to see myself with him . . .

Regardless, during the last trip to the Island, I sent him an email containing some work-related mishaps we share during our days at the coffee shop and ended it with “I am thinking of you.” He responded “I wish I was there too – I can’t imagine anything more perfect than holding you on the beach right now.  I’ll get down there soon enough” to which I responded, “I am imaging you here. I am so different here. I have been here all but three hours and I wish you knew the me that is here. I can’t wait for you to come. . . I don’t know why, but I am feeling inexplicably close to you these days . . “

Ok, I am an ASS.

In that moment, I did feel that. I promise. I could only think of all the conversations I love, the moments shared and didn’t think about how I was taking his heart into my possession. I am that horrible misleading girl. But I meant it

To which he respomded:

“So tell me about how Island Attainingme differs from New York Attainingme.

Does her lower lip still curl up when she pouts?  Does she still look amazing when she’s dressed for a meeting?  Does she still laugh at all her emails?  Does she still tell ridiculously involved stories that make me smile in disbelief?  Does she still look around aimlessly as she’s typing?  Does she still sound impressive when she’s negotiating on the phone? Does she still look back at me sheepishly with her beautiful eyes after I kiss her? “

What I want in a man

 Inspired by CremolloQuarterPony and Cindy! As written at 1:30am. I apologize for the stream of consciousness. I will update this with a more specific list. i suppose realizing what I want is a process in itself.

I am not sure if I should write “The Man I Want” or “The Man I Want Right Now.” I always thought that they were the same—I, not one for things without lasting significance.

I stare at the porcelain horse head on my dresser and I know where this should go . . .

A man who helps me to cultivate my passions.

A man who brings out the ‘me’ I love.

However, since I love myself unconditionally and love the real parts of me- be it introspective, childlike, giddy, or depressed, perhaps it is better to define this as:

A man who cultivates those parts of me that I am neglecting.

Oh man, how am I ever going to write this list. Ok, note to self: Cultivate those parts of you that you are neglecting.

The man should therefore, see the artist in me. A man with whom I can be a writer, photographer, and adventurer.

I would love a man with whom I could ride horses.

 

The man should also recognize my ambition and be ambitious himself, for what sexy soul lacks ambition? Which makes me realize, I also require introspection.

A man with whom I don’t intend to work with, but as a unit, we will create something bigger than ourselves. Sharing our businesses, fueling the minds that depart each other every morning, fostering each other’s brilliance and confidence.

 

A man with whom I can play with, dare with, who will push my limits-on a swing or in the bedroom. Laying on a blanket in the grass as if we were children succumbed to the moment without another care.

Yet, this man has many cares.

He need not have an unblemished past. He may have a perfect family or none. Yet, he should have an understanding of himself- his fears, his inhibitions, his neuroses.

 

We read in bed. We cook dinner. Share wine. Champagne. We race. We fly. We grow.

I love tall, dark and handsome, but he could be blond with blue eyes and chiseled features. My physical requirement is only that my body yearns for his and that I could get lost in his eyes forever. Luckily, eyes don’t gain weight or age.

My man is honest. Able to give. Able to be classy and dirty. Handsome in a suit, and just as handsome rugged in boots. Did I say I have a thing for horses and adventure?

Passion, tears, immature, serious—nothing is off limits.

 

. . . . . . To be continued. There is a flying insect pursuing me hungrily and the man is not here yet to conduct his insect-swatting duties.

Oh, just one more for this evening- A man who will take care of the manly things. Pete, the cockroach and Loco the most treacherous bug I have ever known are two things my man would make sure I was without.

 

Challenges-our greatest supporter

All is stable. A foundation. A contentment. I realize that life will upset this. Upset that of which feels so secure in this moment. And I write this now acknowledging that a future entry will include frustration, that I will think of how erratic my life is. How my life’s emotions lack permanence. 

 

However, I write this not to undermine the happiness felt in life’s higher moments by the knowledge that the future inevitably will retaliate with lows. But, I sense any seismic shift is when its time to move on. Now, I feel calm. My life far from ideal but the foundation is there as if my current life is an expression of my ideals, as if I am finally aligned with my soul. In the right place. Doing the right thing. 

Should my mission, values, goals change and my life not follow, challenges will be presented. Helping me change, to realize a limiting quality within me. SHould I not listen, the challenges will grow. I wonder if there is a greater gift.

I feel different.

I drove home. The words in my mind sprinting, poetic. If only I could regurgitate them precisely here.

I feel full. Satisfied. Leaving Starbucks with a completion, satiated not only from my sugar-free, non-fat, extra foam latte, but deep within. I want to go home and run to my dog, kiss him, hug him. I love my dog, always, but I never display an extreme outpouring of affection upon walking in the door. Perhaps much like my father who would tune out to the TV at the end of the day, nothing left to give, depleted.

I have changed. It’s as if a part of me was missing and has been found. I am capable and calm. Knowing that everything is about to change. For the first time in a long time, I am able to work. Focused, motivated. Its amazing, The knowledge of what will come from a directed energy. I know our projects will come through. I know if I only I reach a little deeper, like an athlete running a race. The ability to dig deep, find an untapped energy is what sets records. Just working is not enough. Or rather, working, truly working, is the secret. I feel as if I hold the key. As if some internal conflict resulted in a daily war- distraction, procrastination, employee, not rainmaker.

Now the longer hours invigorate me. A second wind. The knowledge that if I take the helm, the ship will sail. I also know that I am failing miserably at writing my mind’s earlier sentiments-so perfect they were.

I try and remember what my mind was thinking. I was thinking of Yammy. A true friend, and I wonder if a woman, a true friendship is what was missing. And I think of “The Secret Law of Attraction” by Talane Miedaner. A book I started lightly reading. I stopped. Planned to revisit. Am yet to do so, however I did steal this concept—how we are limited and controlled by our unfulfilled needs.

As I write this, I am so content. I am sure I have felt this unstoppable before. However, I remind myself, “with every high comes a low.” Perusing my memories, my past highs were not so calm, they were full of giddiness, a “pinch me-I must be dreaming” feeling. I wonder if I have ever truly felt this . . full. Ironically, my life at the moment would suggest the opposite. Owed two paychecks. Spending ability of only the cash in my wallet (less than $40), bills unpaid, my mother, no love interests  . . .

Which reminds me this entry was supposed to be my list- but as I drove home I started listing in my mind, those items that I desire. Thinking about the law of attraction and the power of actually receiving that of which you ask for. Oddly, I questioned if this Mr. Right is what I want now. I thought so. I craved an intimacy, needed it. Perhaps, this was my unfulfilled need dictating my life. Maybe Yammy and Rediscoveringme provided satiety.

The corners of my mouth upturn, a smile forms. For some reason, I have a feeling that now that I just want, don’t need intimacy from a partner, that’s exactly what I am about to find. 

Alternatives to sleeping pills?

I couldn’t sleep last night and i desperately needed to as this week is a huge work week for me, or at least, I hope it is. Regardless, I laid in bed reading a book that has me mesmerized by its prose. I don’t even know the name as the book has not been closed since I started it. I should have been writing my list of desired attributes in a guy like Cremelloquarterpony and Cindy have done, however I don’t fancy writing in bed and waking with a black mustache or other ink tattoos, not to mention ruined sheets. 

So, there I was reading as the hours passed and I realized that Attainingme is not normally one with insomnia, I am from the other camp- those that completely pass out and never go to bed until said passing out. I wondered if it was my failure to eat dinner, instead opting for two glasses of champagne hours earlier as I laid in my girlfriend’s bed, grateful for her television in the background to alleviate the pain of writing my bio for my company’s press release. (Yes, I live in an empty apartment on the Island, only my dog and the waves to provide distraction.)

So, then there i was at 2am, having been in bed for 2.5hrs, replacing a need for sleeping pills with a hunch that food would do the trick. I venture into the kitchen. Red wine! I pour myself a 10 oz glass and search for some carb, or sweet, or something that would induce that serotonin-filled calm . . . nothing. Just fruit, eggs, fish, spinach, water, frozen veggies and some condiments . . .argh. I turn the oven on to 400 degrees and stick an apple inside. I then boil water in a pot and drop in an egg. 

Ten minutes later I am in bed, reading again, drinking my copious glass of red wine, eating a baked apple with sweet balsamic vinegar and of course, an egg. 

I never finished. I feel asleep. This morning-a huge bordeaux glass next to my bed, a cup of balsamic aging not so nicely. Sadly, as I went to pick up the glass, it shattered and my floor was rendered burgundy. 

I think of my concoction. And think I am crazy and yet, rather intelligent. For as much as I would never promote my story to anyone I know, I was successful. However, I think my wine glass did me a favor by breaking  . . . I should not become the crazy lady eating concoctions like I was pregnant in bed at 2am. Any other ideas?

That elusive thing called “chemistry”

I am renaming Soulmate to Rediscoveringme because he is not my Soulmate and that I know. However, he was the one that awoke my soul. Quieted the frustration in my decision to be alone. Reaffirmed my decision to not date the great men that would make amazing companions.

I believe last night I was torn, feeling that I had closed my heart to the world. As if I was guilty of the accusations that I keep a fortress around me, perhaps I do, but the walls crumble when someone makes my heart skip a beat.

So, Rediscoveringme just left. When I wrote him that I was conflicted last night, he replied with the most perfect answer of wanting to see me today, not with expectations or to tear off my clothes, but to hear my thoughts. I have only seen him four times now, yet his comment reminded me of what I felt when I first spent time with him.

And again, I feel my role in his life is similar to his in mine. We are each others’ mirror and in it, we see what we already know. I still barely know him.

Yet tonight, I believe I almost made him cry. Earlier I told him what I expressed below. I wonder why this stranger is the one with whom I can share my emotions. And I believe everyone’s goal when dating and meeting someone should be to experience such. I don’t recommend pouring out your heart or unleashing a tirade of emotions, but I believe our goal should be to be “real.”

What makes a date great? What is behind this connection we are all searching for?  What are the date topics and conversations that will elicit such?

I think back to the common link between the men that have given me butterflies over the years. Beyond initial attraction, it was a feeling of shared interests, seeing myself in them, imaging my desired life synergistic with theirs (more to come on this), and always, seeing through a certain exterior that they were generous and had a heart full of feelings (ie. That they are contemplative and not permanently on a high,in in a non-affected, “manly” state. As if, clicking with them would open a world of intimacy and sharing of our deepest thoughts.)

It’s not as simple as a man who makes me laugh or who is intriguing, active, or ambitious.

I think my next post should be “drawing Attainingme’s Mr. Right”, specifying what traits I believe my desired mate has . . .

Is there a common link between the people you have fallen for?