He thinks my stories are hilarious.

One thing that a year of dating will result in is a lot of time to reflect on what you want in a partner. The standard tall, dark and handsome takes on a very descriptive meaning.

Tall becomes 6 feet even since I'm pretty short and don't want neck strain, but also want my kids to have a shot at playing basketball. Dark becomes an olive-y, Mediterranean complexion with longish, slightly curly hair the color of Norway Maple tree bark. Handsome morphs into green eyes, a strong jaw, a Roman nose, and nice rosy lips that are just plump enough to make him a great kisser without looking girly, tying it all together. Oh, and some nicely developed pecs that make a great pillow for napping, defined, but not too washboard-y abs, and a great pair of arms that are perfect for cuddling, carrying out the trash, and packing a punch should he need to defend my honor.

Obviously, I've had some time to create my perfect man. Now I just need to find a lab that can build him.

Aside from building my dream imaginary boyfriend, it will also give you a lot of time to wonder how people who you know, and don't really love, (or even like for that matter) end up married when you can't manage to get past the fourth date without doing something idiotic that makes a guy you're into stop calling. Or without hearing him saying something dumb, at which point you decide he is the span of Satan and stop taking his calls. This perpetually leaves me wondering  things such as "What do these yea-whoos have that I don't? Where are they buying their love potions because obviously I'm getting ripped off!"

Gahhhhh. First world problems are soooooo difficult.
Waaaa Waaaa.

As I have mulled over what I want my partner to look like, I've also thought about what they should be like. I have come up with a rather exhaustive list.
Some things on the list are silly (and negotiable) like they have to pretend to be an English Lord should we ever run into any of my ex-boyfriends. I would also let them pretend to be a Prince or an astronaut in this situation.
Look at me, compromising away!

Others are a little more serious; He must think my parents are the most amazing people in the world, which should be a slam dunk, because they are. And he must love my friends like he picked them out himself!

But one trait I hadn't considered important, or even considered at all, was that my future hubs should love my stories. I know, its crazy to think that someone wouldn't love my stories, but my ex-boyfriend hated them. I would launch into some story about something funny, sad, gross, interesting, and/or shocking (basically insert any event/person/country/animal/topic and I have no less than three stories about it*) and before I was even to the good part he would cut me off and say "Just give me the highlights."

This made me want to scream "I AM NOT A CHILDREN'S MAGAZINE FOUND IN THE DENTIST OFFICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DON'T DO HIGHLIGHTS! ASS-CLOWN!"

But I never screamed at him, and I never called him an ass-clown (though it is a surprisingly fitting description) because yelling and calling people names isn't my style, which might surprise some of you given my flair for dramatics in my story telling.

I never realized how much the ex not liking my stories hurt my feelings until after my recent ice cream date with Arhma.

Arhma is really smart, funny and easy to talk to. I found myself telling him loads of my ridiculous stories (but none of the dating stories). During our date he made the comment that I was really funny and had some amazing stories.
Take that Adam Carolla! Women are funny!
Take that ex-boyfriend! My stories are awesome!

The next day I got the following text message "I had a great time last night. Thanks for coming out. Your stories are really hilarious!"

Now, maybe he was just sucking up, but I don't think so.
When guys suck up, they compliment your shoes. Not your funny bone.

How can someone who spent a total of two hours with me think that I am hilarious and clearly enjoy my stories, and someone I dated for almost three years was always so eager to hush up, literally, that part of myself?

It baffles me.

But the one thing I know for sure about my future husband, he must love stories. Especially mine.

*I can see you are skeptical about this claim, feel free to test me. 

A match made in Bluegrass Heaven?

When I saw Jack's profile on Match.com I was instantly intrigued.
Not so much because he was cute, which he is, but because it said he had moved from Kentucky.
HAAAAAAALLELUJAAAAH! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
The more I date out here, the more I miss guys from the South.
There is just something a little bit different about them.
I'm not saying they are better... It's just a good different that I miss.

Southern men wear bow ties without the least bit of irony.
They can pull off plaid shorts without looking ridiculous.
I don't have to explain how to bet at the race track because Southern gents already know.
They know who Christian Laettner is, and why I'm not crazy about him.
I don't have to explain that all bourbon is whiskey, but not all whiskey is bourbon.
They open doors for me, carry my lipstick in their pocket when I don't have pockets of my own, and ask about my Momma.
They don't think drinking out of a mason jar is cute. They think it's normal.

So, needless to say, I had high hopes for this date.

Jack and I agreed to meet up at a sports bar to watch some UK football. Now, of course, I wasn't expecting my Wildcats to win. This isn't basketball season after all and we aren't known for our football prowess. But any excuse to cheer for my home state and I am stoked. We were playing Arkansas, who I loath possibly more than Duke. Since Jack went to Western he decided to cheer for them just to keep things interesting. They are both red after all.

This was fine with me. Its the fact that he is a legit Louisville fan that I really have a hard time with.
He did preface it with "Now, don't hate me. I'm a nice person otherwise."

Alas, peering into my crystal ball I can see lots of very tense basketball seasons in our future, and that just wont work. Our children will have to chose between Mom's team and Dad's team and that just isn't 
fair to little Charles Edward and Kathy Sue. This date was practically over before it started. 

I somehow managed to not run out of the bar when he claimed those dirty birds as his team, and we actually ended up having a really nice time. He is really smart and funny, though carrying a bit too much ex-girlfriend baggage for my liking. He is headed back to Kentucky in a few days to finish getting the rest of his stuff out of the house they own together.

That's right. They own a house together.

People, if you take nothing else away from this blog know this; Don't buy things with people you
aren't legally bound to! That means no houses, no dogs, and no plants with people you aren'tcommitted to forever and always! Only jointly buy things you can feasibly cut in a half. 
Like an apple. 
Or siamese twins. 

The girl always comes out of this kind of division of property on top. She will kick you out, because you can't make her leave. That's just mean. She will take your dog and you'll be a weekend dog-dad. And she'll probably steal your plants just to really stick it to you since she always hated them and will likely end up killing them! Even if she dumped  you, you'll probably get labeled as the meanie. That's how it works.   

But I digressed quite rapidly. 

Anyway... we watched the game and ended up going to dinner after. We discussed how we both make friends easily (He was an army brat so he has lots of experience moving, and I will talk to anyone. Literally.) and how people seem to find that weird in California. I guess they don't hear alot of "Hey, I just met you. And this is crazy, but here's my number. Let's be besties!" 

After dinner, we called it a night, but both agreed we should definitely be friends.
There aren't any sparks, but I can use all the friends out here I can get!
Even if they are a Louisville fan...
No one is perfect after all.