Your stalactite arms hug ceilings
Bumpy plaster chipped dripping down
your cavern torso

Stalagmites and stalactites join sometimes
middles forming calcium hourglasses
Column renaming in phoenix wishings

You enter the room and -

mineral cohesion.

I think this is a super rough draft of Britt's request, which didn't turn out to be what I think she requested :(


With delicately gift wrapped unbroken substitutes for the damaged,
I sneak in front doors. Hands full of plans and hidden boxes.
You ease open repieced presents,
uncovering a whole completing unknowingly matched sets.
When you claim kind cruelty, I laugh,
knowing cautious motivations.
You pillow the fragile, cushion the still-intact.
Hot chocolate laughter and singing Christmas scenes drown doubts.
I drop heightened awareness for the undivided moment,
but clocks multiply, shattering my insubstantial illusions.

I will not forget to capture the moments of tonight in words to the best of my abilities.

Untitled, a nautical object poem

From mermaid blue-green edges melt away
Imperfect Dali circles emerge.
Form whorls in glass.
Waves expand and contract.
Water ripples –
A giant’s thumbprint.

Rising from the interior,
an Atlantis return.
Tops of skyscrapers form islands
within a volcano rim
These clock-like notches appear
There are ten hours, and
noon is 19. And
six is 67.

A. Livingston

Too quickly your ending arrived,
wanting just another verse to round out
a life of musical back stories.

Think of what your one day hunger
made for millions – a near Liverpool miss.
The fourth round is a charm and thankful
notes broke through your deafness.

You composed history in your time signature.
Gaining fab four fame and footnoted attributions.
Without you, signatures would decorate pages.
Exchanging flourishes and modifying keys.

Temporal revisions elusively play mute.
You, then remain a required component,
a semi-conductor for the otherwise attributed.

Alan. What interlude is this? What cruel
refrain to now reveal what was hidden before?
Your mighty range only discovered
after you reached your final bar.

House of Mirrors

Deceptively reflecting reality,
forgeries just flipped over and rotated
around the concave curves of
our distorted perception.
Trapped in a house of like objects
militant illusions demand control.
Metallic armies surrounding
and conquering through reversed
image confusion. Inherently flawed
reproductions still imitate well.
Just shadowy semblances of images
Within images within images within
an infinite recess of counterfeit.
Lost in a maze of cloned
sources, transcriptions of an
original. Emulating the authentic,
but only succeeding to mimic. Still,
these distorted perceptions move
around convex curves,
flipping over and rotating
the deceptively reflected reality.

False Dreams

I cannot write this poem.
Four stanzas and four lines cramped in clustered computers
Arguing with blank faces. Blank verse inspiration hits
and flawlessly evaporates
leaving untraceable bruises.
To hide and heal from the cave of rhymes
and ostentatious sentences, I raise lorgnettes and flip
switches. Christmas time and the lights illuminate everything.

See how suddenly lush this resort like Nebraska in June.
Farmers working untrained muscles and verdant fields.
Snow setting on sun drifts, but there
are no fireflies and the dusty roads soak up too much water.
Set after set of deceptive sunsets with no one to call.
Separated by oceans. Continents. Chain link fences.
That sunset isn't real. This is not Nebraska.

Long battles pit corn stalks and soybean armies.
Dimming lights reveal. I lost my glasses in the battle.
How did I get to this faux state?
What did you do with my lightning bugs?
I cannot write this poem with perfect rhyme pairs
crossed in perfect rhymes.

Coal Dust

Your lowered windows whisper dust invitations.
The once interred clings to carbon coating steering wheel covers.
Darkened interiors dusting faded upholstery.
Filching whole lumps of coal, you present
dusty and solid proof of your love.
Telling me that these rocks predate diamonds.
Telling me: Coal smoke smothered a mountain in Australia
over five thousand years ago and now.
Your darkened hands soothe and smear,
smudging palm prints on fatal walls
and dingy floors. You destroy cleaning rags.
Dismantle the vacuum.
One night, laying on black sheets
your burning palm print over my belly
I outline the shape of your fingers and
you. I linger over your heart, separating ventricle
and atria on the dust of your coal body.
You tell me. Coal spontaneously combusts.
Lewis and Clark saw burning hills in Montana.
You shift closer, your body brushing the bituminous bed sheets.
Your forearm coating frets the coarse threads.
I shake the coal dust from my hair and light a match.

Today was really tough for me, in an introspective way. With only a week left of school, I'm feeling a lot of personal issues: saying goodbye to someone I never thought would become my closest friend for an undetermined length of time, the struggle of what may be a new relationship, roommate drama galore (and the concern about bringing a friend into what is a souring situation), and, least and foremost in my mind - how to deal with people returning from abroad and those changed and changing situations. As much as I like to pretend that I'm dynamic and able to adjust to these constant shifts in relationships, I find it very hard to do. I like the defined. I believe that's why I'm likely to end a relationship that's going poorly when other people would let it dwindle out.

I'm just feeling the most overwhelming nostalgia. Accompanied by a nice soundtrack of Bon Iver,, Damien Rice, and Joshua Radin to aid the sentiment. It's a sad nostalgia, that contrasts with my desire to recount everything I'm grateful for in my life:

My amazing parentsMy roommate, JBAll the people I've met this year who have made me feel so welcome into their circles and made me forget those who excluded my friendship in the past
All the professors I've had, especially JR & AC
All the friends I've reconnected with who forgive me for not staying in touch or who try to keep our relationship going through distance and difficulties
The people who have helped me discover direction in my life and the opportunity to meet these people who only want my success
So very much more that I don't even have time to get into

I'm so grateful for this year even as I find it very terrifying to face the new one after adjusting to this one. I never realized how flexible I could be as a person until these past years.

This was the result of taking a weeks worth of dreams and turning them into a poem.

I cannot write this poem.
Four stanzas and four lines cramped in clustered computers
Arguing with blank faces. Blank verse inspiration hits
and flawlessly evaporates
leaving untraceable bruises.
To hide and heal from the cave of rhymes
and ostentatious sentences, I attach monocles and flip
switches. Christmas time and the lights illuminate everything.
You should keep your attractive glasses anyway.
See how suddenly lush this college resort like Nebraska in June.
Snow setting on sun drifts, but there
are no fireflies and the dusty roads soak up too much water.
Deceptive sunsets with no one to call.
Tornadoes devastate friendships more quickly than
relentlessly dripping dropping dreary rain days.
Separated by oceans. Continents. Chain link fences.
Comprehension and the lack of.
The inability to see or write or discern.
That sunset isn't real. This is not Nebraska.
What did you do with my lightning bugs?
I cannot write this poem with perfect rhyme pairs
crossed in perfect rhymes.

Elegy for Alan

Too quickly your coda arrived
wanting just another verse to round out
a life of musical back stories.

Thinking of what your one day hunger
made for millions. A near Liverpool miss.
The fourth round is a charm and thankful
notes broke through your deafness.

Granting nameless ensembles unidentifiable
titles on mute recordings.
Remodeling classic crooners and creating classics -
generational counter melodies.
Transmitting literal veins of gold into
the empty homes of so many.
430 times and 14 years, and you. Still just
a semi-conductor for the otherwise attributed.

Deals were to be signed. Without you,
a possible continuation of these songs.
A recomposed history, exchanging flourishes,
changing keys from major to minor
not even genuine transpositions.

Alan. What interlude is this? What cruel
refrain to now reveal what was hidden before?
Your mighty range only discovered
after you reached your final bar.

House of Mirrors

Deceptively reflecting reality,
forgeries just flipped over and rotated
around the concave curves of
our distorted perception.
Trapped in a house of like objects
militant illusions demand control.
Metallic armies surrounding
and conquering through reversed
image confusion. Inherently flawed
reproductions still imitate well.
Just shadowy semblances of images
Within images within images within
an infinite recess of counterfeit.
Lost in a maze of cloned
sources, transcriptions of an
original. Emulating the authentic,
but only succeeding to mimic. Still,
these distorted perceptions move
around convex curves,
flipping over and rotating
the deceptively reflected reality.

Bones, circa 1655-1665

Constructions ground trash covered bones with centuries of forgetting
until these beings appeared, exhuming my body from beneath
its filthy tomb. Maryland now, amateur detectives invade my
unwilling catacombs. Displaying splinters of relic spine
and investigating cracks indentations of my crumbling cranium.
They label me. 16 and male and European – not a soldier,
but a servant. Not contradictable and to what purpose would
it serve for me to correct – for who will mourn me now?
A makeshift abattoir for broken pipes, lost farthings, and me.
For them, a frozen history lesson, summarized in eight minutes.
Just plaster casting suffocating dreams that sailed me here.
Ten weeks of turning sea, rations of bread and hope
claimed in feverish whispers. Now reduced to splinters of bone
and shadow faced actors stumbling through cloaked reenactments
of possible last moments. Missing requiems worried me not
after the second century passed as I had. Consumption cheated
my contract before coins could reclaim myself. They came
with my ascension finally from this crypt. Dusting off the past
coating these decaying surfaces, polishing my shroud for display.

Choose an ordinary object, such as a door, then assemble a list of functions for that object. Try to select functions that lend a symbolic or metaphorical meaning or quality to the object. For example, a door opens, closes, locks, blocks the view, separates inside from outside etc. When you have created the list, begin the poem with the object and then follow that with a series of functions selected from your original list. Select the functions with an eye towards some larger insight or theme, and structure the poem in the following sequence: 1) title and subject, 2) riffs on the functions or an imagined unity developed from the functions and 3) concluding flourish.

No less than 20 lines.


objects in Mirror are closer than they appear

He reflects reality in the most deceptive ways -
flipped over and rotated around.
Concave curves distort perception
until trapped in a house of like objects,
his illusion demands control.
He appeals to an inner Alice,
moths to a streetlight, drawing closer
and closer and falling
through.
Luring a sense of security
a deception, a safety, he welcomes use to witness
what might otherwise be blocked:
the crevices, planets, and the back of bicuspids.
Hushed murmurs, whisper of his perfect insight -
everything evident, even the soul.
Which is why I claim him for my side
when Vampires take over the world.
He most often has two sides, and
sometimes I wonder which one
is most like I am but then
his illusion demands control
until trapped in a house of like objects,
concave forms distort perception -
flipped over and turned around.

Eulogy for My Shoes in a Style Like Frank O'Hara

We got high and drove in your
truck to the thubbing of
your latest youtube obsession
or Turkish pop hit – I can’t
remember which. We arrived
at your party. I took off my heels
to be closer to the male height and
promised I’d serve as your
wingwoman for the evening.
Your crazy Spanish director came,
and everyone felt uncomfortable.
My feet got wet and sticky with
spilled tequila. You struck
out with all the attractive women
and wanted to leave. I searched
for my shoes. Unsuccessfully.
You carried me to the car and
dropped me off at my door.
We drifted apart. I never found
those heels.

Version 2 of Weird Object Poem

From mermaid blue-green edges melt away
Imperfect Dali circles emerge.
Form whorls in glass.
Waves expand and contract.
Water ripples –
A giant’s thumbprint.

Rising from the interior,
an Atlantis return.
Tops of skyscrapers form islands
within a volcano rim
These clock-like notches appear
There are ten hours, and
noon is 19. And
six is 67.

Version 1 of Weird Object Poem

From mermaid blue-green edges melt away
Imperfect Dali circles emerge.
Form whorls in glass.
Waves expand and contract.
Water ripples –
A giant’s thumbprint.

Rising from the interior,
clock-like notches appear.
There are ten hours, and
noon is 19. And
six is 67.

42 years pass. Dust hides in recesses.
Dust gathers in a giant's fingerprints.
Dust obscures mermaid blue-green.

An upper loop extends from thick sea-glass,
arches,
and connects in a depression.

Dust settles there.

 Is it weird that I am surprised when people have separate interests from mine? Like, in class, when there are limited topics and you have the last pick of topics but yours (the only one you want because the other ones are mostly boring) is still there when you get a chance to pick. And you're surprised because no one else wanted it?

Things we know in life:

1. The Tyra Banks Show is ridiculous.
2. Jazz music is perhaps the most superior form of music out there.
3. Text conversations at 3 am are perhaps not always the best idea.
4. If you pretend everything's normal, it usually will get there.
5. Amanda has an atrocious sense of rhythm and beat when it comes to poetry.
6. Highlighters are better when they aren't yellow.
7. Tea makes you feel better - no matter what. 

What does this article say about the role of the news media? Why do we even have "off record" portions of interviews? And why isn't the President self-censoring better? Granted, Kanye IS a tool. 

Let me finish with this quote, which I found amusing.
"When Americans set out to work transnationally, we have a tendency to assume that our education, or experience, or even underprivileged upbringing makes us both “insiders” into other people’s struggles as well as qualified to tell them how to address it. Please don’t make the mistake of thinking that a poli sci major, a backpacking trip through Southeast Asia, and/or a stint as the president (and incidentally only member) of your local Amnesty International Chapter makes you qualified to be anything more than an asshole just shy of completing an undergraduate degree."

So, I've posted this before, but I need help.

A. I don't know if you're allowed to do a series of poems just kind of based off of the same idea but not really with the same conclusion each time.
B. I don't know if these are too prose-y.
C. I don't know if they are in the right order. Perhaps they should be a progression?
D. I'm concerned about rhythm. Is there any time when the rhythm just really blows?

Palm Reading
I.

I loved you, so I deepened the lines in my palm to allow us more time together.
Your hands overflowed with your music. But calluses created roadblocks.
Detours were impossible;
you ran out of room before we reached your knuckles.

II.

An artist, she decorated her lifelines,
expanded her chances at fame and fortune, intensified her heart lines.
She would not succumb to fate.

III.

Straddling a horizon, she searched for those
bruised knuckles telling stories and curling finger marking dark half moon craters.
Fists tear into rough skin. Gazing into the vastness,
balancing between dusk and dawn, she looked for stars in her palms.

IV.

The gypsy swore we were fated together –
our palms designed to fit.
But how was she to know your left handed deception?

V.

Dissecting your palm was harder than reading your mind.
And more informative.

VI.

I could never love you.
Your hands are too fine to discern its lines.
Do you dream?

VII.

“Lazy summer” lacked merit. The air suspended itself with anticipation.
Tasting it, dashing to the mailbox, leaning into the dusty breeze. Refusing to breathe,
the cavern mouth gaped darkly, at odds with the July heat that invaded every summer thing.
Then, cutting soft skin on the flag, she left another love letter for you to discover.
Blood flooded her lifelines, drowning her.

VIII.

Siren.
I carved lines
in my palms, tracing the path
of your song.
From my ears. Racing
through my arms. Seizing
my spleen with a terrible beauty.
Strangely frozen in my ribcage.
In the alabaster bone. The smooth
skin of my breasts. Siren.

You will never conquer my heart.

IX.

The wrinkles in her cheeks align with the depressions
of your carelessly creased hands. Laughter and wisdom
age those much younger than your work-worn tools.

X.

I saw you skating patterns in reflective glass. Cutting
the surface with diamonds stuck on your soles.
A final triple turn, you smile slyly and glide away from the outline.
Two hands, barely touching like God waking Adam.
Lives matched in divine design.

I've been making lists of my favorite romantic songs (who can really resist the reluctance of "I Won't Dance") and my favorite romantic stories (Mark Twain writing a letter a day until he wooed his future wife) all summer. Maybe my job just isn't interesting enough. Either way, I don't feel particularly romantic these days.

But this is a list of romantic movie quotes and... stuff.

10 Things I Hate About You: Everything about Heath Ledger is sexy, but his over the top rendition of "Too Good to be True" makes my heart melt more than the hot paintball first kiss, the ending poem, his amazing smile, and even that he used the bribe money to buy her a new guitar. If only all serenades were that hot and well done.

Amelie: When Amelie opens the door to Nino and they have this perfect non-verbal moment (perfectly unspoiled by "mood music"), it totally makes up for the fact that I cry every time Amelie's daydreams are broken by the movement of her beaded curtain... only to realize it's because of her cat and not Nino's return from the corner grocer.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind: There's the moment when they're living out their last memory, the essential "Meet me in Montauk" moment, but I would have to say that beyond that, the very very last lines of the movie when Clementine tells Joel that he will hate her and that she will feel bored and trapped by him. His response is the most perfect encapsulation of living without regrets. "OK." So simple. So perfectly hopeful.

Im Juli: "My darling, I've traveled thousands of miles, I've crossed rivers and moved mountains. I've suffered and endured agonies. I've resisted temptation, and I've followed the sun, so that I could stand before you and tell you I love you." That he says it to the right woman who is not at all the person he expected to say it to makes it all the more perfect.

A Knight's Tale: When Heath Ledger says, "You remind me of the Bible." And Jocelyn has absolutely no idea what he's talking about. "If I could ask God one thing, it would be to stop the moon. Stop the moon and make this night and your beauty last forever." Way better than even the phenomenal letter writing scene.

Love Actually: Pretty much the entire movie. Especially Colin Firth's romance with the Portuguese woman.

Love in the Time of Cholera: I'm not sure this counts because it's based off of a book, but I'm using Pride & Prejudice and I'm sure a few others based off of books. The entire book (and, I suppose, the poorly executed movie) entirely redefined my definition of love in a way that only Gabriel Garcia Marquez could do. "After 53 years, seven months and 11 days and night, my heart was at last fulfilled. And I discovered, to my joy, that it is life and not death that has no limits."

Pride & Prejudice: Even though, as I get older, I suspect that Lizzy really did marry Darcy for his money, the Keira Knightley version was right on the money with the tension in the scene in the rain in which Lizzy confronts Darcy about his involvement in Jane's relationship with Bingley and more. It's too bad they damaged the movie with the awkward ending scene between Lizzy and Darcy. There is such a thing as too much artistic license.

The Princess Bride: "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while." Far better than this is the speech Westley gives Buttercup before he goes off to America to make his fortune in the book. Unfortunately, I've restricted this list to movies.

When Harry Met Sally: "I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. " Most likely the best romantic speech.

While You Were Sleeping: My favorite Sandra Bullock movie. I'm going to have to also say this is my favorite winter movie and in my top five of romantic comedies (if not number one). The tension between Jack and Lucy during the "lean" scene is palpable. Jack's discussion with Peter about Lucy, "I'd say that she gets under your skin as soon as you meet her. She drives you so nuts you don't know whether to hug her or, or just really arm wrestle her. She would go all the way to Europe just to get a stamp in her passport. I don't know if that amounts to insanity, or just being really, really... likable."

Would you willingly enter into a relationship with someone if you knew they were dying?

I loved Henry Poole Is Here. It's not an amazing movie. However, the soundtrack is amazing, and it's definitely worth seeing.

Clarification on past post:
It's not that friends don't hurt each other deeply. It's just that I have very few people I count among close friends. Because of this, I'm more inclined to forgive for many transgressions. Just so I don't sound hypocritical: I'm grateful that my friends forgive my many transgressions too. I'm not an easy person to be close to sometimes.

Then again, I burn bridges when someone hurts me too badly. I just delay that torch lighting when it's a friend and am more likely to forget about things.

So, at work, I was ring shopping to replace the ring I wear on my middle finger of my left hand. I found a great spoon ring that I want, and I will order it when I get home. However, in order to do so, I had to look up my ring size. Now, apart from finding the box my current middle ring came in, the best way for me to figure out my ring size was to look up the size of my class ring then guesstimate how much bigger my middle finger would need the ring to be. (My class ring comes to just below my knuckle, so I don't know if I need a half or whole size up from there).

In order to do this, I remember once e-mail responding to a quiz with my class ring. So I opened up my gmail (using the old httpS trick), search for "ring size," and wait for the responses to pop up. Well, beyond the conversations I had with my cousin, Gretchen, when she was getting married about her engagement ring, the e-mail that referred to my ring size was one of many 100 e-mail overloads on gmail's system with a certain ex-beau of mine. In the process of scanning the e-mail for my ring size (6.5), I realized several things.

The first was that I sounded pretty smart (Part of me always thought I'd retained the ditzy-purposefully scattered writing style that I developed during my friendship with Tai. I didn't realize that I'd already lost it and started to become my own person less than a year after our fall out. This made me think of all the other times in life we change without realizing it until one day we look back at the people we were and don't recognize them.).

That realization led me into the second. I'm still very much in love with what I had with this certain ex-beau. Mentally, I am aware of all the incredible defects in our relationship. My perception of him not being the same as who he was, his own arrogance, and, of course, distance all contributed to our downfall. I was not mature enough to handle a real relationship, and I pulled many classic "girl" stunts when I felt the distance too strongly. I hope that now I am confident enough to not sabotage my relationships through these "He's Just Not That Into You" antics.

I don't miss any of my relationships the way I miss this one. The only one that would come close would be my relationship with Justin. And I do not miss our interactions. I know that I grew a lot from that relationship, which makes me love what we had. However, I do not want to revisit that period of my life for anything.

Of course, I grew from my relationship with J as well, and, knowing what I do know now, I don't think I would try again, even if offered the opportunity. However, if offered the chance to relive my relationship with J, I would take it up in a heartbeat. All the good and bad. There's something I miss about the stressful, fun anxieties of being a teen in love. The worrying when you haven't heard back from someone in a while. The daydreaming in class. More than that, the feeling that you're holding this big secret. No one can tell what it is, but everyone can tell you have one.

Perhaps this all comes back to daydreaming. My day dreams now lack a certain luster. There's no fun in the ... material I have to work with. I'm still a little irritated with the most recent J (What is with all the J names in my life?). Even without that, there haven't been many "Awww" moments to think about. I could find something non-romantic to day dream about, but my romantic soul wouldn't abide by that option.

My romantic soul is probably a reason I'm only looking at this in terms of relationships. With my friendships, too, there's only my friendship with Tai that I would go back to reexperience. And even then, I would be very hesitant to relive that life. Maybe it's a matter of what we have currently being better than what we had. I always said that I never wanted to be the person who looks back on high school as the highlight of his or her life. I believe I've avoided that quite well.

I'm not really sure what I'm saying, but I know it felt weird to discover that hold-out in my heart. I do know that I have completely moved on from that person, but I wonder if part of my inability to find someone interesting now is based in part on my idea of this potential that a relationship should have. That's surprisingly difficult to find.

More likely, it's related to the fact that as mutual as the break-up was (while he did the deed, I was the protagonist), he's the only one to really break my heart. I'd experience heart bruises before (finding out my first boyfriend just wanted a girlfriend when I would've been the perfect one, the first time a man forced me physically, and the second and the third and the fourth, breaking the heart of another guy I loved because I didn't love him "that way" anymore, etc.). This man was the only one to do me any lasting injury with a close second going to Chels for being such a rotten friend.

(Why is it that friend bruises heal so much faster? Chelsea is the only one who's badly badly hurt me when many of my other friends have really hurt me for a short time, often to the detriment of our relationship but not to the damaging of my "heart" - heart, most likely, being more of an emotional and mental state.)

After a conversation about future love lives, I thought about a list of things I would want in a future spouse. I wouldn't want to be married before 24. But I would be OK meeting my future husband now. Maybe 23 on that marriage thing. Anyway, I came up with this list. Which, sadly, seems too impossible to be filled. Ever.


Things I want in my ideal spouse:
Attraction - preferably at least 6'1" with dark hair and eyes and a decent build, but attraction is a variable thing, and as long as I'm physically into him in some manner, it's OK.
Intelligence - with the ability to recognize that there are different types of intelligence - not snobby about intelligence. He should be confident enough in his abilities to not feel like he needs to prove himself constantly as being smarter than everyone else.
Humor - sarcasm, ability to tease me back while knowing enough about me to know which buttons actually hurt and caring about me enough to not press them, sometimes goofy and not always dignified
Can take himself lightly and roll with the punches/jokes
Knows that I'm independent, and can figure out when to push me for more info (knows when I need him to be there for me, even when I shrug him off)
Observant - remembers that my favorite flowers are Irises and knows that how much I rant about flowers being lame gifts, I'm waiting for someone to do them right - notices that I change my earrings nearly daily and always wear the same rings, etc. Doesn't have to be told these things.
Actually wants me as a person - can hang out without pushing physical agendas
Can use words to express himself, but prefers to be demonstrative (in a good way)
Passionate about something in his life. Eyes lighting up when he speaks about his job, his plans for the future, etc.
A modicum of creativity - or at the very least, a sincere effort to be creative
A deep love for music - not necessarily a wide knowledge and not necessarily only "good" groups
A desire to travel - and not just to the obvious places
Wants children (but no more than 3) & would be a good father - recognizes which things are more important in life
Doesn't have to know how to do housework, but should be willing to learn and take a partnership in the household chores
Similar monetary practices and beliefs
Moderate to liberal political views - at least as far as socially
Not a man whore
Respects his family & gets along with mine
Has friends who are good people
Patient enough to deal with my temperamental moods
But self-respecting enough to call me out on my shit
And asks as much from me as I'd ask from him
The ability to work efficiently - do something with minimal instructions and figure out the best way to do other things
Uses his blinker and his seat belt
The type of man who drinks beer but feels comfortable going to wineries
Someone who will enjoy going to movies - old & indie, outdoors festivals, music events, plays, musicals, poetry events, farmer's markets, etc. Or at least will enjoy indulging me in those activities
Someone who will enjoy watching football games on TV and hockey games in person
And playing board games by the fire in the winter
Someone who might play golf but still enjoys putt-putt
Someone who has fun when they go out, but knows the value of staying in
Reads
Has worked for something and continues to have goals. And I mean really worked. I need to be able to respect him, and I can't do that if everything's been handed to him
Loyal, Faithful, and Honest - I would rarely even consider being with someone with a history of cheating
Believes in God - in whatever form. Probably would be easier if he were Christian, but I don't want to specify that
Someone who isn't afraid to dance and look ridiculous
Someone who loves me
And who recognizes that love isn't enough to make a marriage work


What else would you add to a list of characteristics in an ideal spouse?
Which ones could you do without?
Is it hypocritical to ask for something in your "perfect mate" that you yourself don't have?