Mr. Perfect

You know who my perfect man is? A guy that lets me get so trashed out of my mind that I rant and rave, curse and smoke, talk maaaaaaad shit to him, about him and pick fights with him, but doesn't get his feelings hurt and still holds my hair when I puke and rubs my back until I fall asleep at the end of the night because he knows I'll wake up, take 5 advil and make him pancakes and steak to say thanks. And he's the type of guy that only tells me how much he loves me when he's drunk or falling asleep, and then, only like twice in one night, MAX. But he's still affectionate sometimes, and buys me really good presents during Christmas, like box seats to 10 really good Dodger games, or a trip to vegas to watch a fight. With a fancy dinner. And diamonds. And when he's ripped he can go off about why he loves me all he wants, as long as it's not "because you're SO F-ING HOT" becasue that's a sucky reason, and if he's screaming that he probably so drunk that he can't even really see what I look like anymore. Oh, and he never tries to make out with me during a movie, because that's SO irritating. Sigh.....I love that guy. I had a boyfriend like that once. We almost got married in Atlantic City. But lucky for him, they don't have chapels like Vegas does. It would've been a great story though. We literally committed GTA to get there too. We stole a van from work and drove up there from DC with a bunch of other people. I swear. I have pictures with people I do NOT remember ever meeting. So why not throw a drunken suprr of the moment wedding in with the night of debauchery, right? now THAT's a story for the grandkids. But I don't think my dad or my uncles would've let either one of us live long enough to see any grandkids if we came back with that tale. You know, I don't think there's anyone else in the world who could put up with my shit the way G did. Or still does, actually. But if there is, the only way he could top G is to be George Clooney. Like actually be him. All "Hey Al, get a few of your friends together and lets go to my villa in spain or wherever for your birthday. You girls just lay around, drink vino, eat carpaccio, and get rowdy, and I'll massage you with tanning oil, okay?. Sure! Go ahead! No, really, I don't mind! I go swimming naked in the riviera ALL the time! I'll go call Angie and Brad. Sure! I'll tell Julia to bring the twins over, too. Hey, did I tell you? Here, put these on, and now, every time you take a sip of alcohol this little thing will sense it and activate the muscles in your abs, so instead of doing sit-ups you just drink to get a workout." But he wouldn't use half the exclamation points I did becase he's way cooler than me. Man. THAT would be the life.