1.) Because it is true. This IS, in fact, the way I like my men.
2.) To make FangBunny have a heart attack next time she happens across my blog. :D
3.) Aaaaand maybe a little so I'll have it here in a place where the feed is much slower than either my FB or my Tumblr so that I can easily find it again when I need to drool over someone. Just a little, though. *Ahem*
He's not even my usual physical type, but fuck, he's hot, and even more importantly, fuck he's brilliant, and he READS. I don't even know what to do with that. For the longest time, I just thought he was a moderately attractive man who was a little too thin for my taste...and then I saw him quoting metaphysical poets on his Twitter account and promptly dropped dead. When I was revived, I was in love with him, LOL.
I BLAME FANGBUNNY FOR THE ENTIRETY OF THIS.
There's actually a small point I'd like to make, though, aside from the eye-candy bit, which alone makes this whole post worth it. I have never, never, never, never dated a man (or woman) who really read. Not really. And I'm coming to see that that was a huge mistake. Literature, especially everything from the 19th century, and poetry are really, really goddamned motherfucking important to me, and I've basically had enough of being mocked for it.
Don't get me wrong. I am perfectly happy with being alone. In fact, I prefer it because there is so little drama in my life now, OMG. It's glorious. I'm happy, and I get to spend time with my friends who are as well-read (or more so) than I am, and we get to be book snobs, and I don't have to front like I give a shit about things that "normal" people like that bore me to tears, and I don't have to dedicate my time to dealing with other people's issues. You have NO IDEA how amazingly freeing it is.
I love being alone. I love books. I love my friends. And most of all, I love writing. Ok, well, most of the time I love to hate it, but when it's finished, I love having done it. Some people might think it's sad that this is the way I've chosen to go with my life, but I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I'll write, and I'll be happy, and that's all I need.
On the other hand, should I find the one man in the world who didn't watch the Super Bowl yesterday because he was too busy reading Byron and simultaneously rebuilding his old-school muscle car, I might deign to be interested. Especially if he looks like THAT. ^^^^
;)
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