marc'd

lately, i've been thinking of who my ideal man would be. and i've decided he would be rugged, muscle-y, have a strong jawline, kiss me like i need to be kissed and love and protect me.

i think back to my boyfriends of the past to see who fits that bill. i keep coming back to marc. we dated in italy, and for a bit when i moved to san diego. the second time we dated was better than the first. i felt like a woman and he told me i made him feel like a man. but i got afraid. of moving too fast, of him not being the one, of settling, and i broke his heart.

i tried to contact marc a few months ago, and more recently, but like a good man who knows what he wants, he ignored me. i deserve that, but it would be great to go back to that time i spent with him in washington. i think we would be good together.

he probably has a girl by now. some little blonde vixen that he can throw around in bed. maybe he's married and they're pregnant. either way, he probably never thinks about me anymore.

marc, if you're reading this, i'm sorry.

the window

On any given day, if you happen to be flying into San Diego and are sitting on the right side of the plane, looking at the right apartment building and know which window to look into, you may see me. I could be doing anything, but chances are, I'm either at my bathroom mirror, watching television or sleeping. If there wasn't an armoire blocking your view to my couch, you would see me watching television.
If you did happen to be in the right seat, looking at the right apartment building through the right window at me, you might feel sorry for me. You might wonder why a girl like me, seemingly witty, attractive, outgoing, would be sleeping alone or blow drying my hair for no other purpose other than necessity, or (if your view weren't obstructed) why I'm sitting on my couch, alone, drinking stale champagne and smoking cigarettes at 3 PM on a Saturday afternoon.
I have no excuse. I could say I am tired and don't feel like socializing, which is somewhat true, but the fact is, I have no friends. I have no romantic prospects.
men often ask me why I don't have a boyfriend. I smile and make some excuse, but the fact is that no men ever, EVER ask me out. Let me clarify that I mean single men who have no children never ask me out.
Can you picture me as a stepmother? I would make Cinderella's look like a saint! I know it's getting old, but all I can say is cats and cardigans.