What happened to my ideal man post? Crawford Kilian, who keeps a wonderful set of blogs as well as teach a mean English class up in Canada, inquired about a mystical blog entry that I supposedly left as "to be continued." I remember touching on the subject about my ideal man, but I can't remember where or when it was, and I've searched through my archives and couldn't find it. Mr. Kilian could not find it as well. Figment of my imagination? I think that it might have been in an e-mail to him, but either way that is not the point. The point is that I'd like to address that topic anew on my blog, whether it has been written ad nauseum or not, because if it has been, well, a significant time has passed and time setting changes everything. So there.

My Ideal Man -- by Haemi

I used to think that a wonderful knight in shining armour would come and I'd have a wonderful romance, like fragrant potpourri (a field of roses is so cliche and so thorny). He'd see through my uber-geek outfit and see the beautiful lady that reigned within, and he'd protect me from all the evils in the world and give me the best life I'd ever know. He'd be tall, dark, and exceedingly handsome, with deepset eyes in which I could easily drown, and he'd be so intelligent but never haughty about it. He'd be a compassionate being, eloquent speaker, a brilliant human being -- he'd write me love letters so gossamer, so sweet -- and of course he'd have all the money and resources in the world, but saying so would make me seem gaudy, so I'd refrain from saying so, but you'll have to incorporate that into your image of him but not deliberately.

He'd be so tender and so loving that I would need nothing else from the world. He'd be my shelter, my clothing, and my food, he'd be my sense of security, my sense of well-being and all -- he'd satisfy my Hierarchy of Needs outlined by Abraham Maslow in a pyramid. He'd be my life.

Well. That was a decade ago. There is a Korean saying, that in a decade, even the rivers and the mountains change. So we can positively assume that the same goes for my vision of the ideal man.

I have gained much independence and more brain power since I was a teenager. I realize, I don't want a chivalrous knight to take me away to lala land, no matter how romantic. After I turned 20, I became bitter. I became a cynic, and no romance goes untouched, unscathed, by my sarcastic remarks. Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus. There is some truth to that -- although I have encountered many men in my life, whether it be my brother, my father, my coworker, my ex-boyfriends, my guy friends, my oppas -- there is still so much of Mankind that I simply do not understand. To many women, I am like a man. I can burp the alphabet (not all the letters in one breath though), I chugged alcohol like the river flows into the sea, I care naught about the slight bulging belly, and I am independent -- I drive myself, I fix my own stuff, I buy the stuff I need, and so on and so forth. It is so strange when many of the female companions that I have (which isn't too many, actually) associate independence, my independence, with masculinity, or traits belonging to a man.

So, since I am my own "man," what can I want from a man? I see men as just human beings like myself. Social human beings who need companions. It may seem overtly confident or brash about myself, to put myself in a different category than average women. In my lifetime of little over two decades, I have seen/read about/heard about too many women whom I call "insecure." There's just so many of'em that sometimes they become the stereotype for womenkind. Just having an over-emphasis on the "L" word is ridiculous. If you decide to be bold and say "I love you" first, and your partner or significant other responds, "me too," that is not reason enough to have an outrageous drama-queen moment. Women who sit by the telephone, or even worse, reach out for their cell phone to make sure it is powered on, waiting for that phone call, be it from a man or a woman, friend, or whatever. The ridiculous need to be in constant touch and contact. The way they want to use a lasso and tie down a person. I'm not trying to offend anyone; I am guilty of all of these crimes (they are crimes against other people, and worse, crimes against your own self-esteem) myself.

I was the girl who sat, staring at the cell phone, because a guy might call. I was the girl who wanted to know the guy's every single detailed move. And, yes, I am the psycho-bitch who typed in the names of men in a search engine before Googling became more acceptable practice. (This would be waaaay before the time Google arrived.) I was the girl who called, then called again, then called and left a voicemail, and then get upset because I didn't get a call back. I screamed, bawled, wailed, "what is wrong with me? WHY WON'T HE CALL?" I don't know when it was, exactly. I think it was when one guy who shall remain nameless made me victim of those same crimes, by calling me and leaving me scary voicemails (beeep"What are you doing that makes you not able to take my call? Call me back, foo.") and telling me that he loved me. When I told him that I cannot be of acquaintances with people who remind me of Stephen King's Misery, he cried over and over, professing his undying love for me. Well, that love has been long dead, and I hear he's doing fantastic. Thank goodness.

But this obsessive behavior -- I believe it's learned. I think when I found myself in a relationship that I didn't intend to be in.

I don't know where this is going... but let me gather my thoughts and I'll be back. So here's the much expected: "To Be Continued..."