The Difference Between Wants and Needs Pt. 2

My darling Frister Kathy is engaged to be married.  Her man-to-be is so darling, I want to carry him around in a obscenely expensive purse like a toy poodle, much like (A Nite in)Paris Hilton is seen often doing.  Of couse, this can't really happen because he's almost 7 feet tall.  And I don't think he'd let me do that.  Plus, the most expensive purse I've ever bought cost me $30.   

This very joyous event has brought my wants in the department of ideal men to the forefront of my mind.  I mean, it's always hanging around in my subconscious, but now the ideals are pounding on the door.  Lest you think I am jealous of her, I can tell you that I am not.  She was the first person I called when I discovered that I was pregnant.  Her excitement almost cased her to drive off the road.  We've been through so many ups and downs.  One of the low points came when we had a HUGE blowup over the demise of my relationship with her friend; the next time we spoke was a year later and I thought she had come to stab me with a butterfly knife.*

So now that relationships/men/desires/needs, I figured I should hammer out a list.  Because the good Lord knows, I need a better winnowing process.

And damnitall, I NEED to write.  My brain has been mushy, my mental health checking it's coat at the door on and off, and my vocabulary is stilted, so if I set up another 30 day challeneg like my shrink had me do several months ago, I'll get back in the swing of things.

I (foolishly) signed up for NaNoWrMo, have the entire novel plot line written out, but have written 250 words.  My execution of said idea has fallen flat, not because the idea sucks, but because I am completely scared.  I know that the idea is great.  No one has written a story about this woman, from this approach, EVER.  It has the possibility to be something awesome, but it's my doubting voice, the only that mocks me which is holding me back.  I keep finding up new excuses to keep me from writing.  And I'm finally sick of it.

But, bringing this derailed train of thought back into the station, I'm going to start a running list of qualifications I am desiring in a potential mate.  Hell at this point, I'd be happy with dinner and coffee with a warm body, but since I am bound and determined not to go down wrong avenues again, I need to write a map for myself.

*Note: I had mono which enjoyed manifesting itself in hives.  When she walked into my dorm room unannounced, I was curled up (naked) under my extra-large-cheap-ass-king-sized-"feather"-comforter.  She was wearing her leather jacket and her don't-fuck-with-me face on.  There was snow on the ground and I distinctly remember thinking, how am I going to explain it to the Dean when I am seen running across campus in my Hanes Her Way cotton undies?   Obviously, she didn't stab me and the 250 student at school were spared the site of me sans clothes.