Thankful for Mike.

Let me tell you, kids. I am one lucky lady. I have somehow, some way, managed to find an honest, hardworking, intelligent man to bare witness to my life. Somehow, some way in the mess of personalities that converge to make up the thriving metropolis that we call Dallas, Texas, I finally managed to find a man who makes me laugh consistently, treats me with utter respect daily, tells me sweet things softly and gives me back scratches to help me fall asleep. I'm not trying to brag, I just believe in giving credit where credit is due. And since I've starting blurting out my whole life on this darned blog, why not continue on about the greatest person ever? (Mike. duh)

I knew another man like that once. His name was Jack and he was the greatest Paw-paw anybody could ever ask for. He took care of me when no other man in my life would take on the responsibility of a wild little red-headed girl with crazy ideas and a knack for getting herself into trouble. Once, he let me mow his lawn (I thought I was cool using a lawn mower at 10) and as payment he made me a hand fan out of a Popsicle stick and 30 $1 bills. I had a weird obsession with fans at that age (shut up, we all had our thing). He drove this old, red Ford pickup truck around town and probably wore out tapes of Hank Williams and Roy Rogers in the tape deck. In over 30 some odd years of work, he never missed a day. Not once. He used his life savings to bail out members of my family, more than once. And he made the afternoon walking around in the park with a metal detector seem like a lifetime of adventure. He was the rock in our family for everyone to lean on and I never heard him complain about anything. Ever.
He made me feel loved, and safe, and comfortable. Well, he made everybody feel that way.

That type of character is hard to come by these days. Seems most men think they can impress the pants off of you with an asymmetrical black mullet and some sleeved up arms. They will try and coax you out of your comfy bedroom with Puerto Rican rum and house parties and schmoozy compliments. But when it comes down to the nitty gritty of everyday life, the type of man I really want sticking around is the one that's as decent a man as my paw-paw (and those kind are NOT easy to find). I want a Mike Lunos who wears khakis and polo's everyday and yet has a better music collection than any uncomfortably tight-pants wearing hipster kid with an mountain-man beard. I mean, it puts my entire lifetime of a collection to shame. Why go for the shiny plastic dishware from Target when your grandma's old china is classic! Also, of better quality, and feels more homey and will never melt into something different when you put it in the washer.(if you even have a dishwasher, which I do not) And will more than likely last much longer anyhow. I'm just sayin'. It's the substance, ladies. The substance. Or maybe I am just biased because I think Mike is so dreamy. *sigh*

I think we should all be looking for quality when it comes to the people we give our time to. Also, there's no shortage of good people to befriend. Once you realize how awesome it is to live your life more and more outside of the work-to-couch-to-bed-to work pattern, and try to duck some of the pop-culture throwing itself in your face at every corner, you find all sorts of other fun things (and people) to get into. For example, before I realized how amazing MJ was, I always thought my "type" was a shaggy haired rock and roller with a sad disposition who could play the Pumpkins on guitar. Now that idea seems so generic to me that I just used it as a cliché in a blog. So, what I'm trying to say is that trying new things is important, but more so that I am so very in love with Michael. But I guess that's obvious by now.






P.S. Does anyone else ever feel like Doogie Howser writing in this thing every day?