Kind, confident, authentic, feminine, sweet, and sassy. Now I'm just hoping to find someone exciting to be boring with. There's romance in just being together, or maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic.
I'm taking up biking again (liking it more and more), reading more, hiking as much as I can, throwing dinner party/game nights. Got a job I love (in tech) and laugh about it more often than not.
Movies: The Dark Knight Trilogy, The Shawshank Redemption, A Fish Called Wanda, Crazy Stupid Love, The King's Speech, Chicago
Shows: The Good Wife, Arrested Development, Modern Family, recently watched a few episodes of The West Wing and was reminded of just how great it was, Seinfeld too, I'm getting into House of Cards
Music: I'm a classic rock and oldies kind of girl, but also some more modern pop and rock. And 80's music. I'm learning to love country.
Food: Japanese, Italian, Thai, Vietnamese, Spanish, Moroccan, French... Pick any food. I'm in.
Amazingly comfortable and cozy bed
Time without technology
Music that makes me want to dance
- happy hour/drinks/dinner/dancing
- hitting the road for a weekend of skiing or just getting out of town
- dinner party/game night
- movie night with Thai food
- some combination of the above
- some new adventure
- sleeping to get ready for a new adventure
So basically the standard SF answer. Are we all so predictably unpredictable?
Also, if Not the Idle resonates:
It's not the idle who move is but the few
Often confused with the idle, those who define
Their project in life in terms so ample
Nothing they ever do is a digression
Each episode contributes its own rare gift
As a chapter in Moby Dick on squid or hardtack
Is just as important to Ishmael as a fight with a whale.
The few who refuse to live for the plot's sake,
Major or minor, but for texture and tone and hue.
For them weeding a garden all afternoon
Can't be construed as a detour from the road of life,
The road narrows to a garden path that turns
And circles to show that traveling only goes so far
As a metaphor. The day rests on the grass.
And at night the books of these few,
Lined up on their desks, don't look like drinks
Lined up at a bar to help them evade their troubles.
They look like an escort of mountain guides
Come to conduct the climber to a lofty outlook
Rising serene above the fog. For them, the view
Is no digression though it won't last long
And they won't remember even the vivid details.
The supper with friends back at the village
In a dining room brightened with flowers and paintings
No digression for them, though the talk leads
To no breakthrough. The topic they happen to hit on
Isn't a ferry to carry them over the interval
Between soup and salad. It's a raft drifting downstream
Where the banks widen to embrace a lake
And birds rise from the reeds in many colors.
Everyone tries to name them and fails
For an hour no one considers idle.