Men In Crates

As you all know, because I complain about it every other post, I don’t have a man in my life, so I don’t tend to spend a whole lot of time looking for gifts for men. But if I did, I would head straight to Man Crates.

HOW SUBTLE WAS THAT?

Fo’ realz, though, it’s pretty cool. Obviously I’d never heard of it before because I never know anything cool, but I was pleasantly surprised. Personally, I love shopping for boys’ clothes, but I know that that’s not always a present that they want, even if it’s something that they desperately need. Guys are categorically hard to shop for. It’s just a fact. So Man Crates does all the hard work for you! They have a selection of different themed crates which you can choose from, and they’re shipped with a crowbar to open them with! A CROWBAR! My faves were all the alcohol themed ones, surprise surprise, but especially the Personalised Whiskey Crate. I do have to say, though, I’m not a massive fan of their outright disregard for bows, ribbons, and fluff. Never underestimate the power of a well placed ribbon!

They have quite a few ‘survival’ themed crates (zombies, duh), and in that spirit, thought it would be fun to see what people would want to see in a crate if they were marooned on a desert island. I think we’ve all played this game, so you know the drill. This is what I would want, please!

#1  A man. A man would serve multiple purposes. There’s obviously sexy time, because, what else are you going to do on a desert island? But he’d also be useful for building shelter, protecting me from anything that might try to kill and eat me, finding food for us, and just generally taking care of me. I am not capable enough to be a feminist in this scenario; I would genuinely die within 24 hours. I think my top pick of man would have to be Thor – I know he’s not technically a ‘man’, or ‘real’, but no one’s really shipping me men in a crate either so we’ll just allow it. Plus, he’s a total babe. And I’m not just talking Chris Hemsworth in general here, I specifically want him as Thor. Okay? Good.

What. A. Babe.

#2  Alcohol. This would also serve multiple purposes, I believe. Primarily, it would be used for drinking because fuck being sober. But also as a disinfectant or as something flammable to get a fire going, perhaps? I would like red and white wine, bourbon, tequila, gin, and rum. Mixers are for pussies. Thanks.

#3  Ice cream. I’m not entirely sure how proficient Thor is in the hunter-gatherer way of life, though I imagine he’s pretty much amazing at everything, so I’m not too worried about starving. BUT YOU CAN’T HUNT OR GATHER ICE CREAM. In my opinion, ice cream is essentially it’s own food group and probably the greatest thing ever, so I couldn’t do without it. Flavours I would like include, but aren’t limited to: pistachio, lemon, coffee, and mint chocolate chip.

#4  Pen and paper. This counts as one and I would like an unlimited supply, please. Apart from having dirty, dirty sex with Thor, I imagine there is very little to do on this island. I would say that I’d use the time to start exercising and get really fit, but I think we all know that’s never going to happen. If anything, judging by my intended alcohol and ice cream consumption, I’m just gonna pack it on. I mean, what’s Thor gonna do? Cheat on me? GOOD LUCK WITH THAT, THOR. So, the simple pen and paper will provide endless entertainment. First off, I’d make a calendar to accurately log how long I’d been stranded with a literal god. Then it would be used for writing stories and making games. The usual.

#5  Tampons. Because this is the real world.

This list could have been a lot more exciting, but, as you can see, I’ve really gone down the practical route. Genuine essentials only!

What would you like to find in a washed up crate if you were marooned on a desert island?

Flirting with Fannies

A couple of weeks ago, I was so bored of boys that I switched my Tinder ‘discovery preference’ to females. No prior thought was put into the decision; I just did it. So, although I’ve never done more than kiss a girl, I do think they’re amazing. Girls are just better to look at. They have a way of being simultaneously delicate and strong, chaste and coquettish, and you can empathise with them in a way that you can’t with men. 

I think I went in to it with romanticised expectations of connecting on deeper levels and actually being able to have conversations with like-minded women, as opposed to wading through the shit that men tend to spew. I was wrong. So wrong.

Here are some things that I have learnt grossly generalised about the lady loving ladies of Tinder –

  • They are not afraid to show you their boobs, two messages in.
  • They are not afraid to ask to see your boobs, two messages in.
  • They love straight girls. Direct quote – ‘I love straight girls‘.
  • Asian girls are always shocked to find another Asian girl. Every. Single. Time.
  • They like to ask if you’ve ‘been with a lot of guys‘. 
  • They want to show you ‘how to lick pussy‘. Apparently it’s different when a girl does it.
  • They have no problem getting naked on those stupid Tinder ‘moments’ that ALL your matches can see for 24 hours. 
  • They want to sext. All. The. Time.
  • Tattoos and piercings are a big thing. 
  • 80% are super sporty.

Here is what I learnt about myself from flirting with fannies –

  • I am 100% more likely to show my boobs to a girl than a boy. Because that’s what happened.
  • I literally think eyebrows are everything. But I already knew that.
  • I’m essentially attracted to hotter versions of myself. Basically, Esmeralda.

This is what I think I look like when I put coloured contacts in. If only.

  • I have no problem telling anyone that I want to sit on their face.
  • I think sexting is really dull.
  • I would rather look at boobs than a dick pic.
  • I would rather look at a dick pic than a pussy pic.
  • Other people’s vaginas make me wonder about my own. 

Considering that two boys are currently trying to ask me out on dates and all the girls only want to talk about putting their tongues in unmentionable places, as opposed to actually doing it, girl-on-girl action does not seem to be on the cards. For now, at least. Disappointing, or what?

Ladies, have you experienced other girls on some kind of dating platform? Fellas, does your experience of girls differ greatly?

The Men That May Have Been

As I’ve said before, I’m definitely one to jump on the bandwagon. After seeing posts by The Shit Show That Is My Life and Emily over at Incurably Curious on the ones that got away, I got to thinking about any fellas that I may have let slip through my fingers.

At first I drew a total blank, because, let’s face it – if the opportunity’s there, I’m probably gonna take it. However, after thinking about it for two weeks, I came to the conclusion that men generally get away because I never know if I actually want them or not. So, this is more the men that I was unsure about or too much of a pussy to go for..

The Dimpled Aryan

There was a boy in my year at primary school who all the girls fancied; he was blonde with blue eyes and looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. We were the only two kids in our class with dimples, so we were obviously soulmates – except for the fact that I couldn’t stand him. In a class of 30, it’s hard not to know who everyone is, but everyone knew who this boy was. He was incredibly athletic and it was obvious that he would grow to be a good looking man – he just wasn’t that bright. I, on the other hand, was awkwardly tall for my age, kind of a lone wolf, and in all the ‘advanced’ sets that got to go out to the hut to be taught by the Headmistress. We were very different, but we used to hang out because he lived next door to my sister’s best friend and I wanted to hang out with his big sister. I was in awe of her. She was a ridiculously pretty ballerina with long blonde hair – basically like a human Barbie to me – and I just wanted to be her. The blue eyed boy was my in.

When we were in Year One, I was at his house and we were playing in the garden whilst my sister was next door with her friend. One thing lead to another and.. Just kidding. He did show me his willy, though. It was supposed to be an ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ type situation, but obviously I pussied out/was mortified by the whole idea. Then, before I knew it, our whole year was talking about how he and I were naked on the trampoline together. Six year olds love a good sex scandal.

Although the kid never flashed me again, this general kind of fuckery carried on for the next five years. When my Year 6 teacher decided that we’d no longer be seated according to our ability, guess who I ended up next to. This was also the year that I started to fill that elusive ‘tall, chubby Asian’ niche and started to wear glasses, and the year that he started to wear gel in his hair and, I kid you not, developed a six pack. We were very different, yet he still sang Nelly’s Hot In Herre to me every day. As much as I enjoyed being told to take off all my clothes on a daily basis, it just wasn’t happening.

Naturally, he did grow to be a good looking man – but he is also a massive chav now. Oh, and his sister? She looks like an extra from The Only Way Is Essex. No, thank you.

The Jew

I can’t tell you how this gangly 6’4″ man child entered through the peripheries of our friendship group, but I can tell you I was deeply unhappy about it. We clashed like Jay-Z and Solange in a New York elevator. It took over a year of outright hostility from me before we came to realise that it was less a case of us clashing, and more a case of us being ridiculously similar. Somehow, through the sheer fact that we were both massive The Big Lebowski fans and had an unparalleled love of Firefly (were huge geeks, basically), we fell into a really weird friendship that was constantly misread.

Our friendship really took off when I started my first year of University. We would talk every day and when I came home drunk we would either Skype or talk on the phone. In retrospect, I can see why it looked like something may have been going on, but, at the time, I was livid that people would even think it. And not just that they would think it, but that they would think it and openly discuss it. Constantly.

I won’t lie – there were a few incidents that lead people to this conclusion. Like that New Year’s he took off my bra and hung it on a lamppost. Or that time he got in the car with the boys and drove two hours in the middle of the night to see me. Although I was incredibly naive back then, I still think I was right when I would say over and over again that it was just friendly. But, having the emotional awareness of a dildo, I started to get really fucking confused by everything that everyone around me was saying. I didn’t understand my feelings, or anyone else’s – so maybe they were right when they told me what we felt?

Anyway, it all blew up one messy, messy night in Brighton where I was running around the streets with no shoes on and racing head first into glass windows. He wasn’t there, but our mutual bestie was. I remember absolutely nothing from the night, but from what I’m told, he alluded to the fact that The Jew liked me, and I apparently let on that I may have felt similarly.

I call bullshit on the whole thing, though. Our fucking meddling friends fucked with my mind. I’ll admit it, it was kind of a pseudo-sexual relationship, but it was SO innocent. Obviously nothing ever happened. He got a crazy whore girlfriend and we drifted apart. I can’t tell you how glad I am, though, because he is dull as fuck and super weird now. Oh well.

The Seminar Leader

He was my first year ‘Foundations of Human Culture’ seminar leader and, despite the Jesus sandals he would wear, I really fancied him. I loved him from our first class when he asked who had watched Dexter that week and we had a five minute chat about it. I loved him even more when I realised how smart he was and how passionate about anthropology he seemed to be. There’s literally nothing more sexy than listening to a man who really knows what he’s talking about. His intelligence was captivating and he was young and fun – he was so perfect to me.

The upside of this compulsory module that I had no interest in was that we got to go on a trip to a wildlife park so that we could study the non-human primates. Basically, it was a day off to go look at monkeys. As it was fairly near the start of the year, I hadn’t really made any friends on my course – I’m not kidding when I say I’m shy and awkward. So, there I was, wandering around the park by myself, struggling with my worksheet and spilling coffee on my clothes when my knight in Jesus sandals sidled up beside me and asked if I needed any help. It was awesome. He was like my own personal David Attenborough. We walked around for hours and I mainly listened to him talk about intellectual things and it was magical.

There were literally so many private places that we could have snuck off to, but I was not always the brave and daring sexual opportunist I am today, so, nothing happened. I don’t think I even flirted, to be honest. The day came to an end and we got on the coach to take us back to campus. Two months later, he failed me on my first paper. What a cunt.

The Travelling Welshman

I have an uncle who lives in Berlin; the Welshman is one of his best friends. When I first met him, I must have been around 16 or 17 years old and I found him fascinating. He was old, and too short for me, but he was so interesting and kind that I would just hang on his every word. He was a craftsman – so naturally that was just sexy in and of itself – and he would work in Berlin for periods of time to save up some cash, then sub-let his apartment and go travelling for months at a time. I was young and he was the first person I’d met who was so travelled and the inner anthropologist in me found his extensive cultural knowledge to be mesmerising. But, alas, he had a girlfriend.

When I was 19, however, he did not. We (myself, my sister and uncle, the Welshie and a few other Berliners) had decided to hit the bars where they lived in Prenzlauer Berg (my uncle was nowhere near trendy enough to live here), and, as always seems to be the case in Berlin, things escalated and we ended up in a club, drinking and dancing inappropriately. The Welshman and I found ourselves in a separate room, flirting outrageously and grinding up on each other. It got to the point where our faces were millimetres apart before we simultaneously realised that it was an awful idea and just backed away from each other without a word. I think he thought my uncle would kill him if he ever found out, and I just didn’t want to get with an old dude.

A year or so later I lost my virginity on a yoga mat in his apartment, but that’s another story for another time.

You know that I could use somebody..

So, last night, after watching the new Made In Chelsea (yes, I watch it; no, I’m not ashamed of that) I was telling a friend how the show essentially leaves me with no faith in men. This quickly turned into a bit of a ‘men are shit’ moan as I started watching John Tucker Must Die afterwards. Though he was technically not wrong to counter with positing that women can also be pretty shit, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear and our conversation went something like this:

Me – True, except I don’t know any shady girls. But 90% of boys I know are shit to girls

W – True. 90% of girls I know use men

Me – I don’t use men

W – Tinder Ginger?

I matched Tinder Ginger (TG) a couple of weeks ago, and, after a few days of talking, he decided to strike whilst the iron was hot and ask to meet up. So, we pencilled in plans for the following week. However, whilst I was slightly tipsy and out with my friends that Friday, I messaged him and asked what he was up to. Long story short – we met up, went for a drink, and went back to his.

I don’t think I need to tell you what occurred back at his, but I will; SEX. Sex occurred. Sex occurred after four months of not occurring.

I didn’t need to clarify that for you, did I? Who wouldn’t understand that that was essentially the plan from the get go? What boy doesn’t take a drunk girl asking ‘wanna do something?’ on a Friday night to mean ‘wanna fuck?’

With that in mind, here’s the rest of the conversation with W:

Me – I don’t think I used him. He knew what that was

W – So? Knowing doesn’t stop it being using

Me – Not if it’s mutual

W – You Tindered him for just sex. That’s by definition using. You used him. You knew it was just sex. He clearly didn’t as he’s still talking to you

Me – No one meets on Tinder and has sex straight away and thinks it’s more than just sex

W – He does

Me – Nah, it’s friendly

W – Is this how you get all your friends?

I maintain that I didn’t use the boy because there’s no way he didn’t know what that whole dalliance was about, and I think that knowing does stop it from being using. I didn’t lie to him or deceive him in any way. He understood what I wanted and complied accordingly. Also, he had a fucking great time. A better time than me, even. I know because I kept count.

TG was actually a really nice guy – a 26 year old graphic designer who not only somehow found the patience to listen to his crazy one night stand talk about her love of penguins in children’s books, but also knew the books, and their authors and illustrators. We got along really well, minus his incessant need to cuddle, and I ended up staying ’til half past one the next day. But it was what it was, and I didn’t really expect to hear from him again.

After I left his house, I went to meet W for lunch (in my same clothes – so classy, I know), and in the twenty minutes it took me to get to Carnaby Street, I knew that I didn’t really have any intention of seeing him again. I’d gotten what I set out to get and so I was over it.

Okay, so I suppose if you want to be a pedantic little bitch about it, I may have used him. If you’re not a cunt, however, you’ll see that the negative connotations of ‘using someone’ don’t really apply here and no gingers were harmed in the quenching of my thirst.

What do you think? Did I use the kid? Or is it just part of the nature of adult sexual relationships?

What’s in a name? That which we call a whore…

When I was at school, I used to flirt with the barista at my local Starbucks to get free syrups and espresso shots, as well as the occasional lemon and poppy seed muffin.

Sometimes, when I’m out in da club, I make ‘the eyes’ at random men so as to milk them for free drinks.

Last summer, I gave my friend a blow job in exchange for him purchasing me an ice cream.

Which one of these sounds the worst to you? No, you’re wrong. Try again.

Trading actual sexual favours for material edible goods may seem like the most slutty and whore like thing to do here, but, if you think about it, it’s really the most honest and forthright. Are you thinking about it? Do you get it? Let me explain –

So, it was the first week of September and London was going through some kind of disgusting heat wave. I’m talking old men with their moobs out on the tube, sweaty fannies gasping for air, everything smelling like balls, and thunder thighs everywhere chafing in full force kind of disgusting. It was grim. To make matters worse, W and I were holed up in a classroom on campus, slowly losing the will to live. He was revising for an exam and I was line editing my thesis. LINE EDITING. Do you honestly know of anything worse?! As the day wore on and we started to become more and more unfocused, he started to subtly suggest that we have sex. But, alas, I was on my period. IN THAT HEAT. Like I said – slowly losing the will to live. Now, we all know that in boys’ minds, period week = blowjob week, so it’s no big surprise where the discussion quickly headed. Due to aforementioned heat and leaky vagina, I wasn’t in the most selfless of moods – so we started to barter.

Did I want a coffee? No. Did I want an IOU? No. Did I want a gin ‘n’ tonic? No. Did I want to just make a mess and have sex anyway? No. Did I want an ice cream? Fuck yes.

It was literally that simple. We got under the desk and got to it. 8 minutes later I was skipping down the stairs, excited to wrap my tongue around something far sweeter.

We both knew exactly what was going on. We knew exactly what we were giving, and we knew exactly what we were getting in return. No miscommunication. No misdirection. No bullshit.

What’s so bad about that?

We’ve all been – or encountered – the girl who bats her lashes, flashes a smile and somehow ends up with a double vodka and lemonade in her hand. We all know that look on the guy’s face when the girl walks away – that really sad cross between bewildered and defeated. It’s kind of pathetic. Having said that, men shouldn’t be so fucking naive. It is highly unlikely that the girl way hotter than you is actually interested in what your mother said on the phone this morning or how you deal with your receding hairline. You need a reality slap. Moreover, no one likes girls who do this! Obviously I’m okay with it, though, as I do tend to do it from time to time; only when I’m really drunk, though, and my conscience has been rendered to that of a free loading slut. I feel bad in the morning, if that means anything.

Anyway, as you can see, this kind of situation is full of deception and manipulation, people not knowing where they stand, and people getting let down. Now, that’s bad.

If you hadn’t realised, I like to be candid. It makes life infinitely easier, and, let’s face it, more entertaining. So I propose this – next time you want something, ask for it. Don’t lie and cheat your way to it. Ask for it straight up and then haggle your way to it. This is literally how civilisations are built. Anth 101 – Gift Exchange, bitches.

I know, I know; you’re sceptical and you still think I’m a whore. Frankly, I think I undersold myself.

The DENNIS System aka The Bullshit We Keep Falling For

First off, if you’ve never seen an episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, you’re doing life wrong. It’s on Netflix; watch it. I don’t have Netflix, but pretty much every man I’ve slept with does, so I figure it’s fairly common and that, if you’re not currently destitute like I am, you probably have it, too.  Anyway, It’s Always Sunny is an awesome show. It has that classic ‘friends who own a bar together and get up to all sorts of shit’ set-up, and Danny DeVito’s in it. What more could you want?

The show is definitely not for the sensitive or highly strung; if you’re offended by not-so-casual sexism or racism, if you have a problem with drug use, prostitution and taking advantage of those less fortunate, or essentially don’t like anything morally depraved, maybe give it a miss. Each character is unbelievably obnoxious and selfish, devoid of any sense of human decency or decorum, but, fuck, they’re hilarious. The writing on the show is genius and the chemistry between the cast is inimitable – but I’m not here to give a review, just watch it!

In one episode, the group’s resident lothario and probable sociopath, Dennis Reynolds, teaches the gang his bulletproof system for getting countless women to fall hopelessly in love with him – The D.E.N.N.I.S System.

The way that he embarks on each step may be more than a little extreme, but that’s just the nature of the show. You don’t need to ‘Nurture Dependence’ by calling her house and pretending to be a murderer or rapist, most girls start to become unwittingly dependent just through text conversations alone. I don’t think The D.E.N.N.I.S System is at all unique to Dennis. I think that a lot of boys do it, and a lot of girls, myself included, get sucked in. This is what you’re falling for, ladies:

Demonstrate Value

The idea here is that once a man demonstrates his value to a woman, she’ll realise his worth and that she needs him in her life. Being 23 and not looking for value beyond the ability to make me laugh and cum (even if at the same time), I’m not entirely sold on this step, though I think it’ll become increasingly relevant as I get older and do understand where it’s coming from. After all, why would you want someone who doesn’t add anything to your life?

Engage Physically

It is commonly thought that women develop stronger feelings and become more attached once they ‘Engage Physically’. I have friends that this holds extremely true for, and friends that it doesn’t apply to at all – we’re not a one size fits all kinda deal, guys. Having said that, I would say that most girls I know fall in the former. So, by doing the sex, boys become fairly certain that their girl isn’t going anywhere. I don’t know if they think it’s because of the ‘connection’ they’ve just created or because they think their D is so good she won’t want to go anywhere, but, sadly, it does seem to work.

Nurturing Dependence

It’s no mistake that this step follows on from all the sexy time. Once a man’s clumsily bruised my breasts, fingered me like he’s digging for gold in a Smarties tube, and then gotten jizz in my hair, of course I’m going to be putty in his hands. This is the perfect time to nurture that. Contrary to what the show may suggest, you don’t need to hire someone to stab your lover, narrowly missing a major artery so that you can then nurse them back to health, thus making them dependent on you. Like I said, a lot of gals will fall for something as simple as texting. I hadn’t thought of it in terms of dependence until just now, as I think I, like most people, saw it more in terms of attention; it’s all that ‘if he texts you, it means he’s thinking about you’ bullshit we’ve been fed. How many times have you heard a girl say she just wants someone to text? Apparently, we love that shit, and, essentially, once the chat’s started, we don’t want it to stop. Dependence.

Neglect Emotionally and Inspire Hope

Even if you don’t really buy into the rest of this ‘system’, you know these are fo’ real. I put these two together because they really do go hand in hand. Dennis is basically saying to play hot and cold. Hands up if this has happened to you. I imagine this has probably happened to everyone ever, regardless of gender, but in my experience, boys are especially good at it. They nurture all this dependence, making you want to talk to them and see them and even fake your way through mediocre banging, just to pull a disappearing act on you. You then spend days, or even weeks, wondering what you did to make them behave this way. Then, just when you’re ready to stop wallowing and move on, they reappear. Obviously you’re so elated that they’ve come back to you with whatever lame excuse they’ve made up that you look past it and jump into bed with them straight away. Maybe you even let them give you that facial they’ve been begging for. It’s great. You’re lying in one another’s arms, basking in the afterglow of their orgasm, because obviously you didn’t have one, and everything is perfect. Two days later, they disappears again. It becomes a cycle because you allow it to. I’m telling you now, end it before they decides to go ahead and

Separate Entirely

Oh, you didn’t? How unsurprising. Oh, they’re gone for good? How predictable.

The Perfect Man

I can say with no doubt in my mind that Anastasia (1997) is my favourite animated film of all time. I’d even go as far as to say it’s one of my favourite films ever. I have watched it multiple times a year since I was a child. I own it on VHS, DVD and even have a copy downloaded on my laptop. I know every line and every song. Fuck, I know it backwards. Just singing the soundtrack in the shower lifts my spirits. It is my happy place.

If you’re not already familiar with the plot of the film, don’t think that you’ll find any historical accuracy whatsoever. It’s romanticised to the point of saturation, but it’s wonderful. The film has everything! A strong female lead, a love story, an amazing soundtrack, a charismatic villain, a puppy and a bat – it literally gave Disney such a run for it’s money.

It’s not unusual for girls, and boys, to connect with animated characters when they’re young. Girls notoriously love Disney princesses, and I was no different. My favourites, though, were always the ones with a bit of an edge; namely Jasmine (Aladdin) and Esmerelda (The Hunchback of Notre Dame), though I know the latter isn’t a princess, but a gypsy. They were strong and stubborn and full of gumption – none of this lying around and waiting for someone to kiss them nonsense. I think I also enjoyed that they were brown; it definitely meant I was one step closer to being them in real life. So, naturally, when Anastasia came along, I ate that shit up. Anya was everything to me. It’s even written down in one of my old diaries that my first daughter would be named Anya. It was like the directors at Fox made her for me. We were twin souls dancing in the wind to ‘Once Upon A December’. And, as an extension of this, Dimitri was obviously my soulmate.

Don’t frown at the screen like you’ve never found an animated character attractive. Aladdin’s a babe. And you’d definitely bang Meg from Hercules. Anyway, Dimitri was the first boy I ever liked. And, to this day, has sustained my affection longer than any other man. Essentially, I still love him. He is perfect. Let’s not even talk about the fact that he has the voice of John Cusack – swoon, much? – because I don’t even have the words to tell you what his voice does to me. Granted, the kid’s not without his shortcomings; he is a bit of a cocky bastard and a conman, but he redeems himself! And who isn’t attracted to a bit of cockiness, anyway? Here are all the other things that make him the love of my life…

First off, he was a cute kid with an incredible moral compass, so your babies will be amazing

Then he grew up to be this panty-dropper

Who can spin you like this

And this

And protect you from anything.

He’s sensitive to your feelings. He notices when you’re not okay and does’t ignore it

And he thinks you’re beautiful and isn’t afraid to show it.

Plus, he definitely knows how to take you like a woman.

Clearly I don’t want for much. Where is this man?!

Who is your ideal partner? Tell me your animated favourites!