Trying to stay afloat, when your head is held under water

The last time I posted, I was heading off to a few days in NYC, to be HOME during the anniversary of the attacks. I lived there then, 10 years ago. I was going to my office in Midtown Manhattan from Williamsburg, Brooklyn when that first plane hit. I didn’t see it happen on my walk from Grand Central to 46th and Madison. It was only when I got off the elevator that my coworker told me. The next several hours were spent huddled with upper management in a conference room that thankfully faced west, rather than south, while we watched the madness on TV. NYC is no longer home, in the primal core of my heart, it is, a place that I feel closer to my center than almost anywhere, but other than that, other than a gut feeling, it isn’t home.

It was an odd trip and feeding off the energy of NYC, my anxiety levels were sky high at moments, especially after having my camera break and a couple hours later, my cell phone stolen while trying to buy a new camera. I got home to a laptop that wouldn’t work, a dog that broke out in such dangerously outrageous hives that she had to be given iv shots of Steroids and Antihistamines. For several days the drugs continued. She’s allergic to atmospheric mold. The rain and the humidity, the continuing dampness that has fallen over the city, it hit her hard. A stoned dog is a funny dog though, as they look up at you with eyes that question why everyone, including you, look like a polka dotted cat in their eyes. Then my job, the restaurant, the owner has lost his mind. He took me aside and berated me and insulted me in a way I have never quite experienced. His reasons were flimsy at best, his excuses were centered around tables that weren’t even mine. He didn’t care. It was his need for power that prevailed in those moments. For the first time in years I cried at work, because of work. At 36, I am too old to work at a job , for an owner, who gets off on that type of behavior.

And this is why I have been quiet. I now have a phone, after much runaround from T Mobile and the NYC Police Department. I have a hive free dog after many hundreds of dollars. I have a lap top that with the costly addition of plug in keyboards and optical mice, works again, sort of. I have an unpaid internship in something I love and an evening job that I haven’t been able to replace due to the unfriendly job market. My boss’s new trick is sending me home super early, so I only make $20 or $30 dollars. I won’t be able to pay my bills this month and he will get off on having so much power to effect harm upon someone else’s life.

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Parisian Macarons, Hard Cock and Terry Gilliam

It’s funny, meeting someone in person whom you have been virtual friends with for over a year. Nearly 13 months of sexual tension and in person, we are comfortable pals, yet beyond that, perhaps not much else. Internet Skype boy was having a weekend of bad reactions to some new migraine meds which ironically were causing low drive issues. The irony does not sneak past me here. I wanted a weekend of unbridled carefree fucking after 11 months of loving someone who had low sex drive issues and low interest issues. Nonetheless, we did have sex on Friday night, but the first time you fuck anyone is odd, grooves not found, rhythms not synced, and so I extended my trip one more night, to see whether things could line up more.

In between my first and last night… Parisian Macarons from BisousCiao. in flavors like Sour Cherry, Champagne Cocktails from Bubble Lounge and strolls through the Bowery. Apple Cider from The Union Square Greenmarket, naps on $7,000 couches at The Conran Shop, viewings of Time Bandits, and jokes about how I have lost my NYC street cred after ten years away.

So, how was the sex, second go around? It’s different. It’s not Type Geek. I was detached, yet forced to be present because of the sensation of fucking someone much larger than your previous partner. We fucked, it was fine. It was the punctuation, the ending to my one-sided relationship with a man I loved who couldn’t give anything except the occasional dinner, concert or overnight snuggle. Until there was sex with someone else, there was always just going to be Type Geek in my rearview mirror. After Skype boy and I fucked, after he washed up and went to bed, I laid there. The only night I was unable to relax and sleep. I missed Type Geek, even the small amount that I had him, the small amount that snuck through without him seeing it cozy up to me. I couldn’t help but wonder, has he thought of me at all since he saw me last. Did he ever miss me or was I unable to imprint myself even that much on him. I know it isn’t a reflection on me, it is merely a reflection on him and his bigger deeper issues, but nonetheless, I feel the loss and miss the him that I knew in those dark quiet hours between dusk and dawn.

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An Italian Atheist and a non-identifying Jew walk into a Bar…

only the Jew was smart enough to see what was around him and duck, where as the Italian was too focused on himself to realize what hit him across the head.

This weekend could have been a wonderfully relaxing and tender weekend for two people who have had a challenging year, a way to unwind and reconnect. Instead, I’m heading down to NYC for two nights and two days of who knows what with Internet Skype guy. Sex could happen. Sex probably should happen, I deserve that from the universe. Actually, I deserve a full body massage and really good oral sex, then the best 8 hours of sleep ever. That is what I need.

Since my last post, Type Geek has come out with a new plan… utter disrespectful douche. If you insult her character she will no longer come… that is his theory. Although his other theory… if you ignore her, she will no longer cum, was pretty effective as well. I don’t want to get into what he said, but it sent me into such a fit of anger and how dare you’s that I almost walked the three miles to his house and slapped him across the face. In the end, he still wasn’t successful in making me hate him, just succesful in making me feel sorry for him. It’s quite sad at this point, his complete inability to connect to another human. I hope that someday he gets over what his ex did to him and feels more secure in who he is. For his own sake.

So, the chapter is ended. Is the book of Type Geek finished? Life is long, we shall never know. Perhaps I will reconnect in 20 years at an auction of mid century modern furniture… perhaps we are meant to be old together, but first, we need to grow old separately. Perhaps he just needs to grow first.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… There is Bi-Coastal Foodie who is shuttling between Seattle and NYC, a foodie who actually admitted that he thinks I might be the better cook. (umm, of course) There was a photographer that lasted a few days, only to run at me wearing a giant red flag after I didn’t text him by a certain time about a potential cocktail. Key word…. potential, not, scheduled. Finally, there was a gentleman, Shellfish Guy who had hit on me months ago and I had told, that I wasn’t in the place because I was seeing someone else. He has continued to pursue me and I figure, hell, why not. So, that is where I am currently at.

This time around, how will I approach things differently? I’m not sure. This time it is a whole new game. I’m no longer wondering if it is possible for me to connect emotionally to a man, I obviously did. Now, maybe my lesson is that if you can’t be with the one you love, find another, then love the one you’re with. It might not be the same soul wrenching, powerful stuff that makes you JUST KNOW. But, maybe it can still be pretty good.

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