That is what HE said. Italian Ice. How does that even relate to dating, sex and relationships? Then he explained, with the assistance of a picture text, that “Italian Ice” was his nickname for the Snookie-esque woman who messaged him on OkCupid. I have been searching all weekend for a topic. Nothing too serious, nothing too dramatic, emotional, or emotive. I wanted laugh out loud funny. Instead, I got Italian Ice. Then Type Geek told me about a karaoke stunt he has yearned to do for years that involves him, some Billy Idol and a stutter. Oh yeah, I definitely want muh-muh-muh more. Actually, I do.
The last several months have been rather difficult for me regarding my business, work, finances and housing. I hadn’t let anyone in on the seriousness of it all, rather, I was grinning and bearing it. However, occasionally it would all just be too much and I’d react to something, or as Type Geek said, I would internalize for only so long and then… POP. Truer statements have never been said. Thursday night was the pinnacle of chaotic ugliness. I was hit with a levy from the IRS and my accounts were frozen. No access to anything for the forseeable future until I could pay off the levy. I went home and laid in the bathtub, unsure of what I was going to do. Facing a short sale, trying to save money for an apartment and a new bed, eeking by on minimal payments to some agencies while having to ignore others all together; the pressure was suffocating. Type Geek called while I was in the bath and knew, from the sound of my voice, that things weren’t good. I finally agreed to let him into my head.
An hour and a half later he was picking me up outside my condo and we headed to Whole Foods to grab some food for his house. After some pasta, wine, olives and figs, I finally looked down at the table and started telling him what was going on. I opened up about the last 12 months and everything that had happened to get me to where I was at that moment. I cried, he listened and he gave advice. Solid advice, not douche bag advice. It made me realize how lucky I am to have found him, regardless of what we are.
“Regardless of what we are”. Ok, that is a half truth. Things are getting tricky there. We haven’t been using condoms, I am not on the pill and we are not “exclusive”. I’m not dating anyone else. He is talking to other people. Am I feeling a bit insecure? A little. I know he finds me beautiful, sexy, intelligent, awesome, etc. Yet, there is something keeping him from deciding to just let go. I’m not sure what his situation is exactly. Until I am in a new place and have my head screwed on a bit better, I am not going to press for reasons. I am however, going to have a discussion about our lack of condom usage. As much as I prefer him without, as much as I enjoyed our last sexual encounter immensely, we can’t be taking risks like this. Not with all of these great big questions. Not when I may actually want more and he may not.
I spoke with him a short time ago, he had just woken from a nap, groggy, stressed from his inability to motivate around the multiple client deadlines he has facing him on Monday. He sounded distracted and troubled. I suggested he take a long walk in the newly minted autumn air, clear out the fog, the dust. He agreed so we said our usual ciao and promised to touch base later.
I’m hoping,and actually admitting it, that this might develop into something else. Not yet, but eventually. He may not be what I was originally looking for, but sometimes the thing you didn’t think was great on the hanger, looks better than the rest when it’s wrapped around your body at night.
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