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Posts Tagged ‘typography’

Apparently, when I am nervous, my lower lip and chin quiver slightly. This is what Type Geek told me during our almost break up. I later texted my hot ex girl friend, the screenwriter, and asked her and she confirmed. How have I not known this for 35 years? Type Geek told me not to join the CIA, I responded that it’s lucky for me than that I am into cooking instead of espionage.

So, yes, I did say almost break up. He’s been driving me nuts. NUTS. The comments, the card, the accolades I recently bestowed upon him had gone un discussed and avoided and I just couldn’t handle it anymore. So, I forced a meeting with the need to pick up my video camera that had been living at his place. My friend needed it desperately for something, or that was how the story went. I started the frustration via text Saturday morning. By Saturday afternoon, we were essentially over. He just couldn’t offer anything and didn’t want to be responsable for hurting me. Therefore, any compromise was futile. I cried a lot. I drank a few overly sweet martini like cocktails and had wasabi rushes with my Foreigner. I’ve known him over a year now, odd. Odd also that he sent me on this crazy trip. I digress.

Type Geek and I agreed to meet at 3:30. I got there at 3:35. He was late and I sat my ass on the stoop freezing in the mid thirties weather. I harumphed and texted my friends, cursing that he couldn’t be there on time! He arrived 15 minutes late. I was awkward but cordial. Cold but tried to not act too chilly. I didn’t know what I was walking into. We sat at the dining table and made chit-chat for about 15 or 20 minutes before we both ceased to talk. I looked away, at the floor, my boots, the edge of the table, but not at him. I then said, “hmm, awkward silence there.” He responded that there wasn’t an awkward silence, to which I said that there was, on my end. That there is so much in the ether that needs to be discussed, so much that I don’t understand, pages we have skipped past and not addressed, until now, when it has become awkward because we are in two places and we need to bridge them or walk away, because the distance between is too stark, too cavernous and far too frightening to traverse. He asked what I wanted to say, I said that I felt I have said too much lately but that he has said so little. So he agreed to start. Super uber lenghty hmmm pause later, I asked if he needed a prompt. He said that would be helpful, as he didn’t know where to start.

I told him that yes, I am in love with him and yes, in an ideal scenario (i.e. one in which it is what he wants) I would love to be his girlfriend, BUT that my wants and my needs are different. My needs are to know three things. He nodded for me to go on.

  1. Do you want to continue to see me?
  • Response: Yes, of course.

      2.   Are you sleeping with anyone else?

  • Response: No, not since our first date, no one but you.

       3.  Can you agree to commit to a minimum of 2 actual scheduled dates a month, that you don’t cancel and that to others, you will say NO, if you are not sure or feel flakey about ability to commit to something, rather than saying yes and then disappointing me later.

  • Response: Yes, this is doable.

Then I had to argue for a half hour over whether he has the power card, which he doesn’t want. I say he doesn’t and that I am in control of whether he breaks my heart or not. I said, you may hurt my feelings, however, only I allow the decision to suffer to that degree. I am a big girl and I can handle being in love with someone who isn’t in love with me in return. Do you care about me, enjoy my company, and want to spend your spare time with me? Are you sexually attracted to me and not interested in anyone else or interested in pursuing anyone else? Ok. His argument is that every action he takes affects me. I responded that whether it is a sunny day or cloudy day affects me. Whether the train is late or on time. Whether a stranger says hello or curses at me for accidentally bumping into them. The world IS cause and effect. However HE does not hold as much power as he would like to think. He is only a man and I have the power to walk away if it isn’t working for me anymore. When it isn’t working for me anymore, I will use my power to leave. So, we agreed to disagree on this point. He thinks he has power. i say he doesn’t have the power he thinks he has.

So, what is his damage? Well, the same damage we all have. A relationship with a woman who strung him up for years, who is still meandering about and pestering him (not for any romantic reasons, just to be pestery), a new job and new role at new job that is super demanding and stressful, a family life in crazy overdrive for the last 6 months, and the regular fears of jumping into a new relationship and what that may mean. I get it. I know where he is. I was there for 4 years. Well, I was in a similar place. I didn’t date for 4 years. I had no sex drive. I proclaimed myself celibate, asexual even. I started a business and bought a condo, I lived like a hermit and shriveled up, hid away until I watched a lot of my friends give up reaching out. I wasn’t going to be ready to open the door to possibilities again, until I was ready. I didn’t know how it happened. I don’t remember the exact moment. I just realized one day that I saw the sun and I was, metaphorically speaking ( since I did go outside everyday ), standing outside with an open door behind me. It happened at its own pace.  

Now, where does this leave us? This leaves us with him kissing me as I stood against the dining table. With him agreeing that booty calls are acceptable ( I complained that , sometimes, I just want to get laid and go home because I have things to do, just like he does. So, I don’t always need to sleep over afterwards. I can go home after a date and sex. That way, we can wake up at our respective homes and start our days without the trappings of two people bumping into each other at 8 am). With us being us, but better, because we are now on the same page. I fessed up about THIS and the novel. No, he doesn’t have the url, he has not read it. I fessed up about the Cooper Fienes and how I was fucking both of them at first and how I kept him at arm’s length because I was seeing the other guy. Type Geek commented that perhaps that was best, until I said that no, I was bored then. I found him to be less than interesting and I wasn’t thrilled to hang out with him, until I stopped seeing Cooper Fienes and decided to give Type Geek a fair chance, to get to know him. Things weren’t best because I didn’t really like him then. Now, however, because I care about him and know him and his neurosis, I am not bored, I am engaged and enthralled and I adore him, which makes it worthwhile for me. He would not have lasted in my life behaving as he has, if I wasn’t in love with him and willing to sort out what the hell his brain has going on. So, to me, I feel like we are a couple, without the couple. We are sexually exclusive. We like each other, albeit I am in love with him and he finds me worthy and adorable and super cute, but isn’t ready for love. We enjoy spending time together and have tons of things in common. Do I need the title? No. Do I need to meet the family? No. I understand why he can’t include me in that equation now. I get it. Does spending the holidays alone SUCK? Yup. In the grand scheme of things though, I would rather have this with someone I adore with all my heart, than have the “traditional” all the trimmings relationship that lacks the one core ingredient… Type Geek.  What we ARE is more important than what we NAME it.

 After I got home I sat and thought over the crazy year and decided to blasted my Jewish Sex God a note commemorating our anniversary of last year’s rendezvous and thanking him for being that fine ambassador to all men everywhere. Then I sat down to write this post as I baked spicy stuff shells and drank Tempranillo.

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No definitive answers here as of yet. Type Geek is apparently not great with confrontation. Between the letter that almost states that I am in love with him, to the text that in fact DID say I am in love with him, the conversation in his car in which I asked to be more than a garnish in his life, to finally my message last night informing him that I do not need him to feel the same exact way, or to promise forever, or perfection, but that I do want him to consider us being more than we are now. Feeling like a 12-year-old, I laid it straight out and told him that I would like him to be my (ahem, gag, hate the word, makes me feel juvenile) boyfriend. So, his response? He told me that reading my email made him smile and that I am both super cute and honest and that yes, we can talk tomorrow night. Tomorrow night is now tonight. He hasn’t canceled yet. I know that he isn’t planning on dumping me because after he told me about his deplorable day, I told him it seemed he was overdue for one of my full body rubs. He agreed and then I said that if there was anything else I could do to or with his body, that I would be taking requests. Does one tell a girl, who has just professed their love for then and asked them to commit to a more solid relationship, that she should definitely straddle their cock, IF they don’t want to continue sleeping with them and seeing them? Maybe he has a dissociative disorder and each personality has their own relationship with me.  The weekend after I tell him I am in love with him, we have an epic 30 hour date. The night I tell him that I want him to be my boyfriend, he tells me he wants me to ride him. Ok, what gives?! I better get a Thanksgiving invite after all of this, or a DAMN good explanation why, after 7 months of dating, I am not.

I can’t help but look at my clock and count the hours until I see him and shut the door on this question. This goes beyond fickle. On a side note, a really hot girl started at my restaurant and a few staffers have told me that it is my job to determine her sexual preference. Meanwhile, it is NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and I finished the first draft of my novel last night. Now to the massive chopping, shaving, and reshaping. I think I know what the story is I am trying to tell here, but I am curious what all of you, the readers, see as the story behind this whole adventure. Please, chime in and leave a comment. What are your feelings about this whole thing?

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you
with your obsessions
with letters
the formations of words
gentle curves and slopes
that
through connection,
create communication
ideas
emotions
expressed

your words
deconstructed
form pools of clever illusion
confusion
like puzzles mixed up in the same box
nothing connects together
smoothly

I appreciate the disconnect
I shower praise on the words formed anew
definitionless curves and slopes
creating words that don’t exist
without phonetics to speak
without speech to express
without expression to connect

I swim in the pools
darkness
lost
with trust
with hope
with what I now understand
in my new dictionary
in my new speech
that the curves and slopes
these new letters I have formed
handed
back to you

in response to your puzzle
mine form an expression
of love

and
I am lost
in a pool as vast as the sea
in the dark
with hope
and trust
and a dictionary of words I want to learn
so I can speak them to you

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It’s sinister really. The way that human emotions work. When I first met Type Geek, I was less than blown away. He seemed interesting though, and I assumed it would blossom into a friendship, rather than a romance. Jump forward 5 months, almost to the day, and I had a little realization. Perhaps love ISN’T that big feeling of eating too much wasabi at once. Perhaps that rush, the endorphins, the passionate sex in rental cars or curled up on bookstore floors waxing on about metaphysical mumbo jumbo while petting each other, those aren’t love or even falling in love. Those are merely garnish for the meal of life… some curly parsley or a drizzle of a well crafted gastrique. Those garnishes are flat and without merit however if they don’t embrace a meal that has merit. I want meals I eat to unfold in my mouth in waves of discovery. The fat, the salt, the acid, the spice all marrying together and delighting me. SO what if it looks good on paper, if it doesn’t elevate my taste buds, it doesn’t matter how it is presented. Sometimes the presentation is so simple, that you have few, if any expectations, or the ones you have, aren’t that high.

Type Geek is that meal that I can’t seem to grow tired of. Each taste I have had, has unfurled a new mysterious flavor. I savor each one, roll it around in my mouth and try to understand it, name it. Sometimes I can’t. Sometimes, I can match it. Mostly though, it has been the experience, until lately. The sex has become something I haven’t quite experienced before. I feel safe when I am with him, an experience that hasn’t occured for me before. In the past I have always been the one “in charge” or “in control”. Last week I finally let Type Geek into my head and what is stressing me out, two bottles of wine, tears, great sex and it all came out. The family drama, the financial drama, the life drama. I hadn’t been that vulnerable with anyone in years, if ever, but it felt safe sitting across from him. It felt right. The only thing I didn’t share in my conversation with him is my grey cloud of confusion over “us” and how I am having minor internal freak outs. I am acting like a girl in my head.

I’m jealous. I’m slightly insecure about where I stand with him. I keep saying I don’t want a relationship. Maybe I am lying. Not only to myself, but to all of you, and to him. Maybe in realizing that love is finding someone whom when you are with them, it is the only place you want to be, you realize that being “ready” for a relationship is nonsense. You don’t choose timing, you don’t choose who.

Why is this all sinister? As I alluded to earlier? A sinister type of joke which the universe loves to play on us emotional humans, give us insight as it takes something away. Type Geek and I haven’t spoken in 4 days. I stopped texting because I was busy, but also, I wanted him to put in a bit of effort, to show appreciation for the awesomeness that is I. He hasn’t touched base though. This morning I decided the game was silly, so I texted hello and, a little while later, I left him a voicemail in a super happy tone regarding the Depeche Mode obsession I was on this morning and how, omg, I saw a woman on the train yesterday wearing a 1980’s style denim jacket with a gigantic Megadeth iron-on across the back, and how it made me giggle audibly. I went for breezy, for no big deal, for hey, what up with your bad self. Only, I haven’t heard anything back from him. I think I am getting dumped via silence. The old, “Ignore it and it shall go away”, move. Sigh.

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There is this great website called Overheard Everywhere , which has some of the most brilliant overheard comments of all time posted by the individuals whose ears were lucky enough to be close at the time. This is one of my favorites,  “Hipster girl: He eats pork, but he won’t eat pussy. He’s a really bad Jew.” If I had overheard that, I would have spit out whatever beverage or food I was consuming at that moment in an abrupt burst of hysterical laughter. We all know my love of the Jew. The Jewish cock is a thing of wonder and beauty. Although, I must say, a lot can be said about an uncut cock as well. Before I met Type Geek, I had zero experience with an uncut penis. I hadn’t ever seen one in person, only photos. My limited experience with cock from my teens and early twenties presented the average “normal” penis to me, nothing exciting. Certainly no Jews and no uncut boys.

Regardless of all of that, I do have one issue with the comment. How can you NOT eat pussy if you fuck it? Really?! For some of us ladies, that is the ONLY way we really get off. That is one issue with lesbians that never occurred. Lesbians love to eat pussy. I think there is an unwritten law in the Society of Lesbians book of by-laws that states, “she who eat not of pussy, not get own pussy eaten in return.”  Alright, maybe it was Confucius or Buddha. Maybe it was just the first lesbian I met at 17 who wanted to fuck me so badly, she checked out the Lesbian Joy of Sex from her college library and offered to lend it to me. She was stocky, with a mohawk, furry legs, ripped fishnets and combat boots AND a die-hard anti-male feminist. Now, I know that NOT all feminists are anti-male. SHE just happened to be. She was also a writer, a bad one, and wrote scathing tales of those that crossed her path. She never changed their names because, as she said, “no names have been changed, because no one is innocent.” Needless to say, she was intense in all the WRONG ways and no, I never had sex with her. There is probably a story out there somewhere about it.

 

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It’s a cold night and I have just put my Type Geek texting to rest. Not ready to face the mounds of laundry that are resting on my bed in need of folding, hanging and otherwise putting away, I opted for a cup of Vosges La Parisienne Hot Chocolate with some vanilla bean and a dash of cayenne. Drinking it in my favorite mug, I couldn’t help but wish I was curled up on his couch watching Mad Men with him. Unfortunately, that isn’t happening. Unfortunately, I am sitting in a half renovated messy condo located in a stalled neighborhood of tacos, tacos, two Italian joints, and more tacos. Oh, and a pupuseria. It is for the best that I am not there this evening. I have too many commitments on Monday and must be out of my place by 9:45, at the latest. This all will be easier, when I am closer. At least, the travel back and forth will be easier, the logistics of seeing him, that is. Do I think our situation will be easier, aww, hells no. Can I hope, perhaps. I am realistic though. I think he has some trust issues, some attachment issues. His ex cheated on him multiple times. Not once, not twice, hell, maybe more than three. I know that from what he said, it was just completely out of hand. I can relate to wanting him more available when he is in work mode and feeling pushed aside and compartmentalized, but that doesn’t mean, now that I decided to stop seeing other people and be exclusive, yet still casual, that I would go have a grudge fuck. It wouldn’t make me feel better and ultimately it wouldn’t get me out of my compartment and closer to him. It isn’t always about me, or her or even him. Sometimes it is a symptom of the OCD and he is powerless to it, sometimes it truly just is an unavoidable work load that MUST be dealt with, however, sometimes it is my internalizing and resulting unexpected geyser of insecurity or his inability to see the entire picture after tunnelling on work and so, subsequently, he does things out of such rigid self focus, that I get lost, I am invisible. Are all of these things that can be dealt with? Yeah, sure.  2011 is creeping up fast. Less than 4 months. In roughly 13 weeks, this blog will have its year anniversary. I’m not sure what the story is yet. I have been battling back and forth a manuscript for the novel and I’m unsure, of so many things.

What is the story to you, the readers? Why do you read me, post after post? What do you want to know? What do you wish you knew more about? What is this journey to you?

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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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