02 December 2004

Sesso e la Città Eternà - Shithead Goes Fishing

I'd like to say that things have been rather quiet without BG around, but that would be a patent falsehood as I've been dealing with everything from

- a shower leaking into the bakery below our flat (Curly is no longer allowed to use power tools in our flat)

-the Noisy Doorwoman Bitch continuously commenting on the number of 'strange people' coming out of our flat.(They're our friends and SO's, bitch. Unlike you, we are young, beautiful and get laid on a semi-regular basis.)

- some dumbshit that BG had rented her room out to for a month of her absence turning out to be a complete pain in the ass (She now owes me close to 300€ and that's not counting this month's rent. Color me pissed.)

Plus I have a veritable assload of work to get done before I leave for Dallas the 14th and I have no fucking desire to do any of it (hence the blog post)

Quiet? No.

Thanksgiving was good. I got recognition for the divine cooking goddess I am (though I've just about run out of creative leftover turkey recipes) and mass amounts of wine were consumed; unfortunately we didn't get a chance to piss off the Noisy Doorwoman Bitch as she was out of town that day. Pity, that.

Thanksgiving eve I had stayed over at Shithead's place and he stayed over at my place the following night. Therefore Friday I was rather surprised by his "I'm Using My Best Puppy Dog Voice to Persuade You" telephone call asking me to come over. Other events that day being what they were, I couldn't stay over and, as he was taking a brief jaunt to Amsterdam the following day, he couldn't come over to my place. C'est la vie. In any case, I have a vibrator.

Monday night Curly returned from visiting his girlfriend Miss Ex-Lesbian(Converted by Curly) in London and we sat on the couch alternately watching shitty television, rolling joints, and getting the latest goss from each other.

Possibly Unnecessary Background: Curly's in love and he's freaked out, I get freaked out by Shithead's weird conversational meanderings (ie kids); we swap points of view and advice. Think of your stereotypical, overused straight girl - gay boy friendship plot device/characters minus the gay part, plus a lot more evil snarkiness, and way more random drunken tit-n-ass grabbings and you have me & Curly.

So Monday night was dedicated to finding out if Curly had popped the big question (he hadn't), what Miss Ex-Lesbian's big surprise for him was (not pregnancy - she pitched a tent for him. Literally. In her backyard) and why Rome airport security thought he had C4 in his carry-on (it was two huge blocks of cheddar cheese, which is unavailable in your average Roman supermarket).

Tuesday Shithead called up and asked me over. We got happily toasty with Marco Bevecomeunaspugna, who headed home around midnight. Shithead then proved to be rather effuse in his amorous efforts, to the point where I asked him if he had snorted Viagra earlier in the evening.

During the lulls in action, he began 'Fishing' (as I like to term it); asking questions, the likes of which in cheesy chick flicks are usually uttered by the female protagonist, much to the dismay of the male protagonist.

I can always tell when he's about to Fish; his body tenses up ever so slightly, his distracted stroking of my upper arm becomes even more distracted (that's the only way I can describe it), and there's almost a soft explosion of breath a nanosecond before he begins the question.

This night's topic was "What do you want to do with your life?" Easy enough to keep away from relationship discussions, no? Besides which, it's not really a secret: I want to start my own business in the sector of tourism I currently work in, make enough money to eventually buy apartments to sublet, and travel on the profits.

I then turned the tables on Shithead with an ill-advised "And you?" He, too, wants to start the same type of business, which is no surprise.

...but I never thought about starting it alone, either with my cousin or you. Maybe because I know how you work. And I trust you.


Yesterday, much to my surprise*, he wanted to know if I wanted to go for dinner with him & Bevecomeunaspugna after I finished work. Work being what it is, we agreed that he'd call me after dinner and pick me up (transportation strike yesterday). We eventually ended back at my place, where a continuation of the previous evening's virility and Fishing was continued, albeit with a different theme. Highlights below.

Why weren't the other guys you dated these past three years right for you?

Hmm. Let's see. Rebound Boy toy moved way too fast and lived with his mother. Sette Camiche proved to be not worth the 7 shirts and then I found out he, too, still lived with his mother. Mr. Boink Buddy was just that.

So what would you say about me?

(shit. walked right into that one, didn't i?)*considers* You're the only guy I know who can make my hands shake.

From what?

If you could choose one of your exes to get back with, who would it be?
Excluding you?

Including me
Well then, it looks like I've made made choice wouldn't you say?

Why me?
Fuck if I know. You're the first ex I've ever hooked back up with.

*thinks a bit* Same here. You're the first ex I've gotten back together with. There's an insane physical chemistry between us.

(*cue the schizoid passive-aggressive voices in my head* Is that all?/No shit. Let's fuck.)

Ever thought about getting married or living with someone in the last three years?

(Oh. Fuck.) *begins trying inutily to control blushing and raggedy breathing-borderline-hyperventilation* Erm, no not really. *insert awkward change of subject here*

Looks like Curly's analysis of the Baby Discussion was dead on; Shithead's lookin' to get serious again.

Oh. Dear.

*well, that might be a bit disingenuous. I *had* sent him an SMS saying "The next time I have a waxing appointment, remind me not to sleep over at your place the night before. Ouch." Tender pink bits do not a comfortable waxing appointment make. He of course, was anxious to inspect the work. And thus today I am lamenting the fact that work bathrooms do not have bidets, God's Gift to (even more)tender pink bits.

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