Naked in the City day 8

Little Miss Potty Mouth

 

    “Do you really have to talk like that?” was the way our first bit of uncomfortableness began.  Apparently, church boy thinks my mouth is too blasphemous.  I’m not some filthy mouthed whore, but an occasional “Goddamn” or “Jesus Christ” can be uttered in anger.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  I don’t use many profanities in general, I think that they’re a crutch on real expression.

    I don’t need this guy coming in and trying to make me feel dirty because I don’t talk like some choirboy.

    On the other hand, maybe I was being too frank and shocking with him, and I’ve never really been that good at using euphemisms.  Maybe…I…was…making him feel uncomfortable, and all he did was let me know that.  I don’t take criticism as well as I dish it out.

    I suppose I can try to be a little less profane around him, the same way I do with a small child.

Naked in the City day 3

The Television Debate

    The great move has ended.  One problem has occurred, and perhaps I was a bit too yielding in my opposition.  I did not want to start off on the wrong foot by arguing about something that is not a major concern, and is much more a decorative issue.  Now, it’s possible that I have given up too easily and he will take more liberties and change the apartment to further suit his needs.

    The issue is the unannounced appearance of a very large flat screen television hanging on the wall in front of the couch.  This actually wouldn’t be a problem at all if it were a preexisting purchase that he brought with him.  I had approved the stereo system that cost more than my car, because he already owned it, and I do like good music.  No, he went out and bought it after he was almost entirely moved into my apartment.  He decided on a major change without asking me.

    Further problems follow.  My opposition to the TV now only exists in theory.  I had always thought of myself as being perfectly happy with a 13-inch screen, rabbit ears even if I didn’t need them, on a shelf, out of the way.  It’s just there for award shows and NY1; movies were watched on my lovely laptop.  The rest of my cheap entertainment comes from a well-worn library card, and a favorite chair, named Charlie, at B & N.

    I like the TV.  It’s cool.  It’s wide.  It’s clear.  It’s like I’m eating breakfast with Audrey Hepburn right in my living room.  I don’t want to give it up.

    So, now I’m stuck in a quagmire; does this dude, who isn’t supposed to be romance, or even fuck buddy, material, get me?  Not only that, does he get me in a way that’s even better than how I get me?

    The jerk just assumed I would like the TV, and he was right.  He also bought a DVD of images from the Louvre, with 1930’s expat jazz as background music.  His exact words were, “Here, I thought you might like this while you’re drinking tea.”  And I friggin’ do, I love it, it’s so relaxing, it’s like a meditation.

    Okay, what if he was a girl?  If he was a girl, I’d be okay with all of this.  I would be thinking about how great it was that she took the initiative and improved the apartment in a very generous way.  I would say, “You totally understand me, we’re going to get along so well.”