I really thought I was going to go back to non-passworded posts this week. But, the Velvet Business Plan on ditching the password includes NO POSTING about Sherlock or my personal life. And clearly, I’m not ready to do that because I’m currently chewing my lip on something new now. A real problem as opposed to the usual variety: an ugly, slutty, superficial ex who was at the Ritz Carlton in NYC while her “upper middle class” family dried out their Coach purses alongside countless others searching for loved ones suffering through Hurricane Katrina, who keeps making her way back into our lives. But I digressed with that run on sentence.
I consider myself a pretty good communicator. Sometimes the mouth speaks before the brain approves, but I have rarely, if ever, come across a person who doesn’t get my sarcasm and wit. At workplaces across the country, I’ve kept people entertained with my antics. My brother and I are always “on” during family gatherings. He and I were recently talking about our shared sense of humor and wit, and wondering where we got it. Our parents are snarky, but not in the quick, sharp, sarcastic manner of my brother and I, that’s for sure. We are unmatched in our sass. Get us together and the entire family is rolling on the floor, forgetting the prior argument that was probably over Lamb Chops and Spanakopita.
Normally I work my problems out in the car, but tonight when I got to the gym, my Best Gay Friend was on the elliptical. So, he asked me what was new, and well, he heard an earful and I came home buzzing with a blog post. He understood instantly what my issue is. Best Gay Friend and I have a “schtick.” I also have that with my brother, and with co-workers past and present. My boss and I have the “schtick.” A lot of my gay friends and I have it. We have it in a group with each other as well. I can’t describe it, but it’s that snarky, sarcastic, biting repertoire that just…flows. Shit, you guys even have it in the comments with each other. Look at what La Whisky and Aussie Em did back and forth in the last post!
The problem. I can’t seem to get this “schtick” with Sherlock. When I toss something out off the cuff, he will often ask me to explain it. If you have to explain it then the whole thing is ruined and it’s just a waste. Let me do a few examples.
1) A conversation about a woman Sherlock “used to date.”
Sherlock: So do you think she’s nice?
Me: Yeah, but I would say she’s very simple.
Sherlock: Yeah, I can see that.
Me: I don’t think that she’s the kind of girl you stay up with until 5 a.m. having this incredibly deep conversation with.
Sherlock: No, definitely not.
Me: Well, it makes sense why you came looking for me.
Sherlock: What do you mean?
Me: Just what I said. I get it. Why you came looking for me.
Sherlock: I don’t get it. I was looking for you?
At this point, I had to refrain from slapping him. It’s figurative, not literal. Well, it’s a bit literal, but still. I dumbed it down, but I was pissed off that I had to do so. I said, “She’s simple. You dated simple women. You came looking for someone who wasn’t so simple. I didn’t mean me per se, just that you kept looking.” (Don’t think that irony is lost on me either of having to explain the idea of being simple.) He acted like he got it, but you know when you see that faraway look in someone’s eyes like they just have no clue what you are saying and are pretending that they do because they sense you are getting irritated and want to put their balls in a vice grip out of sheer frustration and mental exhaustion? Yeah. That.
2) At dinner the other night, Sherlock wasn’t feeling well. After a while of us not talking, he said, “I’m sorry, I’m just not feeling all that well and I really don’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now than here with you.” I said, “Well, that’s not true. If you had the chance to be at the track with your life savings bet on the winning horse, I think you may choose that over this dinner.” He was like, “The track?” Since I realized the path on which we were about to descend, I just cut it off at the pass by saying, “Do you not get sarcasm? Wit? Offhanded remarks?” Otherwise we would have been stuck on the “track” for 20 minutes. He blamed it on being tired, but of course this is not the first time we’ve been through this.
3) Watching a Woody Allen movie, laughing my ass off and having to explain why I’m laughing my ass off. That one, I just can’t even wrap my brain around. Woody Allen is SOOOO neurotic, and it comes across so well in everything he does, that to me it’s like watching my brother and I in a movie or something. Every 10 minutes, “What? Why are you laughing?” Oh boy.
I HATE to compare. HATE HATE HATE. But since we just covered him yesterday…once I was out with the this guy and he had a headache. He walked into a Rite Aid (Em, that’s a Pharmacy like CVS!) to get a bottle of aspirin. He was trying to take the cotton out from the bottle, and it just kept coming and coming and wouldn’t stop. I said, “Wow, this is like a Gallagher trick.” And he just bust out laughing. Nice…nothing that needs explaining, right? He didn’t ask who Gallagher was, he didn’t need to know what “tricks” Gallagher did that would remind him of the non-stop cotton coming out of the tiny bottle. Easy, right?
When I lived with AtlantaBoy, and we were driving across the country, our car broke down somewhere in Colorado. I ran into Wal-Mart to pick something up while AtlantaBoy waited in the car. He was accosted by a police officer who didn’t believe him that the car was a loaner from the dealer who was fixing our car. (I believe the cop said, “I know Milton and if you are lyin’ I’ll find out. I’m gonna call him right now!”) After the cop stopped harassing us, we drove over to the dealer to return said loaner and while we were standing in the lobby, the cop called there, asking for Milton, as it was expertly announced over the loud speaker. I was standing right next to a phone when the call blinked on hold right in my face. I looked at AtlantaBoy, and he said, “Don’t you dare.” Just then, Milton walks in, trades keys with us, thanks us for giving him $3000, and AtlantaBoy and I bust out of there laughing our asses off. He didn’t look at me when that call went on hold and say, “What? What’s that look for? What’s the matter?” Oy.
I miss those exchanges. I miss that secret language with the significant other. I’m afraid this is a very major piece of something I NEED that might be missing. Best Gay friend said, “We definitely have this schtick, but that is of course because we are secretly married.” Without the sex, of course.
Well? Am I just not going to find the “whole package” and I should stop bitching? It’s okay. You can tell me I’m a bitch. I actually already know that…