nycandlove blog

We’ve all seen that infamous MTA slogan, which jaded New Yorkers love to mock: If you See Something, Say Something. You may have spotted a suspicious looking package, no pun intended, on the subway but did you actually report it? Exactly. The same can be said for our bedroom etiquette.

Pop quiz: Digging for your bra amidst his crumpled sheets the morning after you find a fruity gum wrapper. You have an inkling he doesn’t chew watermelon Orbit, but then again, you two are still in the casual/I-don’t-know-what’s-going-on stage… Do you say something?

For the past two years I’ve had this male… question mark (translation: we once dated; now, on-and-off good company/great sex), 15 years my senior, who brought up an interesting idea the other day: sketchiness. No, the word itself is not semantically interesting – come on, NY begs and breeds sketchiness – but it unleashed a proliferation of other issues. He claimed that he aspires to act more “sketchy” for once in his life, which is amusing if not irritatingly juvenile, because I like him for being distinctly the opposite. We communicate without strategically calculated delays; I can call at 2 am if there is a mouse in my studio (ok so he wont leave his bat cave, but at least I can go there without the “booty call” stigma); he DVRs Charlie Rose, for god sake; he’s even, gasp, Jewish. This is in comparison, mind you, to the blatantly sketchy men I have been known to cave for: they text at 3 am or disappear for days; they are in indie-rock bands; they convince you that sober, and safe, sex doesn’t exist; they live and/or bartend in Williamsburg.

During a recent morning-after Mr. Approaching 40 asked me advice on “how to be sketchy”. Waxing BS, I said it related to the delicate balance between absence and presence; the George Costanza cognitive restructuring of doing the opposite of what one should do. I spotted the Loro Piana label on his shirt and free-associated what I thought to be an oh-so-clever-yet-coded story of a sketchy anecdote from my past (note: behavior is different than persona, which we will get to). I told him how I once found a socialite’s Blackberry at a party I had crashed; determined that someone named “Sebastiano” sent her the sexiest (read: Italian) texts and proceeded to call him in order to “report the missing phone”. I ended up meeting Sebastiano for a “date” – who, it turned out, was a sketchy Loro Piana cashmere importer – and, dot dot dot, scored an awesome pair of Loro Piana sailor shorts out of the whole ordeal (don’t even ask). But I was 22 (er, two years ago) and everybody knows that what you do during that sea-legless year post-college does not count.

But then, I had a revelation: this sketchy story – and my many more where that came from – was mere child’s play! I am playing the fool! Mr. Approaching 40, my more-than-F-buddy-less-than-beau, took sketchiness to a whole other dimension. After two years of being in each other’s lives/beds, I have no clue who he is also boning, dating, seeing, seducing; I know nothing of his baggage or “business” dinners; I don’t even really know who his friends are. Granted he doesn’t really know most of this about me, but hey, I’m an actress: at least I allude, (immaturely) provoke, sprinkle in the occasional mixed message. He, on the other hand, is a zipper-lipped man of mystery, because he has skillfully mastered the art of discretion and the power of verbal restraint. (Mis)Read: SKETCHY.

In this city of passing strangers and incestuous social circles, where living on a different subway line or across an artificial park can divide a universe, there is a nagging suspicion at the root of most relationships – When is it okay to pop The Other Question: who else are you sleeping with?

I know most of my NY friends would immediately say: not until its time to broach the subject of exclusivity. But I think we need to remove this hard and fast “rule” (just like the “rule” that you should sleep with a guy on the 3rd date—who came up with that one?!). This question doesn’t have to put the anxiety-inducing stamp of “Serious” on your relationship; it doesn’t even have to shift a single thing about it. Because as we all know, there are countless types of “its complicated”– beyond boyfriend/girlfriend, Bye Bye Birdie style pinning—that are label-less and unconventional. So why should we wait for the exclusivity talk to dictate basic information sharing? (But PS girls, re: timing, do wait til you are dressed in something other than a single Hanky Panky thong.)

But before you go demanding answers, first you need to be honest with yourself about your motivation: are you asking out of curiosity, or out of jealousy? Are you asking because you genuinely want to know more about the person you are intimate with, or because you secretly crave a commitment? How will his answer affect or inform your feelings (or lack thereof) for him? It doesn’t really matter what your personal responses are to these questions, as long as you are prepared to hear his—assuming they are honest—and share your own.

Even if you are the “cool girl” who doesn’t really care but kind-of-sort-of does—and, to be fair, you are a juggling a handful of other men too—think of it as helping you to seek clarity within a nebulous situation, or perhaps steer clear of false hope. It can act as a barometer, to gauge whether it is just sex, or something deeper worth exploring. Or maybe a signal to move on. And after all, in this town of perpetual distraction, who doesn’t desire a little peace of mind? Even if it is just in the bedroom.

So: If you Sense Something, Say Something. Knowledge is a critical source of empowerment; it can open up the floodgates of communication (and by that, I don’t mean BBM). If you want to know, don’t be afraid to ask. Its what you do with that information that can either set off a ticking bomb, or unexpectedly deactivate it. For we all know the main reason why a girl would remove her gum in bed…and I’m not talking about going to sleep. Sketchy, indeed.