Conversations With The Roommate

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I inform Ian, loudly, so he could hear me in the living room, that I rather enjoy Ice In A Bag.
"Have a drink of the Jack," he replies, coming out. "I think I will have one, too."
I make a pretty good rye and coke, I gotta say, but I am always wondering if other people are any good at it.
One time, I let Amber make me a drink. I thought my nose was going to bleed when I took my first swallow.
Because I am stupid. While I always want to know how other people make their drinks, I figure they also know how to make their drinks.
Amber did not. I feel bad for her, really.
"You make it, I do not know how much to put in. I am a girl," I say to Ian.
"I will teach you," he says, and he is smiling.
"I got the Ice already," I say to him, holding it up and he rolls his eyes at me.
"Yeah, I am glad Amber left it. Don't you own Ice Cube Trays?"
I looked at him, my eyes round with shock. "Yes."
"Do you use them?" Ian asks, reaching into the top cupboard.
"No, hardly ever," I admit, with a sigh. "Sometimes I buy Ice In A Bag, I like Ice. I am just, well, I like Ice. But only in a bag. I make Ice Cubes. I really do. Just only sometimes. I use them fast. Then the trays are empty. But in a bag? Wow, it is like reaching into an endless supply."
"You could try filling your Ice Cube Trays when you are done,"he arches an eyebrow as he motioning me over to him.
As I walk over, I say,"I hate making Ice. I spill it walking from the tap to the freezer."
Ian looks at me like I am retarded, but fuck him, I think to myself. Everybody does that.
And it is never enough water to even be pleasant on the toes.
Making Ice is not fun.
"I never measure", Ian informs me, as he gallantly unscrews the top off the black labeled bottle.
I watch his prepwork.
I watch the weird flick he does with his wrist as he pours the liquid into the glass.
"I just like the fact Ice is in a bag," I say to him.
"Make it and put it in a bag," he rolls his eyes at me again.
And in that moment, Ian is a genius in my head.
Until....
"But I like how some pieces are big and some are small in a bag," I say, disappointment washing over me. More-so, when I think of all the Ice I would have to make to fill a bag.
Ian is dumb.
"Listen," he says. "You look in your freezer tomorrow. I will make your Ice the way you like it."
"With what? How?" I demand.
But Ian, he is a boy all about secrets. And he wants to watch the movie on TV right now. If I had known it was on and noticed it right from the beginning, I would have been watching it, too.
And I am sad about that movie. It never got the acclaim it deserved. Thank God, TBS has started to play it. It means they will often. But I had already told Ian this on the previous commercial break. He looked at me like I was retarded then, too.
I take my drink and sit in front of the computer screen.
And wonder how Ian is going to make my Ice.
I turn around and look at Ian lounged on the couch.
"I do not have an Ice Pick? Do we need one?"
He sighs at me.
"I got it under control, He says, ever the man.
And I think of Basic Instinct. Then I think it would be fun to have an Ice Pick.
Because you got to know, women who own Ice Picks have got to pretend they are Sharon Stone once in awhile.
And that would be fun.
I take a swallow of the drink Ian made me.
It is in my opinion, Ian makes a good drink.
But I knew that as soon as he said he did not measure.
Of course, I do not think Amber did either.
"Ian," I say.
"What?" he asks, not looking up.
"Thanks for the drink," I say.
He looks up, winks and turns back to the TV.