2803 Buck you, Fuddy.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Polls reveal attitudes; they do not predict behavior.
Just because a poll says 50% of the polled will resign their job if X occurs
doesn‘t mean that anyone will actually resign when X occurs.
We forget that attitude and behavior are, for obvious reasons, different.

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I debated whether to write about this.

If you are local to me, if you know me, and if I don't already know you read this blog, and if you suspect I may not be too happy with your reading it, hit that X up there right now. Otherwise, I cannot and will not be responsible for your reaction. You have been warned.

When I got home from the weekend, I found that sometime Monday evening someone locally had checked out the blog. This is my "diary". I don't like people who know me reading it. There's only one local reader that I know for sure about, and she's ok because she's one of the most reasonable people I know, and we tend to have pretty much the same attitude toward everything, so I don't worry about her misinterpreting me. Plus, our circles don't overlap, so there's no opportunity for gossip.

But I am carefully hidden from everyone else. I don't need the gossip, the whispered "and then she said", the misunderstandings and subsequent fireworks. This is my diary. As I get older, I find I do refer to past entries occasionally, to straighten out memories. I need to be free to comment on anything important to me.

This incident is important to me.

Sunday morning at the gathering, I walked into the hospitality room, and saw several of the local Mensans sitting at a table. There was an empty chair in the middle of the group. (I was amused because that was the very table and the exact place I'd sat the first time I saw The Man three years ago, across the table, and was fascinated by the play of thoughts across his face.)

Anyhoo, I sat down. I was sitting there several minutes. I am certain it was more than 5 minutes. It could have been as long as 15. I ate a piece of bagel, and drank some iced tea. Then FW came into the room, stormed up to me, and said, "That's my seat. Get out of my seat. Move!"

I said, "It's not your seat. You left it. Seats aren't saved. There's plenty of seats. Pull another up."

She said, "It's MY SEAT! Move! I didn't leave anything on the seat to save it because I didn't know I had to! F**k you!" Her voice went up in pitch and volume. The other people at the table told her to take another chair. Note that it was an eight-person round table, and four of the chairs were unoccupied. Now, I know this woman. I know how she can be. I could have avoided what happened next by simply getting up and moving, but I have a stubborn streak, and that "F**k you" got to me.

I did not get out of the chair. I reached behind me and pulled up a chair from another table, and put it next to me. She sat in it. But it wasn't over. She seemed to get stuck on the "F**k you", and she shouted it in my face, over and over and over, "F**k you! F**k you! F**k you!", over and over, louder and higher, until she was screeching it. There were maybe 30 other people in the room, and the room went silent. Everyone stared.

I did not react at all. I didn't even hold back a reaction. There was nothing at all. I surprised myself at how cool I was. My hands didn't shake. The group photo was taken only moments after the screeching ended, and see how relaxed I am?
I used to be afraid of her, afraid to set her off. Her attacks used to scare me and leave me trembling and unsure of myself for days. I had to stop associating with her because she was poisoning me.

I think that's over. I don't think she will ever upset me again, and I don't think I will ever again worry about setting her off. It's done. I don't care anymore. I don't even care if she reads this, because it's true, and a lot of other people who DO know her witnessed it.

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On reflection, I think I know what happened. She has apparently gone off on others, one way or another. She had ridden down to the gathering with the guy on the right in the photo, and was rooming with the Hawaiian woman on the left (without contributing to the cost of the room, BTW). The arrangements had been made before they'd had much social exposure to her, and now neither of them were too happy about spending time with her. The woman had even found another room to sleep in. I think perhaps FW noticed she was being shunned.

That morning, she was happy to be sitting in the middle of the group at the table. She likes to be the center of attention. She left to get food or whatever, came back, and found that I had taken her place in the middle. She would be left on the outskirts again. And it was all my fault. I was The Usurper.

She freaked.

Her problem, not mine, and that finally sank in for me. I think it's that other people have also commented on her instability and tendency to viciously attack anyone who in any way offends her, and how she sees offense everywhere. Others have mentioned not wanting to be in the line of attack, and since you never see it coming, it's better to just avoid her. So it's not just me. That helps.

(A small detail - I had purchased two tickets for the banquet the night before, in case The Man or Daughter could attend. Neither was able. The banquet was sold out, and FW had no ticket. I gave her my extra ticket, and did not request payment. Neither did she offer. So much for gratitude.)

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Same woman, different topic. She's on social security disability. She works when she can find a job, but can earn only a little, or she'll lose the disability checks. She's intelligent and capable. She's the head of the local Mensa chapter, and she runs the group well. Yeah, ok, she's got "a diagnosis", and takes a variety of meds, but she's not disabled. She's perfectly abled. What the heck?

I was annoyed at first. I saw it as sucking on the government teat, the rest of us paying for her laziness. Now I know better. Yes, she can work, and she can be very productive. She can contribute. She is not lazy. She has a lot of good skills to offer. But the problem is that she can't hold any one job for very long before she gets pissed off at someone else on the job and blasts them. And she's always pissed at everyone else in the office, usually because they don't do things they way she thinks they should be done. She gets fired from jobs because no one wants that poison at the next desk.

Roman and I were talking one day, and we agreed that her current job might be the best for her. It might even last a while. You know those women at the end of the grocery aisle with the free samples? She shows up, sets up, microwaves samples, offers them, cleans up, and leaves. She rarely sees the boss. She doesn't have daily exposure to anyone. Brief encounters.
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1522 End of Gathering

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Well, yesterday was my 63rd birthday. I've been telling people to ignore it for the past three years because I want to be able to truthfully say, when asked my age, "I was 60 on my last birthday." People ignore my wishes and make birthday noises at me anyway. But I was watching a past episode of Pushing Daisies online this evening, and heard the voiceover describe someone as "44 years 18 months xx days yy hours" old, and I realized I could describe myself as 60 years and 36 months old - and everyone knows that past infancy it's silly to include the months. I've found my solution.

I made it downstairs in time for breakfast this morning, which included quiche, bacon, sausage, all kinds of melon and other fruits, five juices, boiled eggs, bagels, english muffins, sweet muffins, donuts, oatmeal, raw veggies, and the usual caffeines.

I was accosted across the buffet table by, um, The Sex God. He's gorgeous, piercing blue eyes, amazing body, long wavy hair, silky beard, wonderful smooth voice, and (unusual for this bunch) makes a lot of sense when he speaks. I heard someone say "Silk!" and I looked up and it was him. I about fell over. Every healthy female who'd ever attended one of his presentations is hopelessly in love with him. (Too bad I'm aware he believes in "open relationships". That's a deal breaker.) Until you hear him speak, he looks like just another sexy biker dude, what with all the leather and chains and high boots.

He wanted to compliment me on my style, my smile, the way I move, and the dress I'd been wearing the night before. I was flabbergasted, especially since I'd run down to breakfast with no makeup on - after all, who's gonna see me that matters, right? I blushed, laughed, and smiled, and he said "That's it! That's the smile!"

He invited me to join the party sub-group, "Hell's Ms", that he could tell that I was a partier (partyer?). I said no, I'm not a partier at all. He said that depends on how you define party. A party can be two people and a bottle of wine, or fifty people and conversation, and that the main difference between Hell's Ms and other Mensa party groups is that Hell's Ms remember the next morning what happened the night before. I said, oh, ok, that does sound like my kind of party. Then I smiled and walked away.

Well, I was very flattered. I think. I'm not sure. What's with that he "can tell I'm a partier" bit? Like, you wish, Buster! Well, maybe, IF my current romantic interest doesn't work out long term, maybe someday I'll look into Hell's Ms. I understand that they do a lot of volunteer work within Mensa, I might pick up some social skills, and the logo t-shirts are a status symbol. Maybe I'll have to go read their newsletter.

My head is a bit swelled today. Over the past three days, three other men told me I was beautiful, in a quite serious and personal manner, when I got up to leave after we'd been talking a while. I know I'm not beautiful, but it's nice to be told I'm appreciated however they go about expressing it. (Keep in mind these guys are mostly sex-starved geeks. Maybe they just appreciate a woman who flirts with them a little. (I've been told I flirt unconsciously all the time, with everyone. I don't agree. I guess that's the unconscious part. (Should that be subconscious?)))

Which reminds me - we had some folks set up at a table outside the big hospitality room interviewing candidates for Beauty and the Geek, and some past beauties and geeks in a conference room answering questions. (Giggle. After my flattering weekend, I wasn't sure which side I should apply for.)

Programs I attended today: free hospitality breakfast; Science vs Religion - The search for truth; Beauty and the Geek Q&A; Waltzing Australia; an hour by myself in the whirlpool, with a book. (What book, you ask? I'm a Mensan. It was a dictionary - Bryerson's Dictionary of Troublesome Words.)

Programs I did not attend: Non-denominational Worship Service; Presentation of Awards; Swing Dance Lesson; Exertion (talk on strange sports, stunts, and physical activities); Trust Me, I'm a Lawyer (I wanted to go to this, but it overlapped the science vs religion program, which was very good); Stitch & Bitch; Settlers of Catan Tournament; Proctor Training (how to certify to administer the Mensa IQ test); Everything's Digital - Amazing opportunities and some problems; the after-party, known as "The Survivor's Party".

It was all over by 3 pm. The word was passed that all uneaten food in the hospitality rooms would be discarded, so come and get it now. I loaded a plate with meats and cheeses and melon and three bean salad to have for dinner, and scarfed up all the cans of iced tea I could find. Picnic in my room.

Bedtime. Hard traveling tomorrow. Luggage heavier with books (and handout trash that I'll likely throw away as soon as I get home, but right now seems so very important to LIFE!) I haven't the faintest idea how one gets from here to the airport, whether taxis will even come here to take me. I'll figure it out, I guess.
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1148 Small World, continued

Tuesday, March 6, 2007

I bought a dark chocolate muffin/cupcake yesterday, lit a candle in it, sang Happy Birthday (55th) to Jay, and then ate half of it. I use the same candle every year, a little yellow and white one. In the past six years it has burned down only 1/8 inch. I'd like to scatter the other half of the muffin for the birds and chipmunks, that would seem appropriate, but I don't think chocolate is good for anyone but people. And maybe bears.

Which reminds me, "men live like bears with furniture." Don't know where that came from, but I like it and just thought I'd throw it out here.

Most couples have a song. For some reason, I have animals. With Obie and me it was hound dogs, with Jay and me it was polar bears, with Roman, it's penguins, and so on. The animal always seemed to have something to do with an early date, but when I think back, the animal always actually had something to do with the guy and the relationship. I guess that's why the animal stuck.

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Well, back to the weekend.

The Saturday night dance, with a DJ, started at 9:30. Hercules and I sat at a large table near the side wall with a couple I'd met the evening before, Razor (in his 40s, I think, another computer professional) and his lady. Razor and Hercules hit it right off - they had the same taste in music, and the DJ played right right up their alley. They talked about what they liked and what they hated, and they matched perfectly. The two of them got all excited. Hercules is a bit hyper, and when the right music played, he'd stand next to the table and dance. By the end of the evening, he and Razor were both standing on opposite sides of the table dancing up a storm, challenging each other. The next day, I pointed out to Hercules that they were dancing with each other! "The table between you made it ok, huh?" Hercules was shocked that I'd even suggest such a thing....

(Somewhere in there was dessert in the hospitality room (a dozen varieties of ice cream and toppings, and every kind of pie ever made), and at midnight there was chocolate fondue, with fruit and marshmallows for dipping. Hercules dipped Oreo cookies. Sugar makes him bounce off walls.)

At one point I left the dance for a few minutes. When I got back, Hercules was sopping wet. Something got played that neither of them could resist, and they got out on the dance floor. I didn't find out what happened until the next morning. More later.

Anyway, at one point Razor said that he liked Barenaked Ladies, and then he turned to his lady and said "That's the cruise I was on in January". I whooped and said "I know of someone else who was on that cruise! A blogger in the St. Louis area!" (unless there was more than one BNL cruise in January). I tried to describe the other couple, but I had only first names (of which I wasn't sure anyway) and only the most superficial of physical descriptions (I didn't mention the Brazilian connection). It didn't spark any "Oh, yeah"s, but he said if they had met at all, they'd remember him. "I was the only Black guy on the cruise." He's also big into karaoke, so ya'll might have seen him there. I said I'd check, and let him know if the twain had met. Comments? Recollections? Anything anybody might want me to tell him?

He said he was in the naked photo, so I scarfed it off the other blog and attempted to enlarge it with Irfan, but it got too fuzzy to see anyone. I found a few dark blobs, but they could have been just bearded faces. He said that they were told to drop their robes on signal, and that was ok. The awkward part was afterward, when they had to bend over to pick them up, "being packed together so tight and all". He had to time it right to avoid the backside of the guy in front of him.

So, that was Saturday night.

Sunday morning at breakfast in the hospitality room, the whole room was abuzz - "Did you see that guy on the dance floor last night? Wow! He was incredible!" "He was breakdancing or something, and he'd go right down on his back on the floor, and he went like this with his legs (diving motion of the hand) and he came right straight up standing on his feet! Never saw anything like it!" "Who was he? I've never seen him before." "Silk, I saw you talking with him. Do you know him?"

I was very tempted to say "Know him? I took him back to my room last night. He agreed that the bed was too soft."

But, that's how rumors get started and reputations get ruined, so I didn't. I just said he's my son-in-law. He followed my daughter home one day and I said she could keep him. People were impressed.

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The weekend's men:

The 42-year-old who monopolized my Saturday night at the Boston gathering was there. We talked a few times. I suspect he's still interested in some way, or I could spark it with no effort, but I'm having some trouble figuring him out.

The Un3xploded Cow was there, sans udders. There were two women chasing him around, and I'm not sure he's my type anyway, so I spoke with him only a few times. At one point there was a hug, and I did something very bad. His shirt was unbuttoned about halfway down, and that's about where my nose came to, and I discovered he has exactly the kind of "standing-out" furry front that I like, and I pulled his shirt more open and nuzzled my nose in the fur, "Oooo, furry. I like furry." That was Sunday morning. It'll give him something to think about between now and the next gathering (there's Toronto in April, and Maryland in May).

I met someone new, I'll call him Steve. He's a bit taller than I like, but nice looking. I walked up to him in the hospitality room when Hercules arrived and we couldn't find anyone to register him, and Steve looked like someone who might be in charge and could tell us what to do. He said nobody would care if Hercules wasn't registered, and if anyone did, send them to him. In the ensuing conversation, it was made clear that he was not involved with anyone, that he was familiar with the area where I lived and was considering buying a summer place up here, and he mentioned that Mensans eat so much because "we're not getting any sex". In case I didn't catch it the first time, he repeated it. And then something similar a bit later. Even Hercules said "He was coming on to you! Big time!" I mildly flirted back Sunday at breakfast, when it was safer. I'll do some research on him between now and the next gathering.

There was another man I fell instantly in lust with, a Paul Newman clone, but I like his wife. Sigh. I felt like telling her that if she ever decided she wanted a divorce, she should call me, and I'd make it easy for her.

I panted a little at Razor, too. A little too young, a little too tall, and a little too into popular music, but very smart and very nice to look at.

And that was the gathering.
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