Saturday, December 9, 2006
Seems like almost everything is messed up lately.
I actually made it to bed by midnight last night, because I wanted to go to the recycle center today. But at 4 am, I was still wide awake and working crossword puzzles. I managed to wake up by 11 am, and made it to the recycle center (it closes at 1), so I cleared the cardboard, newspapers, and a huge bag of plastic and glass out of the kitchen. I can move around in there again. That's the good thing.
Then I went to the grocery store to buy iced tea mix and coffee yogurt. No coffee yogurt, and they didn't have any iced tea (of the 15 choices there) without any sweetener of any kind. Very annoying.
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When I got home, I noticed my driver's license on the passenger side floor in the van. The license and one credit card normally live in the inside pocket of my purse. Thursday night the purse fell off the seat, and the license must have fallen out. No problem, except that there's no sign of the credit card. I don't know whether to worry or not.
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Daughter has decided that she doesn't want to read this blog, apparently she has emotional reactions to some things I say (for example, if I even mention a male, she immediately hates him), so we've decided to keep in touch by telephone - one or the other will call every evening about 7:30. I hate the telephone. Plus Daughter is famous for moods, and I always seem to call at exactly the wrong moment, and then I manage to say exactly the wrong thing. Half the time I can't figure out what I said wrong.
Last Sunday Daughter mentioned that her father (Ex#2) was in the hospital in Colorado. I thought, "Oh, great. If he gets out of the hospital and needs someone to take care of him for a while, Daughter is going to feel a responsibility to do it, which means missing work, and probably messing up her holidays." So I told her that if he needed care, I'd be willing to go, so she wouldn't have to. Unfortunately, I also added that I'd rather hit myself in the head with a hammer, but for her I would. She took offense. She said she'd rather hit herself in the head with a hammer than go, too, but now I'm going to make her hit me in the head with the hammer, and why should she do that? I said because I'm older and hammers don't hurt so much any more. We both feel the same way about it, but it's simply easier for me to do it.
Anyway, we got through that, and talked again Monday, and I tried to explain better, and I thought everything was ok.
But she hasn't called me since, and when I call I get to leave a message on voice mail. I called her cel today a little after noon, and it went to voice mail again. I left a message that now I was getting worried, so I was going to call SIL to find out what hospital she was in, and I called his cel. He answered. I asked if Daughter was ok, and he said she didn't answer her phone because they were in a restaurant with friends, but when they heard the immediate second call from me, they thought it might be an emergency. I said, ok, as long as you're fine I'll let you go, and I did. It's now 8:30 pm, and she hasn't called. I'm pissed.
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Late Wednesday evening I ordered some things from the online Smithsonian catalog (for a total of $35.98). The items I ordered absolutely dare not freeze, and it's been in the 'teens and twenties here lately, so I paid $26.90 for FedEx overnight delivery (from Tennessee), as was recommended. A difficult but necessary decision. Thursday morning I got the notice from Smithsonian that the order had shipped, along with a tracking number.
Friday. No package. I went to the Smithsonian site and asked about the order number, and got the message "order not found", because I hadn't registered (which was optional) when I made the purchase. So then I went to the FedEx site and tried the tracking number, and got the "not found" message again.
Saturday. No package. I called Smithsonian about 5 pm today to ask what happened, and surprise! They screwed up and sent it UPS ground. Delivery next Tuesday. The manager says she noticed the error immediately, but was unable to fix it. Yes, they'll refund a portion of what I paid for shipping, and yes, they'll replace the items if they were damaged by freezing during shipping.
I am extremely annoyed. If they're obviously damaged, and I have to reorder, that means I won't get the replacements until like two days before I need them. They could be damaged but not show it for a few weeks. When the manager noticed the error, Smithsonian really should have notified me.
If I were running the company, I'd have immediately sent out a second set by overnight, and then asked me to not accept or to return the slower order when it finally arrived. I really expected better from them.
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The flies are driving me batty! I've killed hundreds of them (yes, I counted!) and they're still around. They're like very small regular houseflies, and they love to land on skin. They especially like to land on my face, get between my glasses and my eye, and try to climb up into my nose. No matter where I am in the house, there are five of them pestering me. They are not helping my mood.
I don't understand where they're breeding. They have to be breeding, because I keep killing them and they keep coming. There's no food out. Thunder's uneaten canned food gets cleared up and they don't seem interested in the dry food. The litter box gets cleaned out and the lumps flushed away everytime Thunder uses it. They can't get into the garbage can. Everything in the pantry is in mouse-proof glass, plastic, or metal containers. So where are they coming from? What are they eating? They can't multiply from nothing, can they?
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One of the reasons I hate talking to May on the phone is that she has several cordless phones, and every one of them dies within 10 minutes and she has to switch to another. Roman said it was because she leaves them in the charger all the time, and that kills them, that you shouldn't put a rechargeable battery in the charger until it's low. So when I bought this phone, my first cordless, I was careful not to leave it in the charger all the time. The booklet says that there will be a "battery low" indication on the screen when it needs recharging. What they forgot to tell me is that you can look at it every day, and the screen won't say battery low, even if it is, until you actually try to make a call. THEN it says "battery low". Gee, thanks. That delayed my call to Smithsonian for a few hours.
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I must have missed a watering or something, but my 30-year-old curly-leaf variegated Hoya, the one with multiple 15-foot trailers that I've looped over each other, the one that puts out huge balls of scented pink blossoms twice a year, one of the few plants to survive my depression after Jay died, yeah, that one, seems to be really sick. The leaves are crinkled and drying. I really think it's missed waterings. I've traveled some lately, and I guess I got off schedule. I feel really bad about that. It's a rare variety. I feel guilty.
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Miss Thunderfoot's dry cat food comes in bags with a zip lock. Lately, they won't zip lock. In fact, everything I've bought lately that's supposed to zip lock won't. Except the "real" zip lock freezer bags. Everything else is folded closed and wearing clothespins.
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Miss Thunderfoot and I have been battling every night, and lately it has escalated to all-out war. She wants to sleep next to my shoulder. I don't want her higher than my hip. She's a long-hair fine-fur cat with skin problems, and worse, she scratches herself a lot at night. I don't want her next to my face! I know she knows exactly what I'm trying to tell her, but she seems to think that I am dense, that I don't fully understand what she wants, so she keeps trying to show me.
I push her away and say nasty things when she's above my waist, and I pet her and tell her what a good girl she is when she's below my waist, and she still tries to move up as soon as I stop moving. She settles next to my face with a contented sigh, like "Well, I'm glad she's finally given up for tonight." It's beginning to be a serious problem.
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Since our final breakup in July, either I call Roman or he calls me once a week, just to chat. The last two weeks, he made the call. This week, I didn't call and he didn't either. I kept putting it off. I sort of just wondered what would happen, how I would feel, how he might feel, would he call if I didn't call. Wondering if I would miss talking with him. I got an email from him today - his elderly father was taken to the hospital on Friday. Now I feel bad.
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I'm fighting with Bloglines. Some of my favorite reads are now flashing multiple bogus alerts every day. I like Saudisphere (in my links on the right), but two or three times a day it claims Saudisphere has 18 to 24 new posts. In reality, there's one new post every few days. When I click to see if there's really a post this time, it takes forever to load all 24 complete entries, because they're full of photos, and then I find nothing's new after all. I may have to remove it from my alert list, which would be a pity.
Saudisphere is the worst offender, but several others, from several different blog hosts, are doing the same thing, off and on. (Note - if you switch from "old" Blogger to "new/beta" Blogger, you get the "24 new posts" alert on Bloglines, but that SHOULD happen only ONCE.)
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My browsers have been bouncing badly. Something about "plugins" doing something "illegal". It's so bad I haven't been able to leave comments on other blogs, because with all the restarting added onto the super slow dial up connection, there's no time for optional stuff.
I suspect it has something to do with that "flash" whatsis, because it seems to happen mostly when there're fancy ads on the page, so I suspect it will fix itself when the browsers notice something's wrong and update themselves. I've been through these periods before, but experience makes them no less painful.
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It's now 10:40 pm. Daughter called at 10 pm-ish, and we had a very good talk. She didn't realize that so much time had passed, things were pretty busy for her this week, stuff got put off, etc. Apologies.
Ex#2 has been transferred to a rehab facility, and will be there a minimum of two weeks. He's too weak to even roll over in bed, but will eventually recover. Good. That being off Daughter's mind may partially account for our pleasant conversation.
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Ah, sweet misery. Necessary for balance.
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Saturday, December 09, 2006
Friday, December 08, 2006
1007 Photo Test
Over the past week I have loaded more than 500 photos onto Flickr.com, for safekeeping. I've made them all private, so if someone goes wandering around Flickr, they won't find my stuff.
I don't know if I can post one of them here, though. Flickr Help doesn't say if a private photo can be externally linked. So here goes - the test. My looking to see if it shows might not mean anything - Flickr may know it's me looking.
So, please leave a comment. Can you see Jay and me, about 1997ish, in baby sister's boat, in Florida? If you click on the photo, does it it take you to my Flickr account? Can you see any other of my photos there? If so, please describe a few. (When I click on this photo, my whole account is opened, but like I said, that might be because Flickr recognizes me - cookie crumbs and all that..)
I don't know if I can post one of them here, though. Flickr Help doesn't say if a private photo can be externally linked. So here goes - the test. My looking to see if it shows might not mean anything - Flickr may know it's me looking.
So, please leave a comment. Can you see Jay and me, about 1997ish, in baby sister's boat, in Florida? If you click on the photo, does it it take you to my Flickr account? Can you see any other of my photos there? If so, please describe a few. (When I click on this photo, my whole account is opened, but like I said, that might be because Flickr recognizes me - cookie crumbs and all that..)
1006 Coincidence?
Friday, December 8, 2006
I've started this entry twice now, and both times my browser went down. Is something trying to tell me something? Like "Save frequently, you fool!"
Speaking of "something trying to tell me something", I've had two odd experiences in the past week.
I was talking to someone about not understanding Roman, and what went wrong, and he (the friend) said, "You know, it seems like the very things that attracted him to you are the things he objects to now." I didn't agree, and thought about it all that evening and as I was falling asleep. The next morning, I woke up, walked into the kitchen, and flipped the tv on, right into the middle of a Friends episode. Right into a monologue by Rachael, complaining to Russ that the very things that attracted him to her in the beginning are the things he doesn't like about her now, and that she can't do anything about that, it's her. Eerie. (Rachael and Russ ended up together, by the way. I don't see that part applying.)
Last night Tom said that I should flirt in a "less inaccessible way". I thought about that last evening as I was falling asleep. I don't know what that means. Do I have to hang all over people? I don't think so.... Anyway, this morning I woke up, walked into the kitchen, and flipped the tv on, right into the middle of a Friends episode. Rachael doesn't understand what's so special about the gold bikini in Star Wars, why all the "guys our age" are so fascinated by that scene. Phoebe or Monica, I forget which, explains that it's because that's when Princess Leia "stops being a princess and becomes just a woman".
So, ok, I got the message. Now where do I find my virtual gold bikini?
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Jay and I had something very special. It was apparent to everyone around us, and we weren't afraid to be affectionate in public. Not passionate kisses or inappropriate touching, not that kind of thing, just a standing close, an arm around shoulders, my hand on his chest when we talked, the way he would lean down to me when I spoke, the way we looked into each other's eyes and passed silent messages.
Within six weeks of his death, several of his friends called and asked me out. I was extremely offended that they called so soon. Anyway, every one of them rhapsodized about how they wanted to have what Jay had, just once in their lives, to be loved like that. Like they thought it was something I had in a bag and could just hand out samples in exchange for dinner or something.
Roman says he had noticed me way back in the early 80s, before Jay and I got together. But after Roman and I started dating, he said that he remembered Jay and me at a mutual friend's house, that he noticed the intimacy and affection, and that he (he was still married to his ex at the time) wished he could have the same thing.
The first couple months with Roman, we came close to that kind of intimacy, but after I found out he was still involved with the other woman, I told him that I didn't want him to, for example, put his hand on my thigh in public any more. If he couldn't make a committment to me, then he had no right to lay any public claim on me.
I think that was the real beginning of the end.
I want his hand back.
-------------------------------------------------------------
This is a pretty good quiz. It tests knowledge.
Thank you for scoring highly on this quiz, there is sweet hope for the future. If you did not score high, please join the Volunteer for Human Extinction Movement. Either way, share your results with your friends so they can take this quiz and test their knowledge!
I've started this entry twice now, and both times my browser went down. Is something trying to tell me something? Like "Save frequently, you fool!"
Speaking of "something trying to tell me something", I've had two odd experiences in the past week.
I was talking to someone about not understanding Roman, and what went wrong, and he (the friend) said, "You know, it seems like the very things that attracted him to you are the things he objects to now." I didn't agree, and thought about it all that evening and as I was falling asleep. The next morning, I woke up, walked into the kitchen, and flipped the tv on, right into the middle of a Friends episode. Right into a monologue by Rachael, complaining to Russ that the very things that attracted him to her in the beginning are the things he doesn't like about her now, and that she can't do anything about that, it's her. Eerie. (Rachael and Russ ended up together, by the way. I don't see that part applying.)
Last night Tom said that I should flirt in a "less inaccessible way". I thought about that last evening as I was falling asleep. I don't know what that means. Do I have to hang all over people? I don't think so.... Anyway, this morning I woke up, walked into the kitchen, and flipped the tv on, right into the middle of a Friends episode. Rachael doesn't understand what's so special about the gold bikini in Star Wars, why all the "guys our age" are so fascinated by that scene. Phoebe or Monica, I forget which, explains that it's because that's when Princess Leia "stops being a princess and becomes just a woman".
So, ok, I got the message. Now where do I find my virtual gold bikini?
-------------------------------------------------------------
Jay and I had something very special. It was apparent to everyone around us, and we weren't afraid to be affectionate in public. Not passionate kisses or inappropriate touching, not that kind of thing, just a standing close, an arm around shoulders, my hand on his chest when we talked, the way he would lean down to me when I spoke, the way we looked into each other's eyes and passed silent messages.
Within six weeks of his death, several of his friends called and asked me out. I was extremely offended that they called so soon. Anyway, every one of them rhapsodized about how they wanted to have what Jay had, just once in their lives, to be loved like that. Like they thought it was something I had in a bag and could just hand out samples in exchange for dinner or something.
Roman says he had noticed me way back in the early 80s, before Jay and I got together. But after Roman and I started dating, he said that he remembered Jay and me at a mutual friend's house, that he noticed the intimacy and affection, and that he (he was still married to his ex at the time) wished he could have the same thing.
The first couple months with Roman, we came close to that kind of intimacy, but after I found out he was still involved with the other woman, I told him that I didn't want him to, for example, put his hand on my thigh in public any more. If he couldn't make a committment to me, then he had no right to lay any public claim on me.
I think that was the real beginning of the end.
I want his hand back.
-------------------------------------------------------------
This is a pretty good quiz. It tests knowledge.
You paid attention during 100% of high school!
85-100% You must be an autodidact, because American high schools don't get scores that high! Good show, old chap!
Do you deserve your high school diploma?
Create a Quiz
Thank you for scoring highly on this quiz, there is sweet hope for the future. If you did not score high, please join the Volunteer for Human Extinction Movement. Either way, share your results with your friends so they can take this quiz and test their knowledge!
"Do you deserve your high school diploma?" was created by jahnet of theyellowleaf.
1005 Trivia With a Twist
Thursday, December 7, 2006
I went to bar Trivia tonight. There was just Tom and me, and GG, who seems to live there.
The place was full of men of the right age, and I mentioned to Tom that I wished I knew how to flirt, and I got the same reaction from him as from everyone else - that I know how to flirt (said with great emphasis). I said yeah, that's what everyone says, but I seem to do it generally, indiscriminately, I don't know how to direct it. I don't know how to convey "Hey, I find YOU interesting." Even when I concentrate on someone, they don't seem to take me seriously.
And then he said something rather perceptive. He may have put his finger on the problem. He said that maybe I need to flirt a little less inaccessibly. The implication being that I say "I want you to want me, but you can't touch me. You can't really have me."
Yeah, I've heard that before. All those guys in my youth that I had crushes on, and got to be good friends with, and years later they'd say "I liked you, but I never thought you'd ever go out with me." Me, the one who spent Friday and Saturday nights, date nights, alone, year after year. (We're talking the 60s and 70s, back when women NEVER asked a man out - you had to wait for them to ask you out.)
So, Tom suggested that I flirt with him. I turned and studied him for a moment, and laughed. "I don't know how!" He kept saying it's ok, he's safe (he has a girlfriend he's very serious about), and I said that's not what I heard (he has a reputation in Mensa) (and three ex-wives) (and many conquests) (or so I've heard).
Well, shortly after that I ouched and sat up straight. He asked what was wrong, and I said I can't slouch, it hurts my back. So he started massaging my back. I moaned. For the next two hours he massaged my back with his left hand while he worked his keypad with the right. He was good! He found every knot. I missed a few questions because I was zonked on what he was doing. Between sets of trivia questions he used both hands. I took my barrette out and let my hair down and he worked on my neck and scalp.
About an hour in I reached up under my sweater and unhooked my bra so he could get the knots under my shoulder blades. He said "See now? That was a very flirtatious move." There were shoulder leans and hugs and a lot of moaning scattered throughout. At one point he was working on those muscles on the side of my neck and I flinched, and he asked if he was "going in too hard, girls are always telling me I go in too hard", and I answered that I prefer it hard going in, and he roared.
I doubt that any man in that bar that night thinks I'm inaccessible now.
Tell you one thing for sure - Tom can flirt!!!
(Nah, no giggling speculation now - anything more than hugs and massage is highly unlikely. I do believe he is "safe". I think his reputation is undeserved.)
.
I went to bar Trivia tonight. There was just Tom and me, and GG, who seems to live there.
The place was full of men of the right age, and I mentioned to Tom that I wished I knew how to flirt, and I got the same reaction from him as from everyone else - that I know how to flirt (said with great emphasis). I said yeah, that's what everyone says, but I seem to do it generally, indiscriminately, I don't know how to direct it. I don't know how to convey "Hey, I find YOU interesting." Even when I concentrate on someone, they don't seem to take me seriously.
And then he said something rather perceptive. He may have put his finger on the problem. He said that maybe I need to flirt a little less inaccessibly. The implication being that I say "I want you to want me, but you can't touch me. You can't really have me."
Yeah, I've heard that before. All those guys in my youth that I had crushes on, and got to be good friends with, and years later they'd say "I liked you, but I never thought you'd ever go out with me." Me, the one who spent Friday and Saturday nights, date nights, alone, year after year. (We're talking the 60s and 70s, back when women NEVER asked a man out - you had to wait for them to ask you out.)
So, Tom suggested that I flirt with him. I turned and studied him for a moment, and laughed. "I don't know how!" He kept saying it's ok, he's safe (he has a girlfriend he's very serious about), and I said that's not what I heard (he has a reputation in Mensa) (and three ex-wives) (and many conquests) (or so I've heard).
Well, shortly after that I ouched and sat up straight. He asked what was wrong, and I said I can't slouch, it hurts my back. So he started massaging my back. I moaned. For the next two hours he massaged my back with his left hand while he worked his keypad with the right. He was good! He found every knot. I missed a few questions because I was zonked on what he was doing. Between sets of trivia questions he used both hands. I took my barrette out and let my hair down and he worked on my neck and scalp.
About an hour in I reached up under my sweater and unhooked my bra so he could get the knots under my shoulder blades. He said "See now? That was a very flirtatious move." There were shoulder leans and hugs and a lot of moaning scattered throughout. At one point he was working on those muscles on the side of my neck and I flinched, and he asked if he was "going in too hard, girls are always telling me I go in too hard", and I answered that I prefer it hard going in, and he roared.
I doubt that any man in that bar that night thinks I'm inaccessible now.
Tell you one thing for sure - Tom can flirt!!!
(Nah, no giggling speculation now - anything more than hugs and massage is highly unlikely. I do believe he is "safe". I think his reputation is undeserved.)
.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
1004 Nuttin' Much
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
Last evening it was 22 F outside. Today it was a little warmer, but the weather man says that a cold front is coming through, and the high will be in the low 20s for the rest of the week. Hibernation time, I think.
I was reading someone else's blog, an entry about home improvement. I've been living in this house for 12 years now, and I'm a little surprised that, except for getting the woods cleared of undergrowth, we/I have made almost no improvements.
Things we did do:
Things we talked about, but never did:
But then I look around at all the furniture, all the things on and against the walls, all the bookcases full of books, the 12' ceilings, the open stairwell to the basement, and the thought of painting is overwhelming.
The carpeting is original, too. (Brown, throughout the house, except in the foyer, kitchen, and bathrooms.) It's 23 years old now. But it must be good carpet - it still looks ok. It would look better if I vacuumed more often.
Things I'd still like to do:
Things I'm going to have to do soon, like it or not:
Why do I feel tired all of a sudden? Maybe Daughter and Hercules should rethink this home-buying idea of theirs. Don't buy your way into slavery! Rent!
.
Last evening it was 22 F outside. Today it was a little warmer, but the weather man says that a cold front is coming through, and the high will be in the low 20s for the rest of the week. Hibernation time, I think.
I was reading someone else's blog, an entry about home improvement. I've been living in this house for 12 years now, and I'm a little surprised that, except for getting the woods cleared of undergrowth, we/I have made almost no improvements.
Things we did do:
- Jay cut a hole in the laundry room wall for a dog flap, and built an 8'x8' deck with a ramp outside the flap, for the dogs. We had talked about a dog-house kind of foyer arrangement on the deck outside the flap to keep the wind from coming in the hole, but it never happened. Now I have no dogs, but I have a big hole in the wall that the wind comes in. I taped a cover over it.
- This spring I had the woods cleared of undergrowth.
- About eight years ago we replaced the heating part of the heat pump with an oil furnace.
- I had the roof reshingled this year.
Things we talked about, but never did:
- Finish part of the basement for a fourth bedroom, workroom, and family room with woodstove.
- Put in a huge fancy whirlpool spa bathroom in the basement.
- Replace the deck (20' x 10', no access to ground) with a wider deck with an octagonal piece that wraps around the corner, and "pull up" stairs (to keep wildlife off the deck).
- Pop the attic roof and put in windows to recapture the view.
- A stone wall at the end of the driveway, to fill in the bank that's so hard to mow.
- Fence the backyard so the dogs can run.
- Organize the garage.
- Paint.
But then I look around at all the furniture, all the things on and against the walls, all the bookcases full of books, the 12' ceilings, the open stairwell to the basement, and the thought of painting is overwhelming.
The carpeting is original, too. (Brown, throughout the house, except in the foyer, kitchen, and bathrooms.) It's 23 years old now. But it must be good carpet - it still looks ok. It would look better if I vacuumed more often.
Things I'd still like to do:
- I'd still like to put in the family room with woodstove and fancy spa bathroom downstairs.
- I'd like to paint all the walls.
- I'd like to put in a patio outside the basement doors, and replace the sliding glass door with french doors.
- I'd like to replace all the carpeting with hardwood flooring (if it's done at the same time as the painting, I'd have to move furniture only once).
- I'd like to replace all the chandeliers and ceiling lights.
- I'd like to put motion-detecting lights outside, on the porch and garage.
Things I'm going to have to do soon, like it or not:
- Replace the heat pump air conditioning.
- Resurface the driveway, and maybe add a loop.
- Replace the deck, but I won't get fancy.
- Have the siding washed and treated with anti-fungal stuff.
- Put in water softener/filtering system.
- Replace stove and dishwasher.
- Replace/clean out all the plumbing fixtures clogged and corroded by hard water deposits.
- Replace washing machine.
Why do I feel tired all of a sudden? Maybe Daughter and Hercules should rethink this home-buying idea of theirs. Don't buy your way into slavery! Rent!
.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
1003 Frustration
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Well, I found another way to avoid the "to do" list. I've been reading through The Dilbert Blog.
Scott Adams, it turns out, is (or was) a Mensan. He writes about his shock when he met Mensans in a group in a November 2006 entry. I'm not going to attempt to find the specific link right now, but if you go to the link above, then to the archives for November, then "find in this page" and search for "Mensa", you can read it if you like.
He uses words like loser, and dress like street people, and incapable of managing their own lives, but then he says that the most amazing and wonderful thing is that "you don't have to explain anything twice".
Yeah. I have to give them that. Most Mensans "get it" the first time. (Except for the occasional speed limit-challenged nuclear physicist, that is. And a few others with very narrow focus.) Not only do they get it, but in general they understand where you're coming from. You can float a preposterous idea just to see where it goes without someone picking the details to pieces. They'll accept that it's preposterous, then play with it anyway, and they'll understand that you don't really believe or espouse this stuff. Or if you do believe it, they'll understand "thinking out loud", as opposed to a fully formed philosophy. You can use examples that don't quite fit, and they'll see what does fit and ignore the details for the sake of argument, or try to come up with a better-fitting example. If you present a proposition at a very high level, they'll stay at the high level before delving into details, understanding that you need to build the scaffold before laying bricks.
In other words, they'll see where you're coming from, understand where you are, and help you to get to where you're going.
Mostly.
That's pretty rare.
I've also been reading the comments in Scott's blog. He gets very philosophical and has some less than popular opinions, and he gets over 400 comments on an average entry. I don't know how he can stand it, unless he simply doesn't read the comments.
As illustrated in Scott's blog's comments, people in general just don't "get it". Many simply miss the point of the exercise. Or they pick one tiny detail and chew it to bits. Or instead of seeing what part of a random example fits, they tear the example apart. They don't seem to understand that it's not the details or the examples that are important, they may or may not fit, it's not the way it's explained, that may or may not be well done, it's the CONCEPT. Look at the CONCEPT, people!
Comments like he gets would frustrate me. I'd want to respond, to try to explain it a different way, to try to get through to people. I can't stand being misunderstood.
When I read his argument against the existence of free will, I understood exactly what he meant - that a person's decisions are determined by physics and chemistry, by existing conditions and states, that we are simply "moist robots" and have no more free will than a programmed electronic robot. I understand and fully agree with his argument. 100%. We do not have entirely free will. At least not as he defines it.
Then I exercised my own free will and decided to go get a cup of tea. I didn't have to, I could have decided not to get a cup of tea. The problem with his argument is not that I may or may not have gone for the tea - it's in the definition of "free will". There are degrees of "free". Most of his commenters missed that distinction. I got very annoyed with all the people who told him he was nuts because "of course" they can make free will decisions. They didn't even think about why a particular decision was made. Idiots.
I am reminded of that housewife at the baby shower in 1976, who declared that she couldn't understand and didn't need "this feminism stuff", because, after all, "My husband lets me do anything I want." It would have been useless to attempt to explain to her what was wrong with that statement.
I guess some people never learn to fly.
.
Well, I found another way to avoid the "to do" list. I've been reading through The Dilbert Blog.
Scott Adams, it turns out, is (or was) a Mensan. He writes about his shock when he met Mensans in a group in a November 2006 entry. I'm not going to attempt to find the specific link right now, but if you go to the link above, then to the archives for November, then "find in this page" and search for "Mensa", you can read it if you like.
He uses words like loser, and dress like street people, and incapable of managing their own lives, but then he says that the most amazing and wonderful thing is that "you don't have to explain anything twice".
Yeah. I have to give them that. Most Mensans "get it" the first time. (Except for the occasional speed limit-challenged nuclear physicist, that is. And a few others with very narrow focus.) Not only do they get it, but in general they understand where you're coming from. You can float a preposterous idea just to see where it goes without someone picking the details to pieces. They'll accept that it's preposterous, then play with it anyway, and they'll understand that you don't really believe or espouse this stuff. Or if you do believe it, they'll understand "thinking out loud", as opposed to a fully formed philosophy. You can use examples that don't quite fit, and they'll see what does fit and ignore the details for the sake of argument, or try to come up with a better-fitting example. If you present a proposition at a very high level, they'll stay at the high level before delving into details, understanding that you need to build the scaffold before laying bricks.
In other words, they'll see where you're coming from, understand where you are, and help you to get to where you're going.
Mostly.
That's pretty rare.
I've also been reading the comments in Scott's blog. He gets very philosophical and has some less than popular opinions, and he gets over 400 comments on an average entry. I don't know how he can stand it, unless he simply doesn't read the comments.
As illustrated in Scott's blog's comments, people in general just don't "get it". Many simply miss the point of the exercise. Or they pick one tiny detail and chew it to bits. Or instead of seeing what part of a random example fits, they tear the example apart. They don't seem to understand that it's not the details or the examples that are important, they may or may not fit, it's not the way it's explained, that may or may not be well done, it's the CONCEPT. Look at the CONCEPT, people!
Comments like he gets would frustrate me. I'd want to respond, to try to explain it a different way, to try to get through to people. I can't stand being misunderstood.
When I read his argument against the existence of free will, I understood exactly what he meant - that a person's decisions are determined by physics and chemistry, by existing conditions and states, that we are simply "moist robots" and have no more free will than a programmed electronic robot. I understand and fully agree with his argument. 100%. We do not have entirely free will. At least not as he defines it.
Then I exercised my own free will and decided to go get a cup of tea. I didn't have to, I could have decided not to get a cup of tea. The problem with his argument is not that I may or may not have gone for the tea - it's in the definition of "free will". There are degrees of "free". Most of his commenters missed that distinction. I got very annoyed with all the people who told him he was nuts because "of course" they can make free will decisions. They didn't even think about why a particular decision was made. Idiots.
I am reminded of that housewife at the baby shower in 1976, who declared that she couldn't understand and didn't need "this feminism stuff", because, after all, "My husband lets me do anything I want." It would have been useless to attempt to explain to her what was wrong with that statement.
I guess some people never learn to fly.
.
1002 Who Is Visiting the Taste Tests? And Why?
I noticed a week or more ago that someone had found my short and simple entry on taste tests through a Google search. Since then, I've had many visits from people in Colorado and California (or at least that's where their ISP is) who go directly to that entry, not from a search or a link.
That means they're not there by accident. And since they don't seem to go anywhere else from that entry, they're not browsing. I conclude that someone is passing the URL around, maybe in an email.
Interesting. I wonder why?
A thought I've had since that entry: Even blindfolded, testers would be likely to choose the familiar taste ("That's what xyz is supposed to taste like!"). Therefore it would be easy to slant the results of a taste test, should you be so inclined, by interviewing the potential tasters, and then choosing mostly those who already are users of your product, or of a product similar in taste to yours.
Moral: Taste tests have no meaning other than "this is more familiar than that". "Better" is neither the question asked nor answered.
.
That means they're not there by accident. And since they don't seem to go anywhere else from that entry, they're not browsing. I conclude that someone is passing the URL around, maybe in an email.
Interesting. I wonder why?
A thought I've had since that entry: Even blindfolded, testers would be likely to choose the familiar taste ("That's what xyz is supposed to taste like!"). Therefore it would be easy to slant the results of a taste test, should you be so inclined, by interviewing the potential tasters, and then choosing mostly those who already are users of your product, or of a product similar in taste to yours.
Moral: Taste tests have no meaning other than "this is more familiar than that". "Better" is neither the question asked nor answered.
.
1001 Just in Case
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
[Later edit - more info added at bottom, after the dividing line.]
I'm documenting this a) so if it happens again I will be able to date this incident, and b) just in case it "goes west" somehow, someone will know what happened.
A few minutes ago I was reading something and noticed that I couldn't see the letter that preceded the letter I was looking at. I had a pinpoint of not-seeing. The pinpoint expanded into a circle within minutes. It's been going on for about 15 minutes now. The circle is now larger than my handspan at the distance of the monitor, to the left of the focal point. I can "sort of" see within the circle (which is more like a "C" shape now), except that things sort of jump a bit. The edges of the circle are very bright white flashing zig-zag spikes. If I close either eye, it's still there, and the jagged edges are very bright when I close both eyes.
This same thing happened to me about eight years or so ago, while I was helping a friend in New Paltz to move. I picked up a heavy box and there was a popping feeling, and I got these bright flashing zig-zags. I was afraid I had a detached retina, so we got an immediate emergency appointment with a New Paltz opthamologist. She decided it was an "optical migraine". Nothing to worry about. The zig-zags eventually expanded to the periphery and disappeared.
This one seems to be progressing faster than the first. The jagged edges are out to my peripheral vision already (I started this note 18 minutes ago) and I can now see just fine in the middle. It'll be completely gone in a few minutes. The first one lasted over two and a half hours.
Excuse me while I go do some internet research on visual/optical/ocular migraines. Maybe the zig-zags themselves are not dangerous, but maybe the "why" of them is.
-----------------------------------------
It's now an hour and a half later. I've read a bunch of stuff like the Wikipedia entry on migraine (including the contributors' comments), and a forum description that sounds exactly like my thingy, and other bits here and there. There's lots of descriptions of what it is, but nothing conclusive on why.
It's interesting that the forum poster says that the eyeball feels swollen, but doesn't look swollen. I've got that too! My right eyeball feels swollen. I've also got a tender feeling around the right eyesocket, cheek, and temple. And a very slight (maybe just suggestion-induced) headache above my right ear. No big deal.
My initial fear was, of course, that it was a transient ischemic attack (TIA, sort of like a mini-stroke). Of my maternal ancestors, on the Welsh side, everyone who didn't get hit by a car or something died of a stroke, or a series of small strokes. Not the clot-type stroke that aspirin helps, but a non-aneurysm brain-bleed. I'm more afraid of having a stroke when I'm so alone here than of cancer or anything else.
That side of the family also has a general bleeding problem. I used to think it was one of the many forms of clotting factor defect that affects both males and females. My next-younger sister bruises if you just look at her hard, and requires a few gallons of blood when she gives birth. Youngest brother and I bruise fairly easily too, but I've noticed that it's not so much a clotting problem (a cut will stop bleeding in a reasonable time) as a "breaking" problem. I think we have fragile blood vessels, that break and leak easily. That could also account for the fact that we all tend to have extremely low blood pressure, too. (At least until we get old, sedentary, and fat....)
So, according to what I read, it was an optical migraine, and optical migraines are not dangerous.
(Although migraine suffers are nine times more likely to suffer an eventual stroke than non-suffers. Gee, thanks for that comforting news, folks. Not dangerous?)
.
[Later edit - more info added at bottom, after the dividing line.]
I'm documenting this a) so if it happens again I will be able to date this incident, and b) just in case it "goes west" somehow, someone will know what happened.
A few minutes ago I was reading something and noticed that I couldn't see the letter that preceded the letter I was looking at. I had a pinpoint of not-seeing. The pinpoint expanded into a circle within minutes. It's been going on for about 15 minutes now. The circle is now larger than my handspan at the distance of the monitor, to the left of the focal point. I can "sort of" see within the circle (which is more like a "C" shape now), except that things sort of jump a bit. The edges of the circle are very bright white flashing zig-zag spikes. If I close either eye, it's still there, and the jagged edges are very bright when I close both eyes.
This same thing happened to me about eight years or so ago, while I was helping a friend in New Paltz to move. I picked up a heavy box and there was a popping feeling, and I got these bright flashing zig-zags. I was afraid I had a detached retina, so we got an immediate emergency appointment with a New Paltz opthamologist. She decided it was an "optical migraine". Nothing to worry about. The zig-zags eventually expanded to the periphery and disappeared.
This one seems to be progressing faster than the first. The jagged edges are out to my peripheral vision already (I started this note 18 minutes ago) and I can now see just fine in the middle. It'll be completely gone in a few minutes. The first one lasted over two and a half hours.
Excuse me while I go do some internet research on visual/optical/ocular migraines. Maybe the zig-zags themselves are not dangerous, but maybe the "why" of them is.
-----------------------------------------
It's now an hour and a half later. I've read a bunch of stuff like the Wikipedia entry on migraine (including the contributors' comments), and a forum description that sounds exactly like my thingy, and other bits here and there. There's lots of descriptions of what it is, but nothing conclusive on why.
It's interesting that the forum poster says that the eyeball feels swollen, but doesn't look swollen. I've got that too! My right eyeball feels swollen. I've also got a tender feeling around the right eyesocket, cheek, and temple. And a very slight (maybe just suggestion-induced) headache above my right ear. No big deal.
My initial fear was, of course, that it was a transient ischemic attack (TIA, sort of like a mini-stroke). Of my maternal ancestors, on the Welsh side, everyone who didn't get hit by a car or something died of a stroke, or a series of small strokes. Not the clot-type stroke that aspirin helps, but a non-aneurysm brain-bleed. I'm more afraid of having a stroke when I'm so alone here than of cancer or anything else.
That side of the family also has a general bleeding problem. I used to think it was one of the many forms of clotting factor defect that affects both males and females. My next-younger sister bruises if you just look at her hard, and requires a few gallons of blood when she gives birth. Youngest brother and I bruise fairly easily too, but I've noticed that it's not so much a clotting problem (a cut will stop bleeding in a reasonable time) as a "breaking" problem. I think we have fragile blood vessels, that break and leak easily. That could also account for the fact that we all tend to have extremely low blood pressure, too. (At least until we get old, sedentary, and fat....)
So, according to what I read, it was an optical migraine, and optical migraines are not dangerous.
(Although migraine suffers are nine times more likely to suffer an eventual stroke than non-suffers. Gee, thanks for that comforting news, folks. Not dangerous?)
.
Monday, December 04, 2006
1000 Batting a Thousand!
Monday, December 4, 2006
I posted #999 also on the local Mensa Group Board, and now I'm waiting for all the self-appointed experts to volunteer themselves. Snort!
I am reminded of a member who wanted to volunteer the services of the organization to the local governments. He figured that we would be able to run things better and that the legislatures and town councils would appreciate our input and would do what we say. He couldn't understand why that wasn't a good idea.
He also commented one time that there are "only 210 very intelligent people in this area". We asked him where he got that number, and he said it was the Mensa membership. We pointed out that not all smart people join, in fact the smartest people don't, and the qualifying test doesn't measure all types of intelligence anyway, but he wouldn't accept that. Finally I asked him how long he had been a member, and "before you joined, when you were not a member, were you stupid?" That confused him.
This is the same guy who couldn't understand how NJ got a speeding ticket. She said, "Duh, the speed limit was 45 mph and I was doing 55." He said that was impossible, that it was physically impossible to exceed a speed limit, that's the very definition of a speed limit, that it's the fastest you can possibly go. He was not joking. He was serious. This is absolutely true.
The directions to a dinner said that "heading north on 9W after the bridge, the restaurant will be on the left about a quarter mile after the first stop light". Bad choice of words. The light happened to be green when he went through it. He drove 30 miles, and through four more green lights, before he found a red light, and no restaurant.
He was a nuclear physicist.
That better be a good magic wand. Otherwise, he'd be the first volunteer and the first one shot in the "War of the Experts".
.
I posted #999 also on the local Mensa Group Board, and now I'm waiting for all the self-appointed experts to volunteer themselves. Snort!
I am reminded of a member who wanted to volunteer the services of the organization to the local governments. He figured that we would be able to run things better and that the legislatures and town councils would appreciate our input and would do what we say. He couldn't understand why that wasn't a good idea.
He also commented one time that there are "only 210 very intelligent people in this area". We asked him where he got that number, and he said it was the Mensa membership. We pointed out that not all smart people join, in fact the smartest people don't, and the qualifying test doesn't measure all types of intelligence anyway, but he wouldn't accept that. Finally I asked him how long he had been a member, and "before you joined, when you were not a member, were you stupid?" That confused him.
This is the same guy who couldn't understand how NJ got a speeding ticket. She said, "Duh, the speed limit was 45 mph and I was doing 55." He said that was impossible, that it was physically impossible to exceed a speed limit, that's the very definition of a speed limit, that it's the fastest you can possibly go. He was not joking. He was serious. This is absolutely true.
The directions to a dinner said that "heading north on 9W after the bridge, the restaurant will be on the left about a quarter mile after the first stop light". Bad choice of words. The light happened to be green when he went through it. He drove 30 miles, and through four more green lights, before he found a red light, and no restaurant.
He was a nuclear physicist.
That better be a good magic wand. Otherwise, he'd be the first volunteer and the first one shot in the "War of the Experts".
.
999 A Single Simple Solution
Monday, December 4, 2006
Scott Adams, in his blog "Dilbert.Com" (http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/) asks "What one simple problem could you eliminate – let’s say using magic – that would fix virtually every other problem in the world?" He points out that eliminating poverty or hunger wouldn't work, because there would still be other things to fight over. He came up with a solution that might actually work (if it were possible, of course). The individual entry is at "The One Problem with the World", but there are over 440 comments on the entry, and it might take a while to load, so I recommend just going to the blog's main page (typepad link above) and scrolling down to "The One Problem with the World". (If you scroll rather than "find", you might find other topics of interest on the way.)
.
Scott Adams, in his blog "Dilbert.Com" (http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/) asks "What one simple problem could you eliminate – let’s say using magic – that would fix virtually every other problem in the world?" He points out that eliminating poverty or hunger wouldn't work, because there would still be other things to fight over. He came up with a solution that might actually work (if it were possible, of course). The individual entry is at "The One Problem with the World", but there are over 440 comments on the entry, and it might take a while to load, so I recommend just going to the blog's main page (typepad link above) and scrolling down to "The One Problem with the World". (If you scroll rather than "find", you might find other topics of interest on the way.)
.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
998 Tattoos and Other Stuff
Sunday, December 3, 2006
I forgot to mention that I did ask my sister about her tattooed eyeliner over Thanksgiving. I didn't get to actually see it because I didn't see her without makeup. She said that she wasn't all that happy with it. She said it didn't hurt, but it tickled so much when the woman was doing it that it almost drove her crazy, "You can't move, you know".
And then you don't know what it's actually going to look like for a few days. It's normal (she said) for the color and thickness to be a bit uneven after the first pass. She had to go back in to get it touched up, and she said that when she thought about the tickle, she almost didn't.
After two sessions, it was done, but it doesn't last long. The color isn't very deep (eyelids being thin and delicate), so it fades fairly quickly. And - the bad part - it may not fade evenly.
So she still wears eyeliner when she goes out.
I had been thinking about eyebrows, so maybe the tickling and fading won't be as much of a consideration. My big thing would be color. I'm having a devil of a time finding the right color pencil, let alone ink. Most "blonde" pencils are too dark. My hair will (I hope) get lighter as I lose the last of the brown mixed in, so any shade I get now might not be good in a few years.
On other fronts, Daughter reports that Ex#2, her father, is in the hospital in Colorado. He has a stomach/intestinal bug of some kind, and had "treated it" for more than a week by eating nothing but Jello. He was diagnosed with diabetes a few years ago, but has made no effort to change his high-sugar diet. He frustrates Daughter. I'm past caring. Caring about him is a exercise in self-abuse. After a while you learn to just nod and look away.
Piper wonders why I'm keeping life insurance on Ex#2. I was going to drop it when Daughter graduated from college (that's what it was for, but I don't know why, because he never contributed to her education anyway), but the odds were too good for the mathematician in me. He wouldn't pay for college, so maybe he'll provide her house downpayment.
Today I did some laundry, and I didn't flood the pantry.
.
I forgot to mention that I did ask my sister about her tattooed eyeliner over Thanksgiving. I didn't get to actually see it because I didn't see her without makeup. She said that she wasn't all that happy with it. She said it didn't hurt, but it tickled so much when the woman was doing it that it almost drove her crazy, "You can't move, you know".
And then you don't know what it's actually going to look like for a few days. It's normal (she said) for the color and thickness to be a bit uneven after the first pass. She had to go back in to get it touched up, and she said that when she thought about the tickle, she almost didn't.
After two sessions, it was done, but it doesn't last long. The color isn't very deep (eyelids being thin and delicate), so it fades fairly quickly. And - the bad part - it may not fade evenly.
So she still wears eyeliner when she goes out.
I had been thinking about eyebrows, so maybe the tickling and fading won't be as much of a consideration. My big thing would be color. I'm having a devil of a time finding the right color pencil, let alone ink. Most "blonde" pencils are too dark. My hair will (I hope) get lighter as I lose the last of the brown mixed in, so any shade I get now might not be good in a few years.
On other fronts, Daughter reports that Ex#2, her father, is in the hospital in Colorado. He has a stomach/intestinal bug of some kind, and had "treated it" for more than a week by eating nothing but Jello. He was diagnosed with diabetes a few years ago, but has made no effort to change his high-sugar diet. He frustrates Daughter. I'm past caring. Caring about him is a exercise in self-abuse. After a while you learn to just nod and look away.
Piper wonders why I'm keeping life insurance on Ex#2. I was going to drop it when Daughter graduated from college (that's what it was for, but I don't know why, because he never contributed to her education anyway), but the odds were too good for the mathematician in me. He wouldn't pay for college, so maybe he'll provide her house downpayment.
Today I did some laundry, and I didn't flood the pantry.
.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
997 Friday Fun
Saturday, December 2, 2006
[Later Edit - I just "got" the name of the band. My mind doesn't normally run that way. Besides, it was so very long ago....]
All week I had been looking forward to last night. I wanted to go to Woodstock to see the Tw1sted Tassels dance at 6pm, then to Saugerstock (that no-man's-land between Woodstock and Saugerties) to a 7 pm pot-luck party at the Blue Mountain Bistro, with FirstWoman (FW).
And then the weather came. It got darker and windier. The pine outside the kitchen window was leaning about 30 degrees. The electricity was flickering, and I was worried about trees going down. I called FW and told her I didn't think I would be going out. I'd be driving the minivan, on a twisty up and down road through some very lonely woods, and I wasn't too excited about a tree falling on me.
She talked me into trying. "Start out, and if it gets bad, you can always turn around and go home."
So I got all dressed and made up, and by then it was too late to attempt Woodstock, because it was pouring rain and it would have taken too long to get there. I got soaked between the front door and the car, and that was with the umbrella.
I had to stop at the deli for cigarettes, and I needed both money and gas. The 2.5-mile drive into the village took twice as long as normal because the rain was dense and blowing horizontally and I couldn't see the road. I was already considering giving up. Oddly, the very second I turned in to the deli, the rain stopped completely. But it got worse when the car radio announced a tornado watch - not for the county, or a section of the county, but for THE VILLAGE! The village which is four blocks wide and four blocks long. "Tornado in the vicinity of " this tiny village. I thought "Ok, do I go back home, or do I get the @#$% away from the village?", and just then the ambulance and heavy rescue vehicle tore past. (Heavy rescue indicates there's a motor vehicle accident.)
Things are not looking promising. However, I look really good, hair is behaving, outfit is nice, and I hate to waste all this pulchritudinosity. Rare as it is.
So, I go into the deli, and the electricity promptly went off. When it came back on, I told the deli man my dilemma, and he said the same thing FW had. So I went to the bank, and decided that if the ATM wasn't working because of the iffy power, that would make the decision. I got my money. Ok, I'll go to the gas station, and if the pumps aren't working, that'll make the decision. Got my gas. Ok, I'll head for the bridge, and if the bridge is closed because of the ferocious winds, that'll make the decision. All the traffic lights near the bridge were out, and cars trying to turn in off the side roads were taking crazy chances which explained the heavy rescue call, but the bridge was open, and the van didn't get blown off.
On the other side of the river there was no wind or rain, no trees down, the sky was clear with a bright moon, and I made it to Saugerstock with no trouble. Very strange. You see that a lot around here - 2 feet of snow on the ground in a blizzard, and you cross a bridge and there's clear ground and sunshine. Always a bridge. I don't understand.
So I made it to the party. I'm not sure whether I should call it a party. It was on and hosted by "Carl's List", which is a local website for business networking, advertising, and so on. There seems to be a concentration on arts. FW said it's mostly for business networking, but good for social networking, too. They have a get-together once a month or so.
I was concerned that, once again, I'd find myself the oldest one in the room, but was pleasantly surprised to find that everybody there was pretty close to my age.
FW and I set a goal - we would speak with at least fourstrange men, stranger men, men we'd never met before. And we did. I actually walked up to people (I included women), introduced myself, and had a few minutes conversation. I think I may be embarking on a new phase. I wasn't afraid, and I don't know why, don't know what has changed in me.
I thought FW was familiar with this group, but it turned out it was all new to her too, and she considers herself shy, too. She had found out about CarlsList by having met Carl at some other (job-related) function.
FW ran into some old acquaintances there whom she hadn't seen in years. She's very active socially, knows a lot of people, but her interests and activities are very different from mine, and so her social contacts are pretty far outside my usual realm. Mindset-wise, I mean. She's a painter, and her lifestyle is very, um, experimental. I'm pretty conservative. But we seem to get along just fine.
Anyway, along about 10 pm, somebody mentioned that there was dancing at New World Home Cooking, just down the road, so a bunch of us went there. The band was Monica's Kneepads (which seems to have some meaning beyond a band name - I'll have to research that [Later edit - ok. Figured it out.] - and where do bands get these weird names anyhow?), see the photo at the link, and they were really dressed like that, huge wigs and all, and they were very very good. Whatever is changing in me hasn't made it all the way yet, because I couldn't quite make it onto the dance floor, it seems like "dancing" these days consists of just jumping up and down and I can't do that, but I enjoyed the show and the conversations anyway. Also a Cosmopolitan. Or two.
At 12:30 am I was headed for the bridge and passed Wal*Mart, so I decided to stop in. I need a bulb for the bedside reading lamp, and I have discovered that they restock in the wee hours, and sometimes they put out a few samples of some really nice things that are all gone by the next morning. I found boots! Finally, warm comfortable driveway-clearing snow boots that I can actually get on past my high insteps!
At 1:50 am I was raising Cain at the W*M customer service desk because there were TEN! people lined up at the ONE! open checkout counter, and the SIX! people in line in front of me had multiple carts each, overflowing with groceries. They opened two more registers. I got cheers from the others in line. After which the people behind me almost knocked me over trying to beat me to the opened counters. I was still feeling very Cosmopolitan, and snarled, and they actually backed off.
I am woman, and I'm learning to roar. And talk to strange men.
[Later Edit - I just "got" the name of the band. My mind doesn't normally run that way. Besides, it was so very long ago....]
All week I had been looking forward to last night. I wanted to go to Woodstock to see the Tw1sted Tassels dance at 6pm, then to Saugerstock (that no-man's-land between Woodstock and Saugerties) to a 7 pm pot-luck party at the Blue Mountain Bistro, with FirstWoman (FW).
And then the weather came. It got darker and windier. The pine outside the kitchen window was leaning about 30 degrees. The electricity was flickering, and I was worried about trees going down. I called FW and told her I didn't think I would be going out. I'd be driving the minivan, on a twisty up and down road through some very lonely woods, and I wasn't too excited about a tree falling on me.
She talked me into trying. "Start out, and if it gets bad, you can always turn around and go home."
So I got all dressed and made up, and by then it was too late to attempt Woodstock, because it was pouring rain and it would have taken too long to get there. I got soaked between the front door and the car, and that was with the umbrella.
I had to stop at the deli for cigarettes, and I needed both money and gas. The 2.5-mile drive into the village took twice as long as normal because the rain was dense and blowing horizontally and I couldn't see the road. I was already considering giving up. Oddly, the very second I turned in to the deli, the rain stopped completely. But it got worse when the car radio announced a tornado watch - not for the county, or a section of the county, but for THE VILLAGE! The village which is four blocks wide and four blocks long. "Tornado in the vicinity of " this tiny village. I thought "Ok, do I go back home, or do I get the @#$% away from the village?", and just then the ambulance and heavy rescue vehicle tore past. (Heavy rescue indicates there's a motor vehicle accident.)
Things are not looking promising. However, I look really good, hair is behaving, outfit is nice, and I hate to waste all this pulchritudinosity. Rare as it is.
So, I go into the deli, and the electricity promptly went off. When it came back on, I told the deli man my dilemma, and he said the same thing FW had. So I went to the bank, and decided that if the ATM wasn't working because of the iffy power, that would make the decision. I got my money. Ok, I'll go to the gas station, and if the pumps aren't working, that'll make the decision. Got my gas. Ok, I'll head for the bridge, and if the bridge is closed because of the ferocious winds, that'll make the decision. All the traffic lights near the bridge were out, and cars trying to turn in off the side roads were taking crazy chances which explained the heavy rescue call, but the bridge was open, and the van didn't get blown off.
On the other side of the river there was no wind or rain, no trees down, the sky was clear with a bright moon, and I made it to Saugerstock with no trouble. Very strange. You see that a lot around here - 2 feet of snow on the ground in a blizzard, and you cross a bridge and there's clear ground and sunshine. Always a bridge. I don't understand.
So I made it to the party. I'm not sure whether I should call it a party. It was on and hosted by "Carl's List", which is a local website for business networking, advertising, and so on. There seems to be a concentration on arts. FW said it's mostly for business networking, but good for social networking, too. They have a get-together once a month or so.
I was concerned that, once again, I'd find myself the oldest one in the room, but was pleasantly surprised to find that everybody there was pretty close to my age.
FW and I set a goal - we would speak with at least four
I thought FW was familiar with this group, but it turned out it was all new to her too, and she considers herself shy, too. She had found out about CarlsList by having met Carl at some other (job-related) function.
FW ran into some old acquaintances there whom she hadn't seen in years. She's very active socially, knows a lot of people, but her interests and activities are very different from mine, and so her social contacts are pretty far outside my usual realm. Mindset-wise, I mean. She's a painter, and her lifestyle is very, um, experimental. I'm pretty conservative. But we seem to get along just fine.
Anyway, along about 10 pm, somebody mentioned that there was dancing at New World Home Cooking, just down the road, so a bunch of us went there. The band was Monica's Kneepads (which seems to have some meaning beyond a band name - I'll have to research that [Later edit - ok. Figured it out.] - and where do bands get these weird names anyhow?), see the photo at the link, and they were really dressed like that, huge wigs and all, and they were very very good. Whatever is changing in me hasn't made it all the way yet, because I couldn't quite make it onto the dance floor, it seems like "dancing" these days consists of just jumping up and down and I can't do that, but I enjoyed the show and the conversations anyway. Also a Cosmopolitan. Or two.
At 12:30 am I was headed for the bridge and passed Wal*Mart, so I decided to stop in. I need a bulb for the bedside reading lamp, and I have discovered that they restock in the wee hours, and sometimes they put out a few samples of some really nice things that are all gone by the next morning. I found boots! Finally, warm comfortable driveway-clearing snow boots that I can actually get on past my high insteps!
At 1:50 am I was raising Cain at the W*M customer service desk because there were TEN! people lined up at the ONE! open checkout counter, and the SIX! people in line in front of me had multiple carts each, overflowing with groceries. They opened two more registers. I got cheers from the others in line. After which the people behind me almost knocked me over trying to beat me to the opened counters. I was still feeling very Cosmopolitan, and snarled, and they actually backed off.
I am woman, and I'm learning to roar. And talk to strange men.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
996 Early Snow?
Thursday, November 30, 2006
I've been trying to remember when the first snow came when I was young. These days I'm always surprised by the first snow. I never expect it.
In the 1800s snow came very early. The world was going through a "mini-ice age" then. People wore wool in high summer. That's why "Over the River and Through the Wood", a Thanksgiving poem/song written in 1844, talks about the horse pulling a sleigh.
I'm pretty sure snow at Thanksgiving was rare when I was a child, because I always wondered why the song mentioned enough snow for a sleigh (not just snow, but "deep and drifting" snow!) But whether snow was usual for Christmas in my life is harder to remember.
I have many memories of getting sleds or "flying saucers" for Christmas and being disappointed because there was no snow. On the other hand, I have memories of getting bicycles from Santa and being unable to use them because there was too much snow. Which doesn't sound right, because I got my first bicycle when I was 11, a big heavy no-gears Columbia, and never got another. Maybe I'm actually remembering the disappointment of siblings or Daughter. Hey, it's the short-term memory that's supposed to go, not the long-term!
My middle school years were spent in Ottawa, Canada, so even if I were sure what I remember from then , it wouldn't apply. Most of my high school years were on the mountain, and nothing from there applies to here. (We got our first snow on the mountain in October.)
It bothers me that I can't remember whether there was usually snow for my childhood Christmases. (Yes, I lived all over the US then, but Christmas was always at Gramma's, in Pennsylvania.)
I hate snow. Maybe I'll buy myself a sled - that might work to hold it off for a while.
.
I've been trying to remember when the first snow came when I was young. These days I'm always surprised by the first snow. I never expect it.
In the 1800s snow came very early. The world was going through a "mini-ice age" then. People wore wool in high summer. That's why "Over the River and Through the Wood", a Thanksgiving poem/song written in 1844, talks about the horse pulling a sleigh.
I'm pretty sure snow at Thanksgiving was rare when I was a child, because I always wondered why the song mentioned enough snow for a sleigh (not just snow, but "deep and drifting" snow!) But whether snow was usual for Christmas in my life is harder to remember.
I have many memories of getting sleds or "flying saucers" for Christmas and being disappointed because there was no snow. On the other hand, I have memories of getting bicycles from Santa and being unable to use them because there was too much snow. Which doesn't sound right, because I got my first bicycle when I was 11, a big heavy no-gears Columbia, and never got another. Maybe I'm actually remembering the disappointment of siblings or Daughter. Hey, it's the short-term memory that's supposed to go, not the long-term!
My middle school years were spent in Ottawa, Canada, so even if I were sure what I remember from then , it wouldn't apply. Most of my high school years were on the mountain, and nothing from there applies to here. (We got our first snow on the mountain in October.)
It bothers me that I can't remember whether there was usually snow for my childhood Christmases. (Yes, I lived all over the US then, but Christmas was always at Gramma's, in Pennsylvania.)
I hate snow. Maybe I'll buy myself a sled - that might work to hold it off for a while.
.
995 Trivial Blahs
Thursday, November 30, 2006
I was supposed to go to Tom's trivia tonight, but as the time got closer and closer to when I would have to leave the house (it's an hour drive), and I hadn't even begun to clean up or dress, I realized I just didn't feel like it. I'm torn. I really did want to go, but I really didn't want to make the effort. I wish it were closer.
I hope I have more energy tomorrow night. Twisted Tassels is dancing in Woodstock at 6 pm, and then there's a singles group pot luck just down the road at 7. I'd like to make both.
But it's about these "To Do" lists that seem to get longer and longer....
Maybe if I got to bed earlier and got up earlier, maybe.
...
I was supposed to go to Tom's trivia tonight, but as the time got closer and closer to when I would have to leave the house (it's an hour drive), and I hadn't even begun to clean up or dress, I realized I just didn't feel like it. I'm torn. I really did want to go, but I really didn't want to make the effort. I wish it were closer.
I hope I have more energy tomorrow night. Twisted Tassels is dancing in Woodstock at 6 pm, and then there's a singles group pot luck just down the road at 7. I'd like to make both.
But it's about these "To Do" lists that seem to get longer and longer....
Maybe if I got to bed earlier and got up earlier, maybe.
...
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
994 My Right Foot
While looking through the sculpture park photo rejects, I noticed this one. It's fuzzy because it was a long shot and I had to cut the "live people" and enlarge it to show just the feet. That's my legs in the black. Note the right foot (on the left in the picture). That's the one that I can't sense. The one that I just figured out swings in front of the other when I walk. This photo seems to confirm that. I need more pictures, taken when I don't know I'm being photographed. Maybe a "candid camera" video of me walking and standing.When Jay "lost" his left side, if you told him to raise his left hand, he couldn't do it. But if you brought his hand to the center front where he could see it, then he could use it. He couldn't walk unless he could see his left foot, and then only if he had his head turned so that the foot was in his center or right field of vision. That's why "hemi-paralyzed" wasn't accurate. The proper term was "left side neglect". His left side simply wasn't there when he couldn't see it. (Of course, once he went blind, it was effectively paralysis.)
Similarly, when I am paying attention, except for a slight rigidness of the ankle on the right, I probably don't exhibit a problem.
Hmmm. Now I'm wondering if this explains why the muscle at the top of my right thigh is more developed than on the left. I thought it was just uneven fat.... It absolutely explains the way my shoe soles wear!
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Mel Gibson has a movie coming out soon, and I hear that some people are already gearing up to picket theaters. Why? If you don't like what you assume he thinks, that's not the way to educate him, to change his thinking. If you object only to what he reportedly said, then his retraction, apology, and promise never to say it again should have satisfied you. So I don't understand the picket line. You're just throwing a temper tantrum and trying to punish him.
That's not nice and not productive. (Unless punishing people makes you feel good.)
993 Sculpture Park Photos, 3 of 3
After the "Books as Art" exhibition a few weeks ago at Vassar, I was interested in this group. Books and newspaper had been dipped in wax, and then shaped and carved. You could still read the printing. I liked these better than the things at Vassar. They looked and felt ancient.
Hercules found a screwdriver over a doorframe in the gardens, and then found an empty platform. He created his own exhibit. Something about the loneliness of the skilled craftsman, or something.
"Rats", the restaurant on the Grounds, was in "Toad Hall", a cluster of buildings containing also a gift shop, a museum, offices, and storage. This is outside Toad Hall.
That's Rats in the background. The round pavilion is the dance floor.
This small sculpture was in the men's room in Rats. Title: "Resting on His Laurels".
Hercules found a screwdriver over a doorframe in the gardens, and then found an empty platform. He created his own exhibit. Something about the loneliness of the skilled craftsman, or something.
"Rats", the restaurant on the Grounds, was in "Toad Hall", a cluster of buildings containing also a gift shop, a museum, offices, and storage. This is outside Toad Hall.
That's Rats in the background. The round pavilion is the dance floor.
This small sculpture was in the men's room in Rats. Title: "Resting on His Laurels".
992 Sculpture Park Photos, 2 of 3
We were walking down a path and came around a corner, and found a statue of a man painting. Naturally, we looked at the easel to see what he was painting, and then we looked to see what he was looking at, and it was this scene. (I don't know the name of the painting, or the original artist.) Some of the greenery in the garden is live and some is fake. The chairs and the figures from this vantage point are faithful to the painting, but when you walk down into it, you notice that everything is "off", out of kilter. The man, for example, looks right from this angle, but when you stand near the man and woman, you find that the man is huge compared to the woman. And the chair on the right is not sit-in-able. The original painting does have the boat. The boat is not there now, probably removed for the winter. This particular shot is from a prior visit by Daughter and Hercules, but I wanted to use it because of the boat.
We also stumbled upon that painting of the picnic with two men and a woman in the foreground, and another woman in the background, bent over standing in a pond. Everybody is rather heavily dressed except the foreground woman, who is blissfully naked, with her clothing and hat piled next to her. It was reproduced down to the leaves, and a real pond the second woman was in. Didn't get a photo of that one.
I recently saw this installation in a magazine. Of course, I don't remember the name or the artist, but I do remember the subject. It's depression-era men lined up at a soup kitchen door. Again, I had to behead the live person.
Pregnant lady. Not a fountain. Still. Quiet. Contemplating. Protecting.
Water feature.
Same as above, but from a much more interesting angle.
We also stumbled upon that painting of the picnic with two men and a woman in the foreground, and another woman in the background, bent over standing in a pond. Everybody is rather heavily dressed except the foreground woman, who is blissfully naked, with her clothing and hat piled next to her. It was reproduced down to the leaves, and a real pond the second woman was in. Didn't get a photo of that one.I recently saw this installation in a magazine. Of course, I don't remember the name or the artist, but I do remember the subject. It's depression-era men lined up at a soup kitchen door. Again, I had to behead the live person.
Pregnant lady. Not a fountain. Still. Quiet. Contemplating. Protecting.
Water feature.
Same as above, but from a much more interesting angle.
991 Sculpture Park Photos, 1 of 3
Photos from last Friday's visit to Grounds for Sculpture, NJ, courtesy of Hercules.
I'm unsure what the rules are for posting photos of artwork without attribution, but all of these pieces are at GFS, so consider it an advertisement for them. Go see them in 3-D.
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Daughter gets all upset when I put photos of living people in here, so I had to behead Hercules. Imagine him properly horrified.
This lady was reclining on a couch in the center of a bamboo grove. Hercules fell in love with her.
The path through here was bordered by thick hedges, except for this strategically placed window.
Fiber art inside one of the buildings. Is it supposed to remind me of a ship? A ship to the sun?
This was one of my favorite installations. Unfortunately, there is no picture of the group as it was meant to be seen. Hercules stuck the camera inside one of the pieces to take this picture. There was also a shot without the flash, which I actually liked better. It was five or so "structures", about 10 or 12 feet tall. They were vaguely humanoid, copper I think, tattered, and in a grove that was rather dark. There was a feeling of despair about them, and yet they stood tall, firm, and steadfast.
This installation was inside a building. The beasties are breaking out of the furniture. Notice the squirrel on top of the plaque on the wall? Well, the coyotes on the couch, a fox on the chair, and a guinea pig made of the carpet were similarly rising out of body-pattern cuts out of the furniture. I thought the artist had missed a bet - he/she should have had deer-body-shaped cuts in the wall paneling for the deer to come out of. It was cute, but I'm not sure what it was "saying".
I'm unsure what the rules are for posting photos of artwork without attribution, but all of these pieces are at GFS, so consider it an advertisement for them. Go see them in 3-D.
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Daughter gets all upset when I put photos of living people in here, so I had to behead Hercules. Imagine him properly horrified.
This lady was reclining on a couch in the center of a bamboo grove. Hercules fell in love with her.
The path through here was bordered by thick hedges, except for this strategically placed window.
Fiber art inside one of the buildings. Is it supposed to remind me of a ship? A ship to the sun?
This was one of my favorite installations. Unfortunately, there is no picture of the group as it was meant to be seen. Hercules stuck the camera inside one of the pieces to take this picture. There was also a shot without the flash, which I actually liked better. It was five or so "structures", about 10 or 12 feet tall. They were vaguely humanoid, copper I think, tattered, and in a grove that was rather dark. There was a feeling of despair about them, and yet they stood tall, firm, and steadfast.
This installation was inside a building. The beasties are breaking out of the furniture. Notice the squirrel on top of the plaque on the wall? Well, the coyotes on the couch, a fox on the chair, and a guinea pig made of the carpet were similarly rising out of body-pattern cuts out of the furniture. I thought the artist had missed a bet - he/she should have had deer-body-shaped cuts in the wall paneling for the deer to come out of. It was cute, but I'm not sure what it was "saying".
990 Gifting
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
[Later edit - shortened link so it doesn't extend across margin.]
Dear Folks,
Just in case I happen to be on anyone's shopping list for the coming holidays, I want to make sure that everyone understands that I may send a few gifts here and there, but that they are given freely, unconnected with the season, and with no expectation of reciprocity. Don't shop for me. A letter, a card, a thought, a prayer will do.
I think that people have lost sight of ... well, you know what I'm saying. I'm sure you think it too. Sending people something they don't need and don't want, at a particular time of the year, just because you're "supposed to", doesn't strike me as "in the spirit". I prefer to give things when and where they are wanted and needed.
All I want this year (all year, every year!) is homemade peanut butter cookies (smooth, not chunky, very peanutty, with the fork Xs on top, some moist and some dry), and I think they're already signed up for.
May I suggest donations in the spirit:
Love,
[Silk]
[Later edit - shortened link so it doesn't extend across margin.]
Dear Folks,
Just in case I happen to be on anyone's shopping list for the coming holidays, I want to make sure that everyone understands that I may send a few gifts here and there, but that they are given freely, unconnected with the season, and with no expectation of reciprocity. Don't shop for me. A letter, a card, a thought, a prayer will do.
I think that people have lost sight of ... well, you know what I'm saying. I'm sure you think it too. Sending people something they don't need and don't want, at a particular time of the year, just because you're "supposed to", doesn't strike me as "in the spirit". I prefer to give things when and where they are wanted and needed.
All I want this year (all year, every year!) is homemade peanut butter cookies (smooth, not chunky, very peanutty, with the fork Xs on top, some moist and some dry), and I think they're already signed up for.
May I suggest donations in the spirit:
- American Brain Tumor Association, http://hope.abta.org/site/PageServer, in memory of [Jay]
- Brain Trauma Foundation, http://www.braintrauma.org/, in memory of [nephew]
- Doctors Without Borders, http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/donate/
- Heifer International, http://www.heifer.org/
Love,
[Silk]
989 Dinner in Tivoli
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
There used to be a local Mensa special interest group (SIG) for pizza. Their goal was to rate pizza joints, and find the best. The group had a problem. It seemed like half the time they met at a place, it was closed - for a fire, renovations, it got sold, or just went out of business. Worse, every time they thought they'd found the best, it soon died.
The Pizza SIG was bad for business. It finally went out of business itself.
In the past few weeks there has been some interest in reviving it, but the woman who was going to do it suddenly emigrated to Israel.
She left the curse.
We all showed up at Luna 61 in Tivoli (for the ethnic dinner group, not the pizza SIG) last night, and it was closed. Suddenly. When Zig called yesterday afternoon to make the reservations, the man who answered the phone told him that they had decided, just Monday, to go to winter hours (weekends only, I guess). So we ended up at Santa Fe, across the street. Santa Fe, incidentally, used to close for the entire month of December. A lot of non-chain restaurants around here close or restrict their hours in the winter. Ya'd think this was a tourist area or something....
There were seven of us, including Roman and me. I dislike Mexican food (at least as interpreted in "fancy" northeastern restaurants), so I had a steak and salad.
I had a pretty good time. Flirting.
BTW - Luna 61 needs a proofreader for their website - someone who can spell. Apply within. On a weekend.
There used to be a local Mensa special interest group (SIG) for pizza. Their goal was to rate pizza joints, and find the best. The group had a problem. It seemed like half the time they met at a place, it was closed - for a fire, renovations, it got sold, or just went out of business. Worse, every time they thought they'd found the best, it soon died.
The Pizza SIG was bad for business. It finally went out of business itself.
In the past few weeks there has been some interest in reviving it, but the woman who was going to do it suddenly emigrated to Israel.
She left the curse.
We all showed up at Luna 61 in Tivoli (for the ethnic dinner group, not the pizza SIG) last night, and it was closed. Suddenly. When Zig called yesterday afternoon to make the reservations, the man who answered the phone told him that they had decided, just Monday, to go to winter hours (weekends only, I guess). So we ended up at Santa Fe, across the street. Santa Fe, incidentally, used to close for the entire month of December. A lot of non-chain restaurants around here close or restrict their hours in the winter. Ya'd think this was a tourist area or something....
There were seven of us, including Roman and me. I dislike Mexican food (at least as interpreted in "fancy" northeastern restaurants), so I had a steak and salad.
I had a pretty good time. Flirting.
BTW - Luna 61 needs a proofreader for their website - someone who can spell. Apply within. On a weekend.
Monday, November 27, 2006
988 Bath Ball
Monday, November 27, 2006
Daughter gave me a fizzy bath ball when I was visiting. It was pink, and about the size of a softball. She knows how much I love long, hot, soaky, scented, bubbly baths.
I used it today.
I filled the tub with hot water and climbed in, and then dropped the ball in.
It fizzed. Then it started releasing leaves, stems, petals and flowers. LOTS of them. I didn't know they were in there.
They were brown, and tinted the water light brown. They floated and sank. They deteriorated and not. They stuck to the side of the tub and to me. They thickened the water. When I rubbed pieces between my fingers they felt slimy.
It felt like I was bathing in soup. Very nicely scented soup. Floral soup. But ... soup. Ick.
Cleaning the tub and unplugging the drain after was a pain.
Next time, I'll put the ball in a net bag before dropping it in the water.
Daughter gave me a fizzy bath ball when I was visiting. It was pink, and about the size of a softball. She knows how much I love long, hot, soaky, scented, bubbly baths.
I used it today.
I filled the tub with hot water and climbed in, and then dropped the ball in.
It fizzed. Then it started releasing leaves, stems, petals and flowers. LOTS of them. I didn't know they were in there.
They were brown, and tinted the water light brown. They floated and sank. They deteriorated and not. They stuck to the side of the tub and to me. They thickened the water. When I rubbed pieces between my fingers they felt slimy.
It felt like I was bathing in soup. Very nicely scented soup. Floral soup. But ... soup. Ick.
Cleaning the tub and unplugging the drain after was a pain.
Next time, I'll put the ball in a net bag before dropping it in the water.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
987 Zip the Lip
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Man, you really have to be careful what you put out there. It's permanent!
About half the visits to this blog are as a result of a search engine finding some word or phrase (and some of those searches are very strange. People don't know how to search. I'd like to do a whole entry on that sometime).
About half of those search engine hits are for one word in one particular entry that I am now sorry I wrote. Anything I write about myself or my family I don't mind being out there, no matter what it says, and anything I wrote about friends who might find this, it's not so much about them as about my reaction, to which I am entitled and which I can defend. But there's one particular entry that's entirely about someone else, and I really screwed up. I used a term that's popular in (what I consider) an abnormal offshoot of p0rn0graphy (I didn't use it in a p0rn0graphic way), and a lot of people who make me cringe are finding that entry because of that word.
(I'm learning. See how I just diverted searches for p0rn?)
Anyway, it wouldn't normally bother me. Every entry that mentions the Hairless Hunk, for example, gets a lot of hits from people looking for something titillating, and I don't mind those hits. But the post that worries me is, like I said, about someone else, it's speculation and very personal, and the weirdos who get off on that particular thing WILL find it ... um ... lip-smackingly salacious, shall we say. In fact, they have been recommending it to each other. I found a link to it on a site that worries me. (Note that the post is innocent, unless your mind is bent!)
I have considered editing the post to remove the offending word, but that would simply call attention to it, since it would be picked up on feeds as if it were a new entry. It would be better to delete it, but deleting it won't help, because it will continue to exist in caches and possibly archives. Worse, the more hits it gets, the more hits it will get, because it moves up in the search order, and will stay in caches longer. Ouch.
I cringe every time I see another visit from a search on that word. Most of them are coming from Northwestern Europe and the Philippines. Strange people there.
When I wrote that entry, I didn't know that people could find it so easily because of the topic. I didn't realize people would be searching for that topic! (And I'm not really sorry I wrote it - it was something I needed to do at the time. I'm just sorry it can't be better protected from misuse.)
Learn from my pain. Disguise provocative words.
The trick is to know which words might be provocative. At the time, I'd never have thought of "that" word as interesting to weird people.
Man, you really have to be careful what you put out there. It's permanent!
About half the visits to this blog are as a result of a search engine finding some word or phrase (and some of those searches are very strange. People don't know how to search. I'd like to do a whole entry on that sometime).
About half of those search engine hits are for one word in one particular entry that I am now sorry I wrote. Anything I write about myself or my family I don't mind being out there, no matter what it says, and anything I wrote about friends who might find this, it's not so much about them as about my reaction, to which I am entitled and which I can defend. But there's one particular entry that's entirely about someone else, and I really screwed up. I used a term that's popular in (what I consider) an abnormal offshoot of p0rn0graphy (I didn't use it in a p0rn0graphic way), and a lot of people who make me cringe are finding that entry because of that word.
(I'm learning. See how I just diverted searches for p0rn?)
Anyway, it wouldn't normally bother me. Every entry that mentions the Hairless Hunk, for example, gets a lot of hits from people looking for something titillating, and I don't mind those hits. But the post that worries me is, like I said, about someone else, it's speculation and very personal, and the weirdos who get off on that particular thing WILL find it ... um ... lip-smackingly salacious, shall we say. In fact, they have been recommending it to each other. I found a link to it on a site that worries me. (Note that the post is innocent, unless your mind is bent!)
I have considered editing the post to remove the offending word, but that would simply call attention to it, since it would be picked up on feeds as if it were a new entry. It would be better to delete it, but deleting it won't help, because it will continue to exist in caches and possibly archives. Worse, the more hits it gets, the more hits it will get, because it moves up in the search order, and will stay in caches longer. Ouch.
I cringe every time I see another visit from a search on that word. Most of them are coming from Northwestern Europe and the Philippines. Strange people there.
When I wrote that entry, I didn't know that people could find it so easily because of the topic. I didn't realize people would be searching for that topic! (And I'm not really sorry I wrote it - it was something I needed to do at the time. I'm just sorry it can't be better protected from misuse.)
Learn from my pain. Disguise provocative words.
The trick is to know which words might be provocative. At the time, I'd never have thought of "that" word as interesting to weird people.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
986 Home Again
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Blogger is getting rather insistent that I move to Blogger Beta.
Uh uh. No way. I worked for "A Large Computer Company" long enough to know better. You want to test it, Blogger folks, test it yourself. Professional testers get paid. I'm not going to volunteer.
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I picked up Sister at the Newark airport on Wednesday. Her plane (almost all the flights, in fact) was more than an hour late, so we didn't get to Daughter's until after 10 pm, then she had to lead us to the motel where she had she had reserved rooms for us, because we'd never have found it on our own.
In fact, Sister and I got lost heading back to Daughter's on Thursday morning, and again going to the motel Thursday evening. One of these things where you say "Gee, I don't remember seeing that...." Mostly we just headed the proper compass direction until we found a route number we recognized. The whole area's bounded on the west by route 9 and on the east by the ocean, so how lost could we get? (A lot, as it turns out. We got to see the ocean.) We don't get excited about stuff like getting lost. Sometimes it's fun.
This was Daughter's first "formal" Thanksgiving dinner, and Son-in-law helped with some recipes of his own he wanted to try, and everything turned out wonderfully. SIL's employer had handed out turkeys, so we had a 20-pounder for the four of us. Except for the stuffing, which Daughter had specifically asked me to make, I knew well enough to stay out of the kitchen.
------------------------------------
Friday morning, Hercules was a bit put out because their electricity had dropped. I guess that's unusual for them (my electricity drops frequently). I couldn't understand what the problem was. I'm always resetting clocks, so what's the big deal? Well, I've got twice the rooms, but 1/5 the clocks they have. In four rooms, a kitchen, and two bathrooms, Daughter and Hercules have --- ready? --- 35 clocks! Real clocks, appliance displays, timers (like on the aquarium), clocks in electronic dodads. Some are atomic reset and some have "holding" batteries, but even so, you have to check them to make sure. No blinking 00:00s or surprise mistimings for Hercules!
Friday late afternoon we went to "Grounds For Sculpture", a beautifully landscaped sculpture park. There were bamboo groves with sculpture in the center, and strange shapes hovering in the density, gaps in the hedges that perfectly framed a glimpse of a mysterious bronze woman, soaring shapes reflected in still pools, you'd turn a corner and find yourself inside a 3-D recreation of a famous painting. The settings superbly complimented and complemented the sculptures, even to the quality of the light. If you're ever in central New Jersey, check it out.
I had said that I would spring for dinner (to spare everyone leftovers), so we ate at Rats, the restaurant on the grounds. Daughter had always wanted to eat there.
The food was very good, but I sorta dislike having to deconstruct an artsy-fartsy creation on my plate. Like, when the string beans are tied in a bundle with some kind of green stringy thingy, are you supposed to pull the beans out? Or untie the bundle? Or cut bits off? And is the stringy thingy edible? (It wasn't - it was too stringy.) When your escargot and wild mushrooms arrive spilling out of a hollowed out squash, are you supposed to attempt to eat what little is left of the squash insides? Or is that just decoration? Is it akin to trying to eat the napkin?
Speaking of napkins, it was a little disconcerting when the waiter shook out the napkins and tucked them on our laps. Most disconcerting to Son-in-law. And every time anyone left the table, the waiter refolded the napkin (fancily) and placed it on the table. It got to where Daughter refolded it herself before she got up. Not wanting to leave a mess, I guess. Son-in-law didn't leave the table the whole three hours - maybe he was afraid he'd get re-tucked.
For dessert, I had "Panko crusted apple cranberry strudel with carmel apple ice cream, cider reduction and star anise sabayon". What's sabayon? The strudel was like 8 inches tall, with six or eight different structural components, some of which I had no idea what they were and wasn't sure I should eat, but I did, and it was all very good. (Dinner menu here, desserts here.)
I've had things "with truffle" before, but my twice-baked potato with black truffle had CHUNKS of truffle, so I finally got to really taste truffle, as an identifiable entity.
Yeah, truffle does have a distinctive flavor, but I don't know what all the fuss is about. I like chocolate truffles better. Maybe it's one of those things snobs like simply because it's expensive? Sorta like caviar - another thing I don't understand the fuss over. Whatever.... Perhaps I'm just hard to impress.
Dinner came to $374.05 for the four of us, including drinks and tip. Now THAT'S impressive!
-------------------------------
I told Sister about how I was told I was indiscriminately flirtatious, and how it finally sank in, and how it explained so much that had happened to me in the past.
She really didn't say much of anything, kind of went sideways on unimportant bits of the story. That kind of let me know that she recognized a parallel experience but wasn't ready to look at it, so I didn't push it.
But if people think I'm flirtatious, they should see her in action! Now I know what Angela meant by "indiscriminate".
Sister's flirtation is different from whatever it is that I do. When talking to someone, anyone, she will raise one shoulder and tilt her head so that her cheek almost touches her shoulder. That's a very child-like gesture. She'll tilt her head down so that she's looking up under her eyelashes. I sort of do that, too, but with me it's a glance. With her it's a stance. She'll raise both shoulders, tilt her head down, and then make a kind of S-movement of her head side-to-side as she's talking. She speaks very slowly, a drawl, always smiling. She'll hold her forearm parallel to the floor, with the wrist bent at a right angle so her fingers dangle. That's a helpless-looking hand. She'll roll her shoulders forward and curve her elbows in, so she looks smaller, takes up less space. With a few drinks, she leans on people, or pats them. I mostly don't touch anyone, ever. I even avoid hugs if I think it might be misinterpreted.
The main difference is that she comes across as very gentle and childlike, whereas I present a more challenging sexuality. We both had the same parents and childhood. We both grew up afraid, feeling of little worth. Our actions come from the same place. We are both saying, in our own way, "Please love me. Please don't hit me."
She's definitely indiscriminate. So I guess I must be, too. I watched her the past few days, now I have to watch me.
....
Blogger is getting rather insistent that I move to Blogger Beta.
Uh uh. No way. I worked for "A Large Computer Company" long enough to know better. You want to test it, Blogger folks, test it yourself. Professional testers get paid. I'm not going to volunteer.
------------------------------------
I picked up Sister at the Newark airport on Wednesday. Her plane (almost all the flights, in fact) was more than an hour late, so we didn't get to Daughter's until after 10 pm, then she had to lead us to the motel where she had she had reserved rooms for us, because we'd never have found it on our own.
In fact, Sister and I got lost heading back to Daughter's on Thursday morning, and again going to the motel Thursday evening. One of these things where you say "Gee, I don't remember seeing that...." Mostly we just headed the proper compass direction until we found a route number we recognized. The whole area's bounded on the west by route 9 and on the east by the ocean, so how lost could we get? (A lot, as it turns out. We got to see the ocean.) We don't get excited about stuff like getting lost. Sometimes it's fun.
This was Daughter's first "formal" Thanksgiving dinner, and Son-in-law helped with some recipes of his own he wanted to try, and everything turned out wonderfully. SIL's employer had handed out turkeys, so we had a 20-pounder for the four of us. Except for the stuffing, which Daughter had specifically asked me to make, I knew well enough to stay out of the kitchen.
------------------------------------
Friday morning, Hercules was a bit put out because their electricity had dropped. I guess that's unusual for them (my electricity drops frequently). I couldn't understand what the problem was. I'm always resetting clocks, so what's the big deal? Well, I've got twice the rooms, but 1/5 the clocks they have. In four rooms, a kitchen, and two bathrooms, Daughter and Hercules have --- ready? --- 35 clocks! Real clocks, appliance displays, timers (like on the aquarium), clocks in electronic dodads. Some are atomic reset and some have "holding" batteries, but even so, you have to check them to make sure. No blinking 00:00s or surprise mistimings for Hercules!
Friday late afternoon we went to "Grounds For Sculpture", a beautifully landscaped sculpture park. There were bamboo groves with sculpture in the center, and strange shapes hovering in the density, gaps in the hedges that perfectly framed a glimpse of a mysterious bronze woman, soaring shapes reflected in still pools, you'd turn a corner and find yourself inside a 3-D recreation of a famous painting. The settings superbly complimented and complemented the sculptures, even to the quality of the light. If you're ever in central New Jersey, check it out.
I had said that I would spring for dinner (to spare everyone leftovers), so we ate at Rats, the restaurant on the grounds. Daughter had always wanted to eat there.
The food was very good, but I sorta dislike having to deconstruct an artsy-fartsy creation on my plate. Like, when the string beans are tied in a bundle with some kind of green stringy thingy, are you supposed to pull the beans out? Or untie the bundle? Or cut bits off? And is the stringy thingy edible? (It wasn't - it was too stringy.) When your escargot and wild mushrooms arrive spilling out of a hollowed out squash, are you supposed to attempt to eat what little is left of the squash insides? Or is that just decoration? Is it akin to trying to eat the napkin?
Speaking of napkins, it was a little disconcerting when the waiter shook out the napkins and tucked them on our laps. Most disconcerting to Son-in-law. And every time anyone left the table, the waiter refolded the napkin (fancily) and placed it on the table. It got to where Daughter refolded it herself before she got up. Not wanting to leave a mess, I guess. Son-in-law didn't leave the table the whole three hours - maybe he was afraid he'd get re-tucked.
For dessert, I had "Panko crusted apple cranberry strudel with carmel apple ice cream, cider reduction and star anise sabayon". What's sabayon? The strudel was like 8 inches tall, with six or eight different structural components, some of which I had no idea what they were and wasn't sure I should eat, but I did, and it was all very good. (Dinner menu here, desserts here.)
I've had things "with truffle" before, but my twice-baked potato with black truffle had CHUNKS of truffle, so I finally got to really taste truffle, as an identifiable entity.
Yeah, truffle does have a distinctive flavor, but I don't know what all the fuss is about. I like chocolate truffles better. Maybe it's one of those things snobs like simply because it's expensive? Sorta like caviar - another thing I don't understand the fuss over. Whatever.... Perhaps I'm just hard to impress.
Dinner came to $374.05 for the four of us, including drinks and tip. Now THAT'S impressive!
-------------------------------
I told Sister about how I was told I was indiscriminately flirtatious, and how it finally sank in, and how it explained so much that had happened to me in the past.
She really didn't say much of anything, kind of went sideways on unimportant bits of the story. That kind of let me know that she recognized a parallel experience but wasn't ready to look at it, so I didn't push it.
But if people think I'm flirtatious, they should see her in action! Now I know what Angela meant by "indiscriminate".
Sister's flirtation is different from whatever it is that I do. When talking to someone, anyone, she will raise one shoulder and tilt her head so that her cheek almost touches her shoulder. That's a very child-like gesture. She'll tilt her head down so that she's looking up under her eyelashes. I sort of do that, too, but with me it's a glance. With her it's a stance. She'll raise both shoulders, tilt her head down, and then make a kind of S-movement of her head side-to-side as she's talking. She speaks very slowly, a drawl, always smiling. She'll hold her forearm parallel to the floor, with the wrist bent at a right angle so her fingers dangle. That's a helpless-looking hand. She'll roll her shoulders forward and curve her elbows in, so she looks smaller, takes up less space. With a few drinks, she leans on people, or pats them. I mostly don't touch anyone, ever. I even avoid hugs if I think it might be misinterpreted.
The main difference is that she comes across as very gentle and childlike, whereas I present a more challenging sexuality. We both had the same parents and childhood. We both grew up afraid, feeling of little worth. Our actions come from the same place. We are both saying, in our own way, "Please love me. Please don't hit me."
She's definitely indiscriminate. So I guess I must be, too. I watched her the past few days, now I have to watch me.
....
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
985 Packing
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Packing to go to NJ. I have to pick Sister up at the Newark airport at 8 pm, so normally I'd have to leave here by 5:30, but I'll be hitting rush hour Thanksgiving eve traffic, so maybe I should leave by 4. It's now 3 pm. Ack!
Probably no further updates until Saturday.
You know, I find my sister to be very seductive, but in a different way. She touches people with her hands, where I don't. Together we might be lethal.
She had pretty much the same childhood I had.
Something to explore with her, what does she know of other people's perception of her?
Something else to think about - Daughter is the antithesis of seductive. She pushes away. Is that because of me?
Packing to go to NJ. I have to pick Sister up at the Newark airport at 8 pm, so normally I'd have to leave here by 5:30, but I'll be hitting rush hour Thanksgiving eve traffic, so maybe I should leave by 4. It's now 3 pm. Ack!
Probably no further updates until Saturday.
You know, I find my sister to be very seductive, but in a different way. She touches people with her hands, where I don't. Together we might be lethal.
She had pretty much the same childhood I had.
Something to explore with her, what does she know of other people's perception of her?
Something else to think about - Daughter is the antithesis of seductive. She pushes away. Is that because of me?
984 Second Thoughts
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
I wrote the previous entry in the wee hours (regardless of the time at the bottom - Blogger logs the time you start, not finish, an entry). I got to sleep about 5 am, woke at 11, and my very first thought was "OMG, gotta delete that post!" I'm afraid someone might read and misunderstand it.
I use this journal to think about stuff sometimes, to record and order my thoughts, and sometimes I forget that it's available to others who may not understand.
Back when I was in therapy (1977 to 1982ish) I kept notebooks. They helped. I still have them, but many of the pages have been stapled shut to prevent accidental reading by others, and to keep them away from me until I was ready.
I felt like maybe I should staple that post.
Nah. It is what it is.
The word I was looking for and couldn't find, by the way, is "seductive". I've heard that word applied to me before.
So, I'm thinking, how do I change this perception of me?
When I thought about changing it, I got a little bit panicky. Very strange. The thought of dealing with people without seduction is scary. Do I really want to change this perception? Is there another way to feel safe?
I was about thinking that when I walked out to the kitchen and flipped the TV on, right into a monologue by Rachel, accusing Russ of rejecting her for the very same qualities that drew him to her, and she didn't know how to change that, it is what she is.
I think that's one of the things that troubled Roman, my indiscriminate seductiveness. Maybe it made him uncomfortable, like he couldn't trust me. I know he's not all that sure of his own worth. Perhaps he didn't want to commit to something he wasn't sure he could keep?
So, what now?
I wrote the previous entry in the wee hours (regardless of the time at the bottom - Blogger logs the time you start, not finish, an entry). I got to sleep about 5 am, woke at 11, and my very first thought was "OMG, gotta delete that post!" I'm afraid someone might read and misunderstand it.
I use this journal to think about stuff sometimes, to record and order my thoughts, and sometimes I forget that it's available to others who may not understand.
Back when I was in therapy (1977 to 1982ish) I kept notebooks. They helped. I still have them, but many of the pages have been stapled shut to prevent accidental reading by others, and to keep them away from me until I was ready.
I felt like maybe I should staple that post.
Nah. It is what it is.
The word I was looking for and couldn't find, by the way, is "seductive". I've heard that word applied to me before.
So, I'm thinking, how do I change this perception of me?
When I thought about changing it, I got a little bit panicky. Very strange. The thought of dealing with people without seduction is scary. Do I really want to change this perception? Is there another way to feel safe?
I was about thinking that when I walked out to the kitchen and flipped the TV on, right into a monologue by Rachel, accusing Russ of rejecting her for the very same qualities that drew him to her, and she didn't know how to change that, it is what she is.
I think that's one of the things that troubled Roman, my indiscriminate seductiveness. Maybe it made him uncomfortable, like he couldn't trust me. I know he's not all that sure of his own worth. Perhaps he didn't want to commit to something he wasn't sure he could keep?
So, what now?
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
983 Flirting?
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
I went to dinner last night with Angela. She wanted to know about the gath3ring, and when I told her about The Officer, and that I was so frustrated because I don't know how to flirt, I've never known how to flirt, her chin dropped, and she about fell off her chair laughing.
She said that I do! too! know how to flirt! That I'm about the most flirtatious person she's ever met. That I flirt constantly, with everyone, all the time. That I flirt indiscriminately. Male or female. That if she swung that way, she'd have long ago taken me up on it. She was very emphatic and definite about it.
I didn't understand.
I've heard that before, although never so succinctly put. But if it's true, then why are there so many men in my past who wanted me, and whom I wanted, and whom I tried to flirt with, but they never got the message? They never knew I liked them, until much later, in a different life situation, when we talked about the old days.
I asked her to tell me what I do when it looks like I'm flirting.
She said it's the way I use my hands. The way I move my body. My posture. The way I look at people.
She said that I exude sex. All the time.
Nobody ever said exactly that before, but it explains a lot of other comments.
(Note to the world - exuding sex is NOT the same as flirting.)
My analysis:
Until they tried to rape me, that is.
In my 20s I was often forced into sex, in what then was considered the girl's fault, but much later came to be recognized as "date rape". Many times. Many many times. I have often, when the guy didn't forcibly prevent me, and I wasn't completely lost, climbed out of a parked car and walked miles home in the dark (very dangerous, inviting stranger rape), or took a bus home. Almost invariably, when I said no, the guy would say, and it was almost always these exact words, like they got it from a book or something, "Oh come on. Nobody can walk around looking like you do and not want it all the time."
Huh?
I never understood what they meant.
Well into my 40s, I couldn't keep female friends, because as soon as they got a boyfriend or husband, they accused me of trying to steal him. I suspect that's why the old girlfriends from high school and college whom I've recently located won't reply to me, maybe because one of the first things I mention is that I'm a widow.
I never went after a friend's man. I never flirted with them. I never understood why my female friends got mad at me.
"Exuding sex". Explains a lot.
Flirting comes from me. It's an internal action. Exuding sex is NOT the same as flirting. That's an external perception.
I think. I've got to think about this a lot more. It's all new to me. It also explains perhaps why I didn't mind gaining all that weight after Jay died. It insulated me.
But it doesn't fit with the other perceptions of me - that I'm a bit of a prude, that I am withdrawn and unapproachable, that I am not to be touched. Isn't that a contradiction?
-----------------------------------
On a lighter (or maybe not) note, later last night Angela told her boyfriend what I had said about not knowing how to flirt. Quote from her email to me: "And [he] agrees with me: you know how to flirt. Which makes me wonder how he knows you know how. Hmm... "
Sigh. I swear, Angela, I never, ever, not once, not even thought about....
Thank goodness she's smarter than most.
I went to dinner last night with Angela. She wanted to know about the gath3ring, and when I told her about The Officer, and that I was so frustrated because I don't know how to flirt, I've never known how to flirt, her chin dropped, and she about fell off her chair laughing.
She said that I do! too! know how to flirt! That I'm about the most flirtatious person she's ever met. That I flirt constantly, with everyone, all the time. That I flirt indiscriminately. Male or female. That if she swung that way, she'd have long ago taken me up on it. She was very emphatic and definite about it.
I didn't understand.
I've heard that before, although never so succinctly put. But if it's true, then why are there so many men in my past who wanted me, and whom I wanted, and whom I tried to flirt with, but they never got the message? They never knew I liked them, until much later, in a different life situation, when we talked about the old days.
I asked her to tell me what I do when it looks like I'm flirting.
She said it's the way I use my hands. The way I move my body. My posture. The way I look at people.
She said that I exude sex. All the time.
Nobody ever said exactly that before, but it explains a lot of other comments.
(Note to the world - exuding sex is NOT the same as flirting.)
My analysis:
- Hands: I have graceful hands. When I touch or handle something, I seem to fondle it. It's apparently seen as very sensual. It's actually just nerves. If I touch someone, perhaps their hand, it will be a light stroke. It's because I'm not confident of their permission.
- Eyes: When I'm unsure of my reception, I'll tilt my head down, and look up at the other person. It's something a child would do. I'll express shared amusement by turning my head slightly away and glancing from the corners of my eyes. This might be genetic - my mother did exactly the same thing. I guess it comes across as very kittenish. I tend to look people in the eye when I talk with them, perhaps too intensely. It's because I'm unsure, and I need to gauge reactions.
- Posture: I've always had a heavy bust, and I have severe badly-healed back injuries. I have to hold my shoulders back and stand straight or I will suffer. So I'm often rolling my shoulders back and down. Perhaps this is misread as display?
- Hair: I fiddle with my hair a lot, tucking it behind my ears or behind my shoulders. Rather than trying to draw attention to it, I'm trying not to be shamed by it. It's pretty unruly. Sorry. Mostly it's a nervous habit. One habit I did break was twirling it. I used to, when I was nervous, twirl a lock in my left fingers, or draw it across under my nose, like a moustache, until my psychiatrist asked me to please stop that, because when I was doing it, he couldn't hear a word I was saying. When he told me why it was so distracting, I stopped that very day, and I try very hard not to do it ever. Sometimes maybe I still do it unconsciously.
- Walk: "They" say I wiggle when I walk. Lots of hip sway. Roman accused me of carefully cultivating it, because I have the "model walk", where the feet swing in front of each other, so the footprints would form a straight line, and "that's just not natural". In the Orlando hotel, there was a long hallway with reflective doors at the end, and I watched me walk the hallway to see what I do. Actually, what happens is that the left leg swings straight from the hip, but the right leg swings around to almost in front of the left, which makes my weight swing to the left to compensate/balance. But keeping my shoulders and head in line means it's the hips that swing. So actually, I'm sort of lopsided. I don't know how I avoid falling down. It may have something to do with the fact that the nerves in my lower right leg and ankle are dead, and I have no innate sense of where that foot is.
- Talk: When I come off with a naughty comment, it's obvious, 'cause I'll have an evil little smile or an exaggeratedly innocent look. But a LOT of what I say is taken as having a double meaning. It doesn't. I think that because people expect it from me, they hear it when I didn't say it. Sometimes it's even a far stretch. I don't engage in small talk. Partly it's insecurity and social ineptitude, partly it's that talking about things of no consequence annoys me and I don't understand why people do it (The Kid said almost the same thing Saturday evening). Men who are used to women who natter apparently find this extremely sexy. Duh? Maybe brains are sexy?
Until they tried to rape me, that is.
In my 20s I was often forced into sex, in what then was considered the girl's fault, but much later came to be recognized as "date rape". Many times. Many many times. I have often, when the guy didn't forcibly prevent me, and I wasn't completely lost, climbed out of a parked car and walked miles home in the dark (very dangerous, inviting stranger rape), or took a bus home. Almost invariably, when I said no, the guy would say, and it was almost always these exact words, like they got it from a book or something, "Oh come on. Nobody can walk around looking like you do and not want it all the time."
Huh?
I never understood what they meant.
Well into my 40s, I couldn't keep female friends, because as soon as they got a boyfriend or husband, they accused me of trying to steal him. I suspect that's why the old girlfriends from high school and college whom I've recently located won't reply to me, maybe because one of the first things I mention is that I'm a widow.
I never went after a friend's man. I never flirted with them. I never understood why my female friends got mad at me.
"Exuding sex". Explains a lot.
Flirting comes from me. It's an internal action. Exuding sex is NOT the same as flirting. That's an external perception.
I think. I've got to think about this a lot more. It's all new to me. It also explains perhaps why I didn't mind gaining all that weight after Jay died. It insulated me.
But it doesn't fit with the other perceptions of me - that I'm a bit of a prude, that I am withdrawn and unapproachable, that I am not to be touched. Isn't that a contradiction?
-----------------------------------
On a lighter (or maybe not) note, later last night Angela told her boyfriend what I had said about not knowing how to flirt. Quote from her email to me: "And [he] agrees with me: you know how to flirt. Which makes me wonder how he knows you know how. Hmm... "
Sigh. I swear, Angela, I never, ever, not once, not even thought about....
Thank goodness she's smarter than most.
982 Flirtations
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
I got exactly what I needed last weekend to pull me out of the funk I was in - a little male admiration. It doesn't take much to cheer me up. A little will do. And coming from four different directions helped a whole lot.
The Officer - stare and smile.
Within an hour of my arrival at the gath3ring I noticed "The Officer" (TO). He was average height, very broad shoulders with small hips, strong face and nose, piercing eyes, shaved head, heavy cotton long-sleeved shirt, military bearing. (By military bearing I mean upright posture and a certain "definiteness" of movement.) No rings.
Yummy.
I'm not very good at judging age at all. I'd have put him at maybe early fifties. His face was lined, but with no sag.
I couldn't stop looking at him. He was sooooo nice to look at. I wanted to crawl onto his lap and curl up against that strong chest. (Well, not really. What I really wanted to do was hit him over the head, and drag him out behind a bush somewhere.)
I sat at his table, a few seats away, and learned that he was a national board officer. (Each gath3ring is supposed to have a national and a regional officer in attendance. Many don't.) He was explaining his duties. A little later, I got up to go to a presentation. He got up too, heading for one of the game rooms. We walked together for a short distance, and spoke about three sentences before he peeled off.
I didn't hear much of the presentation. I was mulling over what I could do, what I could say. I really wanted to get to know him better. I am absolutely no good at small talk. If I meet a stranger, we'll sit there in silence until the other speaks. If the other person is willing to initiate topics, I can participate. I hear I'm good at conversation, but only with the other person's lead. From just that few minutes at the table, it appeared to me that he was a bit shy, too.
Worse, I don't know how to flirt. I seem incapable of letting a guy know I'm interested. Over and over there have been guys (high school, college, coworkers, even Jay!) that I had unrequited crushes on, and years later we'd be talking, and I'd say something about it, and they'd be shocked. Over and over I've heard "Wow! I liked you, too, but I never thought you would be interested. Never thought I could ever get anywhere with you." Even with Jay, people thought we were having an affair literally years before WE found out how the other felt. I just can't seem to convey interest, availability. I think I'm flirting with a guy, and I think I'm doing just fine, and then some other woman comes up and hangs all over him, and I'm left sitting there alone. I don't know how to "get" a guy. I refuse to drape myself all over them. I don't invite touching, I guess.
So, I'm sitting in the presentation wondering how to show interest. Small talk's out. Attaching myself to his body is out. Then I remembered a TV show where they were teaching some women how to flirt (yeah, I taped it!) and they said that the way to indicate interest in a crowded club was to stare at a guy for 10 seconds. A long time, but count it off, no less than 10 seconds. If he looks away, stop counting, but keep staring, and eventually he'll look again to see if you're still looking. In the last two seconds, give him a smile that crinkles your eyes, and glance down and away. If he's available, and if you look anything like his type, he'll come over.
So, for the rest of Friday night, and all day Saturday, any time he was in the vicinity, I looked and smiled at him. (Just one 10-second one. The rest were long or short glances.) If we passed each other, I looked into his eyes with a small welcoming smile the whole time we were walking toward each other. He was smiling back. When I'd look over at him, I'd find him already looking at me. A lot of eye contact. Anyone seeing us would think we were passing silent coded messages. By 9 pm Saturday evening, when the open bar and karaoke started, I was getting frustrated. Ok, he knows I think he's pretty, and he must think I look ok, so what next?
At one point, two guys were singing "I'm an A55hole", and doing a very good job of it. I'd never heard the song before, and I was leaning on the brass rail between the floor levels laughing, when he leaned on the rail next to me, to my right, elbow barely touching mine, and asked what I thought of it. We passed another few sentences, and then I turned back to watch the show. Now, I figured the neat thing to do would be to take my left arm off the rail, turn slightly, and lean back against his shoulder. Body contact, but subtle. So I did it, and almost fell backward. He was gone.
Bleck!
A few minutes later he was sitting at a table, talking to a couple who were from his local group, and legends in the society (I was at their Rennaissance-themed wedding, 20 years ago, and attended some of their anniversary parties). I sat directly across the table from TO (a distance of about 5 feet), and joined the conversation. This time, he initiated most of the glancing and smiling. Now, most of the time Friday and Saturday he had been in and out, visiting various activities, fulfilling his national responsibilities, but this evening he sat there for three solid hours, talking to the same people. Unusual. The glances and smiles were getting hot and heavy, near to smoldering. And then suddenly, about midnight I guess, he stood up and left without a word to anybody. I figured he'd be back, but he hadn't returned by 3 am, when I went to bed.
I decided that come hell or high water, I was going to sit next to him at Sunday breakfast, and I was going to talk with him!
Didn't see him at all Sunday. He must have gone home Saturday night or early Sunday.
When I got home I looked him up on the internet.
He's 64. I'm gonna revise my age limit upward. 64 can be very sexy.
Either he's married, or the daughter who lives with him was born when he was 8. Or it's his sister, who happened to have a different maiden name and now has the same last name. Yeah, sure, that's the ticket.
Fooey.
The Kid - Wherein I can't help but wonder what he wants.
Ok, 42 isn't a kid, but close enough. That's 20 years younger than I. He could be MY kid. During the conversation he said he doesn't discuss ages, that he's "on the cusp" of baby boomer and gen-x and comfortable with both. I found out his age when I got home and looked him up on the internet. He told me he writes music, but according to what I found, that's a hobby - he's got an impressive resume in advertising. Or something like that. I forget. But what I found did surprise me.
Average height, thin, pleasant face, dark hair. He has a very unusual name. Seems like a nice guy.
Another case of trading glances, mostly on his part. He was next to me in the Saturday lunch line and struck up a conversation. Later, in the evening, when I was sitting across the table from The Officer, he sat next to me, and really concentrated on me. For the next six hours. For three of those hours, I was flirting across the table with The Officer, and The Kid either didn't notice or ignored it. We talked about everything under the sun, (but now I realize there was no personal info) and laughed a lot. He said that he had seen me at the Orlando gath3ring. After I got home, I realized he was the guy who chatted me up in the whirlpool spa at the Orlando gath3ring one evening. Made me feel good then, too, even though I wondered what he wanted then, too.
When at 3 am I announced I was tired and going to my room, there was an awkward pause. It would have been the time for an invitation. But I don't "do" casual. Sorry fella.
We traded email addresses. He's going to be at a few of the gatherings I intend to attend within the next four months. This could get interesting. If I'm not careful it could get beyond casual.
I don't know whether I want to take it any further than conversation.
The Un3xploded C0w - wherein I am not as I first appear.
I went to a Saturday presentation on "Meta-Forms", a logic teaching tool for children. We learned how to "play" it. There were five people at my table. The guy next to me was dark-haired, maybe late 40s, wearing a t-shirt and a kilt. Nice legs.
He and I picked it up very quickly. The other three people at our table seemed confused. As we went up in complexity, he and I were racing each other, then explaining it to the others. He was impressed. We started working them together, and he challenged me to compete in the Meta-Forms tournament that evening. (They changed the time of the tournament, and it overlapped dinner, so I couldn't go.)
After dinner, along with the Karaoke and open bar, there was a costume competition. The theme was "games". You were to come as a game or toy theme. There was a woman wearing an 8-ball costume, and if you shook her up and asked a question, she'd choose a random answer on her chest. Another woman was all in red, as Miss Scarlet (I think - I don't really know the game) from Clue. (I thought she was rather unimaginative - just an opportunity to wear a tight sexy dress, like those women who always show up in body suits with animal ears.) A small group came as Monopoly pieces, and there were a few video game robots and warriors.
The very best, however, was The Un3xploded Cow, from the game of the same name (click for synopsis - it's a funny proposition).
My kilted Meta-Forms friend arrived in a black and white cow suit (rather like footed pajamas, with a zipper up the back and a hood with horns and ears). He had a magnet attached to one foot, and a metal bomb, complete with fins, that latched onto him every time he kicked it away. The concept itself was funny enough, but it was funnier because the cow suit was a "G0th Milk" costume. (He didn't wear the nose - instead he wore white makeup, black eye liner, black lipstick, and a ring in his nose). Please do click through to the costume photo. Note the pierced ears and tail, and the pierced and chained teats that stick straight out. The writing on the chest of his suit was much smaller than in this photo.
I had purchased a copy of the Meta-Forms set, and The Kid and I were working some of them when The Un3xploded Cow (TUC) arrived. He reached between us and moved some of the pieces. I turned, and saw the teats right at face level, from the side. A startling view! I laughed and turned red. Every so often, he'd come by and move some more pieces. I'd never heard of the cow game, so he explained it to me.
I'm still smoking, so every so often I'd go across the hall and outside for a cigarette. TUC smoked, too, and pretty soon I noticed that every time I went out, he did too. We chatted. I wasn't very encouraging, because I noticed that every "two blue dots" woman (see prior entry) in the place rubbed against him at least once. Ok. He's a player? I'm not interested. Even though he sang (karaoke) several times, and was really good.
Late in the evening, we're outside again, and I noticed that one of his teats had lost its ring. The ring was dangling from its chain and that teat was drooping, no longer ... um ... erect. I pointed it out to him, and tried to reattach the ring, but the threads were broken. He took the ring and slipped it over the teat down to its base. A few minutes later, I pointed to the teat and said "It didn't work. It's still flacid."
You know, he didn't get it for two beats. I don't think he expected that from me. I have often been told that I can come across as a prude. When he got it he roared. He reached out and looked at my badge, and said "No dots?" I said "I'm a tease", and he did exactly the right thing. He stepped back, opened his arms, and said "Come in to me." So, of course, I did.
I got thoroughly hugged. All over. For a long time. By a cow wearing black lipstick and a nose ring. And a bomb attached to his foot.
When we stepped apart, all four teats were flattened. We both looked down, and I laughed and said that I was sorry I'd had such a negative effect. He said, no, quite the contrary, there's been a definite positive effect. "This udder acts like a cup." He excused himself to go to the men's room, where he anticipated a struggle with the zipper up the back of the suit. I did not volunteer to help.
He left about an hour later, during which time I did not go out for another cigarette.
The Big Guy - With whom I did not want to play.
There was a very large guy who, every time I passed, followed me with his eyes and if I looked his way, patted the seat next to him and invited me to sit. I mostly did, and we talked a little, but I didn't want to encourage play. It was still nice to be noticed, though. Flattering.
Enthusiasm
There are gath3rings within 250 miles of here every other weekend (except around Christmas) from now until April. I think I'm going to start attending more of them. Maybe all of them.
I got exactly what I needed last weekend to pull me out of the funk I was in - a little male admiration. It doesn't take much to cheer me up. A little will do. And coming from four different directions helped a whole lot.
The Officer - stare and smile.
Within an hour of my arrival at the gath3ring I noticed "The Officer" (TO). He was average height, very broad shoulders with small hips, strong face and nose, piercing eyes, shaved head, heavy cotton long-sleeved shirt, military bearing. (By military bearing I mean upright posture and a certain "definiteness" of movement.) No rings.
Yummy.
I'm not very good at judging age at all. I'd have put him at maybe early fifties. His face was lined, but with no sag.
I couldn't stop looking at him. He was sooooo nice to look at. I wanted to crawl onto his lap and curl up against that strong chest. (Well, not really. What I really wanted to do was hit him over the head, and drag him out behind a bush somewhere.)
I sat at his table, a few seats away, and learned that he was a national board officer. (Each gath3ring is supposed to have a national and a regional officer in attendance. Many don't.) He was explaining his duties. A little later, I got up to go to a presentation. He got up too, heading for one of the game rooms. We walked together for a short distance, and spoke about three sentences before he peeled off.
I didn't hear much of the presentation. I was mulling over what I could do, what I could say. I really wanted to get to know him better. I am absolutely no good at small talk. If I meet a stranger, we'll sit there in silence until the other speaks. If the other person is willing to initiate topics, I can participate. I hear I'm good at conversation, but only with the other person's lead. From just that few minutes at the table, it appeared to me that he was a bit shy, too.
Worse, I don't know how to flirt. I seem incapable of letting a guy know I'm interested. Over and over there have been guys (high school, college, coworkers, even Jay!) that I had unrequited crushes on, and years later we'd be talking, and I'd say something about it, and they'd be shocked. Over and over I've heard "Wow! I liked you, too, but I never thought you would be interested. Never thought I could ever get anywhere with you." Even with Jay, people thought we were having an affair literally years before WE found out how the other felt. I just can't seem to convey interest, availability. I think I'm flirting with a guy, and I think I'm doing just fine, and then some other woman comes up and hangs all over him, and I'm left sitting there alone. I don't know how to "get" a guy. I refuse to drape myself all over them. I don't invite touching, I guess.
So, I'm sitting in the presentation wondering how to show interest. Small talk's out. Attaching myself to his body is out. Then I remembered a TV show where they were teaching some women how to flirt (yeah, I taped it!) and they said that the way to indicate interest in a crowded club was to stare at a guy for 10 seconds. A long time, but count it off, no less than 10 seconds. If he looks away, stop counting, but keep staring, and eventually he'll look again to see if you're still looking. In the last two seconds, give him a smile that crinkles your eyes, and glance down and away. If he's available, and if you look anything like his type, he'll come over.
So, for the rest of Friday night, and all day Saturday, any time he was in the vicinity, I looked and smiled at him. (Just one 10-second one. The rest were long or short glances.) If we passed each other, I looked into his eyes with a small welcoming smile the whole time we were walking toward each other. He was smiling back. When I'd look over at him, I'd find him already looking at me. A lot of eye contact. Anyone seeing us would think we were passing silent coded messages. By 9 pm Saturday evening, when the open bar and karaoke started, I was getting frustrated. Ok, he knows I think he's pretty, and he must think I look ok, so what next?
At one point, two guys were singing "I'm an A55hole", and doing a very good job of it. I'd never heard the song before, and I was leaning on the brass rail between the floor levels laughing, when he leaned on the rail next to me, to my right, elbow barely touching mine, and asked what I thought of it. We passed another few sentences, and then I turned back to watch the show. Now, I figured the neat thing to do would be to take my left arm off the rail, turn slightly, and lean back against his shoulder. Body contact, but subtle. So I did it, and almost fell backward. He was gone.
Bleck!
A few minutes later he was sitting at a table, talking to a couple who were from his local group, and legends in the society (I was at their Rennaissance-themed wedding, 20 years ago, and attended some of their anniversary parties). I sat directly across the table from TO (a distance of about 5 feet), and joined the conversation. This time, he initiated most of the glancing and smiling. Now, most of the time Friday and Saturday he had been in and out, visiting various activities, fulfilling his national responsibilities, but this evening he sat there for three solid hours, talking to the same people. Unusual. The glances and smiles were getting hot and heavy, near to smoldering. And then suddenly, about midnight I guess, he stood up and left without a word to anybody. I figured he'd be back, but he hadn't returned by 3 am, when I went to bed.
I decided that come hell or high water, I was going to sit next to him at Sunday breakfast, and I was going to talk with him!
Didn't see him at all Sunday. He must have gone home Saturday night or early Sunday.
When I got home I looked him up on the internet.
He's 64. I'm gonna revise my age limit upward. 64 can be very sexy.
Either he's married, or the daughter who lives with him was born when he was 8. Or it's his sister, who happened to have a different maiden name and now has the same last name. Yeah, sure, that's the ticket.
Fooey.
The Kid - Wherein I can't help but wonder what he wants.
Ok, 42 isn't a kid, but close enough. That's 20 years younger than I. He could be MY kid. During the conversation he said he doesn't discuss ages, that he's "on the cusp" of baby boomer and gen-x and comfortable with both. I found out his age when I got home and looked him up on the internet. He told me he writes music, but according to what I found, that's a hobby - he's got an impressive resume in advertising. Or something like that. I forget. But what I found did surprise me.
Average height, thin, pleasant face, dark hair. He has a very unusual name. Seems like a nice guy.
Another case of trading glances, mostly on his part. He was next to me in the Saturday lunch line and struck up a conversation. Later, in the evening, when I was sitting across the table from The Officer, he sat next to me, and really concentrated on me. For the next six hours. For three of those hours, I was flirting across the table with The Officer, and The Kid either didn't notice or ignored it. We talked about everything under the sun, (but now I realize there was no personal info) and laughed a lot. He said that he had seen me at the Orlando gath3ring. After I got home, I realized he was the guy who chatted me up in the whirlpool spa at the Orlando gath3ring one evening. Made me feel good then, too, even though I wondered what he wanted then, too.
When at 3 am I announced I was tired and going to my room, there was an awkward pause. It would have been the time for an invitation. But I don't "do" casual. Sorry fella.
We traded email addresses. He's going to be at a few of the gatherings I intend to attend within the next four months. This could get interesting. If I'm not careful it could get beyond casual.
I don't know whether I want to take it any further than conversation.
The Un3xploded C0w - wherein I am not as I first appear.
I went to a Saturday presentation on "Meta-Forms", a logic teaching tool for children. We learned how to "play" it. There were five people at my table. The guy next to me was dark-haired, maybe late 40s, wearing a t-shirt and a kilt. Nice legs.
He and I picked it up very quickly. The other three people at our table seemed confused. As we went up in complexity, he and I were racing each other, then explaining it to the others. He was impressed. We started working them together, and he challenged me to compete in the Meta-Forms tournament that evening. (They changed the time of the tournament, and it overlapped dinner, so I couldn't go.)
After dinner, along with the Karaoke and open bar, there was a costume competition. The theme was "games". You were to come as a game or toy theme. There was a woman wearing an 8-ball costume, and if you shook her up and asked a question, she'd choose a random answer on her chest. Another woman was all in red, as Miss Scarlet (I think - I don't really know the game) from Clue. (I thought she was rather unimaginative - just an opportunity to wear a tight sexy dress, like those women who always show up in body suits with animal ears.) A small group came as Monopoly pieces, and there were a few video game robots and warriors.
The very best, however, was The Un3xploded Cow, from the game of the same name (click for synopsis - it's a funny proposition).
My kilted Meta-Forms friend arrived in a black and white cow suit (rather like footed pajamas, with a zipper up the back and a hood with horns and ears). He had a magnet attached to one foot, and a metal bomb, complete with fins, that latched onto him every time he kicked it away. The concept itself was funny enough, but it was funnier because the cow suit was a "G0th Milk" costume. (He didn't wear the nose - instead he wore white makeup, black eye liner, black lipstick, and a ring in his nose). Please do click through to the costume photo. Note the pierced ears and tail, and the pierced and chained teats that stick straight out. The writing on the chest of his suit was much smaller than in this photo.
I had purchased a copy of the Meta-Forms set, and The Kid and I were working some of them when The Un3xploded Cow (TUC) arrived. He reached between us and moved some of the pieces. I turned, and saw the teats right at face level, from the side. A startling view! I laughed and turned red. Every so often, he'd come by and move some more pieces. I'd never heard of the cow game, so he explained it to me.
I'm still smoking, so every so often I'd go across the hall and outside for a cigarette. TUC smoked, too, and pretty soon I noticed that every time I went out, he did too. We chatted. I wasn't very encouraging, because I noticed that every "two blue dots" woman (see prior entry) in the place rubbed against him at least once. Ok. He's a player? I'm not interested. Even though he sang (karaoke) several times, and was really good.
Late in the evening, we're outside again, and I noticed that one of his teats had lost its ring. The ring was dangling from its chain and that teat was drooping, no longer ... um ... erect. I pointed it out to him, and tried to reattach the ring, but the threads were broken. He took the ring and slipped it over the teat down to its base. A few minutes later, I pointed to the teat and said "It didn't work. It's still flacid."
You know, he didn't get it for two beats. I don't think he expected that from me. I have often been told that I can come across as a prude. When he got it he roared. He reached out and looked at my badge, and said "No dots?" I said "I'm a tease", and he did exactly the right thing. He stepped back, opened his arms, and said "Come in to me." So, of course, I did.
I got thoroughly hugged. All over. For a long time. By a cow wearing black lipstick and a nose ring. And a bomb attached to his foot.
When we stepped apart, all four teats were flattened. We both looked down, and I laughed and said that I was sorry I'd had such a negative effect. He said, no, quite the contrary, there's been a definite positive effect. "This udder acts like a cup." He excused himself to go to the men's room, where he anticipated a struggle with the zipper up the back of the suit. I did not volunteer to help.
He left about an hour later, during which time I did not go out for another cigarette.
The Big Guy - With whom I did not want to play.
There was a very large guy who, every time I passed, followed me with his eyes and if I looked his way, patted the seat next to him and invited me to sit. I mostly did, and we talked a little, but I didn't want to encourage play. It was still nice to be noticed, though. Flattering.
Enthusiasm
There are gath3rings within 250 miles of here every other weekend (except around Christmas) from now until April. I think I'm going to start attending more of them. Maybe all of them.
Monday, November 20, 2006
981 Boston
Monday, November 20, 2006
Well, not really Boston, thank goodness, the Boston Men5a R3gional Gath3ring last weekend was in Braintr3e, MA. I didn't have to go through Boston at all. (Note how I've cleverly disguised the words above - I'd prefer that others who were there didn't Google them and find this journal. It happened with a few other events I've commented on lately, local people have found me, and I'm going to have to either start censoring myself, or disguise the topics, and I don't want to censor me.)
As of Thursday evening, I still wasn't sure I wanted to go. I've been unhappy lately, feeling old and haggy and saggy and fat, and wanting to just go back into hibernation. The only reason I hit the road Friday morning was that I hadn't canceled the hotel reservation in time to avoid a charge, so I may as well go.
It was the best thing I could have done. The weekend was good for me.
I had heard that the Boston gath3ring was a good one, and it was. Not for the speakers and programs, the national gath3rings do that better, and not for the food, the northern New Jersey regional gath3ring did that better, but for the PEOPLE, and the fun.
Since I came out of mourning last summer, I have been to two regionals (usually 100-200 people) and two nationals (900-2000 people). I was joined at the hip with Roman at the regionals, so I didn't socialize much. At the nationals, New Orleans last year and Disney/Orlando this year, the hospitality rooms were huge, and they had a very strange atmosphere. There'd be people sitting at tables talking, and if you joined a table, they'd stare through you. It was very hard to make eye contact with anyone, let alone "break into" a group. Someone commented at the New Orleans gathering that it was as if the vastness of the room shell-shocked people, made them close ranks with familiar faces to keep out the cold. (Ok, it was I who said that, but others agreed with me.)
I knew this gathering would be different the minute I walked into the hospitality room. The room was about the size of my living room, dining room, and kitchen combined, divided into two levels. The upper level had maybe four large round tables that could seat 10, and four tables on the lower level, with a small dance floor. Up a few steps to the side was a kitchen/bar.
People were sitting at the tables spread with M&Ms, nuts, cookies, and chips, just like always, everywhere, except that most of them looked up and smiled at people walking in. I hadn't made it halfway across the floor when at least five people introduced themselves and asked where I was from.
I talked to a lot of people. I felt included, appreciated, accepted. They fed us all the meals except Saturday dinner - for that you could buy a ticket for a group dinner at a local Chinese buffet, or go somewhere on your own. I bought a ticket, and (for once) it was easy to join a group car pooling to the restaurant without feeling like I was intruding at all.
I was very happy.
I didn't feel saggy, baggy, fat, or old. In fact, I got hit on by three different guys, even without dots**, and I practiced flirting myself with another - a guy I wanted to drag away the moment I saw him (yeah, lust at first sight). I had recently cut my hair shorter around my face, and somehow that weekend it finally hit its stride, the natural curl took over, and it looked fantastic.
Queen Mum, you'll be happy to know that the man who pursued me most persistently was --- ta ra! --- in his early 40s. Very early. 42, I think. He and I had conversed one evening in the whirlpool at the Orlando gath3ring. He has actually seen my legs and is still interested? (Hmmm. He had also seen me sit on a whirlpool jet and go into a trance.)
By damn, I can still attract healthy nice-looking intelligent men. Given the way things had been going recently, I had been thinking those days were over.
Details in the next entry.
-----------------------------------------------------
**Dots
At gath3rings you wear a badge, usually a plastic or canvas envelope on a cord, hanging down your front, handy for holding things like room keys, schedules, and meal tickets, with your name on the front. Then you can decorate it with sticky dots.
Mensans are huggers. They had to come up with the dot scheme to prevent screaming and slapping in elevators.
Geen dot - Hug Me.
Yellow dot - Ask Before Hugging.
Red dot - Respect My Personal Space. No Hugging.
Blue dot - Single.
Two blue dots - Single and Looking.
Three blue dots - Single and Willing.
Four or more blue dots - Desperate.
There were orange dots on the table, too, just because they came in the package with the others. EVERYBODY asked what the orange dots meant. (If I had been behind the registration table, I wouldn't have put them out.) There were two French Canadian men there, and we tried to tell them orange meant into gay S&M, but then we noticed some people had happily stuck them all over their badges, so....
I don't use the dots. Well, I did when I went to the NJ gath3ring, I stuck a blue one on, but that was because I was there with Roman, and I was angry with his running hot and cold, and wanted to make a point.
So people (men) would gallumph up to me, arms outspread, pause, study my badge, and say, in confusion, "You don't have any dots. What does that mean?" I'd say "Oh, I'm such a tease", and smile sweetly, and ask where they're from, and usually the gallumpher would forget that he didn't get a hug.
Actually, it means I prefer to initiate any hugs, and yellow doesn't work because I don't like to say no to some and yes to others. This way I never have to actually say no, and nobody's feeling are hurt. Being very small, I seem to be a target for bears with enormous soft bellies. They like to engulf me. Smother me.
Self defense, folks.
Well, not really Boston, thank goodness, the Boston Men5a R3gional Gath3ring last weekend was in Braintr3e, MA. I didn't have to go through Boston at all. (Note how I've cleverly disguised the words above - I'd prefer that others who were there didn't Google them and find this journal. It happened with a few other events I've commented on lately, local people have found me, and I'm going to have to either start censoring myself, or disguise the topics, and I don't want to censor me.)
As of Thursday evening, I still wasn't sure I wanted to go. I've been unhappy lately, feeling old and haggy and saggy and fat, and wanting to just go back into hibernation. The only reason I hit the road Friday morning was that I hadn't canceled the hotel reservation in time to avoid a charge, so I may as well go.
It was the best thing I could have done. The weekend was good for me.
I had heard that the Boston gath3ring was a good one, and it was. Not for the speakers and programs, the national gath3rings do that better, and not for the food, the northern New Jersey regional gath3ring did that better, but for the PEOPLE, and the fun.
Since I came out of mourning last summer, I have been to two regionals (usually 100-200 people) and two nationals (900-2000 people). I was joined at the hip with Roman at the regionals, so I didn't socialize much. At the nationals, New Orleans last year and Disney/Orlando this year, the hospitality rooms were huge, and they had a very strange atmosphere. There'd be people sitting at tables talking, and if you joined a table, they'd stare through you. It was very hard to make eye contact with anyone, let alone "break into" a group. Someone commented at the New Orleans gathering that it was as if the vastness of the room shell-shocked people, made them close ranks with familiar faces to keep out the cold. (Ok, it was I who said that, but others agreed with me.)
I knew this gathering would be different the minute I walked into the hospitality room. The room was about the size of my living room, dining room, and kitchen combined, divided into two levels. The upper level had maybe four large round tables that could seat 10, and four tables on the lower level, with a small dance floor. Up a few steps to the side was a kitchen/bar.
People were sitting at the tables spread with M&Ms, nuts, cookies, and chips, just like always, everywhere, except that most of them looked up and smiled at people walking in. I hadn't made it halfway across the floor when at least five people introduced themselves and asked where I was from.
I talked to a lot of people. I felt included, appreciated, accepted. They fed us all the meals except Saturday dinner - for that you could buy a ticket for a group dinner at a local Chinese buffet, or go somewhere on your own. I bought a ticket, and (for once) it was easy to join a group car pooling to the restaurant without feeling like I was intruding at all.
I was very happy.
I didn't feel saggy, baggy, fat, or old. In fact, I got hit on by three different guys, even without dots**, and I practiced flirting myself with another - a guy I wanted to drag away the moment I saw him (yeah, lust at first sight). I had recently cut my hair shorter around my face, and somehow that weekend it finally hit its stride, the natural curl took over, and it looked fantastic.
Queen Mum, you'll be happy to know that the man who pursued me most persistently was --- ta ra! --- in his early 40s. Very early. 42, I think. He and I had conversed one evening in the whirlpool at the Orlando gath3ring. He has actually seen my legs and is still interested? (Hmmm. He had also seen me sit on a whirlpool jet and go into a trance.)
By damn, I can still attract healthy nice-looking intelligent men. Given the way things had been going recently, I had been thinking those days were over.
Details in the next entry.
-----------------------------------------------------
**Dots
At gath3rings you wear a badge, usually a plastic or canvas envelope on a cord, hanging down your front, handy for holding things like room keys, schedules, and meal tickets, with your name on the front. Then you can decorate it with sticky dots.
Mensans are huggers. They had to come up with the dot scheme to prevent screaming and slapping in elevators.
Geen dot - Hug Me.
Yellow dot - Ask Before Hugging.
Red dot - Respect My Personal Space. No Hugging.
Blue dot - Single.
Two blue dots - Single and Looking.
Three blue dots - Single and Willing.
Four or more blue dots - Desperate.
There were orange dots on the table, too, just because they came in the package with the others. EVERYBODY asked what the orange dots meant. (If I had been behind the registration table, I wouldn't have put them out.) There were two French Canadian men there, and we tried to tell them orange meant into gay S&M, but then we noticed some people had happily stuck them all over their badges, so....
I don't use the dots. Well, I did when I went to the NJ gath3ring, I stuck a blue one on, but that was because I was there with Roman, and I was angry with his running hot and cold, and wanted to make a point.
So people (men) would gallumph up to me, arms outspread, pause, study my badge, and say, in confusion, "You don't have any dots. What does that mean?" I'd say "Oh, I'm such a tease", and smile sweetly, and ask where they're from, and usually the gallumpher would forget that he didn't get a hug.
Actually, it means I prefer to initiate any hugs, and yellow doesn't work because I don't like to say no to some and yes to others. This way I never have to actually say no, and nobody's feeling are hurt. Being very small, I seem to be a target for bears with enormous soft bellies. They like to engulf me. Smother me.
Self defense, folks.
980 Lipstick
Found this one on a Mensa joke site:
According to a news report, a certain private school in Victoria, BC recently was faced with a unique problem.
A number of 12 year old girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom. That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints. Every night, the maintenance man would remove them and the next day the girls would put them back.
Finally the principal decided that something had to be done. She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there with the maintenance man. She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night.
To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors, she asked the maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required. He took out a long handled squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it. Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror.
There are teachers, and then there are educators.
According to a news report, a certain private school in Victoria, BC recently was faced with a unique problem.
A number of 12 year old girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom. That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints. Every night, the maintenance man would remove them and the next day the girls would put them back.
Finally the principal decided that something had to be done. She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there with the maintenance man. She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night.
To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors, she asked the maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required. He took out a long handled squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it. Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror.
There are teachers, and then there are educators.
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