fearlesstemp | oh, those wacky mensans

I was going to write a potentially self-important entry consisting of my thoughts on the English language, grammar, and writing, but it looks like you're all going to be spared tonight. I've simply lost my "Be nice to people who split infinitives, for I am one of them and we are often not as stupid as you may think!" edge, but be warned! Said edge could come back, so the threat of such an entry still looms.

Mr. Boss was out of the office today, which was very exciting because, obviously, no Mr. Boss hurling dictation tapes at me! But it appears that without Mr. Boss there to spur me on, the motivation and drive I've been displaying at work (and been quite surprised by, frankly, as I feared I would be a slothful employee) is significantly reduced. But still, I got stuff done, filed most of the crap sitting in my bin and did all of my dictation and wow, am I the most boring person ever? I need to get a better job!! Sometimes I think the only reason I need to get a better/different job is so that I have things to talk about. I mean, I come home from the office and the only thing I have to discuss is my fear that I'm developing a repetitive-motion wrist injury from filing all of these bigass heavy files on the high shelves.

TMI Alert! By the end of the day the monthly visitor was announcing its presence in its usual annoyingly painful manner and I had NO ibuprofen or anything on me since I had a bout of temporary insanity the other day and decided to actually empty out my bag because I had so much crap in it. And when I put stuff back in I FORGOT the ibuprofen! So annoying! Isn't that a good story?

Anyway, by the time I got home I was all Woe Is Me For I Am Suffering The Pain Most Women Suffer On A Monthly Basis And No, I Won't Get Over It, and when I pulled up to the house my father was standing in the driveway with a bright blue Hawaiian shirt on, jeans, and a huge grin, waving at me with his emphatic "LET'S GO!!" hand gesture. And I remembered! I had promised the Dad Unit to go with him to a Mensa dinner and dude, I was so not feeling it. And so we had the following interaction after I screeched to a stop in front of the house and started trudging up the hill to the house.

Me: Dad, I'm really sorry but I feel AWFUL, I'm SO SICK and I just CAN'T GO.

Dad: What? You're going!

Me: I just, I feel terrible. I'm really sorry.

Dad: Take some Tums! You'll be as good as new!

Me: I really don't feel good! It's female problems.

Dad: Oh.

Me: I'm sorry, I just really can't go. I can't! I feel awful, I look awful -- do you see my skin? Do you see the pasty white complexion offset by unsightly undereye circles and, also, the sheen of sweat from the unexpectedly warm temperatures today? And my hair is a mess! And I don't feel good! I'm really sorry, but there's no way. I really can't go.

Dad: Please?

Me: Ok.

And so we went! And really, is there anything more pathetic than spending a Friday night out with one's father at a Mensa meeting? No, didn't think so. But, again, I blame my boring job. I just kept thinking, "It will be an experience. You will have something to talk about other than filing. You must go." And so we went! We arrived like twenty minutes late and got some dirty looks from our fellow Mensans. At whatever gatherings I have attended int he past (and they have been few), my father and I have been rather Renegade Mensans, for whatever reason. It could be because we only sporadically attend events and when we do show up, we're almost always late. That could do it. Our fellow Mensans were as follows:

Leo: The editor of the local newsletter who had, in the past, returned my father's submitted cartoons with a rather snippy note because they were too out there. Which, you know, they were. My father has a rather unique sense of humor, and by "unique" I mean "palatable only to those who have known him for twenty years" and so his audience is rather limited.

Charmie: I think that was her name. Grad student in biochemistry. I think she's a vegan. She kind of stared at my Turkey sandwich in disgust while saying things like, "That's how people solve all their problems nowadays, KILL KILL KILL!"

Charlene: Older lady with an insulin deficiency. Had the unsettling habit of staring at you and nodding for half a minute after you finished speaking in a manner that suggested that she wasn't digesting anything you said.

Lillith: "Lilith?" we all said. "No, it's L-i-l-l-i-t-h," she mumbled. "Oh," we all said, "so it's Lilith? Like on Cheers? Frasier's wife?" "No, Lie-lith. It's spelled differently than the wife on Cheers." And that was all she contributed for the evening.

Rob: Lillith's husband. Future treasurer of our merry band. Looked to be in his mid-forties, just started taking classes at the local community college because he wants to write a book. "What on?" I asked. "On how the world should be run, how to solve all the world's problems, stuff like that," he answered. He also said that he thought the reason the Enron scandal happened was because the executives had been brought up on television and I was all "Dude! I'm a TV addict and do you see me fleecing 401(k) plans? No! Flaw in your logic there, buddy!" Maybe those weren't my exact words, of course. If I recall correctly, I think I just nodded and smiled.

Bob: Former president of the chapter, I believe. Older gent, has some hearing problems from what I could gather. He was quiet most of the time and would interject rather random things every so often and whenever the waitress came and asked him something, they would have an exchange like this:

Waitress: Sir, could you hand me your plate?

[Bob hands her Rob's iced tea glass]

Waitress: No, sir, your plate?

[Bob hands her his own iced tea glass]

Waitress: Your plate?

[Bob hands her the basket of rolls]

It was a good time.

And then there was my Dad and me. The lady next to me referred to "gifted children" and asked if I was in school, leading me to believe that, like most people, she placed my age as somewhere in high school instead of, you know, early twenties. Whatev. Also, the Mensans didn't seem to appreciate my father's rather unique sense of humor, especially after he'd had a couple of Bud Lights and his already slow mannerisms became even more delayed, so that whenever he said anything it. took. for. ever. He also has this schtick where he acts rather dense and asks stupid questions but the Mensans didn't really get the whole "He's being funny!" thing and I could see their wheels turning, wondering how he got past their screening process.

It was, for the most part, an interesting night. The people were nice, if a bit self-important (but really, aren't we all sometimes?), and really, I should know more about things like water chestnuts in Florida and the ways in which proteins affect disease, so the conversation was informative.

And look! A LJ entry not composed solely of Jess's Filing Woes. Now that was reason enough to go in and of itself.