February 10, 2005

Suddenly, We're Talking About Sex Again*

And I wonder what it says about you people: you seem obsessed. I'm not sure it's healthy. Sex, sex, sex. You should take long walks or cold showers or something.

My husband and I, like all good Republicans, take T'ai Chi. On Wednesdays, we are in sequential classes. Last night I ran out of the house in a hurry, and wasn't wearing my wedding ring when I showed up at the site where we meet to get our Chi on. And there was the Overly Friendly Guy, being Overly Friendly, as usual. I've never been able to figure out what the deal is with the OFG: whether he's attracted to me, or just doesn't have the social skills to speak naturally. I can't figure out whether he has Asberger's syndrome, mild mental retardation, a slight case of autism, or is just an engineer.

But it's awkward. If I knew for sure that he'd figured out I'm married, I could make myself be nice to him. I really could. But he's friendly to me in a way he isn't to any of the other women (or men, for that matter) in our particular group, and I find myself being just a little bit cold to him, just in case. Then, of course, I feel guilty. What if he does have Asberger's, and I'm being unkind? The memories come flooding back about what it was like at 12 and 13 to have breasts suddenly appear on my body, and the slight inkling that all the men who suddenly started striking up conversations with me at bus stops might just be trying to pick me up—but no way to be sure.

Last night I'm wearing a favorite T-shirt: one of those that appears to be made from fabric with old writing on it that describes a once-premium commodity (in this case, indigo dye). The graphics are muted, and the writing isn't necessarily legible to someone who isn't right on top of my tits. The effect is supposed to be something like a seventeenth-century ad, made into a fabric—and then a shirt.

"What does your shirt say?" asks the overly friendly guy.

"It's about old dying materials," I tell him, and then turn to one of the women. "Can you read my boob, here, or is the writing too small?"

"It's a little too small," she remarks, and we laugh in a friendly way. Situation de-fused, thank goodness.

The beginner's class ends, and my husband shows up for the advanced class. We say hi to each other. "Kiss me," I tell him under my breath, and he does, though we rarely engage in PDAs at Chi central.

"Was that for someone else's benefit?" he asks.

"Yes. But I could be wrong," I tell him. "You know what an egotist I am."

"I know."

* The title is adapted from a James Thurber story, one of his cute pieces set in a bar. Entitled "Midnight at Tim's Place," it contains the line: Suddenly, we all had another drink.

I've always loved that story, and I can actually recite most of it aloud. Scary.

Posted by Attila at February 10, 2005 09:45 AM

Thats just mean. Speake well do we.

Posted by: the Pirate at February 10, 2005 10:12 AM

Well, you do.

I read that sentence over three times, and I tried to soften it, and I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, especially yours. I thought of putting in a parenthetical apology-in-advance. But I was just smitten with the phrase (which applies to a few of your colleagues here and there, you must admit).

And I thought: I'll just have to make it up to him later. So I owe you a bouquet of links and such. ;)

Posted by: Attila Girl at February 10, 2005 11:38 AM

A few? More like many. Engineers who can speak & have people skills end up in marketing and or management as they get older. Although I find the civils tend to be a little better at communication because most of our work is done on public projects, which means dealing with the public. But even then we have those that are best suited to be locked in a room and left there to work, far far away from any clients.

Even in school there was the divide between the lack of social skills and common-sense engineers and the ones who did homework at the bar (who tend to be the ones with social skills). But it is quite funny how when people think poor social skills, engineer pops into their head. Rightfully so in many cases.

Of course I do find thing interesting that other people do not, like concrete and RAS.

Posted by: the Pirate at February 10, 2005 12:05 PM

People do what they do because they want what they want.

He may want your body, your friendship or just your immediate attention. He may even want to get you to an Amway presentation, but I'm betting you're just worth looking at, and close-up is better than far away.

That's all I have to say about that.

Posted by: Ironcross11 at February 10, 2005 04:04 PM

Well, this is all well and good, but when are you going to get to the s3x part?

Hah, my comment was blocked for saying s*x!

Posted by: Pile On® at February 10, 2005 07:31 PM

I can't figure out whether he has Asberger's syndrome, mild mental retardation, a slight case of autism, or is just an engineer.


Autism. Or retardation. Or just a bad case of engineer (try denorex next time).


Posted by: Desert Cat at February 10, 2005 07:39 PM

I love concrete! Although I find it's often misused.

Posted by: k at February 10, 2005 09:06 PM

I happen to think copy editors are nerd's nerds. I mean, I'm the one who cares about capitalization and the use of hypens. Next to that, anyone's interests seem sane.

K, could you give us, a . . . a concrete example? Ha ha ha ha ha. (I'm here all week; try the veal.)

Posted by: Attila Girl at February 10, 2005 10:41 PM

I hate to nitpick, but I believe it is spelled ass burgers syndrome. Michael Moore has a bad case.

Posted by: Kingslasher at February 11, 2005 10:10 AM

I believe you're thinking of burger-ass, which is a different thing entirely. It often leads to burger-belly. The terms for both conditions are hyphenated.

Posted by: Attila Girl at February 11, 2005 11:44 AM

Veal? I never did see the appeal. Veal lovers tell me it's just tender bland meat to hold sauce. I love sauces. But I don't want to waste calories eating meat that can't stand alone! Then they tell me my killer Bernaise it "too rich" for a meat like veal. ?!? Then stick a ribeye under that sauce! Jeez. Dis a Bernaise? For the sake of some boring veal?

Where was I?

OH! Concrete. If I got started I could rhapsodize all day, which I can't, because I just got up and I have a fridge full of fabulous leftovers from Lotus Chinese Kitchen calling me.

Suffice it to say: It's a great building material. Really, really great. Natural, when they don't jazz it up with icky chemicals. But it's not pretty. When pretty counts, all the surface texturing etc. in the world just won't cut it.

Now MORTAR, so similar, means you can stick face brick and stone and stuff on it. NOW you're talking!

But not me, cause it looks like I'm kind of hungry here...

Oh! Dams and roads and whole houses! Malleable, formable. Nearly hurricane-proof. Add volcanic ash and you get waterproof Roman aqueducts that last forever! New York uses ash filtered from pollution captures on smokestacks. Why no one sold concreters all that ash from Mt. St. Helens is beyond me. And --

*sniff sniff* HEY! W! is that you? keep your mitts off my steak-on-a-stick! HEY!

gotta go

Posted by: k at February 11, 2005 02:58 PM

The husband's sister remodeled her house recently, and her new kitchen counters are colored poured concrete. In one of them there are two spots where coins from various overseas countries were pressed before the concrete dried.

And she ripped up her carpeting, exposing the original concrete from the 50s. I think it's concrete--though come to think of it it's very smooth, not as porous as the counters at all.

Posted by: Attila Girl at February 11, 2005 04:25 PM

Ah! Miss Sis may have terrazzo floors. We do, and they're "reviving" in this early-50's neighborhood. Terrazzo's kind of fancy concrete with decorative little rocks in it and a very smooth finish. Terrazzo lovers will be scandalized when I tile it over with stone.

Lots of people like concrete as face material, esp. when they add decorative touches like the coins. It's just not for me.

Maybe I love nature too much. Concrete & mortar form naturally, it's probably how humans got the idea. But I'd take that concrete and put stone on it, to me that's a much more beautiful surface. And I can't breathe too much fresh concrete air, either.

As a superallergic, I'm really happy to hear she killed off the carpet. Buying this place and throwing away all the carpet was one of the best times of my life.

Posted by: k at February 11, 2005 04:53 PM

Back to food and nit-picking: Michael Moore's condition looks more like ass-buns to me. The buns go on the outside, the burger in the middle. I don't know where the hyphen goes.

Posted by: k at February 11, 2005 08:30 PM

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