Big Fat Hairy Living

I’m big! I’m butch! And I decorate my living room with posters from 1980s hair salons!

I’ve been reading about that whole Al QaQaa explosives depot scandal in Iraq.

What about Al PooPoo and Al PeePee?

I was feeling so sick and run-down this afternoon that I left work a few hours early and took a nap.

Jonathan just dropped by to pick up some some supplies for his football player Hallowe’en costume, and he brought chicken soup with him. What a sweetheart!

Mark threatened to shave his beard so that he could put on drag queen makeup for Hallowe’en.

Sometimes I have good days where nothing in the world can seem to bug me. Other times I have good days where my mood can be soured by stupidity around me. Today is one of those “sour” good days.

I wish I could properly explain using words how incredibly, monumentally stupid the people I work with are. It simply is not possible to convey their idiocy with words. It’s not that they’re married with kids or that they drive SUVs and live in the suburbs. It’s not even that they wear hideous shirts or have no taste whatsoever in music or decor. They’re just stupid. I don’t mean that they’re tacky or impolite or thoughtless, though they are. They’re actually lacking in intelligence. Their IQs are clearly below average.

There’s a stupid Chinese technician with a Jamaican accent who just spent the entire coffee break trying to convince me that a “financial analyst” on TV said the Canadian dollar is going to rise in value to $1.14 US by 2006 (It’s currently roughly $0.82 US). I asked him if he hadn’t possibly heard it the other way around, that the US Dollar would be worth $1.14 Canadian by 2006. He insisted he’d heard it correctly.

Then he argued that Canada Customs is stupid for banning travellers from bringing fruits and vegetables back from their visits, because they do it to control the spread of fruit flies, ad couldn’t the fruit flies just fly over anyway? My arguments that there could be other viruses or fungi or insects were ignored. No, it’s all about fruit flies and he’s 100 per cent positive about that.

Then the crowning glory: he asked “So how does that Pick Three lottery work?”

Now I’m back at my desk listening to the guy who doesn’t know what mono is talk to his fiancée at the top of his lungs in some incomprehensible language. It’s the fourth call to her today.

Wow. As I was typing this, he just hung up and announced that he’s finally figured out the difference between vector computers and scalar computers. Not everyone knows the difference, but he has a computer engineering degree. He works in the same department as me, designing computers. Then again, he complained earlier that his computer at home doesn’t have any “UBS” ports, so it’s not much of a surprise.

I cut myself shaving this morning. How embarassing. I feel like I’m 15 again.

Mark is so smart. He’s much smarter than me, and I love it. He reads constantly, and his first degree was a history degree, so he knows history inside out. For example, the other day, I asked him about the Treaty of Westphalia and he was able to explain it off the top of his head.

I feel so young and foolish around him, but I like that. It feels so comfortable and safe not having to be in charge all the time. I love the feeling of having a smarter, older, wiser boyfriend who can mentor me but also isn’t afraid to act silly. And who shoots the biggest fucking loads I’ve ever seen in my life.

But he seems to think I’m smarter than him in many ways. I don’t agree, but he seems to put a great deal of value on technical knowledge, knowledge that I see as largely pointless and useless. For example, he bought a new telephone on the weekend, and I helped him set it up last night. While I was fiddling with it, he cooed and told me how much he loved having an engineer boyfriend to do things like that for him. It’s not that he couldn’t have done it himself, just that he would have had to read the instruction manual first and it would have taken him a lot longer.

I told him that I loved having an artist boyfriend. Who shoots big loads.

On the way back from our last workout, my workout buddy Dave the Linux geek and I were chatting, and somehow the goatse man came up.

Me: He doesn’t even have a normal anus. It’s not an anus. It’s like … a gateway.
Dave: A portal.
(Pause)
Dave: His portal needs a content management system!

Ba-dum-bum.

I love that back.