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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Detailing
Xbry Boy-To-Man Ratio I had dinner with the xbry a few nights ago. Yes, that would be Sophistica's xbry, and, no, it wasn't a "date" kind of thing, but a friendly dinner. In fact, it more than likely came about because Sophistica had not been able to get ahold of me for a few days (The Brain Funk Interlude days) and so had suggested to the xbry that he check on me. The xbry, I'm sure, was interested primarily in getting a viewing of a dead body, so he called to see it my own dead body wanted to come along and have some Thai food. I have to say, first, that I don't know the xbry very well at all despite his two year or so relationship with Soph. Most of the time they were together, we only saw him when Soph was visiting and even then he was sick a lot of that time and so would skip gatherings. Also, when he did come out he took second to a sparkling, visiting Soph or to Mayflower and her dazzling husband, The Enforcer. So it was very strange to sit and have the undiluted xbry at my disposal. The xbry is a frighteningly intelligent being. This I knew, but I had never, as I said, been at the receiving end of the full-strength xbry. As we sat there, he chatted about the research he's doing (he's getting his PhD in physics) and seventeenth century physicists. Although I tried to hold my own in the end I had nothing, and so I resorted to asking ignorant questions and sitting back and listening to the answers as I observed the xbry. And it turns out that the xbry has this very curious ability that I hadn't ever expected. Now some people of the male persuasion, those curious XY beings, are stuck in that boy-man state. Oh, they get those secondary sex characteristics, hair in the pits and so on, but it's like their brains never get the signal to do more than alter the physique. Anyway, it's become a hobby of mine to figure out the boy-to-man ratio in a given male, so I tried this game on the xbry. At first, I thought: 98% boy, 2% man. This is not an usual ratio and is underscored, in the case of the xbry, by his boyish face. But as the xbry continued to converse, and I continued to listen, I had to reassess my initial evaluation. His conversational style and choice of topics make me eventually settled on an almost 50/50 split: 52% boy, 48% man. Suddenly, however, the xbry morphed. All he did was lean back in his chair and cross his legs as he considered something I had said, and suddenly he was 2% boy and 98% man. I was, like, whoa. That was strange. It was much like when you're driving with someone and they suddenly slam on the brakes or pop the clutch or do something that makes the car lurch forward and you're, like, dude, what the hell was that? It just makes you wonder, you know? Anyway, so we had our dinner and then the xbry took me home and said goodnight, barely hiding the disappointment in his voice at not having had the evening include the dead body viewing, and I should call him soon, but, well, there it is. A Good Offense So I started self-defense classes starring The Demon Grrlfriend as instructor. The classes are nice because they are based on the martial arts that The Demon G studies and not on all those cheesy moves that fall under the guise of self-defense for women and that you hear endlessly repeated on those news magazine television shows. (I am a little wary of those typical self-defense tactics taught to women because I knew a woman who, for years, taught self-defense with some burly ex-cop who used to, I think, fake the effectiveness of those moves to bolster his own teaching which in turn fed his ego. Anyway, so this woman taught along with him, being the defender, and knew all the moves like the back of her hand. And then she was attacked and tried to use those moves and she was brutally beaten and raped when those moves did nothing more than amuse her attacker. So, yeah.) I have a lot of trouble in class, not because I'm not interested in the subject, but because I really just don't like making physical contact with other people. That makes practice a bit difficult for me. I realized last week that I often pick activities that can be done solo. All my physical and mental pursuits are those that can largely be accomplished by myself. Weightlifting and running, for example, don't require and are often hindered by the presence of another person. And neither requires that I touch another person. The same with labwork. I find it very disconcerting to have physical contact with others in social situations as well. I don't often give hugs to my friends in greeting or at parting. I don't even like to shake hands hardly, though I consider it a necessary evil at times and will engage in it when I have to. As for the rest, well... So that's one of the earliest hurdles for me in learning self-defense, that I have to get past this disdain I have for physical contact with others. We'll see how that works out. Redheaded Women Pucho, my fabulous Puerto Rican former calculus instructor, once came into the classroom and said, "There are three things that cause me great trouble in my mind." Then he wrote on the board: 1. My Ex-Wife Of course, he was talking about limits as applied in calculus, and about his own adventures with women. But me? I am the ex-wife (not Pucho's ex-wife, of course) so there is little chance of my having trouble with my own ex-wife. And I moved past the trouble caused by limits as I learned how to manipulate them from Pucho. And so what does that leave? Yes. Redheaded women. I was in the food co-op where I shop from time to time. I had ridden Frida down just for some riding practice, and, since my helmet doesn't have a long enough chin strap to attach it to the helmet lock on the bike, I was carrying my helmet (which I had clipped onto the backpack I was wearing) with me. My homework assignment from the self-defense class was to make eye-contact with everyone I could and to see how this played itself out. So, there I was in the co-op, shopping for my vittles, making eye-contact, my cooler-than-cool helmet slung across my back. I made the old e-c with some young man, a co-op employee, and he said hello as young men are want to do and inquired as to how I was doing as employees often do, and I did the same to him, and moved on. He went into the back, the prep area for the meat/dairy stuff, and a minute later came out, dragging with him a--you guessed it--young redheaded woman. Cute stuff, she, about five feet tall, slight but not skinny, fair skin, freckles (which I love), and long red hair twisted up into a bun. He gestured to me and said to her, "See, I told you." He said to me, "I told her she had to come out and see your helmet." We chatted about the helmet and about the kind of motorcycle I have and about a bike his friend has and then the young woman, who had been eyeing me through the conversation, piped up, "I want a bike like yours, but I've only ever been on the back of a bike." I said, "You should get your own, then you can put him on the back." She said, "Him? You mean her," and then, embarrassed at her own bravery, blushed. She couldn't hardly meet my eye after that, but I was greatly amused by the whole exchange, as well as chagrinned at my own assumptions at play. I would have, if I were a more skilled rider, offered her a ride on the back of my bike, but sense prevailed, and I just laughed along at my own inability to pick up chicks, no matter how cute, no matter how willing. Dammit. To Be Continued... I'm out of smokes. I'll finish this up when I've got some nicotine in my system.
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