Reflections on the weekend

In case you were wondering, the Google translator defines "плотная" as:

* dense
* thick
* massive
* solid
* stout
* gross
* impermeable
* burly

***
A friend this morning wrote me with the following:
"I was telling my mom and my aunt yesterday about your mom's obsession with your weight after reading your post and my aunt said "That girl who came over the other day? She's so skinny!"


***
I thought it was funny that it was in response to his pointing out where the blazer needed to be taken in that Jay said, "could I be more your gay husband?" It wasn't earlier, at dinner, when I picked the tomatoes off his plate, knowing he wouldn't eat them; or when I once again presented him with a gift from the dollar bin at Target; or when we were discussed the price of cat food (yes, Science Diet does keep reducing package size while keeping price constant). I couldn't tell you when we crossed the line into common law marriage, but it had to be before we were calling each other names for hogging the covers--before I was yelling at him for drinking sake in bed, and before he was spilling it on my side. Then again, how often does one's mom ask about one's husband's boyfriend?

***
I realize that sometimes I'm unfair and/or irrational in my analysis; I admitted as much, occasionally, when expressing fury at roommate. The thing is, once someone establishes himself as a pest, they've practically trained you to find fault in seemingly harmless behaviors. I understand that it was irrational for me to roll my eyes when mom's annoying friend started flipping through my New Yorker. It was a boundary thing: when someone, uninvited, takes something you're currently reading, it's like they're prying their way into your soul. But I'd loaned Jay that issue--that's why it was out there. I wanted him to read the Koch brothers article while I got the picnic table ready and argued with mom over whether we could use something other than a plastic shower curtain for a tablecloth. Still, it made me shudder when the friend took hold of it. Was it because RM would occasionally flip through my New Yorkers? Perhaps--because I didn't mind when he took older ones, but hated it when he so much as touched the one I was reading.

My point is, people are dying and losing their homes in floods, wars, and fires... and I somehow find room for outrage when the wrong person dares manhandle my New Yorker. What the f* is wrong with me?

***
It's not lack of warmth (it being whatever the f* is wrong with me). I mean, maybe I do lack warmth. I mean, whatever. This isn't about me. I've had it with extroverts judging me and my kind just because we're not as effusive as they are. Social interactions drain us. Who the f* are you to be the arbiter of what constitutes warmth? You just can't handle it when people don't feel like paying attention to you, so you find comfort in concluding that it must be them.

***
As for always lecturing other people about how to live... really?

I thought about this earlier this evening, when I went to get (diet) orange soda.

That's right. I stopped at the grocery store to get orange soda.

I didn't think anything of it until I went to check out, and the checkout guy looked at me like I was out of my mind. It--orange soda--was the only thing I bought. This got me thinking, 'if this guy knew me, he'd be even more confused.' Which, in turn, got me thinking, 'if RM were to see this, he'd be really confused.'

At this point, you may be a little confused.

See, my assistant director (AD) (and great guy) loves his orange soda. It's the funniest f*ing thing EVER. We'll be sitting there, having a meeting in his office, and he'll randomly pour himself a cup of orange soda like it's the most normal thing in the world. Or we'll get to a building early, and he'll stop in the cafeteria for an orange soda. I'm used to it now, but when we first started working together, I found it hard to stop laughing.

My to-be AD--another great guy--has organized an impromptu birthday breakfast for current AD. I thought it might be nice to bring some orange soda.

Now, regular readers of this blog are probably aware that I don't generally purchase beverages of colors that do not exist in nature. Or beverages whose ingredients I can't pronounce. Mom might suggest that that's out of political correctness, but really, they just don't appeal to me. However, don't think that I took it upon myself, for a second, to think less of someone else for his love of a beverage whose color does not exist in nature. The idea never crossed my mind. I don't lecture people on things unless they have pretenses. My mother has pretenses of sustainability, so I lecture her on buying unsustainable seafood and extraneous crap. When people bloviate about things, I call them out on what they don't know (which in no way implies that I know everything; only that I generally only bloviate about things I understand). A very close friend of mine didn't know that Paris was the capital of France, or that there was a European Union, or that there was a sea between England and France; while I was impressed, I didn't judge her for it. Now, had she started going on about how European politics or geography, I would have found plenty to judge. If you're going to talk $hit, you'd best know your $hit, or I'm going to lecture you about how to live (i.e. not to talk about $hit you don't understand). Otherwise, one's failure to know one's $hit is none of my business.