Supah Freak

Many of my nearest and dearest know that I have a funny little quirk, over which I have no real control. I can’t quite remember when this trait emerged, but it’s been with me for so long, I can’t imagine not having it.

I am a freak magnet.

I don’t know what it is about me – maybe I emit some kind of pheromone that anyone with a chemical imbalance or a somewhat looser definition of propriety than me will find completely irresistible. Maybe I just look like the kind of person who wants random people to talk to her (I’m not). Really, who knows? But it’s amazing to me how, despite peaks and valleys, my freak magnet status remains. They range from the benign to the somewhat unnerving, and everywhere in between. Don’t believe me? Here’s a brief sample…

• Sophomore year of college, working retail. I was minding my own business, polishing a geode or something, when this somewhat tense woman, turned to me abruptly and asked me my name. Foolishly, I told her. She then proceeded to launch into a diatribe about how the world’s poverty problems could be solved by people being taxed on space they owned but didn’t use, and how there were two types of people in the world – people who liked wind chimes and people who liked sundials. Apparently, wind chime people like flowers, and sundial people wear watches. I found myself unable to break into the conversation and excuse myself, as her edgy, rapid-fire monotone didn’t allow for any interruptions. I had to wait until she wound down, only to see my manager out of the corner of my eye, collapsed over the counter, helpless with silent laughter.
  

• Junior year of college – a double header with my friend J. We were walking down the street and some guy walks up to us and asks “Are you two sisters?” J is half Korean, and I’m about 6 inches taller than her. She is also from Long Island, so she stared at him for a second and said “yeah – how did you guess?” As we kept walking, he shouts after us “You two are the epitome of beauty, class, and elegance!!” Just as J is about to say something to me, we turn a corner, and some guy looks at me and starts serenading me with “PYT”. We know it’s me, not because J couldn’t also have been referred to as a pretty, young thing, but because he was staring straight at me. And made some kind of appreciative grunting noise before launching into his song. Without even looking over, J shakes her head sadly and says “this is all your fault, you know.”

• My little Algerian friend in London. Since I’m too lazy to link to the post, here’s what happened. I was crossing the street to get to Westminster Abbey, when I heard a voice behind me say "vous êtes Française? (are you French?)" I replied "Non, mais je parle Français (no, but I speak French)". The voice belonged to a fairly nondescript guy who was now walking next to me - a bit shorter than me (as many guys are), and smiling broadly. He asked where I was from, and I figured I was finally in a country where it was safe to admit to being from the US, so I said I was American. He said that he was from Algeria and then said "you know, you're very beautiful", to which I replied "oh...okay." He kept talking about something or another, and as the other side of the intersection approached, I turned to politely say goodbye and walk in whichever direction he wasn't walking in. As we parted ways, he called out "You know, you are a very sexy woman!" All in an accent reminiscent of Maurice Chevalier.

• A couple of weeks ago, I left the Rockville Metro Station to go pick up my car at my mechanic’s, since my dad needed to borrow it that day while his car was in the shop. I walked the two blocks and got into my car, putting the keys in the ignition. I looked over to my right, and saw a guy on a motorcycle had pulled up next to my car. So close that, had I tried to open the door, I would have knocked it into his bike. He was motioning for me to roll my window down, and figuring that a quick getaway would have been easy if necessary, I did. A very little. He started trying to talk, but his very snug helmet meant that he was completely unintelligible. I said “I can’t hear you”, so he struggled to dislodge his head from the helmet, succeeding just as the bus parked across the street started its engine. Once again, his words were muffled. I looked at him somewhat impatiently and motioned that I still couldn’t hear him. The bus left, and he said “I drove all the way down here just to catch up with you!” to which I replied “well, I can’t see why, since I don’t know you.” His reply was “well girl, I’m trying to get to know you.” I stared at him for a split second, wondering vaguely if he really thought I was going to say “ooh – okay? Can I hop on your bike?” and instead I said “that’s sweet, but not a good idea”, started the engine, and did a U-turn. Quickly.

• And finally, last night, after a lovely birthday dinner at Sonoma for AS, after we had bid Brunette adieu so she could walk to her car and I could drive AS home, we were heading toward my car and two older guys getting into a car parked in front of me said “excuse me…” I figured they needed directions or something. No, no. One of them starts talking about the Mona Lisa (presumably comparing me to her? But since those theories abound that it was really Leonardo da Vinci in that painting, I suppose I should be somewhat insulted. Do I look manly?) and I was very confused, waiting for him to get to his point, when I felt AS tug on my hand and pull me toward my car. At which point, I said “oh, I just got what was he was getting at…”

So there you have it. My name is Mandy. And I’m a freak magnet.

In Her Honor

A very special happy 30^th birthday to one of my favorite people in the world – welcome to the club! Here’s a picture from this past weekend where I think we all look lovely. However, the Birthday Girl doesn’t like the picture as much because her hair is back.

So, out of deference, I’ve also included this one, wherein the Birthday Girl thinks, quite correctly, that she looks lovely (or “smokin’ hot”, depending on your orientation), and I think I look as though I have an unnaturally large head.

Nothin’ but love, Babe.

Geek's Revenge

I’m feeling a large proverbial weight off my chest now that my last chapter for Yemen has been submitted. I was telling Sarah, though, that I put lots of big SAT words in it out of something resembling spite. The reason for this isn’t that I want anyone to read what I’ve written and exclaim “holy crap she’s wicked smaht!”, because I really don’t even know how you’d say that in Arabic. If at all. It’s because, and I almost feel bad typing this, and I definitely feel juvenile, but it’s because the contract was written specifying that the official language for the reports was to be English. Despite the fact that virtually none of the government people who would have to read and approve this document, like, oh, say, the governor, speak, read, or in any way understand English.

Nonetheless, it had to be in English, and reports completed before I got there were criticized for the quality of their English by some non-native English speakers – fair enough, one can have mastery of a language that isn’t one’s own. This was something at which TL took tremendous offense, by the way. Being the only native speaker ever to be on the project, upon my arrival I was given the task of editing every single word that was produced. This was fine, and I think I did a good job. Apparently I did, because comments received on the NEXT round of reports stated that the English was too good and they couldn’t understand it.

I’ve got your substrate degradation, eutrophic lakes, and deleterious effects to groundwater right here, Buddy.

At Least I'm Not In Yemen!

I’m on the road again, but this particular road is I-81, and I’m sitting with a delightful couple in the front seat, one of my best friends on my right, heading up to see another of my best friends doing what she does best – excelling in her chosen profession of acting. I’m also working on yet another “one last thing” for Yemen, the time for which I don’t really have. The energy for which I have even less of. However, I’m getting those excessively polite e-mails from the TL which are a clear indicator that he thinks I’m being lazy and I need to get off my rear end. I know him well enough by now to know that – these are the same “screw you” e-mails he used to have me spend an hour helping him compose. So this means that, despite what was supposed to be a leisurely weekend spent with some of my favorite people in the world, I’ll be spending time writing and working whenever possible. I’m not tremendously happy about this, and I have a feeling it will result in something approximating an all-nighter on Sunday when we get back, but that’s preferable to being on the receiving end of more e-mails from TL. Much to his dismay, this is far from the only project I’ve got on my plate, so his stubborn refusal to believe that I could have anything else to do that might possibly rival the awesome and all-encompassing importance of this section that I don’t have time to write has unfortunate repercussions for me. The problem is that every other client I have is of the same mind-set. Apparently they don’t place the same importance on my regular sleeping patterns that I do – but the sooner this is done, the sooner I can get the proverbial monkey off my back.

But hey – any day that I wake up and I’m not in Yemen is a good day.

I do, however, find it vaguely wrong that I’m done with college and grad school, and I’m still pulling all-nighters.

The weekend was fantastic, Marsha was fantastic in Julius Caesar and Antigone, not that I would expect any less of her. She also turned 30, making a certain someone the last of a group of four to join the 30s age bracket. (It’s where all the cool kids are anyway.)

I just got the environmental review done for Yemen and sent it in, one day late. However, as wasn’t surprising, I started getting e-mails at 5 am, somewhat insulting that became very insulting as the morning wore on, enquiring as to the whereabouts of the environmental review. My (semi) patient explanation that I had been overloaded with a number of other assignments that had deadlines BEFORE this one fell on deaf ears, and was, in fact met with the charming statement that “well ,we all are working on many projects and the rest of us are able to meet our deadlines.” The rage bubbling up inside of me at that statement was indescribable. Particularly after having listened to him complain and complain and complain (we’re talking hours, people) about people who wanted things from him more quickly than he could produce them and how they just didn’t care or were completely unreasonable. “I am working day and night! What more they want from me? To never sleep?”

*ahem*

I have to say, I used to defend TL when people would say he was rude and difficult and all of those things. While I will still give him credit for being very good at his job and good to work with in person, I can’t really say that he’s not a tool, given the way he’s treated me in the last day or so. He can be very “kick the dog”, and I don’t feel like being the dog in question. But whatever, it’s done, and while I’m sure he’ll have corrections or some such thing for me to make, I don’t rightly care at this point. I’ve got plenty of other things on my plate.

But that’s enough about work-y-ness. Now that I’m not off in some exotic (read: soul-sucking) location, I can’t imagine all that will be quite as interesting. Of course, that assumes that anyone ever found reading about my job to be interesting. I can see where that wouldn’t be the case with most (all) people.

Special K (I’m still playing around with that nickname – it kind of makes me laugh, so I may go with it for a bit) called earlier to ask if he could bring me something for dinner. Have I mentioned that he doesn’t live all that close to me, and that he was just doing it because he knew I was massively stressed out?

*le sigh*

Who’s a lucky girl? That’s right – definitely me.