Friday, 25 February 2011

Of Polar Bears and iPods and Cabbages and Kings

Now, you'll probably have figured out by now that I don't really think like your average person. I love references and enjoy quoting various films/tvshows/books/stand up, on average, about a zillion times a day, possibly to the point of overkill. My memory for such things is incredible. And yet I get distracted fairly easily and often reach the bottom of the stairs only to find myself puzzled as to why I descended in the first place. In addition to these endearing traits, I tend to view the world in a way that is very practical and logical to me, but utterly puzzling and nonsensical to other people. I mentioned previously that I like to name my possessions - for example, my regular ipod is called Hector while my tiny shuffle ipod is called Jeremy. This makes perfect sense to me, and the reasons are twofold. Firstly, it's cute. I just dig it. Secondly, it makes it easier to identify items when they have become lost, or dragged off to be molested by one or more curious cats, or retrieved by the spider army to complete their latest weapon.

In a perfect world, this logic would be used by people everywhere, and lost items would be, in my opinion, a damn sight easier to find. The conversations would be like this:

Me: Have you seen Jeremy?

Other Half: Yes, he's right here.

Me: Oh frabjous day! Callooh callay!

Other Half: Come to my arms, my beamish Otternator!

In my perfect world, Other Half would be able to reference Lewis Carroll poems without rolling her eyes, and she'd allow me to interpretive dance in the kitchen next to the knife rack (because that's where the floor is best, danger be damned) and let me fill up the fridges with more than four kinds of cheese and buy enough Terry Pratchett coasters to cover every available surface and all that other stuff that drives me into a frenzied geek meltdown. Sadly, it is not a perfect world and other people wilfully insist on not using my methods and denying me cheese variety. Therefore, Other Half and I instead have conversations like this:

Me: Have you seen Jeremy?

Other Half: Who?

Me: Jeremy.

Other Half: Is that one of your Twitter friends?

Me: (appalled) Do you even know me at all?

Other Half: (holding up Hector with cautious optimism) This?

Me: No.

Other Half: (holding up a spatula) This?

Me: No.

Other Half: Me?

Me: (pinches nose and sighs)

I'm going to veer off for a moment to give another example of how differently I view the world on a day-to-day basis. A couple of years ago, in a previous job, some colleagues were exchanging banter about terrible chat-up lines they'd heard. The banter turned to conversation openers rather than stoppers (a field in which I have much expertise) and  one colleague turned to me. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't yet realised quite how odd I am. This would not bode well for our budding friendship.

Colleague: This is a good one - how much does a polar bear weigh?

Me: (without pausing) I think the males weigh about 900 pounds, on average. The females will weigh less.  


Colleague: (gaping) Um. You're supposed to say you don't know.

Me: But you asked me a question.

Colleague: You're not supposed to know the answer.

Me: What kind of person asks an unanswerable question? Who are you, Chuck Norris?

Colleague: What?

Me: Nevermind. Jeez.

I've been aiming to write one post a day for as long as I can force my brain to cooperate, but Other Half and I are moving house this weekend so this may be more difficult than I'd originally anticipated (I'm sure it will provide many entertaining tales for future posts involving dislocated joints and broken items). Still, I enjoy the stress that adventure and impending deadlines bring to my life.
Heart rate up. Challenge accepted.

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