What Is Madness?

What Is Madness?

"What is madness? I can assure you that the more we study the subject, the more difficult we find it to pronounce. We all practice a certain amount of self-deception, and when we carry it so far as to believe we are the Czar of Russia, we are shut up or restrained. But there is a long road before we reach that point."

- Agatha Christie

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Wednesday's Question Of The Day: Other People's Traits

Wednesday's Question Of The Day:

Other People's Traits

Hump day? Well, I'll give you something to ponder.

Yes, it's time for Wednesday's Question Of The Day.

Each Wednesday, a new question to give you the opportunity to do a bit of self-examination.  Think of it as a way of getting to know all about you and a chance to learn a little more about me. 

That's right. You know me; spill that tea! For I am the king of over-sharing!

Oh, and please leave your responses in the comments section. 

Why, think of this as a little blogging kiki!

Okay! Ready, set... 

Here's today's question:

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Rudeness which stems from a misguided sense of privilege and unearned entitlement. 

That covers it all. 

The littering. They way they empty their cars of fast food wrappers and used diapers by stopping in front of your house and leaving it all on your boulevard, even though there's a trash can less than two feet away. The not stopping at stop signs. The driving and parking in the bike lanes. The way they ignore speed limits and think you're the problem because you try obey them. The cutting in line. The way people mishandle the merchandise in stores. The way they never clean up after themselves - somebody else will do it.  The way it's always somebody else's fault. The way they think phones are more important than flesh and blood people. The way they will keep you waiting, because your time isn't as valuable as theirs. The little power games they play. The way they play music or a movie or a television program loudly in a public space. The way they roar their dirt bike up and down the street. The lies they tell in order to justify their behavior. The way they offer an opinion no one asked for. The way they think that repeating something often enough will make it the truth. The assumptions they make. The things they do in order to feel superior. 

Their belief that winning is everything and must be accomplished by any means possible. And that anything... anything... is justifiable - if they win.

It's all rude. Uncivil. Deplorable. 

I'm tired of it. I do my best to avoid others at all costs. 

Again... I'm simply tired. Tired of bad behavior. 

I want to live in my basement and only come out if there is the promise of gin.

For all the above reasons I hate shopping, hate driving, hate eating out, hate travelling, hate going anywhere I have not been before, hate doing people favors, hate meeting new people. 

Hate is a strong word. Yet, I don't hesitate to use it in this case. 

I wish I could opt out. I wish it didn't bother me. I wish I didn't care. 

But every time there's an incident... I feel like a little piece of me dies.

Relatively, I don't have all that much time left on this planet. 

So I'd rather not lose precious time dealing with other people's agendas, mind games, follies, picadilloes, selfish wants and assumed needs.

Yes.

I'm burnt out. 

Now, if you'll excuse me...

I have to go get ready. 

I believe someone mentioned there might be a gin martini in the offing. 

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Bad Behavior - Mexican Dubwiser 

feat. Myron Glasper, Ulises Lozano, Billy Gould

Weekend Onesie: Pack Up Your Old Kit Bag...

Weekend Onesie: 

Pack Up Your Old Kit Bag...

This week, on Tuesday, I had to go into the office and pack up my things.

No, I'm not fired. Or laid off. I remain very gratefully and gainfully employed.

However, in order to reconfigure every floor of every building on our campus so they are covid-compliant (what does that mean?), they asked that we pack our business necessary stuff, jettison all that we could, and take home our personal belongings.

Two or three years ago, I championed a similar cause that got squashed due to a lack of funding (and willingness). Facilities wanted to move to a model where people would no longer hide in cubes, thus, no longer have an assigned seat. Every morning, we would gather our items from an assigned locker (like high school) and find a place to work for the day. It was to encourage innovative thinking and allow people who normally never laid eyes on one another some facetime. 

Well, I was all for it. I saw it as a means of divorcing people from their hoards. Seriously, I have people stockpiling office supplies like they're canned goods.  I have people who haven't quite gotten on board with the whole paperless/save a tree movement; they still print every damn email they've ever received. There are people who scour conference rooms throughout the day looking for leftover food; open their filing cabinets and you will dozens and dozens of cans of expired soda, unrefrigerated orange juice, bags of stale chips and plates of questionable cookies. And then there are those who use their cube to conceal an issue they can't bring home with them... such as, the lady who spends her day shopping for shoes on-line, purchasing so many pair, that she has to have them shipped to the office, where she stacks them up under counters and in cabinets - all so her husband doesn't find out.

But this change? It wasn't meant to be. We ran into budget issues - as in, the man who held the purse strings didn't want to open them. Oh, he wanted the whole floor reconfigured, but he didn't want it coming out of his cost center. 

Then, there was a big upheaval, the fourteenth reorganization I've been part of in 13 years (actually, we just completed #16), and the whole idea got put aside. 

Fast forward to today. 

With people starting to return to the office  - or wanting to return - Facilities felt this was the time to move the company forward. The number of days per week that you choose to work in the office on a regular basis will determine whether or not you are assigned a permanent home - a cube or an office. Those who choose to work from home three or more days a week will no longer have a place to call their own. Instead, each morning, they will need to use an app on their cell phone and find themselves an available chair.

This change in landscape also means people can get rid of as much stuff as possible. 

When we came in to clean out our spaces we were handed a box - one box. And it wasn't a big box (2.5'x3'X3'). And that was it. What we absolutely need to work was to go into the box... everything else? 

Buh-bye. 

For me? It was freeing. 

The actual event wasn't to start until 8:00 am; I arrived at 5:30 am. I scrounged about and located two boxes with lids - the kind reams of paper come in. Then I started sorting the contents of my cabinets into various piles, which would then be deposited in appropriately labeled (electronics, office supplies, recycle, etc.) giant boxes provided by Facilities. By 9:00 am I had cleared out: 2-5 drawer towers, 2-wide 4 drawer file cabinets, a mini three drawer cabinet, and  my desk.

Every time I picked something up, I looked at it, asked myself, "have I needed this in the last year and a half?" The answer was almost always 'no' and into a pile it would go. My piles would reach a certain size and I would scoop it all up and sort it into the appropriate bin. 

What did I learn?

I learned what condiment packets look like after sitting in a drawer for a year and three months. (Big and puffy.)

I learned that unrefrigerated (because it required none) orange juice separates into three layers - two grey and one a peculiar sickly yellow. 

I learned that paper files are pretty meaningless. I kept a few documents because they had signatures on them, but the rest has been scanned ages ago.

I learned I used to buy a lot of stupid supplies. And received a lot of stupid gifts.

I learned where a bunch of CDs I'd burned in 2018 and 2019 have been hiding. 

I learned what a peace lily looks like when no one waters it for a year and three months.

I learned I don't have an patience, respect or time for most of my co-workers. 

I learned that a lot of what I used to value about my job... has nothing to do with my job. 

Now, oddly, there was only one other person there that early in the morning. We'll call him 'Nick' (because that is his name).

'Nick' is an odd one. He's 40-something and has no life. I used to  typically get into the office at 5:30 am. 'Nick' would arrive at 6:00 am. We would be the only ones there until just before 8:00 am. He's the sort who makes small talk, so I would avoid him by running around 'doing things'. This day was no different, except, of course, I had not seen 'Nick' in about a year and three months. 

'Nick' is part of one of our audit teams. He is the kind of employee whose chief concern while conducting an audit with the FDA is... the food. 'Nick' will not eat cafeteria food. 'Nick' is very vocal and will go on at length about how horrible food their food is.  'Nick' will only eat food that is brought into the building and is of the 'fast food' variety. 

Did I mention 'Nick' lives alone? 

Can you guess why 'Nick' lives alone?

He's a fathead. No, he's not obese. Not at all. Out of shape? Hmmm, probably. But not obese. Yet. 

'Nick', in the ten years that I have known him, is only concerned about 'Nick'. The way he talks about our company? I'm not sure why 'Nick' is still employed. Because apparently everything about the company we work for is bad, wrong, stupid, out of step, insipid, and unnecessary.

Now, it's not like 'Nick' has any solutions or intention of fixing any of it. No, because then he would have nothing to talk about... except how lousy the cafeteria food is.

'Nick' is very negative, except when he wants something. Then? He becomes a big brown-noser.

'Nick' has been brown-nosing me since the day I was introduced to him. Normally? I don't mind a face between my ass cheeks. But, I don't like 'Nick.' 

Sadly, I don't think anyone does. 

On this morning, each time I would take a pile of stuff to the boxes, to sort of and dispose of it, I had me a little shadow. I would place something in a box and 'Nick' would pick it up and look at it. Every third item? 

He kept. 

I said nothing. Me, hiding behind my mask?  I shared nothing. All he had to read were my eyes. And, me? Unfortunately? I have big Don Knotts eyes (or, at least, I think I do). I don't react, I mug - like I'm in an old-fashioned melodrama. So my peepers are questioning why 'Nick' thinks the things I'm throwing away are keepers.

As the morning drags on, I come to realize: it's none of my business. 

Yes, 'Nick' lives alone. But not very. I expect to see him on an episode of Hoarders very soon. 

But back to the task at hand. I finish. My boss comes in, I give him the lay of the land and let him lock himself inside his office. If I had 'some' stuff? He has much, much more. In fact, he has three predecessor's worth of stuff to go through... carefully. The more I looked at all the papers and files he had to review? The more I was thinking going paperless is, indeed, the way to go. 

I kept thinking I should offer him some kind of help. But what could I do? As far as what my boss does with all that  stuff?

It's none of my business. 

So, by 9:00 am? I am done. I slap some white labels with my name on the things I must keep (all of which does not fit in that tiny little box.) I load up two boxes and two giant bags of personal stuff and I leave. There's a huge luncheon planned, but I have no intention of breaking bread anywhere near these people. Too many people not wearing masks. Too many people thinking that this event is a high school reunion. I am outta there. Whatever transpires the rest of the day?

None of my business.

I get home and power up my work laptop. There's an email from a team leader. She wants to keep her team together. Should she put in a move request with facilities to ensure that everyone will get to sit together? And if so, how does she do that? 

I write back... "Keep in mind, that when we do return in September, not everyone will have a cube or an office. So, I'm not sure that such a request makes any sense given our new working model." 

And it's true. 

Come September? Nothing will be the same. 

Certainly, not I. 

I'm fortunate. I have a very understanding boss. We chuckle over many of the same silly things people see as important. We're both big picture people. So, those who get stuck on little picture things? We shrug our shoulders and smile. Although, when someone is critical of something small, and I can do something about it, I will try to fix it for them. I want them to think that I care. 

Or at least, I used to want them to think that I cared. 

Now? It's none of my business. 

When we return in September, I do not expect to have a dedicated anything. I plan to work from home at least three days a week. 

When I do return in September? I will share a lot less; less of myself, my thoughts, my opinions. Yes, I'm checking out... of that giant hotel of an office building, and my job. 

There's no hill there worth dying on. 

And it's none of my business because it's not my business. 

Oh, I'm still on the bus. I plan on staying on the bus until I reach where I want to go or am told that this is the last stop. It's warm on the bus. I know almost every seat on this bus. So, I won't be getting off the bus until then. 

But I am planning on being quieter while on the bus. Not changing seats. Not joining in sing-a-longs. Not asking a lot of questions of the driver. 

*Where are we going? I don't know. 

When will get there? I'm not certain. 

All that I know is...

It's none of my business. 

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Hope you're enjoying the weekend.

Take good care of yourselves!

*Thank you, Lerner and Loewe

-uptonking from Wonderland Burlesque

Pack Up - Eliza Doolittle

Wouldn't It Be Loverly?  from My Fair Lady

Audrey Hepburn/Marni Nixon

Paint Your Wagon (I'm On My Way) -

Julie Andrews, Robert Goulet and Joel Grey

Where Am I Going? - Barbra Streisand

When The Monkey Throws Its Feces... Duck!

There’s a reason I am not looking for a relationship.  They are messy. They involve other people.  Other people come with baggage. Baggage means drama.  I do not care for other people’s drama.  It’s not that I am not sympathetic or unable to be compassionate, but so much of what others present as drama is self-induced; made up shit that they throw at you like a monkey throwing feces. 

Case in point…

It’s a Saturday night and I am on Adam4Adam, a site I have come to avoid for a number of reasons.  The usual complaints, of course: guys play too many games, looking to hook-up (but not really), tend to be snobbish, same faces, lack of a sense of humor (about themselves), etc.   But also because the whole barebacking thing.  People on there used to get very upset about it.  Now, I have noticed a shift.  A lot more guys are listing “Anything Goes” in their profile, which I guess speaks to the growing acceptance of barebacking on the part of our community.  I don’t have a defined opinion about this current shift.  However, I’ve noticed a shift in mainstream porn, as well, or at least the porn I am exposed to via Hamster, Xtube, and the like.  That may have more to do with the preference of the moderators of those sites, but I sure am seeing more of it – and the actors aren’t just guys next door anymore, but real porno pros who definitely know better, but have made a choice.  

As far as Adam4Adam is concerned, it would seem the scales are evening up re: raw sex, although people continue to be just as absolute as ever regarding just about everything else: not into Asians, under 25 only, if you’re  over 30 do not contact me,  blah, blah, blah.  You’re on-line, on a hook-up site!  Get over yourself.

Eventually I settle into this conversation with a dude I have never talked to before.  He is 5’10”, furry, with a beard, and a handsome mug – very masculine looking, wearing a trucker’s hat.  His body is in relatively good shape for his age (51) and he has a couple of tattoos on his upper shoulders.  We are firing on all cylinders, meaning we seem to have a lot in common.  The banter back and forth is pretty entertaining and more than a tad sexual.  At one point he asks me if I am looking for a relationship, to which I give my standard reply (absolutely not).  I ask if he would be cool with being fuckbuds… he says he would be cool that and I take him at his word.  Turns out he’s home all the time and our schedules might actually match up.  He’s a vers top and his dick is the same size as mine – 7.5 cut.  He’s way into making out and kissing and exploring different things.  I am thinking – this is too good to be true.   Clue: always trust your instincts! 

Okay, so there are a few red flags on the play.  First, he is unemployed.  Second, he is renting the top floor of a house.  When you are 51 years old I really feel that neither should be the case.  You should be employed and own real estate, but I withhold judgment.  The dialogue also seems kind of florid, with too much information being offered too soon.  It feels odd.  I tell him straight out that I do not PNP, for it has now become my standard line any time my spidey-senses tell me that the person I am conversing with may be under the influence of something.  He tells me he doesn’t do drugs.  Cool.  We make plans to meet the next day.

Sunday morning I text and email him telling him I look forward to getting together.  I know the general area where he lives, but don’t have his address (another red flag) and ask that he send the address.  I’d explained the previous evening that I had to sing at church that morning and then would be having breakfast with my folks.  While at church, he texts me that his parents have dropped in unannounced and they are going to church and brunch.  That’s cool (odd coincidence, but cool), and since we aren’t to meet until later that afternoon, I figure, oh, well. So when the time comes I hit him up via text and A4A.  He doesn’t respond.  So basically, he’s stands me up.

The previous evening, I mentioned that I would be going to the Eagle on a rare Sunday afternoon with friends.  He had asked if it would be okay to join me there, as well.  I say sure, thinking we will have already met face to face, and since I anticipated that going well, my friends might be amused.  So, late Sunday afternoon, I get an email telling me that he will be there and that he will have a nose ring in and will be wearing leather shorts.  No mention of the fact that he basically stood me up that morning and hasn’t responded to my texts and emails via A4A, but I shrug this off.   His outfit of choice, however, I find a little odd - it’s not leather night, but to each their own, right? There is some sort of leather contest at The Saloon that night, so maybe he is part of that scene.   His pics strike me as hyper-masculine and I remain intrigued. 

Of course he never shows.  And I get no explanation.  Nothing. 

Sitting in my car the following Wednesday, at a park I frequent, less for cruising these days and more just for the solitude, he hits me up via text.  I am surprised.  Again, no explanation for the no-show and I let it go.  He’s chatty and the banter is what it was previously – witty and a tad sexual.  At this point I had not been fucked since the first of February nor had any sexual contact for three weeks.  My dick is developing a mind of its own and want some attention.  I suggest I come over to his place so he can do all the things he said he would do to me the previous Sunday.   He knows about my self-imposed limits on sexual activity.  He keeps begging off.  Even though he’s not doing anything but laundry.  He tells me he wants his place to look its best before he has me over.  Red flag.  Is he a total slob?  

Then he CALLS me. 

Okay, I hate talking on the phone, especially to dudes I meet on-line who I have not met in the flesh.  The voices never match the pictures.  Discussion usually devolve into some type of phone sex – which I hate.  But more than anything else – I hate talking on the phone.  I have a phobia, maybe.  Or perhaps I really just hate doing it.  I keep necessary conversations brief and succinct.  What do you want?  I can/cannot do that/get that/be there for you. Period.  I don’t want you to chat on and on about your cat, or that woman at work who says stupid shit.  And I especially do not want you asking me ANY FUCKING QUESTIONS about who I am, what I like, blah, blah.  It’s is simply not me.

But he calls.

He can’t have me over.  Cool, I tell him.  I already accepted that as fact via text, so why is he calling?  He wants to know where I am.  I tell him.  He wants to know why.  I tell him.  He doesn’t seem to buy it.  He’s new to the cities and can’t possibly know the reputation of the park that I am sitting in, nor have I told him the exact park, but he jumps to that conclusion anyway.  I want to terminate the conversation, but he just goes on and on.  Seems he once had a partner who cheated on him.  Seems the last dude he played with gave him a case of Gonorrhea.  This last bit of info intrigues me – I have not had gonorrhea and want to know what it’s like, how they treat it, etc.  After I get this info, again, I try to terminate the conversation, but he chats on.  Finally, I decide to just end it.  I tell him I have to go take a piss.  He wants to know if the restrooms are open.  I tell him no, they are always locked at this park and that I will just go behind a tree.  He makes some comment about how I have learned to mark my territory like my dogs, so men will follow me and have sex with me.

Huh?

That’s it.  If his voice wasn’t annoying enough (and it so was – whiney, queeny, smokers rasp), and the fact that I suspect he was under the influence of alcohol, this last bit of conjecture on his part is enough to kill this whole thing for me.  I tell him I have to go and end the call.

That should be the end of it, right?

Oh, no.

The next day, the emails start coming via my Hotmail account. Initially, I had sent him pics of myself.  He never returned the favor.  But what he does do, now, is write me for the next three days about how I am not the man he thought I was, how I mislead him, how he could never be IN A RELATIONSHIP (??!!??)with someone like me (gee, I thought I covered that upfront) with someone like me.  He has trust issues.  He’s been hurt.  He’s… he’s a nut bag.

I respond once.

He ends one missive with the words: And I really wanted to like you!  I responded: “And I really wanted to like you.  Oh, well, guess it is not meant to be.  That’s life.”

But he keeps emailing.  I read them, I delete them, and keep thanking my lucky stars that I dodged this bullet!

I don’t need crazy in my life.  I don’t do crazy well.   That’s why I have protective barriers all around me, with signs posted to keep the crazies out.  

I’m not saying this dude is a loser.  I am not saying this dude is an alcoholic. I never met this dude, so I can’t make those calls. I am simply sharing my experience that I had with him and coming to the conclusion that he is not someone I would enjoy spending any time with – naked or otherwise. 

That said, I think he is also a small part of a much larger problem… people on hook-up sites really need to dial back their expectations of others.  They are meeting people on A HOOK-UP SITE!  I don’t care what your profile may say about how you are there only to chat and do not hook-up.  I read that and I block your ass, because that indicates to me that you have a tenuous grasp on reality.  If you only want to chat and do not hook-up and will throw a shit fit if someone dares tell you are attractive or send you a picture of their naughty parts after establishing some type of sexual dialogue with you – THEN YOU SHOULD NOT BE ON A HOOK-UP SITE.

Get a grip.  Grow the fuck up.  Read the tea leaves, Helen, your destiny awaits.

Next week: Part II of this rant, as I take on the no-minds on Grndr, Scruff, Growlr, and Jack’d.