Mensa Boy

Before I moved to So Cal I was seeing a guy whom I call Mensa Boy (MB). It wasn't really anything more than a few shared classes in school, nights at bars and going home together after.

When I moved down here we spoke occasionally and last year when I went home for a week in November he "insisted" that I stay with him. It happened to be during the same time that Da Bod had returned home to finish packing prior to returning down here. I ended up spending my days hanging out with Da Bod, and through the course of it decided that I was indeed going to marry Da Bod. (I know, I know... hind site 20/20)

I generally am on good behaviour. This can occasionally go out the window when cocktails are consumed. One evening while in Ptown I had one of those such evenings. Never being one to attempt to juggle many boys at one time... (laughing to self)... okay but only feeble attempts... I had planned an evening for myself while MB was at work... I was going to hang out with Da Bod, leave and meet up with PV (more about him another day) a bit later, then meet back up with MB at his house when he was off of work.

This plan seemed perfect to me.. until MB surprised me with the news that he had gotten the night off of work. As Da Bod and MB had previously hung out, Da Bod met up joining us out with Hot Momma and Iam (Ptown friends) , but I was unable to see PV. I was irritated, and slowly becoming more vocal about my overall dismay with MB as the evening (and martinis) passed by.

Then MB's mom arrived. I then apparently (Need I remind you, "if I don't remember it, it didn't happen" motto) began saying something to Da Bod and Hot Momma along the lines of, "What... you don't like a girl being mean to you so you have to call your mom to protect you?" as his mother sat directly on the other side of me. That OCG, what a doll...

Hot Momma needed to go to the bathroom and I did my obligatory "girls in pairs" joining her. Unexpectedly we spent the next 45 minutes in the restroom as I held her hair back and she tossed her cookies in the toilet. I went out to tell the boys that she just needed to leave and Iam said he would bring around the car. Da Bod said he would help go get her, and MB stood around... seemingly useless.

Da Bod walked into the women's restroom and said, "Sorry ladies, I'm not trying to bother you or see anything, but I have a friend in need." He walked into the handicap (physically challenged???) stall, waited for Hot Momma to finish her next bout with her stomach demons (called Cosmo and Politan), scooped her up and carried her through the restaurant... all the while I followed him, hearts beating out of my eyes in some cartoon-esque fashion.

I was so over MB. The following evening as he and I sat having cocktails and horrible conversation (really, since when did he convert to this man that proudly started calling him a "Red-Neck Republican"?!?!) the subject of school came up and somehow the conversation evolved to the topic of intelligence. I, dumb founded, asked him if he really thought he was more intelligent than I. He looked at me and said, "OCG, I'm like Mensa Smart." Indeed. Of people I know actually involved in the Mensa organization, I have yet to meet one that needed to tell me they were that smart. Thus Mensa Boy was born.

About a week after I returned to California MB called and left message he thanking me for my "presence at his house" when I had come to Ptown. I didn't speak with him again. Until last weekend. As I was walking into his house my phone rang. MB had heard I was in town, and thougtht I might like to come over and "see his new apartment". Obviously my prior engagement was more important than going to check out MB's digs, but he did come and join us out a few nights later. As the evening came to a close I decided that, as a good friend I should indeed go and see his new place.

As I have previously mentioned, when hungover I will wake up between 6 and 7 am. God's punishment for drinking too much the night before is to make me live through the entire hangover the following day. In lieu of lying in bed tossing and turning in lost hopes of returning to slumber, I will get up and leave the room, allowing my bed-mate the opportunity to sleep his headache away. Often this will be hours.

I woke up last Saturday morning, and after a brief analysis and recognician as to where I was, I realized that I needed to go. I could not spend the first morning of this new decade of my life sitting self-entertaining in front of the TV while he-who-is-too-smart-for-his (or my)-own-good was a sloth in the other room. I brushed my teeth, started reassembling the outfit I had on the night before, and returned telling MB that he had to take me back to JP's. He asked to sleep until 8am, "Come on OCG, just 40 more minutes." I responded," I have been letting you sleep in for years, and never bothered you to wake up. I will not spend my birthday, the first day of my 30's, waiting for your ass to get out of bed." He got up.

I was nearly fully dressed, except for my jeans that I couldn't find anywhere. I asked him (read: I was fully bitching) about where the my pants might be located. He said, "Did you look under the couch?"

With complete attitude I relied, "Yes, of course I looked under the couch." I then crouched down and looked under the couch while his back was turned. I was actually glad they were not there. I then saw something slightly sticking out from behind one of the throw pillows on the couch. For the next several seconds I played tug-of-war with the sofa, that had apparently been hungry and eaten my pants and storing them in the crevice between the back-rest of the couch and the cushions. MB looked on with great amusement as I cursed, and pulled with might, half nude, trying to reclaim these pants that were mine. Yes I suppose karma can still kick your ass for being a bitch, even on your birthday.

I haven't spoken with him since, and don't imagine to for several more months... at which point he will still want to hang out with me, and I shall still be a bitch to him. After all, I think he likes it. Not so smart now, eh?