2010-07-26 - 2:33 p.m.
I just remembered that my sister and I used to call each other "stupijerk". The two words ran together nicely.
I have been battling anger issues in regard to one person that I occasionally have to deal with. He is a stupijerk for sure. This person is a 73-year-old man who has made me madder than anyone else in my life ever has. (And that's saying a lot - I have been mighty mad plenty of times.)
He is in a club that I belong to, and I thought he was an intellectual, interesting, mildly charming individual. Then I was laid off a year and a half ago and spent a huge chunk of time with this person, working on composing a directory for another club that he belongs to.
Long story long, he is stubborn, slow, sucks at administrative tasks (such as putting together a directory), overly frugal, bossy, inconsiderate, a user, and controlling, to name a few faults.
We hung out for about 6 months, with me putting my marriage at risk for being with him literally all the time. I was waiting for that Renaissance Man to come out in him. He was in MENSA, was somewhat of a musician, taught me to DJ, took African drum lessons....
I had a bit of a professorial crush on him. Not a physical one because I didn't find him attractive, but I really yearned for some serious mental stimulation.
Turns out he has been single almost his whole life for a reason. I don't know how anyone could possibly put up with him. He may be good at math, but that's all he has going for him. He's in some 99th percentile of geniuses, but he is in fact a real moron, especially when it comes to people. I think he's that high up because not many people have taken the test. (And calling him an idiot is the biggest insult ever. I know from experience.)
When you scratch below the surface, he really isn't that interesting. He may dabble in several activities, but he doesn't have a broad scope and doesn't have much to say. He replayed the same old stories over and over during the months we associated with each other.
It made me realize that seemingly smart people aren't really always that bright. They're definitely not always right. And they may have a deep streak of weirdness that will eventually come to the surface.
Serial killers may tell funny jokes or love their mom or be good cooks (none of which apply to this guy), but they're still serial killers.
This one had a vein of perversion - he confided in me that he thought attempted sex between boys or between boys and animals in their formative years was normal. When he was a teenager, he went to the same prostitute that his dad went to. And when he was a teacher, he claimed that young girls would hit on him by standing really close to him and leaning into him. And he had a foot fetish, which, compared to being a borderline pedophile, was mild. He also would go to the neighborhood pool and stand in the water and just watch the kids swim. He would wear his eyeglasses with clip-on sunglasses, so obviously he wasn't there for serious swimming. I went to the pool a couple times and he would be standing chest-high in the water, just kind of bouncing up and down. (He told me he had had prostate cancer surgery and couldn't get an erection, so maybe he was aroused and no one could tell.)
I used to see an elderly man and think "oh what a sweet old gentleman, I bet he has some nice stories about the old days". Now I see an old man and think he's very possibly a dirty, warped old man who has weird skeletons in his closet and thinks if you pay attention to him that you want him physically. This former "friend" of mine implied to other people that I was his girlfriend (dream on).
Now I am the president of this trivial club, and he is the long-time treasurer. He sabotages everything I try to do, exerting some kind of imagined power over me and my position. I don't even WANT the position, I'm just doing it as a favor because no one else wants to do it.
I do have fun arguing with him via e-mail, because he is really bad at it and I am quite good. I win every time.
So half of me hopes he drops dead any minute and saves the world from his miserable presence, and the other half hopes he keeps kicking for a little while longer so I can verbally box him about the ears.
I can always end an e-mail with "you're old and you're going to die soon. nanner nanner." I like having that one to fall back on.
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