Sunday, May 30, 2010

I hate your face, ENFP: the social contract is for everyone.

Been a while, hasn't it? I just remembered that I used to have an ENFP friend.

So you may have noticed I'm hypersensitive about the social contract- it's because I remember most of it in the front part of my brain. When I talk to people, the occasional glazed expression is my running down a checklist. (Appropriate greeting, done. Correct name, done. Appropriate posture and expression, done. Inquiry into other's health, done. Evidence that I recall aspects of other's personal life, done. Made sure I didn't start raving about flowers... oh dear.) Having roommates is pretty much the same process- except now we're pretty up front about our flaws.

"We live in filth, we're introverted and will sometimes hide from you, and you can't move anything in the kitchen. Drink all of our booze you want, don't set any of our shit on fire, never tell us anything in writing that you're scared to say to our face, and pay the rent on time. Oh, and the cat thinks your room belongs to him." (Surprisingly, people are still willing to be roommates. It's a tough market. Also, hi Amistad, R, so sorry about the dishes! And the oranges!)

My point, charming readers, is that ENFPs are supposed to be good at this sort of thing. They're so suave! So aware! So clever and funny and sensitive! I'm sure they never have to warn people that they are bundles of neuroses. You can set them loose in any situation with human interaction, and not worry about them getting into a terrible argument about porch pillars. It's refreshing.

And then they crash on your sofa for a week, not bathing, eating nothing but cheese, and consuming one six pack and one fifth of vodka every day. It's not until the fourth day I even considered that this might socially unacceptable- I was so used to being the awkward one.


Thank you for kicking him out.

Friday, May 28, 2010

I live with my parents, my constant companions are feline, I'm well on my way to becoming a crazy cat lady. You know all this.

A couple weeks ago I realized I was talking to the cats using baby talk. This could not stand. I slowly weaned myself...

But talking to cats like they are intelligent beings is no better. For one thing, people assume you're talking to them. Please, interact with my family? Hah.

"When you do that, I think he feels threatened. Why are you purposefully messing with his boundaries?"

"I'm tired, I need space. Get out of my face."

First Dance

So I'm trying to find a song for our first dance. We don't really have a song that's our song, because we are bad at schmaltz. I made a list anyway.

"Secret Agent Man", Johnny Rivers. We went to a karaoke party before we were dating and knew we both hated karaoke. And parties. C sang this.

"Infected", Bad Religion. C had a clock/radio/CD player until it mysteriously fell down the stairs and got stepped on when we were moving in together. This was the first song on the CD that played every morning at 7 without fail. I'd always sleep through the first minute or so and have really disturbing dreams. Of course, since the untimely demise of the alarm clock, no one's been able to get C out of bed at 7 again. This song is totally about a relationship, so it's still in the running.

"Barrett's Privateers", Stan Rogers. Sea shanty about getting crippled in a disastrous navel battle! I made C listen to thus until he appreciated it.

"Rivers of Babylon", Sublime or "Sad Songs and Waltzes", Cake. Ah, the discography of college. Also, Sublime's version totally leaves out the threatened infanticide and the slaughter of the speaker, so added points. Really anything from these guys would work, except, you know, it's all wildly inappropriate.

Or from our post college years, "I Crush Everything" by Jonathan Coulton, or "No Children" by the Mountain Goats. We sing these to each other on long car rides. We've figured out how to sing "No Children" as a duet.

So we have crazy person taste in music. Maybe the wonderfully recursive "Do You Want To Be In My Wedding" is the perfect choice here. It's everything I hate about country music and the wedding industrial complex in one neat package.
I know talking about TV is terrible conversation, but I hate it when I recommend a show to someone, and they smirk (the smirk is critical) and say "I don't watch commercial television." I don't mind people not having TV- hell, I don't have a TV- but I mind the smirk. I mind it more when it's someone so keyed into the internet that you could probably cobble together a perfect AI replica of their personality from all their Facebook and Twitter updates. One glowing rectangle is not superior to the other!

Anyoldway, I think I've found a way to defeat this. I just start ranting about a childhood without television, the social isolation, the lack of a shared culture, and the inability to avoid watching any flashing screen in my peripheral vision. Said screen could be showing test patterns or judicial nominee hearings and Clive Owen could be making out with Jake Gyllanhaal right next to me, and I would still stare at the screen. There, smirker. You don't want to talk about television shows? Let's talk about my blighted years in junior high instead. Remember you wanted to derail the conversation first.

I have not found a way to explain that I don't have a TV without sounding like one of the smirkers. Really! It's essential! Allow me to show you the deep dip in my college transcript that perfectly overlaps our time with free cable! I totally still watch things online!

Friday, May 21, 2010

So Romantic!

C and I have a small tradition: when we are vacationing separately, we send each other postcards. The image on the postcard must closely approximate genitalia. Usually, this means beautiful tropical flowers or the Washington Monument...

This explains why I just got a postcard detailing Incan erotic pottery. It's very explicit.

My dad checked the mail today.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

I hate your face ESTJ: Stop making sense.

It doesn't make sense, but an ESTJ can have fun anywhere. Anywhere. Like Ren Faires. High school band performances. Workplace holiday parties. Booze cruises. If someone somewhere created an event for the express purpose of having fun, the ESTJ will have fun. Somehow.

Well, not anywhere. They are completely incapable of having fun in a traffic jam. Or a Laundromat. Or at the DMV. (I know a happy couple whose first date was to the DMV. His driver's license photograph has the biggest shit-eating grin. He recommends it.)

So yeah. Either the ESTJ's capricious whims fix things as "fun" and "not fun" throughout society, or they are so prey to public opinion that they are incapable of observing that no one has freely enjoyed a Ren Faire ever, unless said persons were making money or making out.

Also they are very good at spinning plates. Too good.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

I just unfriended someone because they joined the Facebook group "why test on animals when we have pedofiles in prison."

I find the idea of unwilling human testing abhorrent, yes, and I believe that prisoners are already treated inhumanely. I have read several articles that indicate that there are many false convictions of child molesters, and other which indicate it's a horrible horrible pathology instead of a wicked choice. Clearly, she and I feel very differently about this issue.

But who joins a group with an obvious misspelling and no capital letter at the beginning? Who?

And I hate bunnies. Why not put Lysol in their tiny beady eyes?
Alright, if it's socially acceptable to call classy media gleaned from weddings and wedding based photo shoots wedding porn, I'm going to call the adorable websites* couples create wedding slashfic.

*Used to be an independent website, but alas, no more.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

I hate your face, ESTP: You can tell I know this type really well.

ESTP, this morning there was a sobbing woman in my carpool. I suspect this is your fault. Pro tip: only assholes pick fights before 7AM.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Someday he will come home.

C called me from Ecuador yesterday. He's in the middle of a Griswold style vacation with his immediate male relatives. Signs that he's been spending too much time with engineers? First, he no longer recognizes "go on" types of communication as anything other than interruptions. He says something, I say "uh-huh" he says "what was that?". Second, all units of time are accurate down to the minute. "In seventeen minutes, we are going to dinner." Third, he's starting to regret not bringing a protractor. "They promised these seats would recline to 160 degrees, and this is 140 at most." Fourth, his most vivid recollection of Machu Picchu? "All the steps are of non-standard size. Is it too much to ask for a little consistency from stonemasons?"

I think I might have to deprogram him when he returns.

Monday, May 10, 2010

I remember watching this at Jeanie Turner's with persistent viral pneumonia, age 4. I got to stay inside because I was always sick. And, um, she's dead now?

Sunday, May 9, 2010

I hate your face, ESFJ: Please don't run for president.

There's a Douglas Adams quote which I will now paraphrase: Our superficial differences almost completely disguise our fundamental differences. That is, when I spend time with an ESFJ, I am so delighted to actually manage conversation that it is only later I realize we are incapable of communicating.

I know communicating with them requires appropriate garb, a great deal of social niceties, and not getting distracted mid-sentence. On a good day, wading through this would involve me rolling a natural 20. The flustered wacky thing doesn't work at all.

But then later I think about what they said. (I do this for everyone, by the way. I ask my teachers about things they taught me in junior high. I stomp around the woods, considering books and conversations and life stories. Your thoughts are digested and chewed again like cud.) I realize that my core moral beliefs oppose their core moral beliefs. I think that my social construct is imperfect- when I encounter another, I'm anxious to discover if they have better solutions to universal problems. ESFJs think our way is the best and also under attack.
(by people like me) I think testing aphorisms and common sense is a sign of brilliance and the ESFJ does not. An ESFJ is very public about their core beliefs, and I'm not. And I think that people should constantly evaluate whether they're living up to their highest priorities. I... I don't think ESFJs do this very often.

I hate your face, ENTJ: Please stop destroying my dreams.

I've stated that my dream job is one where I think of a pretty idea, someone else comes up with a way to implement it, finds funding, organizes the office space, and hires the minions, and then I get to wander around in the field looking at pretty flowers. I'll gladly do statistics wrangling, walk through poison oak, and design the database- just please don't make me speak to the grant committee.

So given this, ENTJ should be my work soulmate, right? They are the only other personality type where I can argue a subject down to the ground, insisting on citations and mocking their sources, pointing out logic flaws and yelling "Ad hominem! Ad hominem!" where afterwards we dust ourselves off and get tea. They too would rather be told that they are mistaken when the alternative is continuing to be wrong. And they do things! They get things done! They implement ideas! I know they're goddamn gregarious, but at least they're gregarious about interesting things. And arrogant, yes yes, but so delightfully abashed when you smack down a supposedly erudite reference. They should be the ultimate small-dose friend.

But I hate them. Occasionally.

I hate them because they're the extroverted: they should have the social skills. I should be able to form a symbiotic relationship with one and ride their coattails to contentment, but they keep pissing people off. Apparently the rest of the world does not find veiled smirking references funny. The rest of the world does not want someone who commiserated appropriately about getting poked in the eye for five minutes to abruptly start talking about Philip of Macedon. The rest of the world does not want to defend every cursed subtopic in their fragile grandiose plan. I mean, I sympathize, clearly these people are no fun at all, but possibly ENTJ could shut up for ten minutes?

I assume that if people please me, they must be people-pleasers at heart. Apparently the ENTJ is specifically designed to amuse me. But look, if I had to learn basic social skills as a second language, possibly ENTJ friends could do so as well? Then we can rule the world together.

And I hate them because every single one I know- male and female- is a better feminist than I.

Friday, May 7, 2010

I received the ultimate compliment in bloggery: I was quoted in a Nerdery google status. So flattered.

I hate your face, ISTP: No, I apparently just hate you.

Goodness, I have some strong feelings about this personality. Really. I mean, if I have any readers who are ISTPs, I'm sure we've had a discussion- say, about how much junior high sucked, or how we both like kitties- and I've ended up icily dissecting each comment you make before I storm away.

It's embarrassing.

So let's just go with some backhanded compliments. If everyone were an ISTP, communism would work. They work very hard, and work for the joy of work. It would also work because they'd be OK with letting some people starve every now and then.

You may have read this study- about how being unclear in communication leads to misunderstanding. (Really ladies, why don't you just talk like men?) This is never a problem for ISTPs. They'll just ignore things they don't want to hear.

I mentioned that the ISFP was very good at focusing, and I was envious. ISTPs are good at focusing too. On the surface, it seems like they're exactly the same as me, except they've exchanged sort of a fuzzy big picture thing for not being too lazy to get out of bed. They never take a deep breath and look at things from someone else's point of view, they never put a project down for a minute and daydream about duckies, they never check their work using another method... They are juggernauts- runaway freight trains. They won't know they're wrong until next year.

Competent, logical, focused, and with selective deafness- this is not a personality type big on the social safety net. Don't bother asking them for favors, regardless of importance. The upside is that they're stolid, self reliant, and brave in the face of adversity.

No wait, they're whiny little bitches. I swear, 60% of Internet drama can be traced back to an ISTP. Whether it's hiding under desks after a breakup, quitting Facebook (again) because someone snapped at you, or sending out a passive-aggressive e-mail to every botanist in the state when your underling finds another job, an ISTP will rise to the challenge of completely overreacting.

The one thing that makes ISTPs slightly less intolerable is hard work. Give them a craft, and watch them go. Then give them another craft. The thing that makes them more intolerable is permitting them to major in philosophy. They think parroting Sartre makes them a existentialist guru.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

I hate your face, ISFJ: you must be plotting something.

All right, I don't really hate your face. Not because of any deep bond between us- what's a deep bond without an untapped vein of loathing- but because you are so sensitive and reserved. So understanding. So poised. So deft. So tactful. So full of aplomb. You must be up to something.

It's like hanging out with the sister from a girl adventure book. Not Laura, Mary. Not Jo, Beth. Not Elizabeth, Jane. No wonder their sisters went and wrote edifying quasi-fiction. You drove them to it, what with the yamato nadeshiko thing.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Yes, yes, blatant institutionalized racism.

So I've been thinking about the Arizona law of stupid. (SB1070) I'm gonna assume that we all hate it, we all think it should be struck down, we all get really quiet and awkward when one aspect of boycotting Arizona involves no longer taking water out of the Colorado... But I'm wondering about the individual moral issues.

I don't know when and where I picked up the attitude that lying to and obstructing la Migra was the way of all enlightened persons. I do know that when one of our roommates was of questionable documentation (oh, craigslist roomies..) I'd already internalized the concept and just needed to be informed on specifics. And the "everyone runs" meme/joke is almost perfectly prevalent in California...

How does that translate in Arizona? Does everyone refuse to show ID? Does everyone spend a couple hours in jail while this thing gets sorted out, forcing more stupid paperwork? What else can an individual citizen do to make this piece of shit legislation more of a horrific clusterfuck- as a moral American?

Oh look, everyone translates to a tiny subset of the population.

Amistad says la Migra jokes do not go over so well in Hawaii.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

I hate your face, INFP: you shouldn't have

First things first. I hate it when they are sad because I yell at them.

There are three groups of people in an INFP's world. There is nakama, there are strangers, and there are enemies.

Due to internet magic, nakama now means "acquired family" or "compatriots". The whole concept exists as INFP pron. Nakama can be your favorite cause, or your genetic family, or your city, or all of humanity. I know an INFP who's donating a kidney to a stranger because she loves humanity so very much.*

And there's the second thing I hate. If you're in the nakama, INTPs are unsettlingly generous. Have you read "Gift of the Magi"? A young couple sell their most prized possessions to buy each other Christmas gifts- gifts which compliment the pawned items. Oh, heart warming, oh, tear jerking... It's freaking Christmas. There will be another one next year. Perhaps then you can sell your kidneys- unless you've already given them to orphans. Save the saleable heirlooms for a crisis, dammit.

You might think that someone who would pour out their life's blood for you would also be super understanding. And they are, up to an invisible secret point that no one can see. Not even the INFP. My mother (the INFP'S INFP) has friends she doesn't speak to because they found it hard to believe a mutual acquaintance would embezzle. I'm not supposed to invite people who helped raise me to my wedding because they disagreed with her about grazing rights. When she sees my high school boyfriends, she must be forcibly dissuaded from keying their cars. There are unshakable moral positions, and those who have violated them are no longer nakama. They are enemies.

Oh, and when INFPS are on the path of rightousness, nothing can stand in their way. Friendship, social structures, physiological need for sleep, laws of physics- all grass. All we have to do to put a man on Mars is convince an INFP that it is in the best interests of the nakama.

And strangers? If you are ever in need of a small health related consumable, ask an INFP. (There is no easy way to spot the except the worried expression and the halo.) They're always ready with pepto bismol or band-aides or a water bottle or a tampon. Imagine being thirteen and having your mom pass out sanitary products to strangers in a public bathroom.

*I was talking about altruistic kidney donation with my brother. He said "That kidney is mine in case drinking homemade moonshine has consequences." I said, "No, that kidney is mine for when I eat a mushroom that I'm certain was a chantrelle." Resolved: our four kidneys are owned communally.