the curse of the ex-boyfriend

Once upon a time I was 19 years old. It was at that age that I began to date whom I now refer to as "my semi-pittance of a boyfriend."

This boyfriend, who was never actually acknowledged as such (except in retrospect, hence the title "semi-pittance"), was in MENSA. You know, "the high IQ society." Well. Among other things, this boyfriend was always talking about it. MENSA this, MENSA that. Uh huh. He said he wanted to bring me to their activities. (Let me bring you to my spaceship...)  One of these activities was a regular dinner at The Belgian Waffle (a restaurant in Salt Lake City area). I was semi-interested because it was waffles, and I am somewhat obsessed. But we never went.

So anyway, we dated 3 months and then I was dumped. To be precise, I was dumped onto the sidewalk east of the Merrill Engineering Building on University of Utah campus. Just so you can get a picture of it in your head. I was sad at the time (in my stupidity), but it really was not meant to be. The sole reason he asked me out in the first place was because I knew why the sky was blue (and told him so) and crushed his error-ridden theory relating to the excess of Nitrogen in the atmosphere.  One time we were driving somewhere and he started talking about how he couldn't believe there were people in the world who did not know what "hiatus" meant. I immediately replied that I had forgotten its meaning. (Apparently though since I had only temporarily forgotten its meaning, I was forgiven this grave offense.)

After I was dumped (picture the sidewalk), I had this perverse inclination to take the MENSA test. According to the semi-pittance of a boyfriend, I was definitely fit for their elite status. (But I don't think MENSA is very elite, and is more along the lines of total crap by the way). So I registered to take the exam. I took it. There were 30 people in the room with me in the Salt Lake City Public Library. I found out later that 25 out of the 30 passed. And I was one of them. Lucky me. I guess I passed your stupid test, Mr Hiatus. Passing that test made me feel good though. Not only was I "smart" enough to get in to the supposedly super exclusive MENSA society, but doing it as a sort of revenge against a somewhat snooty ex-boyfriend was a nice touch. (I know this does not seem like revenge. But to someone who was just dumped, it was like a "so there, Mr. Hiatus. I made it into your lame club but couldn't care less.") But really, 25/30 got in? That seems like a lot, even taking into account the type of people who register for a test like that (that is, people who think they're the bomb). One of the questions on the test was for me to identify a spark plug. How is that relevant? I guessed on a ton of the questions. (I had no idea what a spark plug was. I asked someone afterward and realized I'd guessed wrong). (As a side note, the boy sitting next to me at the test wrote down part of my name (after looking at my paper on the sly) and got my information off of the university directory. Word to the wise: a MENSA test is not the best place to meet people. But that is another story.) And MENSA is definitely not as exclusive as they like people to think. I think they advertise that people with the top 2% IQ scores in society get in. Whatever.

So that was almost 9 years ago. My membership lapsed many many years ago and I still get their emails and mail. Please renew your membership. We are desperate for your money. And in retrospect, I realize this is the curse of the ex-boyfriend. I will be forever plagued by MENSA begging me for money.  Thanks a lot. I think I'll change my name and move. (Except I already did that.)

(My apologies to anyone reading this who thinks MENSA is amazing and takes offense. I hope you at least got to eat some waffles.)