Mensa and Me


Traveling through airports is a pain in the ass. I mean literally because some of those TSA agents are sorta rough. Anyway, my least favorite part of airline travel is 1) delayed flights and 2) when the air waitresses tell you that you have to turn off your digital devices for take off and landing.

I have a very short attention span. I HATE not being able to use my beloved iPhone. Turning it off feels like I somehow cheated on my best friend by having sex in her bed with her husband, not that has ever happened, Shelly. Consequently, I hate taking off and landing.

You know that shitty magazine the airlines put in the seatback pocket? I grabbed one while landing this last trip after turning off Mister iPhone. I started flipping through 50 damn pages of ads for places like Fiji and Barbados. Those fuckers that write that magazine just like to torture me. They know I have two kids in college and I can’t afford a shitty “beach” on a pond let alone Figi. Assholes. Anyway, I found the puzzle page that was really an ad for Mensa.

Mensa, in case you don’t know, touts itself as an organization of the top two percent of smart people and have members aged “from 2 to 102.” The last time I looked, both two year olds and 102 year olds have one thing in common and it ain’t IQ, it’s crapping in your diaper. How the hell do you test a two year old for IQ? What does a smart two year old look like? Are they writing on paper instead of the wall? Do they actually make square pegs fit into round holes? My dynamic duo at age two were wandering around pointing and grunting like cave men and not doing IQ tests found in the back of airline magazines. They even turned out okay and aren’t drug dealers or living in a trailer cooking meth because they aren’t legit geniuses according to Mensa. Whatevs, since there weren’t any two year olds sitting around me on the plane to take the quiz I found in that back of that airline magazine, I commenced to takin that thar test mahself.

Before I give you the results, I’d like to just put out there that an airplane taking off or landing would be the best place possible for Mensa to get accurate results if they gave the test in person. No access to the internet = no cheating bitches. Instead of air marshals they could have a team of undercover Mensa testers. “Would you like coffee, tea or a Mensa test, ma’am?” Of course that would prolly really reduce the actual number of peeps that would be considered in the top two percent of smarty pants. Let’s face it, without Google, most people would rank in the mentally deficient category.

Here is a picture of the test I took and my awesome answers.

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After we landed and I had time to turn my friend, Mister iPhone, back on, I went to look at the answers on the Mensa website. I never got their answers because those assholes think peeps will PAY to see them! Why pay to look at the answers to questions that I NAILED?! Yeah, ummm, no… remember the fact that I have two kids in college? I don’t waste money confirming what I know, and that is that I’m an effing genius. Well, maybe not the math part, but who the fuck cares about math? I don’t. Just throw out the math and the dumb questions that nobody has a fucking clue what they are talking about without cheating, and I got an A+. Not that I give a shit. What would I do, run around signing my checks, TkayW, Mensa Member #356095? Umm… no… that would make me as big an asshole as the peeps that write articles in airline magazines about Fiji. I don’t need validation from anyone, and that makes me and you, Dear Reader, smarter than anybody in Mensa.

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To-do List = Screw it


There is a lot of shit I need to do today. I thought it might help me be “organized” and “productive” by making a list.

  1. The hole in my wall that my dog made needs fixed. I’m wondering if I can avoid fixing it right by filling it with unpaid bills and peanut butter.
  2. I found out that those bumpy things that African Americans can do with their hair is called Buntu knots. I want those but as a person of non-color, it is doubtful I can grow AA hair. Wig? Are there wigs like that? Google that for at least four hours.
  3. My loosely defined flower beds need weeded and the bushes trimmed. I hate yard work and there is poison ivy in with the actual ivy. I’m thinking about pouring gasoline on the whole damn thing and starting a new trend called Scorched Earth Gardening. Better call Southern Living and Better Homes and Gardens to book a photo shoot.
  4. Need to put baseboards back on the walls in the basement where I remodeled. I don’t like math or saws and figuring out how to miter the corners. Nevermind… this one is off the list.
  5. My eyebrows need grooming. They are growing all over my face. I saw an infomercial this morning for a home laser system. This sounds both dangerous and interesting. I would use it on the dog first. Rottweilers have eyebrows that I can practice on, and I have two rotties so that is 57 eyebrows. I’ll reiterate, I hate math.
  6. Need to look into changing my name so I’ll know what to do after I rob a bank. I’m thinking of Hugh Jaynus. That name changes my gender too so no one will find me.
  7. I got an email yesterday that my kid had better get on the ball and buy her textbooks for college. The listed books are quite expensive and I’m wondering if my kid can just “share” with some other kid. My kid has an iPhone and she can just take pictures of the pages to read later. It’s more eco-friendly and all that tree hugger bullshit, right?
  8. Laundry needs done. Hubs is wearing my underwear today. I’m not wearing any. I don’t mind going commando but he says his suit pants chaff the free range parts. We can’t have that, now can we?

Hope your to-do list is shorter today. I’m off to look at the shit that needs done and then go to the movies. Hey, at least I thought about doing productive stuff today. It’s a start.

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This is the hole my dog created by making the blinds swing into the wall because a vicious jogger was in the street outside.

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My planter with weeds and I think the other picture is marijuana in my flower bed. God, I hope so. I think I’ll leave it alone to see if there might be something to roll up and smoke later.

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The next time you see a picture of this dog, he will look like he got drunk at a party and someone creative shaved his eyebrow. There might be burn marks too. Then again, he might eat the laser thing before I get into the room with it.