Tuesday, February 9, 2010

It's official - I am a nerd!

I spent so long denying it  - years even. I deliberately didn't laugh at some episodes of Big Bang Theory. I pretended I had no idea that Schrödinger's cat wasn't just your average domestic moggy. I never admitted to anyone but my friend Anna that I actually quite enjoyed watching reruns of the Starship Enterprise at university. I pretended Dark Matter was what Koert pulled out of his ears with a Q-tip after a hard day's concreting. But there it is: I am a nerd. I've said it. Are you happy now?

It's not that I haven't always known this. In fact, for decades now I would happily admit to being a word nerd (word nerd being a term that is slightly preferable to "writer" or "book worm", both of which bring to mind aeons spent boring through writing (which I like to think I do quite well. Indeed I am probably boring through writing right now, so back to the point... ). Book worm also has unappealing connotations of spinelessness and how would I write, or survive in the industry I work in, without that all important spinal cord? 

Now where was I ...Oh, that's right. It's just that I have only recently realised I am becoming an even bigger, less socially acceptable kind of nerd. The kind of nerd people roll their eyes at. The kind of nerd who thinks Dr Karl is cool. The kind of nerd who at least tries to understand String Theory. Yep, that's right: a science nerd. 

I mean, I am now the kind of science nerd that points out to my partner, subconsciously, the scientific name of an animal. "Oh look, there is a galah in our tree (then in a disturbing whisper reminiscent of that creepy kid off that show The Middle, "Cacatua roseicapilla, Cacatua roseicapilla"). If you know me, well, sadly my nerdiness has reached such a level that you won't need evidence. But if you don't, well all you have to know is that I hid this website from my partner  NASA test for nerdism

"What are you doing over there?" he asked, dropping the X-box controller for a minute in the hope that I might be doing something even remotely more interesting than playing Modern Warfare II (and personally I think filing my fingernails qualifies).
"Nothing," I cried, shielding the website from him desperately, my eyes wide with nerdy wonder.
"What is it?" he asked, curious now and likely hopeful that I might have been viewing porn (quickly closing the web tab and breezily smiling "nothing"  being the standard response for such activities in man world).
"Nooooo," came my response as I slammed down the lid of my laptop. "You'll call me a nerd."
"Now why would I say such a thing," he crooned, in a particularly deceptive effort to gain my trust, only to hoot with triumph as soon as he saw it, "You're SUCH a NERD! Ba-hahahahha. NERD."
(Why it has taken him nearly five years to figure that out is a mystery, but it could be that he spent the first four years so baffled by my incredible breasts that my tragic nerdiness has only just caught up with him. At least that's what I tell myself.)

Why did I hide it? Same reason I deliberately got one question wrong when he busted me looking at it - I am ashamed, all right! Ashamed I tell you. But if you really want to know whether Uranus has rings, well I'd say you just have to satisfy that craving. My anus doesn't have rings by the way, he's much more a man-bracelet guy.

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