Ever worry that your lighthearted-days will ruin your feminist cred?

No? Good. Me neither.

. . .

Yesterday there was a barcamp event in Saskatoon, which I went to. Many of my work-peeps tend go to these things, and they’re a lot of fun. This one was very student-centric, and there was a lot more of beer-drinking during presentations than there usually is at Saskatoon barcamps. So, by the time I’d been through four sessions, I was probably on my fourth beer. And where usually there is an official “tear down and move to the bar,” at that one, there was just a mingling and dissipating of session crowds until, well, until four of us went out looking for food, found none, came back and had food upstairs, saw on twitter that there were still people downstairs mingling, went downstairs to mingle more and continued until we were kicked out of the basement and into the bar and then next thing I knew it was last call.

. . .

At barcamp, I was trying to explain to a friend and sometime coworker of mine about my coming to terms with the idea that I have to conform to what people expect of behaviour in managers, at least a little bit. My friend called bullshit. He knows the menagerie is a very casual work environment.

I explained that on Friday afternoon, we’d been having a training session, there was beer and Hannah has been sick all week and getting up a lot during the night. Feeling sleepy from beer and css-talk, I had momentarily considered putting my head down on the nearest shoulder. And I wouldn’t have meant anything by it, I tend to feel fairly fraternal about the whole programming department there. But I recollected before (as?) my head went down, that the programmer immediately next to me would probably feel slightly harassed, not understand that it was just a lax, “I feel comfortable in a sisterly way with my programming peeps.”

That’s silly, my friend said, “I wouldn’t think that if you put your head on my shoulder,” thinking he had a point, because I have managed him. But you know me, I explained, and you’ve known me a long time. You know my mannerisms, and that I am the kind of person to just casually put my head on friends’ shoulders and not mean anything by it. But I guarantee more than half the menagerie programmers don’t know me that well and only know me in a manager capacity and if I started  behaving really casually with them it would make them feel pretty awkward.

He saw my point. But he thought it was funny, nonetheless. And thereupon began making jokes about how he was going to spread rumours about me sexually harassing him. And everyone else. And as the evening progressed, and more beers were consumed, we would be chatting with menagerie programmers who had come to the event and, “let me ask you a question!” he would demand. “Do you see Megan as a manager?” Then, based on their answer, he would tell me, “see, this person sees you very casually, so they would understand if you harass them,” or “You should probably not harass this person,” (though that was only in one case).

Nice.

So, there’s this new programmer, with whom I am becoming friends. And he and I are doing the hundred-pushups program together. On determining that he sees me as more of a compatriot than a manager, and having my friend announce that I am allowed to harass him, he looked very ponderous and said, “Hmm, now, should I take advantage of that or not?”

See, that is why women don’t harass young men, I told him – because it wouldn’t put them in a position of power, instead someone thinks they’ll take you up on it. I’m pretty sure guys, when you make innuendos and such do so because you are confident that you’ll get to assert your alphaship and the subject will attempt to laugh it off and you’ll never have to make good.

. . .

So, the hundred pushup challenge. I’m on week 3. I’ve repeated week 3 though ’cause I’ve kind of plateaued. It’s cool though, it’s consistency that matters more than going through it at a predetermined pace.

Oh, also what matters is my giant muscles:

I spent a bunch of time at barcamp telling people how good it is that Ian’s not very competitive, because pretty much every night these days I get into bed and say, “look at my muscles. Holy shit, I could totally take you!”

. . .

Also, have to share with you the best (BEST!) cover ever. Better than the original:

(Thank you cbc radio.)