Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Mr. Zoom and I made an especially grand showing of just how ungraceful we are with aging today. At the office.
We arrived today to find a brand new employee at the firm. He works in our office services department - which means he has to walk the floors all day and deliver stuff. It's one of the few positions that pretty much guarantees you will meet everyone in the office.
This kid, honest-to-goodness, looks like he's 12.
Mr. Zoom: "Did his mommy drop him off here?"
Me: "I wonder if Santa brought him that tie that he's wearing?"
Mr. Zoom: "Does management know we are in violation of child labor laws?"
Me: "If he gets nap time, I'm going straight to management with a complaint."
Mr. Zoom: "Does he even know where the bike locks are?"
The laughing stopped when I learned he just turned 21. 21!! What's next? I guess I'll know it's time to go buy myself a Lark* when I start mistaking 45 year olds for 30?
And then on the way home tonight, Mr. Zoom turned on one of the features in his car that we haven't used before. It has ... I can barely say it with a straight face ...
Why would anyone want that? I would guess people who live in really cold places would. I think it just came on the car, it wasn't like Mr. Zoom wanted it special.
Tonight it was damn cold. Cold as in, California cold. Like 60 degrees. So he clicked on my bun warmer. After a while I said "Ok, that's enough. We can turn that off now. That kinda feels like I peed my pants."
*Lark = I don't know if this item is known everywhere, but it's a motor scooter that is typically advertised as a tool for older people to get around with.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Last Wednesday I went to the Dr. to have a suspicious mole removed from my back. I've had this done before, so I thought it would be no big deal.
That was the big fat lie I told myself, and Mr. Zoom.
Mr. Zoom got to keep quiet as I dug my fingernails into his palm. While I squealed "ow ow ow ow ow OW OW OW ow ow ow. OW. OW OW OW. And that was just the numbing the skin, you won't feel the needle (lie) part.
All the requisite areas did go numb, but then my imagination went to work with every tug and push that I knew was happening, but couldn't really "feel". And I started sweating. I was already lying down, so I wasn't in danger of fainting. But you wouldn't have known it by my wailing.
I kept apologizing to everyone. I felt so stupid. I was only having a little chunk of my back removed and I KNOW the Dr. has seen and performed far worse extractions. My whining when stressed is like a pressure valve that releases my retardation slowly so I don't flip out and run out of the room. Without a shirt, no less.
But here's the thing. The Dr. decided to share with Mr. Zoom and I a little story about his past. In an effort to distract me.
He said "When I was younger I wanted to be a psychiatrist because I couldn't stand the sight of blood. Then my brother cured me of all of that."
Of course we asked "HOW?"
He said "He did something that any medical student these days WOULD NOT DO. He took me into his lab when he was taking anatomy class. He showed me the cadaver he was working on. Then he skinned it's face and wore it on his own head and started running around with it."
THAT'S SUPPOSED TO PUT ME AT EASE? And, HOW does that alleviate anyone's fear of blood? Shouldn't that reinforce that kind of phobia?
Mr. Zoom said what I was thinking: "Are you serious?" He said yes. It was all true.
Swell. My gatekeepter physician is Buffalo Bill's brother. I kept waiting for the receptionist to lower a basket in my lap and scream "PUT THE LOTION IN THE BASKET! NO FUNNY BUSINESS!"
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
This is how I Christmas shop. I see things and I run towards them with a camera. It's very annoying for poor Mr. Zoom who has to try and keep me on track.
This week is brutal. I'm taking care of business, holiday and otherwise, in the hours before, during and after work this week. I absolutely HATE the stress the "holidays" create. Yet I LOVE finding the perfect gift for someone. But then I can't hold onto it until "the day".
It's hard being me.
I had intended to take a picture of the prescription bottle I received from the pharmacy the other day. The prescription is for my stupid uterus and its monthly girly squeeze fest also known as menstral cramps.
I just burned the eyes of any male readers, and probably some female ones too. MERRY CHRISTMAS!
So I get the refill and there are 5 little colorful warning labels on there accompanying the big white one we are all accustomed to. At first it was all the usual stuff: Take with food, take with plenty of water, limit loud mouth soup...etc.
Then I see: "Do not lie down for at least 30 minutes after taking this medication."
You.must.be.joking. I can't even keep myself verticle for 30 whole minutes without falling down EVEN WITHOUT TAKING MEDICATION. I turned to Mr. Zoom and said "Oh NO! Last night I took one of these while laying down! Do you think I'll live?"
Friday, December 16, 2005
It was one of the very first urban legends that my FAM fell for. Obviously this joke was far more effective back when most vehicles didn't have automatic lights or daytime running lights.
I can still remember the day she called me to "warn" me of this deadly trap. And how she made me a copy or three - one for me and others for me to pass along. I gently took the wad of paper and so was born my newest bottom desk drawer file entitled:
I'm Not Ready to Tell Her It's Not Real.
Because honestly? Telling her the truth would be like informing a cute little 5 year old child that Santa/Batman/Retirement/the Easter Bunny/Great Pumpkin/Tooth Fairy and Fairness just don't exist in this world. And there's more, but I need to give you this helmet to wear first.
There would be angry denial and then debate. Oh the debate. And she's a lot better at holding on to the mouse than I am, so I'd never get to prove my point by showing her any number of websites that document just these things.
It's been a long road to the technology embracement. However flawed it might be, I don't want to crush that.
Which is why the other day when she called to tell me she saw a news story on the internet that was funny, I went into minimal conversation mode and started flipping through the rolodex of "reasons to get off the phone with Mom because I can't talk about the make-believe with her".
Her news story was about a screech owl that had been found in some couple's Christmas tree, AND that this particular owl was stoned. She finished that story with "And you simply must see the expression on this owl!"
Into the file went the conversation. Although invisible, that's where it went.
Imagine my shock when I actually found this story on some credible looking news website:
NOW I NEED A HELMET.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
You'd have to know her to understand the true shock of the fact that she did it pretty much on her own. There weren't any fights between us in front of her computer where the winner of the fight was the one who was still holding the mouse after the insults flew. Because she who still has control of the mouse is the one who gets to talk.
At least that's what her computer manual says.
I still can't get FAM (Formerly Amish Mom) to understand her MSN account, nor can I get her to actually get any e-mail out of it because her computer is hooked up to a stone tablet and a chisel - also known as dial up net service...
Yet she called me to say "Oh, hey. I found _____ childhood friend of yours on the internet! Want to know what he/she is up to? I sent him/her a letter.
It should be noted that she didn't send an e-mail. She sent an honest to goodness, antique, ink pen to paper, snail mail.
And I checked up on her research (without telling her, of course) and she had indeed found the person she was looking for. And their e-mail address was right there in really large, let me help you contact me type type. *sigh*
And since I'm well on my way to being disowned by my FAM, I might as well add nearly divorced to the list as well.
Hopefully what appears below are two links to some, um.....video that I took of Mr. Zoom.
When he didn't know I had figured out that my camera had video, and how to use it. He's much more carful about that now. In this first one, the audio outruns the video for some reason...so it ends up being totally out of sinc. But you still get the idea:
Supply Brow Monster - Custom videocodes by MyWynk
And just in case I haven't insured my sleeping arrangement of sofa out in the cold:
Slap Dat Ass - Custom videocodes by MyWynk
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Well, what can I say. I don't always track down the proper meaning of things. My head just creates a definition and most times I run with it.
Turns out that Vertigo, or Positional Vertigo, or Labrythitis is actually the sensation that one has imbibed ALL the booze, and the spinning of the Earth at 60 rpsecond isn't going to stop anytime soon, if ever. Oh, and it makes you want to barf the entire time.
Friday after lunch, I made Mr. Zoom take me home. I felt like the top of my cranium was going to spin off and I would have welcomed it. I would bet that if you looked me in the eyes, you would have seen Tom and Jerry type pupils going in little circles.
By Saturday nothing had improved. In fact, the more I laid down to try and sleep it off, the more spinning the world would do. I finally agreed to go to the emergency walk in. After a 4 hour wait, the dr. gave me a prescription for a motion sickness pill and sent me on my way. "Oh, and the pill will make you drowsy." More like out cold, actually. The receipt said diagnosis: Labrythitis. Wasn't that a David Bowie movie in the 80s?
I've never been so scared in all of my life. I realize that sounds all kinds of mello-dramatic in the face of what it actually turned out to be. BUT, prior to the hangover disease (that's exactly what it felt like to me, so that's what I call it) I had never known anyone to have this condition, nor had I ever bothered to learn about it as discussed above. When it first started and wouldn't let up, I was sure I'd be out of work for a very long time and that I was in for all kinds of neurological testing. Isn't bizarre vision a brain tumor thing?
And back in my 20s, I had been through years of brain chemical testing and really REALLY didn't know if I could do it again. Or if they did it again, if they could find another answer like they did the first time around.
When I would start to overreact by letting the what ifs fly, Mr. Zoom would give me a shut up pill and within an hour I'd be snoring and drooling on myself just like any other day. Guaranteed 4.5 hours of peace in each tablet. For both of us.
I got the final word and a lot of helpful information from my Gatekeeper Physician (I have an HMO) today. It is just Positional Vertigo. He even gave Mr. Zoom and I a little piece of paper with a manuever on it that should "make the sand in my ear go away so that the gyroscopes in there can work properly again." I was incredibly annoyed that the walk in physician didn't mention that. But whatever. It is what it is.
Gatekeeper Physician did the move and noted my shimmy eyes. He did it again and all seemed to fall into repair.
I now feel like a huge ninny for all the worring I did. And all of the grr I flung at the t.v. Every healthy individual I saw in a commercial got a telepathic message from me: "You like that steady eyesight? Better not take it for granted. You might end up like me someday."
And actually, the lesson isn't lost on me. I'm still a little woozy, but at least I don't feel as if I'm on beezlebub's merry-go-round...and I won't have to go through this Christmas saying "Happy Holidays!" and then running to the loo to call the seals. Because running while dizzy makes me miss the doorway unless I line up on it like a bowler with a mean hook in her throw.
I don't know if it's Thanksgiving late or Christmas early, but either way I'll take it and appreciate it.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
I am hopelessly and painfully clumsy. I think the first sign of clutzocity to come was when I was 6, and walking home from school. I don't remember the incident itself, just the part where the doctor was stitching me up.
Apparently I went to take a step off of a curb, and landed with my chin in full contact of said curb - legs out behind me in the street.
How I managed to take a step and 180 around AND fall with my chin on the cement? I don't know. The woman who was walking me home from school that day couldn't even tell my mom how I had managed this. After gathering me up from the ground, I guess she saw the blood and knew it was not good.
All that time, I had no idea anything was amiss. Other than the fact that I had fallen down and my Mom was here "early". But it wasn't until I was horizontal on a steel table while the doctor poured antiseptic into my cut that I started to scream.
The rest of my life has been peppered with incidents of doh. There weren't any more stitches, but probably should have been:
The time I was playing with neighbor kids and managed to cut my palm with a rusty nail head that was in a fence I apparently tried to bounce off of. Right on my life line. Good thing I'm not into palm readings.
The time I was riding a motor scooter with a friend and we took a corner too tightly. I left ALL of the skin on the right side of my body there on the road. I also picked up some nice bits o' asphalt that Mom pulled out of my arms.
The time I was roller skating and fell down, chipping one of my huge front teeth. This wasn't much of a surprise, as I had the biggest overbite known to exist in such a tiny head. Ever.
Those were the big ones.
Since then, I've graduated to less mess of the bodily fluid kind and more mess of the items in my path of destruction kind.
And the bruising. I'm a leopard! Mr. Zoom is always asking me "where...what...how did you do THAT?"
My response is usually something like "Might have been when I walked into the wall and then rebounded into the corner of my desk two days ago?"
When we go into frou frou stores, or even regular people stores, I have to walk with my hands behind my back. I'm convinced my hands have a nefarious mind all their own and will fly out to knock over expensive items. As if the entire store were set up in a hidden domino style, just waiting for my hands to arrive and break free of my concentration.
And whoever thought all that convenient hyperlinking all over my computer desktop (either in e-mails, documents I'm working on or whatever else is clickable) at work was a good idea needs to be forced to administer computer support when I've accidentally clicked my way to either a frozen computer screen, or e-mails to the whole office that have nothing to do with anything.
OOOO! Or when Theresa or Rev. Brandy post some wonderful post, which links back to an older post. I suddenly forget where I am and leave a comment on the old post. Which is more appropriate for the recent post. And then I say:
"Of course I did that. Of course I did. It's me."
Other Chevy Chase Moments:
"Of course I hooked my scarf on the gate and nearly strangled myself. How could I possibly think wearing a scarf would be safe?"
"Of course I just came to a stop and my purse flew out of the passenger seat and landed contents askew all over the floor. Of course I can't reach it." Followed by "Of course my cell phone magically fell into this compartment in the truck door and I couldn't find it. There's only a 1 in 1gillion chance of it perfectly flying into that space, I had to know it was going to happen."
"Of course I just hung up on that caller while trying to answer my cell phone. I've only had this cell phone for 3 years, it's perfectly understandable that I still can't keep from hanging up on the people who call me."
"Of course I spilled coffee on my sweater not 30 seconds after buying it. There's already a coffee stain right about even with the girls where the coffee landed the last time I wore this."
I am human bumper cars. Enabled by Mr. Zoom, who unconditionally loves me, and occasionally laughs at me. Which keeps me from taking it all too seriously - because it reminds me to laugh at myself.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Last week sometime I watched a show on the History Channel about the *woo woo* forbidden or rejected books of the Bible.
Saturday, Mr. Zoom and I accompanied two of our friends to their office Christmas party. And I should probably call it a Holiday Party, but the thing is, I just don't care what it's called. Christmas it is. Hold on, the connection is coming...
Towards the end of the evening, the dessert was being served. Mr. Zoom, the knower of knowing things immediately identified the goo as Cherries Jubilee.
This caused me to say to him with authority: "JUBILEES! The discarded book of the Bible!!" He gave me the look. I said "I shlaw it on de History Channell! Jubilees ish one ov thosh books they illishimated from sha final version of sha Bible!" He understands my drunk dialect. I'm so lucky!
He gave me the "ooooooh, all clear" nod and said "That was going to be so much more impressive when I thought you made it up and were just talking out of your butt."
Sunday we were at another friend's home for a little Christmas open house type thing. We were partaking of stew and sandwiches, and all of the cookies and brownies I could get my hands on.
During the stew part of the meal, one of our other friends was commenting on how it needed some spice. Mr. Zoom and he were talking back and forth when the following words slapped me upside the head: "Rabbit Stew".
That's when I realized that what I thought had been chicken, was actually rabbit stew. Rabbit = Bunny. Bunny stew.
I had only gotten a few spoonfuls in at this point. I then had an inner fight with myself:
"Just eat it. You were eating it 3 seconds ago and it was fine when you thought it was chicken. Come on. Nothing has changed. What is wrong with you? Other people around you are eating it and they are fine. Don't be an ungrateful guest. EAT IT. You eat beef. You eat chicken. You eat shrimp and sometimes weird sushi rolls. Why is this such an issue for you?"
But I couldn't. I tried, but it wasn't going to happen. Mr. Zoom noticed I couldn't get it down and without even having to ask, knew it was the cooked bunny revelation that had quashed my appetite.
The mind is a serious enemy when you least expect it. Especially when most of the time it appears you've lost it.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Pardon my inept use of the "blur" tool in photoshop, but I must make sure no confidential client information is accidentally revealed on the net.
Anyway, you will see the little stickie note which is the usual place of "instruction" for my assignments. Unfortunately for this particular attorney, this assignment was imbecilic:
This was not/is not a joke.
First of all, HE was the one that wrinkled them. Second of all, it's a flippin FILE copy. Who cares if it's wrinkled? Third of all, GET UP AND MAKE YOUR OWN REPLACEMENT COPIES...FUCKWIT.
So this is how I returned the assigment:
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Enough with the foreplay already. PUT SCRUBS ON THE FRIGGING AIR. C'mon. I know you want to.
The show wasn't canceled. However, it isn't going to succeed with an INVISIBLE 5th season. I'm embarrassed for you that I had to point that out.
Just because someone finally pulled their head out of their rectum and started putting previous seasons on DVD does not mean that I DON'T WANT TO SEE THE NEXT SEASON.
Scrubs. The show so good that (say it with me people) if it had an ass, I'd slap it.
Friends and family want to know about this show that I adore. When I tell them, they say "Is that even on the air anymore?"
I try to defend you. I say "Well, uh yeah...but they haven't started showing the next season yet."
That's when I get the look that says "They only let you outside to get some sun and fresh air, huh. They will be back soon to return you to your room, right? How come nobody told me you had been re-located to a safe place?"
I have enough crazy going for me without your help. Just ask my husband. I'm positive he only married me because there might be some kind of Federal tax break for taking me on. So please. I'm begging you. PUT THE 5TH SEASON ON THE AIR.
Thank you for your time.
Monday, November 28, 2005
There's also now a little half brother (in law for me) who is 7 years old.
My family is divorced and remarried all over the place too, but that is another story.
This Thanksgiving, my new Father-In-Law was turning 65. Mr. Zoom and I packed up the truck and drove out for a visit. Mr. Zoom's full brother and his wife also met us out there.
I've met all of these people sevaral times before. They know I'm not the most delicate or socially capable person in the world, but I'm positive they don't know how much of a simpleton I really am.
So when driving down the road packed into a car with the new in-laws, I actually had the foresight to resist the following outburst:
"Oh my gawd. Did you see that giant rusted iron Jesus that guy has in his yard? I mean come on, it was HUGE, and it was a crucified, rusted iron Jesus. And was that a sculpture of a giant turtle and lizzards on either side? Rusted as well? PULL THE CAR OVER I NEED A PICTURE OR 5. Because the first thing I want to do when I get home is make fun of your city on the internet! Giant rusted iron Jesus yard art - that's good stuff."
And that wasn't even the mailbox part of the trip!
The other thing I noticed about Arizona, or at least this particular part of it, is the high number of personalized mailboxes out there. Seriously, these people do not take their mail delivery compartments lightly.
Witness this doggie box with missing head.
Or this cactus, looking as if it was constructed from mutated wicker.
I would have collected more examples, but most of the people appeared to be home. The LAST thing I wanted to do was raise the suspicion of a people that find rusty iron Jesus yard art to be all kinds of everyday. Know what I mean? And how did the doggie box lose it's head anyway? I didn't want to find out. I still don't. I'd rather make fun of what I don't understand.
Mr. Zoom and I were talking about how out of this gigantic desert, the people decided to build "here". The Father-In-Law said something about two rivers meeting at a particular point, and that's where the development began.
Mr. Zoom and I could see no river(s). We were told they "went underground, or something...and nobody is really sure where they went."
Mr. Zoom and I think that when running water up and disappears - that's a pretty good sign that things are dying "here", and it might be best to move along. After all, we feel that Arizona is the surface of the sun. And we are sissy white people, who hate the heat. So we will use any evidence we can find to tell the family "See? Bad. Firey hot place BAD. "
On the way home, Mr. Zoom got his favorite road trip food. A Sausage McMuffin with Cheese:
Right after he finished it, he said "This was soooo good, that if it had an ass I'd slap it."
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Since I'm not going to have much time in the next week to amuse myself with this blog toy, I'm going to leave it today with a random, mish mash post of little stuff I haven't been able to put anywhere else.
There's a guy at our office, we shall call him Big MoMo. He's hilarious. He works in our copy room, delivers mail to us, etc. That is how I end up interacting with him on a daily basis. Also, he's most obviously gay. Down to the stereotypical dress, speak and hand movements. We've even discussed the hotness of the vending machine guy that showed up to restock our machines the other day.
A couple of months after he started, he came by my desk and said the following, as if he was asking me to sign for an overnight package: "Don't take this the wrong way....but you are weird." And then he went on to the next desk. I laughed for 2 days over that. And I found it to be more of a compliment, than anything. Most people recognize that I'm weird right away, but I've never had anyone just come out and say it. I love that about him. He's got the same "oh crap I just said something right to that person without thinking" thing that I do.
One day Big MoMo and some of the girls were talking and he said "Hey, do you guys have anything for fat? You know, a creme or something?" One of the girls whirled around and said "Yes, it's called EXERCISE."
Right before the W, Big Mo Mo came by my desk and was asking me about diets. I said "Well, after the W, I won't have to think too much about what I eat. Because, as a girl you probably know that once the ring is on the finger, we are destined to blow up all kinds of large! You know all those cookies I've been passing up on? Birthday cake day and all? Well, after the W, it's on." He responded as deadpan as always "Well, as you can see - I'm WAAAAY ahead of schedule."
About 3 weeks before the W, I was with my Mom. She had wanted to go out to eat, and we all know this can be a chore with her at times. Of course we went to Claim Jumper. The thing about Mom that amazes me is that she's probably their Number One Fan, but still hasn't figured out that the person who takes your order there ISN'T THE PERSON WHO BRINGS OUT YOUR FOOD.
We made our order, and for the first time in my life the food came out super quick. It came out so fast, Mom was convinced that there was no way it could be our food, and she kept refusing to start eating it and was trying to get "our waitress"'s attention. And do you know what her evidence was? Yup. The fact that the person who brought it to us WASN'T THE GIRL WHO TOOK OUR ORDER. I've tried over and over again to get this concept through to her, but it never sticks. And the thing is, we ordered some things in a way that made it impossible for this here food to belong to anyone else BUT us. I went ahead and ate. When "our waitress" finally confirmed for Mom that it was her order, I'm pretty sure it was cold.
Oh, and this one is for Mr. Zoom. Mr. Zoom can't understand why I can't fill my gas tank at the gas station all the way to full when I go. This has been an issue with me since I started driving.
If I've borrowed a car, I have no trouble filling the tank up. I am happy to do it. But with my own car, I seem to get bored about 40 seconds into it and it's all I can do to let it keep running. I think about all the things I need to do, or the fact that I just want to be home, and I go. My reasoning - "Well now I have some gas, it's enough to get me to where I need to be in the next couple of days/hours."
This makes Mr. Zoom nuts. He will usually fill my tank for me, because he knows I do this. I also get bored waiting for HIM to fill the tank, but he just gives me a toy and goes back to filling the thing up.
Last week I got away from him with the truck and it was low on gas. I told him I'd go get some. The next time we were in the car he just looked at the gauge and started laughing one of those defeated, why did I think any different laughs. He said "Didn't you tell me you were going to get gas the other day?" I said "I did. It was at almost empty, and now it's at almost half full!"
He said "Yeah. Ok. I need to start looking for jackets that tie in the back."
Thursday, November 17, 2005
One of those upgrades turned out to be new bathmats and towels for the loos. We ended up with some brand called Hotel Collection.
While I'm detagging the bath mats, I notice on the back of the tag in teeny type were the following sentences:
Flammable (Fails U.S. Dept. of Commerce Std. FF2-70). Should not be used near source of ignition.
And then I was afraid. I mean, I've never read Std. FF2-70 - but...
Mr. Zoom kills clowns*. Dead clowns are flammable. Now my bath mats are telling me that THEY are flammable as well.
Have I just voided our homeowner's fire insurance policy?
*Clown Killing = Farts. Women's version = Releasing Weiner Dogs. It all has to do with the sound, people. Loud clappers usually sound like someone has killed a clown and stomped on his horn nose. Weiner Dogs make that little whiny noise that is reluctant and shy - like a girl saying "I do not do that, that's gross - but that one just slipped out. I coudn't help it."
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Today Mr. Zoom started to come down with a cold. I saw my chance to take care of him for once and jumped on it. I told him to get comfy on the couch with the t.v. remote. That I'd go to the gym first, and bring him dinner later.
The gym was unusually busy, but I waited and finally got a treadmill. Then I spotted an empty flailing machine (I don't know the name of it) and went for that. Somewhere in the middle of flailing I realized I had left my keys at the treadmill. So I went to check and they were gone.
I didn't panic, because I just figured someone would turn them in at the front desk.
And of course they weren't there. So I gave the front desk my information and asked them to call me if my keys showed up. Then I asked to use the phone to call Mr. Zoom, since I couldn't get home without a spare key.
I had lost my keys. And he didn't hesitate to drive the spare key to me. And he never made me feel bad about it even though he felt like crap and just really wanted to be home on the couch. He didn't even bring up the fact that not only had I lost my car keys, but the house keys too. And they were attached to my convenience sized gym membership card, which could theoretically be used by some naer-do-well to locate our address and rob us blind.
But, while sitting on the bech outside waiting for rescue, I suddenly realized why my keys had gone to the missing place. It was the universe trying to repay me for a conversation I had earlier today.
At the office one of my attorneys was making fun of another attorney about losing things. Because I never learn, I contributed "Oh, don't even act like you never loose anything. As a matter of fact, you lose A LOT of things."
Attorney: "WHAT?! You really think I lose things? Like what, exactly."
Zoom: "You know, everything."
Attorney: "Are you saying I lose things that I am personally responsible for? Because I think you have my situation confused with a filing issue. If I put something in filing and the clerk misfiles it, then I haven't lost it, have I."
Zoom: "Ok, no. I mean the times you run over here and start waving your monkey hands around about some letter or transcript or motion - just about anything - and asking me to give it back to you...and then we find it in your office or on some desk in the library - if we find it at all and don't have to re-print it or re-order it. That's what I mean by you lose a lot of things."
Attorney: "WHAT?! That NEVER happens. Seriously. What exactly do you mean by 'I lose a lot of things'?"
Zoom: "I mean that you have a high incidence of not being able to find something I gave you, or something you THINK you put on my desk and it turns out that isn't where it is."
Attorney: "A HIGH INCIDENCE? Please, define what you mean by that."
Zoom: "No thanks. I don't feel like writing an essay tonight. Look, every attorney I've ever worked for does the exact same thing. It's not that big a deal, in fact we [secretaries] expect it. You just have way too much going on at any given time to remeber what you did with a motion/book/letter/squirrel."
Attorney: "A high incidence huh. Well, gee. I'm glad someone finally brought that to my attention. High incidence. hmf. I still think you are mistaken and it's a filing thing."
Zoom: "Yes, I was wrong. You never lose anything."
About this time Mr. Zoom came around the corner asking that we leave to go home. I further filled my karma gas tank:
Zoom: "I can't leave yet. Attorney is still being all girly over some comment I made 15 minutes ago."
Attorney: "GIRLY?! What exactly does that mean?? High incidence. Please. I DO NOT lose things.
The girly comment won me the bonus prize of the gym calling the house after I was in route with my spare key - telling me they had found my keys.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Stupid technology and its effective web filter; in my WAY.
Got some more pictures. They are on flickr. Click this pic to go browse around if you like.
If I don't get around to commenting as much as I had the past week, yell at Mr. Zoom. He's the IT department at the office.
But make sure you do what I do. Only nag him during safety hours. Safety Hours = California Divorce Court is closed. Holidays, weekends, and anytime after 5pm CA time, and prior to [let's be safe] 7 am CA time.
Being married is a lot of work.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The coffee maker that I used today to make honest to goodness coffee. By myself. If that doesn't tell you we are looking at the end of days, then I can send you to my Mom's house where she will tell you that atm debit cards ARE. They told her so, years ago on the farm. Back when she wore a bonnet and drove a horse to barn raisings. They told her that paper money would disappear and plastic would be issued by Satan. I always said to her "What would you guys have cared? You didn't even use electricity. How would debit cards even be a threat to you people? Were you learning about the signs so you could mock the rest of the world from your carriage?
The best thing about Mom is that she has no problem with the end of days. It's the fact that she refuses to use her atm debit card because once "they tried to make me sign the paper just like a credit card, and I had already entered my pin code. So I KNOW they were trying to take my money twice."
Mr. Zoom went to one of the stores we registered at and used some of the gift cards to buy an Espresso machine. Working that thing is all his deal. I sometimes know a bad idea when I see it, and Mrs. Zoom in a kitchen with volcano hot liquid and steam meant for teeny tiny little cups is SUCH a bad idea.
Mr. Zoom was busy unpacking the thing when I heard him say: "Honey....did you buy this?"
I came around the corner with that confused look on my face. The one I get when people ask me "can you see that over there?" and I don't have my glasses on.
I saw him holding a book in his hands. I didn't recognize it at all. I said "No...hm. Where did that come from?"
Mr. Zoom said "In here." and he laid it back in the Espresso box.
It is "Into the Garden - A wedding Anthology".
We both just kindof stood there wondering what the heck just happened. I know we were both trying to figure out how the store/krupps knew we had just gotten married, and why they would include a book in an espresso machine box? Was it magic? Because we were ready to believe it was magic, just because we are still a little punch drunk from abnormal sleeping patterns this week and that would have taken less effort.
So we opened the book to the first page, and saw an inscription:
It reads: "A long life together, the work of hearts and days. Hard work but the best a man and woman will ever do together. Mark C. Br_______ [can't make out the last name, it's just a squiggle.] congratulations."
AH. Someone had gotten this as a wedding gift and never opened it before returning it. GOTCHA.
Well, a homeless book couldn't have picked a better place to live. If Mr. Zoom ever has to file bankruptcy, there will be a line on the form that will say "Because Mrs. Zoom spent all of our money on books."
And one more book story before I close this entry.
As we opened gifts, we came accross one with no card. It was wrapped in precious moments paper. Inside was a bible. We kept looking for a card, trying to figure out who gave it to us.
I got super excited, because Zoom Logic decided that the Gideons had crashed our wedding with their precious moments wrapped bible! Of course they did. How else does one end up with a bible and no card??
Further inspection of the inside pages revealed that G-Ma Zoom on the Mr. side had given us the bible. Not that we don't appreciate G-Ma Zoom's intentions. We do. I just really wanted to be able to tell people that the Gideons crashed our wedding.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
I'm not a fan of traditional bachelor/bachelorette parties. And it's not for the reasons you might be thinking. I'm not afraid of a strip club, I've been to many. Those intended for women as well as men. I think they are harmless fun when you trust your soon to be ball and chain.
What gets me is the feeling of obligation and cost surrounding such things. I dislike the "we have to have a bachelor/ette party because that's what people do when they get married." If it happens, I want it to be because it was natural, and not forced.
Which is why my Skillit asked me what, if anything I'd like to do. And we came up with a weekend in Vegas, with her and my other friend Magic M, or MC.
The three of us were off. And we arrived. And we drank. And drank. And drank. That was Friday night.
Saturday morning we got up to go take in some of the sites. I thought to myself "I feel a little hung over, but overall I'm doing Tony the Tiger Great. Sticking with beer the whole night was a good idea."
Though never spoken out loud, the universe heard my self-back-patting and decided it was about time to remind Zoom that being out in public is NEVER a safe place for her to be.
We were in the Venitian. We were in one of those "Hey tourists, come buy crap with light up Las Vegas on it" stores. It was one of the biggest ones I've ever seen.
So we wander around in there for probably 20 minutes. When we are in line to buy our stuff, Skillit says to me "Hey, turn around for a second. I think you have....."
And I thought that sentence was going to end with "...a dust bunny/piece of toast/teddy graham stuck to your back."
but it didn't.
There were no further words from Skillit. I could feel a slight tug, and then I heard a crinkle. And then I realized what she was pulling from the back of my jeans.....
You know butt gaskets, right? Well they have that center part. And all my life I've been pulling the center part out and disconnecting it from the entire gasket before I put it down to do its job.
Somehow, on this day, the center part had ended up IN MY PANTS! The corner was peeking out of the back of my jeans. WAAAAAVING to all the people. "HELLLOOOOO. Welcome to fun with paper products, I'm your host Zoom."
I thought I'd pass out both from laughing at myself and embarrassment. I couldn't hold it together enough to actually stay in the store. I just handed my stuff over to the girls and ran away as fast as I could.
And then the real fun began. Because every time I went to the loo after that, I'd try to re-create the event so I could figure out how it happened in the first place - and make sure it didn't ever happen again. Girl loo time is long enough without one hung over/drunk Zoom using 3 stunt gasketts at each stop in an attempt to re-create freak paper placement.
And I'd be lying if I said I'm not doing this still, almost a month later.
And here's the unfortunate thing about Vegas. It is literally California Lite. Almost everyone there at any given time is from California. So that whole "Eh, any of these people who saw that paper hanging out of your jeans? You will probably never ever see them again. They don't know who you are." Because it's just not true in this circumstance.
Which brings me to the next part of my Vegas story.
We were in the Wynn. We were trying to figure out which direction to go when a cluster of men in business suits started to move. Not only did this pack move, but they ran.us.over.
Me, not having my glasses on thinks "What the heck? What kind of business meeting do you monkeys have to get to in such a hurry that you plow over a bunch of girls? One of whom happens to be a little retarded, even."
My friends told me that in the center of the suits was our California Governator and his Wife. And then I thought "HEY, that's my Governer! I just got run over by my Governer in Las Vegas. HEY, I'M SO NOT VOTING FOR YOU!"
Skillit said "My mom is going to be so excited. She's going to change this story from 'my daughter saw Schwarzenegger' to 'my daughter met Schwarzenegger'".
Monday, November 07, 2005
I believe if you click through on this photo, it will take you to my flickr page. If you can see that, there should be a "set" of pictures regarding pre-wedding stuff.
I am sure there's an easier way to link that, but of course I've got to go and make it difficult, if not purely unusable.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Thanks for giving him up Natalie.
I said to C less than 24 hours into our married life: "HEEE! I can make that noise and you have to file papers to get away from me!!!!!"
The ceremony went off with a few errors here and there, but nothing that anyone noticed.
I thought I'd be a complete wreck due to the "people might be looking at me" factor, but was amazingly calm. Much of that had to do with the fact that C and I pretty much said screw tradition, and were clinging to each other before the ceremony officially started. We also took official portraits before the ceremony so that I could get to the booze as fast as possible after the i do's.
He would freak out some of the guests by saying "Look, seeing the bride seeing the bride...woooooo" and walking into the room where I sat trying to see over 25lbs of lace and under dress fluffy stuff. Those dresses are fine until one tries to sit down. Then it's on.
The whole thing FLEW by.
Our officiant was a good and wonderful friend of ours who we had deputized through the County to perform the ceremony. There's a little known way to have anyone in CA deputized to perform a ceremony, and we jumped on it. We now call him Father Ka. Ka was his nickname prior to the whole Father part.
I kept trying to say we had him "knighted". And that would have been funnier if I had realized I meant deputized instead of knighted.
C wrote and deliverd a speech at the reception that was a complete surprise to me. And it made me and the entire room cry. Even the reception hall employees were seen with hanky in hand.
Our photographer who had lived 30 years in California decided one month before our wedding to freaking move to MONTANA. Of course he did. He flew in to do our wedding. He is coming back to do all of the California bookings he set up before he picked up his entire life and family and became a farmer on 18 acres of land, but still. Flew down just to fight me looking at the camera.
As I've done to many professionals, he was exasperated by the fact that I am horribly camera shy. HORRIBLY. I'm the one behind the camera. I like it that way.
At one point he grabbed the fake bust that was an insert in my dress and began to run around the room with it on his head. This was pretty much the only way I forgot about the camera until I was able to get to the booze. The guy was amazing, and everyone found him to be one of the fun factors of the whole event.
If he still lived here in CA, we would already have the wedding photos back (we went all digital, which further freaked out family and friends), but he had to GET BACK HOME TO PREPARE FOR THE FIRST FROST?!?. When we do get them, we will set them up on flickr so that you guys can get a look if you want to.
When I retrieve my own camera from my mom, I can post some of the pre-wedding pictures.
Which brings me to my maid of honor. Skillit. That girl poured her heart into making C and I the best cupcakes and sugar cookies anyone has ever had. She spent a week in actual preparation, and what had to have felt like a lifetime in planning for us. She put up with all kinds of things. And they turned out beautiful and tasty, just as I knew they would.
C and I are taking a week off to decompress. I'm going to watch all the true crime shows I can find on 356 cable channels. I'll likely choose some really crappy movie off of the Entertainment on Demand. You'd think the $1.95 fee [instead of $3.95] would tip me off - but sadly, no.
I kept some notes of things I wanted to share with the internet from before, during and after the big W, so from time to time I'll write those up.
To all of you who check in on us, and your well wishes, your comments, your e-mails - Thank You. Thank you guys for all fo the fun you've given us here.
C and I have switched sass weapons from "You know we aren't married yet, right?" to "I'll divorce you. I will."
Friday, October 14, 2005
My mom calls every single day. She claims she's trying to find out if my brother has sent us his RSVP card yet. I, however, know this is code for "You didn't find the money trail from us to C, did you? You still believe he wasn't paid off to marry you, right?"
Anyone out there who needs a good read should check out the links over there on the right. Namely Bemused Musings' Rev Brandy - who has links to people I have also come to enjoy: Scagssville - Population Otter and Kid H and Smile Like You Mean It - Population Ryan.
Also visit 2 Hot Chiks - Theresa is brilliant and irreverant. And I love her. She also has a ton of links, like Al Goes to 11. Al likes to talk to Jeeber.
There are many many more, and I didn't mean to leave anyone out. I'm trying to throw this entry together before being late for work....again, as it is. My apologies if I missed people, and I know I have.
See you all in November sometime.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
C and I signed up for a neighborhood, realtor sponsored garage sale. We needed to get rid of a ton of stuff that we just don't use, and don't need. The leftovers were to be donated to charity.
The realtor did all of the advertising, signs, and even printed little maps with other participants in it we were supposed to hand out.
The hours of said garage sale were "8am to 4pm".
We started unloading items at 6:32 a.m. At 6:32.5 a.m., a truck pulled up in the twilight and offered to help us set up. At 6:35 a.m., three more vehicles descended on us and our junk.
Box lids were flying, items were being picked through, and calls of "how much for this" were heard.
I just kept punting to C. I can't deal with pushy garage sale pros. If I were going to answer out loud, it would have been "How about you guys just back the fuck off for 30 minutes and let us get our junk in order? Do you read? Can you read? Because this isn't supposed to be "on" until 8:00 a.m."
We had a steady flow of people until about 8:45, when 50% of our stuff had been paid for and taken away. By 9:30 a.m., 75 to 80% of it had been sold. We were done by noon.
Sold means prices were established, haggling* was had, and people took our stuff away.
*I called the haggling bickering. C - "It's haggling honey, not bickering." Zoom - "...feels like bickering."
I'd say something was .25 and they would demand I come down to .10. And I didn't have the energy to care, nor did I want to be left with things to put back in boxes. C and I had gotten up at 5:30 a.m. for this, and by 8 a.m. we were a couple of zombies.
And in the world's cruel calendaring style we have become accustomed to, we had a wedding of a good friend to attend that same day at 4:45 p.m.
There were really fun parts of the sale too. The children were the best to watch. With one exception which I will address later. But one little girl had picked up a teddy bear and was so adorable with her lawyer negotiation style of railroading dad into bying it. It wasn't snotty, or spoiled or anything like that. It was just cute, smart and oozed with charisma.
C started giving away toys to all of the little kids who became attached to one thing or the other. And when there were brothers and sisters involved, he'd say "oooh, I gave you something, now I need to give something to your brother/sister, or they will be jealous, huh." That part, I must say, was my favorite.
There was a set of brothers. One older than the other by about 2 years, if I had to guess. C had a set of Hulk Hands - giant green glove like things that make hulk noises when you hit them - that he gave to the older brother. The kid walked straight over to his little brother and socked him as hard as he could in the shoulder. The smaller boy fell to the grass and started to cry that "I should cry but I'm not really hurt cry." The parents didn't even flinch. We checked on the children and they appeared to be just fine. But I kept thinking "Of course he ran over and beat up his brother with an item we just gave him. Because that's how my child experiences go. They are either "special" and I yell at them, or I try and be nice up front and it ends up in tears and possible permanent damage. Good freaking grief."
I'm pretty sure that Satan's offspring is currently being driven around town in a tan, four door sedan. Strapped in a car seat. This child frightened the soul out of at least 10 adults. I was afraid to approach the general area without the aid of at least one ice hockey stick in my hands.
Things were going along normally, when suddenly a sickening sound made every person in a half mile radius stop in their tracks and look for the source. We looked to our left and saw the Satanmobile with Jr. strapped into his car seat in the back. No one could beleive the noise we had just heard came from that child, so we just ignored it and went back to our activities.
Seconds later, a thick scream pierced our ears again, this time with commands: "GEEEET BACK HERE DAMMIT RIGHT NOW THIS SECOND!" "YOU, MOM COME BACK NOOOOW, AND I MEAN NOW!" Anyone else seen Emily Rose? Because that is EXACTLY what it sounded like. C said he literally thought the child was on fire. The Mom didn't even blink. She just kept browsing.
I'm positive I can go another 10 years before I participate in another garage sale.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Two co-workers were already in there. This is what they said to each other:
Oh, and I have to add that they are both hispanic. The reason I had to type that will become clear in a moment.
Her: "Oooh, look here in the paper. A list of the 25 Greatest Hispanics. Don't you want to read it?"
Him: "Oh, it's just a list of the 25 Mexicans that have managed to avoid jail. Not get busted - you know. There's only 25 of them left."
Here's the second conversation they had:
Him: "Do you know what I'm thinking about getting? I'm thinking about getting a kid."
Him: "You know, buy a kid...the foreign kids...the ones who can't feed themselves?"
Her: "You mean adopt - one of those charity type things. Why would you want to do that. Isn't it like $2.00 a day? If you want to feed someone, FEED ME!"
These two conversations made me bolt from my table and run to my desk where I wrote some notes on a stickie and stuck it in my purse so I'd remember to chronicle them here.
Thank goodness She said something about the charity adoption program thing. For a second I thought he really wanted to "buy" a kid. And I couldn't figure out why...since he's already got two at home.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Today, though, I was privy to a conversation that - how do I say - was a whole new level of "Do you hear what you are saying? No, really, CAN YOU HEAR YOURSELF?"
There is a Korean lady who contacted our office. She isn't our client, she is someone else's client. We will call her Joan. And this is the conversation that was had:
Joan: "I need to find an attorney, and I know you know some good ones."
Law Person: "What kind of case is it that you need help with?"
Joan: "It's an accounting matter. That one attorney you worked with, uh....her name is _______, is she Jewish? Because I need a Jewish attorney."
Law Person: "... uh ... well. I think she is, but what does that have to do with anything?"
Joan: "See, this is an accounting matter. And the attorney I hired before is Korean. And he went to law school with the defense attorney - AND HE'S KOREAN TOO. That is bad, because two Koreans, you see in my culture, you MUST respect your elders. And the defense attorney is older than my other attorney. So I don't think he got us the best result for us. Because he couldn't. You must not disrespect your superiors in my culture."
Law Person, trying to get out of this as clean as possible: "I think this might be a matter for a plaintiff's firm. We do mostly defense type work here. I'm sorry, but I don't think we can help you with this."
Joan: "But the attorney you worked with, is she Jewish? I NEED A GOOD JEWISH ATTORNEY!"
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Oh, and I guess it's worth mentioning that they are invisible.
You might be asking yourself what makes me believe this, and I'll tell you.
Every day C and I use q-tips. When we finish using them, we try to throw them away. Without fail, those q-tips are deflected by the alien force field, and deposited in the VERY NARROW space between the trash can and the wall.
It's truly amazing. You would think that having the can surrounded on two whole sides by wall would be the most excellent back board for flawless tip flinging. And it would be, if an advanced civilization hadn't decided to live in our trash can.
The force field is never down. However, one watching our daily routine might wonder why we seem to believe it will be one day. Because only crazy people would keep throwing things at an invisible force field - and then curse while retrieving the deflected trash the way we do.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Before I tell it though, there is something I need to say first. I'm not going to make excuses for myself. I will explain my thought process, but I'm not expecting anyone to say "aww gee, well it really is ok." Because it's really not ok with me - although I've made my peace with it for now. And the only thing that matters is how I deal with it in the future.
Thursday morning I went to my coffee place as I always do. C usually drives us to work, so he waits in the car while I get my coffee whistle.
On this particular day, there was no line. I was at the counter alone, there are two registers. A lady came tearing into the shop and rushed right up to the other register. She nearly ran me over, because I was somewhat standing in between the two stations. I was wating for my coffee and my muffin.
A few seconds later, I felt the presence of a child to the right of me. He was shoving his way between me and his...I presume....mother. He kept rapidly tapping me on my right hip. I looked over and decided he must have been about 10 or 11. I was a bit annoyed, but ignored it for the most part. His mom began to sternly speak to him in a language I couldn't understand.
The second my muffin/coffee hit the counter, I reached for it. The child then took both of his hands, placed them on my right hip and shoved me as hard as he could out of his way.
When I caught my balance I was FUMING. I was also completely shocked that a kid would push me! I stared him straight in the face, and he just looked at me like he wanted me dead. I then said to him, rather angrily "You do know you aren't supposed to push people, RIGHT?" He said NOTHING. His Mom said in English "Did you hear what she said to you!!!???"
I was so angry, and shocked at the same time that I just turned on my heels and quickly walked out of the store. I got in the car with C and tried to explain why I had "that look" on my face.
When I was done, C said "Honey, is that the kid you are talking about right there? The one coming out of the store?" When I said yes, it was, he continued "Well, I think he has issues."
My heart broke and then it sank to the lowest parts of my body. I was SICK. How could I have yelled at a "special" kid? What the hell was wrong with me? I asked him why he thought he might have issues, and he said that he had seen the kid outside kindof flailing before they entered the shop.
C says that even though he might have had a mental issue, I should still expect not to be shoved in public by perfect strangers. Be it a child or adult. And to a degree I agree with him. And I can tell myself that my reaction to a stranger even touching me was a lot more restrained than that which I was feeling at the moment - but I still feel really bad about it. Not only that, but if he indeed has issues, his care taker didn't seem to be very nurturing. But then again, I don't know a damn thing about kids in the first place.
I just wish I had taken the time to think about it before I reacted. THINK. C thinks perhaps the child was autistic. By all outward appearances, he looked "normal" enough. I wish I had asked his mother - "Could you explain to me why your child just pushed me?"
If I had done so, perhaps she would have said "I'm sorry, he's got this or that issue." I could have lived with that. I would have made room. I would have allowed them to go ahead of me.
And if the child has issues, is it wrong of me to expect the mom or guardian or whoever to let me know? To explain after the first physical contact that this is an extraordinary circumstance? Part of me says yes, it is wrong for me to expect that. Why should she have to tell everyone she interracts with why he's doing what he's doing? And maybe it's the first time he's actually physically reached out to a stranger?
The other part of me wonders why a mother wouldn't want to protect her child by letting the people around him know why these things are happening.
I'm also angry at myself for assuming. I assumed a lot of things in a split second. 1. Because I heard her talk to him in a stern way, I think I assumed she was trying to get him to behave. 2. I assumed it was ok to just address him directly instead of asking/venting at the mom. If I were a mom, I'd have to think a stranger addressing my child directly would anger me very much. Protective instincts would come out and I'd want to be the one to take care of the issue.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
When she dropped him off at pre-school today, the teacher asked to speak with her for a moment.
The teacher said "Now, I realize that during story time, not every kid is going to be thrilled with the story...but yesterday during story time, Joey got up and went over to the window without saying anything to anyone. I became concerned, because he was just standing there looking out of the window."
She continued: "So I put the book down and walked over to where he was, and asked him if everything was "ok". He wouldn't respond, he just stood there silent looking at me. Then, when I asked him again...he said...
'I don't speak English'. And I know he speaks English. So why did he tell me he can't speak it in English? Do you speak Spanish at home?"
MOJ attempted to stifle a laugh when the teacher told her this. Apparently, Joey's Grandma speaks Spanish, but his normal "native" language is English.
MOJ leaned down to Joey and said "Did you tell the teacher you can't speak English?" Joey rolled his eyes and sighed. MOJ said "Why?"
Joey said "Sheesh Mommy, I was just bored, ok?"
And, I just remembered a story MOJ told me in the last week or two:
MOJ packs a lunch for Joey to take to school with him. On this particular day, Joey's Aunt did it because MOJ was working and couldn't do it.
When Joey came home from school, he said: "Mommy, we have to talk." MOJ said "Ok hon, what's the problem?" Joey put his index finger up to his eyeball, and said "Now PAY ATTENTION! When I went to open my lunch today [MOJ says he was acting out opening an invisible lunch box with his hands while he was telling her this], I open it up and inside was a HOT POTIT! YOU KNOW I DON'T LIKE HOT POTITS!" [Hot Potit = Hot Pocket].
How do you people raise kids without bursting out into hysterical laughter when they do this kind of thing?
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
In honor of that, I'm going to share a recent bit of, eh...I guess one could call it advice, I received from my mom's nutso neighbor, Janine.
Janine asked me what C and I would like as a wedding gift. Being totally uncomfortable with this, I just said "Really, nothing. We've got everything we need. But thank you so much for offering."
With this, Janine proceeded to tell me about her own marriage, years ago. Her husband George had gone over seas. He was in the military. While he was over there, he bought and sent back to her a mini bar.
Years later, they got a divorce. According to Janine, George would call her regularly after the divorce and ask for the mini bar back. She told him "No, you got that for ME. It was a present TO ME, I'm keeping it."
So as the years pass, apparently this mini bar becomes her trump card, and she begins to find such glee in the fact that she is in possession of it. And he wants it. But he can't have it.
Janine is probably in her 80s these days. Eventually George passes away. Janine immediately had him cremated, because "he'd have hated that."
But it gets better.
She took his ashes, put them in a cardboard box, and stored them IN THE MINI BAR. She said "Well, he always wanted the damn thing, now he has it."
She wrapped up this little story by telling me that she'd show me the ashes in the mini bar, but her daughter took them and put them "in a nice container, with the grandparents. I told her though, don't put my ashes in there when I'm gone, because your dad will rise to the top and screw me."
I swear to you, only the names have been changed. The rest is absolutely what she said.
Very pretty, No?
*No thanks to me, of course. People should know that C worked really hard on them, and I'm just so happy with the way they came out. Also, I'm super happy because now that he put them in the mail, I can say later in our married life when I've pushed an eye rolling moment a little to far.... "yes but remember, YOU mailed the invitations, I didn't touch them. That means you can't escape. It does! I saw it on Westlaw just a week ago. It was a case reaffirming the "you are totally screwed" issue some guy in your EXACT situation tried to appeal. Something about "let the invitation mailer beware". I love law.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Our office loo is double doored. This is a term I just made up, of course. It means that you go through the first door, and then into a second door to get to the actual place of looness.
So when entering or exiting the double doors, you will notice that there is a square of carpet between the two doors.
Apparently, this square of carpet came from an old, Indian paper towel cemetery. The reason I say this is that every day, the spirits of dead paper towels materialize there in groups of 3 or more. These are some damn angry spirit towels, I'm telling you. Why else would they continue to show up on the 14th floor of some office building? They are, in fact, more regular in attendance than some of my co-workers. Angry indeed.
What is wrong with people? Even if there was any reason to use a paper towel hand condom on the door handles, WHY do they have to be discarded on the floor? Is it too much to ask that you take it to a trash can? It's as if they expect people to believe that "ooops!! I accidentally dropped it on my way out and shoot I just didn't realize it!"
And you can't tell me that touching the copier, office refrigerator, elevator buttons, computer keyboards or telephone receivers in this place is any less germy than the bathroom door handles. Because I've seen what happens to people who use certain phones around here.
I'm not saying it's bad to take a precaution or two, but don't leave your used precaution in the space I'm forced to share with you. Let's face it. I can avoid a disgusting kitchen, but I can't easily avoid the place my morning coffee wants to go about 10:00 a.m. every day. Not without causing a few more serious germs to be spread, anyway.
Either take your paper towel to the nearest trash can, like the civilized person you want us to believe you are, or stay home and walk through your own used paper products. Get yourself a bubble. I hope it comes with a wheel and slot for your food pellets.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Which is why when "Garden State" came out with the deadly combination of Zach Braff and Natalie Portman, there was no dobut that Zoom and C were going to see it. C for the Natalie, me for the "Scrubs" connection, no matter how remote or irrelevant.
Loved the movie. I really did. But here's the thing that makes me want to kick Zach Braff in the male coolie if I ever, somehow, found myself face to face with him.
The soundtrack. It's a great soundtrack, and that is exactly the problem. It has been on constant rotation at the house of Zoom and C so much, that I'm ready for Operation Make It Stop. That is, to sneakily corrupt all of the itunes files and burn the physical version of it that resides in our cd holder, in the microwave. Over and over. And not just because I love fire.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
C told me that I need to write them down. Am I really the only person who can see these?
11. Thou shalt not reach for Zoom's food without permission. Thou shalt especially never sneak a french fry or a black olive from her plate/area of food. Zoom doesn't always use a plate, so one must observe the invisible boundaries of Zoom's food.
11. (a) Thou shalt never EVER try to share Zoom's dessert.
12. Thou shalt not read Zoom's magazine(s) before she does. Doing so will cause the contents to evaporate, or so you would think by the hissy fit that follows.
13. Thou shalt not try to watch more than one show on t.v. at a time. Unless, of course, thou hast provided a second t.v. in the household with cable.
14. One sided tickle attacks: Commandment of Engagement - When one begins a tickle attack, thou shalt make the strike and GET OUT. There is no holding in tickling of this nature. Otherwise, screaming will be heard and kicking will be done.
15. Thou shalt never say "That's something your Mom would do/say", unless thou wantest a poke in the eye.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
THIS is why.
When they accidentally give you the high octane stuff, you can blame EVERYTHING on the fact that you are innocently, I might add, drunk on warm caffeine goodness.
When I got in the car with C this morning, I suspected my coffee was fun in a cup with a cardboard coozie - just not the kind of fun C would purposely sign up for on a Tuesday. It was flavored, and my coffee place never has anything but tame, plain decaf. I gave it a sniff and said "oooh ooh, I think this is regular." And five seconds later I was pouring it down my throat while making excuses like "we are already late, might as well get to the office. No time to go get a decaf now."
Here are just a few of the superpowers my caffeine cape gives me:
1. The ability to hard transistion mid conversation from one obscure topic to the next - at 10 times the speed I normally do this. Thing is, I'm also talking in made up words and mispronounciations at 10 times my normal speed as well.
which usually leads to...
2. Super Pouting! I can go from laughing to lower lip protrusion in a matter of seconds.
3. I can and will reach a Danger Hungry state about an hour before C and I can actually go to lunch. This is especially fun for him because I run into his office and try to convince him to "Please let's go NOWWWWW I'm hungry, no I don't want the pretzles you thoughtfully brought for meeeee". Pout.
4. Sooper Logic. When C and I came back from lunch today, there was a HUGE spider swinging from the ceiling of the parking structure. Of course I got my camera out and started to try and take pictures. But I didn't want to get too close to it. And the thing is, why did I want/need pictures of the biggest, ugliest, scariest spider I've seen since the one that tried to cross a river to get me about a month ago? THERE WAS NO REASON. My brain just said "Oh, something horribly wrong? Take pictures!"
AND, when we got to the lower level where our office entrance is, I said "HEY, how come the ceiling on this floor is painted? I bet it's spider resistent paint. They don't care about us who park up there on the other floors. Apparently.
This statement actually made C drop his head and say "...it's hard to be me."
And I laughed, and then super pouted all the way back up to the office.
Monday, September 19, 2005
The super cool double rainbow was, of course, on HIS side. And, I'm a teeny bit possessive of my camera. Every time he tries to "borrow" it, I pout. Big time pout. I can't help it. I love that camera. And I've never had any real "thing" of my own that is just mine. Very selfish and immature, but well...what can I say.
So on my side of the car is the weak rainbow:
Which you can barely see here....and on his side is the super cool one:
I got a little bendy being selfish and refusing to give him my camera in order to get this.
After we got home, we decided that we had to go to the grocery store. We were out of a lot of stuff, like food. Our cabinets contained a package of novelty pop corn and some Oreos. Not exactly things one can make a meal out of while sober. Or even drunk.
When we got to the store C noticed how cool the sky looked with all of the rain clouds. I ran with the camera all over the parking lot while he found himself a bench to sit on.
When we came out of the store, it was raining. Not only raining, but full thunder and lightening. It's just so dang rare to have that happen in September, AND not at 3 a.m.
C and I love weather. We stood out there in the rain yelling "DO IT AGAIN! DO IT AGAIN!" at the lightening.
When we got home I tried the consective shoot thigie on the camera and got a bit of a bolt:
And I'd like to point out *cough*OTTER*cough* that this picture would have been SOOOO MUCH BETTER if that damn poodle palm tree wasn't in my way.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
As you may have already heard, the movie focuses on the trial part of the story. This allowed me to emerge from my scary movie gear and relax at times instead of being wound up for the entire 2 hours. I'm not going to discuss it in detail here other than to say that I really liked the movie.
When we were buying our tickets, C was trying to figure out why the guy was charging us full price for what we believed to be a matinee. There was a sign posted on the window saying matinees were any show before 5:30 p.m., and we were buying a 4:55 p.m. show. The man behind the window just kept saying "read further down". It turned out that the part about Saturday and Sunday shows was on the bottom - and you basically have to see a movie at 10:00 a.m. on those days. It wasn't that we had to pay full price that annoyed - it was the teeny tiny print at the bottom of the sign that had the weekly prices in huge print on the top, making you THINK you might have a chance at a matinee.
As we walked away from the window, C said "I almost told him "Just TELL me the rules instead of making me read your silly matinee conversion table."
The commericals they play before the movie starts did not have any sound. I went to the customer service desk to tell them and was routed the the oldest living human being working in customer service. He said "SO, you want to make a complaint?" I said "Nooooo, I just want to tell someone so that it is fixed before the movie starts." he said "THAT is a complaint." So I had to say "Ok then. I want to complain that we have no sound in our theater."
With this, he started rolling around back there [his office like chair with wheels] and saying "where's my radio? where is it?....wheeeeerrreee is my RADIO?" He asked me what theater number and I told him "10". Then he literally asked me again. "10" I said, and offered up my ticket stub so he wouldn't forget again. He didn't even want to look at it. He gave up looking for his radio and picked up a telephone. Why he couldn't use that in the first place? So he looks at me and says AGAIN, "What theater number?"
If I have to pay $10 for a ticket, $50 for a soda and watch commercials before the movie starts, WHY CAN'T THEY HIRE COMPETENT PEOPLE TO RUN THE PLACE? Or at least give me a fair chance at a matinee on Saturday and Sunday.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Last time, Jeebus went to Vegas.
This time, my friends went to Vegas and left Jeebus with me to feed Miss X (pal's cat) and water the plants.
Jeebus always has to be in control, so he insisted on being the one to open the door. I tried to tell him there was no way he could reach the lock, but he wouldn't be happy until he got there and experienced it for himself. He created some cover story about a losing contact lense on the welcome matt and that was my chance to get the keys away from him.
Once we got inside, Jeebus ran up onto the couch and shouted "I smell sin here!" I told him to knock it off because nobody cares; it's time for some new material. And actually, sin smells pretty good.
Jeebus was goofing around in the cat condo most of the time. When I yelled at him to knock that off too, he tried to hide.
Miss X's mom left me with her baby plants. Now, a rambunctious Jeebus I can handle - but a plant might die on me and that makes me nervous. I really needed Jeebus to help me out on this one.
Here is Jeebus trying to get Miss X to come out of her closet hiding spot. He's offering up a couple of cat treats, but apparently that isn't enough to bring Miss X into the flock. I think he should have tried some cat nip crackers - but every time I bring that up he squeals "unclean!"
Jeebus even tried the Amazing Technicolor Cat Toy - after all, it seems to have worked for Joseph.
I went to fill Miss X's water and food bowls. When I came back, Jeebus had given up trying to get Miss X to come out of her hidng place. He wore the cranky robe with a poutty rope belt all the way home.