I found the macro function.

Pond of fishes. Except the fishes are afraid of us and refuse to come out when/where we can see them.

NINE.

Orange cloudy goodness - with an airplane thrown in for fun. 

We Talked About Birth, Spiders, Peacocks and Swarming Bees

While C and I were walking into a bar this evening, when we were stopped by a gentleman in a car. He looked to be about our age:

Guy in Car: "Do you happen to know where the nearest Tower, Virgin Mega Store or something like that is? Somewhere I can get music?"

Us: "Yeah, actually. There's a Best Buy over there..."

GIC: "Best Buy has music? Really? I had no idea!"

Us: "Go out there make a right, go left at the first light and then right into the parking lot."

GIC: "Wow. Best Buy has music. Wow. Thanks."

_______________________________

Me, hours later...to C: "Is Best Buy just a West Coast thing or something?"

C: "No. It's going to take you all night to get your head around that, isn't it."

_______________________________

Some other memorable conversations from an evening with pals (most of which are engaged, married, expecting a kid or just had a kid - and various combinations thereof) :

V: "We took the baby saver and lamaze"

My inside voice --- "Baby saver? Is that like Tupperware?"

~ ~ ~ ~

J: "So V, no sex huh?"

V: "Nope, we couldn't see and I'd convinced T right there in the room that day to do it!"

The rest of us - our inside voice - "Did J just ask V if she's not getting any sex because she's pregnant? I think so, I swear that's just what we heard, and V is responding as if it's normal to talk about this?"

J, seeing our confusion: "The sex of the baby! I meant she didn't get to find out the sex of the baby!"

C: "A show of hands please....who else here was on the other page?"

~ ~ ~ ~

T: "So I look out the window and I see a giant peacock in our yard. Later when the cop stopped by, I asked him if he was here for the peacock. I thought they [police] were after me."

C, in a fit of his own creative hearing: "T, you might not want to say things to the police like 'The peacock is after me', they will lock you up."

~ ~ ~ ~

J: "There were a few times where a diaper was put on backwards."

~ ~ ~ ~

J: "The Dr. said 'we have something for the nerves if you want, it's nice, it will be just like drinking a glass of merlot' , and I said ' But I don't like merlot!'"

J: "After it was over, I asked for the drugs. The Dr. said 'we usually don't give the drugs to women at this stage', and I said 'I just had a human ass pulled out of my stomach. I don't know when a better time for drugs could be.'"

J: "It was the first view I ever had of F, was of his white pasty ass being pulled out of my stomach during the c-section."

Don't Talk About Chocolate In The Bathroom

Lunchtime. I use the loo at the restaurant.

I'm washing my hands (Hot water this time!), and a strange lady approaches the sinks. She begins to wash her hands, looks directly at me and says "The chocolate flibbity flam (I forget the name of the pastry she used) is EXCELLENT!"

Why? Why did she feel the need to say this to me? Do restaurants now employ human spam to talk to you in the restroom about their product?

I realize that women typically have no problem carrying on a conversation while in the loo. I've done it, but only with people I know. Never with strangers.

I did not know the chocolate lady. We didn't even accidentally go for the same soap dispenser or anything like that. I'd really like to know what it is about me that says "Say anything to me, I love it." - because it needs to be turned off; and fast.

After all, I've been told that I look very unapproachable by people who haven't gotten to know me yet. It's not intentional - mostly due to the fact that I'm pretty near-sighted without my glasses - but if it keeps the bathroom, or other koo koo away - I'm all for it.

I returned to C and told him what happened. I asked "why?" and he had no answer.

He knew that I'd post about it, and he told me to write about another aspect of restaurant patrons that he has obsered. And to that I say:

Nah. Write it yourself. Your blog could use an update or five. Besides, you'd do it so much better than I could. WEAR IT!

Big Ass Cross

On the way home from the Framing, I realized we had some cloud activity in the sky. I remembered the Big Ass Cross that is near my house and how I needed an interesting sky background to take a picture of it.

Framed

Went to the eye doctor today. I decided I'd like to be able to see at night when I drive, so I better get some new glasses.

Everything went fine until the Dr. tried to put some drops in my eyes. The problem was two-fold. I don't do eye drops well at all, no matter who is trying to get them in there - AND - he told me what the drops were for before he gave them to me:

"These will numb your eyes. After that, I'm then going to take this thing here [shows me fat pencil looking contraption with a sorta point on it], and poke you on the eyeball with it. You won't feel it. It will tell me the pressure in your eye."

NUMB EYES? What exactly is that going to feel like? And no thanks, I'd rather not. Then there's the whole poke me in the eye with that thing? No. Nonononono.

Had I thought they were just dialation drops, I would have still been fidgity, but less so.

I warned him that now my body was going to do everything it could to keep him the hell away from my eyes, but he just pshaw'd me and said "Thanks for the warning, but you won't feel a thing."

So he tried once. And got closed eye with attitude.

He tried again, this time saying "...just open them a little, I SWEAR IT WON'T HURT." while trying to pry my eyelids open and position the dropper.

This is when I heard him sigh in frustration.

And he made his approach again - and this time it worked! One eye down and one more to go.

So he went for the other eye, and as a reflex my right leg shot straight out. He was on the side of me, so it wasn't like I kicked him - but it distracted him and made me giggle. So he stopped, and tried again - and my leg shot out AGAIN.

He finally got the drops in the right places and my eyes did indeed, go numb. I couldn't feel myself blink. So then I became fascinated with the blinking - which MADE IT IMPOSSIBLE FOR HIM TO GET THE POKEY THING ONTO MY EYEBALL. Actually, he did manage after a while, but I'm pretty sure it was the longest 15 minutes he's ever spent on that test.

After he pronounced me finished, he set me down at the desk of the Frame Lady.

She was sassy. She would give me sample frames to put on. I could have told her I wanted to chose my own, but I really have no idea what I would like or what wouldn't look totally ridiculous. After the previous hour of "better? or worse?", where I had to keep asking for do overs, I wasn't about to pick something all on my own that I'd have to wear on my face for at least a year.

Sometimes she would hang her head in defeat and silently reach out for the rejected pair. Other times she would say "no..that doesn't EEExhhhite me.", "Too big/small/wide/wrong color". The curt and solitary "no" was always quickly followed by another pair for her to evaluate.

We (she) finally found a pair she announced as "peehrfect!" I suppose we will find out when they come in.

How does one become a Frame Picking person? And full time at that? How do you qualify for that job? Do they take an oath that they will not purposely send clueless, eyeball shy customers away with a scary set of frames and claim they are fashionable?

Don't get me wrong, I realize it's up to me and I ultimately have control. I don't have to be fashionable, but I'd prefer to at least look good if I can. But there is a degree of skill in knowing what shapes/colors/styles will complement someone - and I don't have it. She does. And that power could so easily be used for evil.

The Amazing Journey from Passover to Roll

C and I live in a neighborhood richly populated by orthodox jews. I did not know this until after we moved in. I began to notice that on the weekends, men with their curly cue side burn things, their hats and their families would be walking to - I guess church and all. C said that their particular belief is that you do not do any work on the sabbath, that driving a car is considered work and therefore they walk.

Very cool knowledge for me, since I am forever fascinated by differences in beliefs and the ultimate symbolism or physical acts of the believers.

Monday I notice that there are quite a few of them making their way on footmobile to - wherever... I made a note to self that I should find out if it was a jewish holiday. I got to work and completely forgot to take some time to look that up on the ever reliable net.

Monday night arrives and C and I rush off to make a concert with pals in Los Angeles. We were absolutely shocked that we were able to drive North on the 405 without stopping once, or even traveling under 50 mph. I started to hypothesize in the car again about all of the walkers I saw that morning and that it might be a holiday, or had we somehow found a parallel universe where freeways worked?

Upon entering the show venue, pal S said "Did you hear that? Did you hear what that guy said?" I hadn't, so I waited for her to repeat it. She said "He told me which directions our seats were, I said that's fabulous, and he said 'That's how we roll here' ". She was laughing, and I did not get it AT ALL.

I thought she told me he said "That's how we RULE here" and my combined mis-hearing and logic super powers came up with: "hm....that's slightly humorous...I guess...in a he's acknowledging this is his kingdom but not really...or in a retro 80s "I rule" way??"

I didn't think about it again...until...

This morning I had a bit of time before leaving for work. I visited a site I love called Running with Lawyers. Rufus makes me laugh, and I needed a laugh. His entry was the story of passover/exodus of the jews in told in his unique Rufus way. One of his commentors talked about Seder.

This led me to google Seder and Passover. Which led me to the fact that the first Seder was yesterday...

Which made me go "oh yeah!" and as a bonus, Rufus ended his story with a "that's how we roll here."

This caused me to sprint back into the bedroom where C was getting ready for work - and spill all of my new knowledge all over the place.

"It's passover, and yesterday was the first Seder, wich is why we saw the people walking around....and have you ever heard the phrase "that's how we roll here?"

He explained that Seder is pronounced say-der, not see-der as I still manage to call it, and then he explained that the roll thing is a hip-hopish type phrase, and "didn't you hear the guy say it last night?"

Felt a little like a Seinfeld episode with all the call-back jokes.

Green Misty Night Terror

Since both C and I have had this flu, we had retreated to separate beds for the sake of hoping one of us would be able to get a full night's sleep. When you already feel like crap, it's no fun to feel like the sniffling, fidgiting and flailing is keeping someone else awake.

Last night we both felt good enough to sleep in the same bed.

Too bad I had a night terror that caused me to shriek like a horror movie starlet. And even though he knows, and I know, it can't be controlled, I still have the urge to apologize to him the next day.

Me: "Sorry about that screaming in the middle of the night business...."

C: "Sorry about that dream I had where you were pregnant."

Me: "Woah. Your's was way scarier."

Say Hello To Our Little Firends.

We have a grape vine, which exploded overnight and now has little baby grapes on it. There's little hope that we will actually get to eat any of them after they grow up, because critters get to them first. This is also one of the thousands of reasons we will not be having children of our own. The critters will surely get to them before they ripen.

Sombreroey Goodness

This is the best use of a former Burger King by a Mexican restaurant that I've ever seen. The sombrero kills me, and the chicken and cow heads are just terrifying.

Electrickity Tower

Shhhh! Don't Tell Anyone I Went Outside Today.

Sit Down, Wilma.

So it's day three of my battle of the flu, and as it turns out, I'm becoming adjusted to the Benadryl. This is not good.

See, when I first started taking it, I would be knocked unconscious for at least 10 hours at a time. There was no wandering around, talking to and/or confusing myself. There was no need to attach myself conversationally to C when he came through the door after work. I would simply slide off the couch and go to the bedroom. It was my silent way of saying "Here honey, take the couch, the remote and the t.v. I love you, but I feel like crap. I missed you too, but the Benadryl has stolen my ability to be conscious."

Unfortunately for all, the sleep is pretty much all done for me and C is trying to cope with what once was a fairly independent and pleasantly mute girlfriend after work.

So today I'm watching t.v. when the Benadryl takes me to the peaceful place. The place where I can breathe out of both nostrils.

The next thing I know, I'm watching Jerry Springer. My vocabulary has now been enriched with all kinds of insults to fling at perfect strangers. Things like "You and your 7$ shirt...." and "I've got yer *insert the last noun/verb spoken by opponent*!" <--- this one seems to be a parachute - to be used when there's just nowhere else to go - in any and all situations. Then there was "Sit down, Wilma." Which makes no sense at all, but feels so dang snappy.

Later, I'm washing my hands in the bathroom. The same bathroom I've had for over 4 months now, and for the very first time realize I've been working our sinks the wrong way.


Parcher? You bitch.

As you may or may not be able to see here, there is simply a knob at the top that toggles around. One way is hot, one way is cold. Normal people know that hot is on the left and cold is on the right.

Not me. This whole time I've thought "Gee, that's funny....our shower has scalding hot water in no time, but the hot water in the sinks just never seems to actually get hot..."

Until today when I accidentally do it the right way. And with a delayed Benadryl reflex, it was good times.

This causes me to wander around the house questioning my knowledge of House Stuff. I start looking around for a "normal" faucet - with the hot and cold marked on the dials...but realize we have none. The person who owned and decorated this home before us was an architect/artist and he loved these artsy fixtures. I began to wonder "do all people just instinctively know that hot is on the left and cold is on the right? And if so, how did I come to think it was the opposite? Is that why in public rest rooms I never seem to get hot water?"

Entirely too much thought spent on something so silly. But later, when C came through the door, I had to tell him. HAD TO. "Did you know that I've always thought the hot in our house was on the right?" "PLEASE don'tleavemeherealonetomorrow....I'm BEGGING YOUUUUUU."

How many times do we have to say it? He's such a lucky boy.

This Week in Hallucinations

I'm home with the cold medicine today.

Apparently that generation the media was so worried about has graduated college and started to effect our everyday lives. How else do you explain the idea of Coke and fake lime flavoring in one container?

The other night C and I were trying to sleep when our neighbors got themselves a fit of home improvement energy. There were a couple of problems with that. It was 12:45 a.m. and the noise they made woke me up; causing irrational logic zoom to take over my body.

I awoke to noise that appeared to be coming from our garage. I thought there was an earthquake, and all of our boxes were fallling over. In panic mode, I shook C awake. We listened some more, and he said "It's the neighbors, or something is in our trash..., I'll go check it out."

My brain wouldn't let it be that simple, so when he made a move to get out of bed I screeched "Nooooooo! Don't go out there!" In my head, whatever was making that much noise should be permitted to go ahead and do it - because it obviously wasn't worried about remaining un-discovered.

C was just going to look out the window to see what was going on. Oh yeah, windows. I had completely forgotten that those could be used for that.

C, being all to familiar with my zoom logic says "Ok, then we will just sit here and hypothesize", after which he did get up and peek out the window. That revealed our neighbors dumping some debris from their on-going home improvement project.

I'm pretty sure we will be interviewed 5 or 10 years from now, and you will see us saying things like "They never made any trouble, seemed like normal people....but every once in a while we could hear a buzz saw over there late at night."

I've had some fabulous luck in the past with neighbors. And as mentioned before, I watch entirley too much crime t.v.

My last neighbor was a certified nut-job living in a condo directly across from mine. He was the brother of a man I called "Drunk Russian Guy". DRG was a former piolot, and was indeed Russian. These were the only bits of information I ever understood when he spoke to me.

He was always walking to the grocery store to cart back a box of wine. I never saw him without a drink in his hand. He even started dating one of the cashiers from the store who happened to live in our complex.

DRG's Brother soon moved into DRG's old studio condo.

Before long, he was seen in his boxers and little else, leaving mints on the rocks around the little stream that wound through the complex. He said it was for the ducks. He began to carry a squirt bottle with some green stuff in it, and he would wander about "killing germs". He wandered to another unit and sprayed his germ killer through someone's screen door. The police were soon called, and he hid inside his house refusing to come out.

As time went on and neighbors became more alarmed, DRG was contacted and often came by to try and convince his brother to take his medication and stop freaking out the residents. It never worked. We were constantly assured he was harmless, just kooky.

DRG'sB would wander right into your house if left the door open for even a split second. When my place was for sale, he was almost always in my yard and my windows asking if he could come in and take a look - and a few times made it into the doorway before I came around the corner with a large cooking pan in my hand as a "shoo" device.

There were nights when he would sit in his house and flick his porch light on and of. on off. onnnnnnn. off. on offfffff. on off. It was like trying to sleep with a lunatic rave going on outside of my bedroom window.

He began taking cover on his balcony and shooting his pellet gun at .... nothing. Sometimes it was people, but usually it was air. C saw this himself, and we found numerous pellets on the ground all around. I remember one day when he was out in the parking lot shooting at parked cars. It appeared that his gun didn't have much power behind it (pellets appeared to be lobbed a maximum of 5 feet - as if he could have done more damage if he threw the pellets), and nobody was ever hurt, but it still scared the crap out of me.

The police never could do anything about it for whatever reason. They were out there ALL THE TIME, but never did take him away.

I once left a dish towel on my a/c unit and received a threatening letter from the HOA telling me to get rid of it or face fines and an enthusiastic scolding by the Board Members. Apparently it was quite ok for DRG'sB to keep a jungle and flea market on his balcony - AND SHOOT AT PEOPLE - but my dish towel was a serious threat to the overall veil of desireability that the community preferred.

When he wasn't shooting at air he could be seen on his balcony putting dremmel tool to styrofoam. I never did get a good look at what he created out of packing styrofoam that I would watch him steal from the boxes I had placed outside. Sometimes he would ask if he could have it, other times he just took it. I would always put trash outside to be taken to the dumpster until I was reasonably sure he was inside his house and I'd be less likely to actually run into him. Even then I would carry the "shoo" pan with me.

What made me think I could leave all of that behind?

Jeebus Joins Us for Vegas

C had a hockey tournament to play in Las Vegas. We decided to drive there, and asked our friend Jeebus to come with us. He had never been to Vegas before.

We were making good time until someone noticed a sock in the road. That meant we got to sit in traffic - which added about two hours to our trip. Jeebus kept saying he wanted a smoke, but we wouldn't let him have one in the car.

It didn't matter to Jeebus that the game was at 1:30 a.m., he was just excited to see some ice hockey since the NHL decided to be a bunch of weenies causing the pro hockey season to be cancelled. I askled Jeebus "Why the harsh words?" He told me he really does understand that the NHL is broken and needs to be fixed, but he's still really sad that it wasn't done in time for a season this year.

Here's C with Jeebus. Now, they insisted that they were cheering the kiosk with all of the light up Jesus and Last Supper art. Especially the blue ones, they were Jeebus' favorite. And that's how I knew he was lying. Jeebus always throws in a random detail to try and make his lies more believable.

While C was busy at a hockey game, Jeebus and I went to the biggest house of bric-a-brac on Fremont street. You can see it in the background here.

Here is Jeebus with his trinkets. He bought personalized souvenir dice with the names of his pals on them. The thing is, we just can't figure out who Stan is. We were quite surprised when Jeebus also bought himself three mugs. He is holding the one that says "#1 Kid" and the other two are "I heart Power" and "I heart Beer."

Jeebus found himself at an after party of sorts - the guys from C's hockey team invited us to their room for some drinks. This is when we saw the "I heart beer" Jeebus in action. The guys were very kind to share their booze with all of us.

Here is part of C's hockey team. I think there are 7 of them stuffed into this newly discovered clown shower. Can you believe these guys got up the next morning for a 9:30 a.m. game? Jebus didn't even make it and he had been bonding with them and their Corona the whole night. By the way, this is in one of the rooms in the Luxor. I have now ridden the wonkavator and know for a fact that I hate it.  

Jeebus was really excited to see the fake Eiffel Tower on the strip. We didn't go inside or anything. We just told him it's better on the outside, and to go inside would just ruin the magic.

We were trying to find a place without a long line for a cab. Jeebus said he'd hook us up, and here is the taxi he found. I suspected it might be Stan's taxi - but Jeebus wasn't sharing his secrets just yet. I was just thankful we didn't have to ride in a cab with Celene Dion's ad on it.

Fremont's light show was a good time.

Fremont Street impressed Jeebus even when the light show was over.

Jeebus finally let his hair down and got himself a drink in a novelty container. You just can't experience Vegas without sucking alcohol through a straw, out of a football shaped glass. And you should take note that he didn't get a sissy football with a handle. He went traditional old school, and we were proud.

For the Rest of His Life

The name of our other blog, the wedding blog, is "For the Rest of Your Life."

Everybody thinks it's so romantic and cute. I guess it would be, if it weren't us. That phrase was born from a fit of glee that comes from making C's eyes roll in that "oh yeah, it's her and she does that all the time/how did I not see that coming" way.

Here's the perfect example. The title of this blog similarly comes from an evil, eye rolling inducing glee: C and I were on the couch watching t.v. I started kicking his legs and making them wiggle. He was trying to watch his show and finally gave me the "the hell?" look. I gigglesaid "It's like you're dancing!"

The rest of his life thing was after he proposed and I said yes so fast he literally didn't hear me the first time. I made with the me being me and got my desired eye roll result. I said "FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! You get to deal with this forever now! OOO ahhhh!"

So you see, it's more of a sass than romance. Although one may argue that our sass is our romance. And I'd agree.

But anyway - the reason I started this post was so that I could share the kind of thing C gets to deal with FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE, and the reason I'm dangerous and need supervision.

C and I work at the same company. This provides me with a bit of brain skippage when I'm in the office and I forget that's where we are. "Honey...er....I mean computer guy...? Can you come here and fix my computer?" That kind of thing.

Today, one of the attorneys walks by my desk and says "I saw your name somewhere the other day..." and without thinking, at all....I blurt out "OH NO! Not on the bathroom wall again!?" The attorney actually turned bright red and said "er...well, no....it was something good, but I can't remember what it was now." He bolted. I called out after him "Ok, but if you remember what it was can ya let me know?"

Seriously. Don't give me scissors, because I'll run all the way down the block with them pointy side in.

You'll Need a P Valve For That.

Something I've come to understand about my C is that there is only one thing that will capture his attention faster than the blinkie box....and that is a stranger in need.

We can be walking along when suddenly, I realize he's not beside me. If I look around, I can generally find him boy scouting his way around the general area. Whether it's someone in the hardware store that is trying to figure out which vent plate to buy or a car full of people looking for directions, my C is the first one to get up in there without being asked.

This is one of the differences between him and I. While I also want to help people, I've had enough experiences wherein my assistance or offer of assistance was just taken the wrong way. Things happened, people got upset.

I once offered to hold a door open for a lady using a walker. She angrily informed me that she could very well do it herself - and scurried off mumbling what I can only assume to be "boil boil, toil and trouble...."

While I understand that one acrimonious encounter should not prevent me from offering to help, I now can't prevent over-analysis of any impulse to do so:

"If I offer to help that man in a wheel chair, will he think I am only doing that because I think he's incapable of getting by on his own?" "If I tell that woman at the table next to us where she can find the book she's talking about, will she have me arrested for eavesdropping?" "If I grab a small child that is running past me because I fear he/she will run into the street and get hit by a car, will I be accused of kidnapping?"

And what makes it worse is the fact that I am personally reluctant to accept assistance from anyone. My mom taught me to always be able to take care of myself. She taught me that nothing was worse than relying on someone - even a little bit - and then being trapped because you went from relying on them to needing them. Therefore, I can understand the anger just a teeny bit.

This is one stellar formula for Zoom gear siezure.

C doesn't hesitate at all.

I remember one time C and I happened to witness a guy forcibly handling a woman in a parking lot. C immediately started walking towards them. He was going to help. I wanted to call the police and stay a good distance away. Before he got more than 4 steps in, a security guard noticed the disturbance and began to take control. It ended about there, the girl got away and the guy left angry.

I'm glad he does what he does. Even though at times I'm afraid he will get hurt, it's who he is and it makes him happy.

After all, if he hadn't taken the chance to help me learn to rely on another person once in a while, I might have missed out on him completely.

There would have been no greater tragedy in my life.

Mom's Birthday Dinner

My family doesn't usually make a big deal about birthdays. For whatever reason, my Dad wanted to take my Mom out for her birthday this year, and he asked C and I to come along.

They love this restaurant called Fox Fire. It's quite literally the place old people go to have a drink before they die. In fact, when I was in college, this place was known for its accessible old women waiting at the bar for younger men. It was and is yacky in this way, but good for stories. My parents are aware of this, but they love eating there anyway.

There were a few memorable moments from our dinner, which was very very good. The food just rocks - which was a huge surprise for me.

My mom decided to announce fairly loud in response to a question posed by C: "Yeah, and right next to us were two queers having an argument!" Then she proceeded to do the floppy wrist action for us. WHO TALKS LIKE THAT? My mom isn't exactly the most open minded person on the planet, she was raised Amish after all. BUT, she has never openly displayed anything other than fair minded opinions regarding same sex relationships. Her loud use of the term queer made me most uncomfortable.

C offered me some blueberrys from his dessert. I took my fork and tried to fish for them myself instead of taking the ones from his spoon. He said "Tell your parents you love them so that I can take you back to the zoo."

My Dad is in cooking school. He retired a few years ago and this is how he keeps himself busy. He decided to tell us about one class, catering, where he had to come up with a theme. He explained it as such: "It was a New Orleans theme, as if the Daughters of the Revlolution were putting on a benefit...they were trying to close the gender gap. They had noticed that when it is cold outside, older homeless women could always go out on the streets to get enough money to get shelter. There was nothing the men could do, so the Daughters were raising money for Viagra to give to the elderly men. It provided a rise to their situation."

And then when I was waxing nostalgic about my childhood, I said "I probably knew how to order a Rusty Nail before I knew how to order a Coke" when explaining that one of my most vivid memories as a child was the fact that Dad ALWAYS had a Rusty Nail with dinner.

They both made protests about how bad that sounded.

35 years old and I still haven't learned how to join the adult, inappropriate topic conversation.

That's quite alright by me.

Etched Message in the Ring

The last week or so, I've been trying to organize my vinyl records in some kind of comprehensive list so I can sell them. It's been years since I've owned a turn table, and I'm never going to find a good safe spot for all 200+ of them. In short, they are more of a nuisance than a joy anymore. I'm hoping to get some money to offset the cost of our upcomming wedding with them.

I've kept a few, some that I just can't bear to part with. I actually like having just a precious few around, even if I never play them again.

Something I had forgotten about vinyl records was the little messages the band would sometimes press into the inner ring. When I was younger, I would play the records while inspecting the liner notes, inner picture sleeves and covers. I remember finding the little messages on some of the vinyl and thinking how cool that was.

While I was listing some of my records today, I remembered those messages. Here they are:

Not That loud!
I’ve been looking for a guide.

Fight the real enemy - not each other.
Watch out for AME BIX/instigators - Simon Gainey

Hello Mum!
Hello Dad.

The royalties are in the post.
Hello boys. Love Bilbo and Stone 7.5.88

I won!
Jack is comedy.

Tampons are taxed as a luxury item.

Help! I’ve been porkified - and just in the Nik O’ Time.
I do like to bim beside the bimside. Oinky Oink.

Time’s running out.
It’s wicked.

Dirt in the works.
Mothered to death.

The pink stabber!
Use the all over condom NOW!

Porky says "Happy Christmas".
What’s your excuse?

Keep a candle burning.
‘erm??

Empty the sky into your pocket.

See ya at the tube bar.
Rik karen Mt. Agnew 4 ever.

Smells like shit.
Bend over Beethoven

When is a Tree Just a Tree?

I remember my 10th grade English class, wherein the teacher was doing her best to teach us symbolism in writings we had been assigned to read.

I was having none of it.

Why was this evil woman stealing the joy of a good story and making me extrapolate meaning in every little thing? Not only that, but how in the world were we supposed to know what was meant as symbolism and what was meant as just plain story stuff? Half of the authors were dead, so it's not like I could actually verify these theories.

I basically rejected her totally. In my logic, there was no way we could ever know what the author wanted to symbolize unless he came right out and said it. Not only that, but even then I knew I couldn't be trusted with anything open to interpretation by me.

There are several forces at work here.

The first being that I am a visual learner. I have to see things I'm working with/learning about - otherwise I've got that "wha?" look on my face for the duration of the project/lesson. My mental picture screen only holds about 2 variables before it simply wads all of it up into a giant paper basketball to be thrown around while someone is trying to talk to me.

The second is that I have what C has come to appreciate as random creative vision/hearing abilities. These abilities link directly into my third super power, which is "I can create a logical link to ANYTHING."

i.e. - Apartment complex near C's old house is called "Regency Palms". I read the sign as "Pregnancy Palms", and within one second had decided in my head that "It's nice that there is an apartment complex where single, pregnant moms can go to live before they give birth."

See what I mean?

Since 10th grade I've come to very much appreciate symbolism in reading, movies, music, etc. Because that teacher caused me to flail against the idea - I later explored it and started to see what she meant. Most recently, it is the t.v. show Lost.

The scary thing about Lost is the fact that this show has engaged all of my super powers and sent me spewing ZoomLogic for days after an episode. This might be ok if I kept it to myself. Instead, I feel like I have to tell someone before I lose it.

C is that someone. He's got to deal with me racing into the bedroom saying "HONEY! Here's what I think...." followed by the snapping on of the light – mere seconds after he's settled down to sleep. Or when he's trying to get a shower in the Hot Water Time Machine. I, apparently, do much of my theorizing when he's trying to get a shower.

I'm pretty sure he'd like to travel back in time and find my English teacher. He'd say "Sweet Christ woman, you have no idea what you are messing with here. Her brain doesn't work the way you think it will. I love her but I'd like to be able to take a shower in peace just once. Skip this lesson and save us all."

Is That a Snake in Your Pants?

So I'm riding to work with C this morning after having picked up my coffee whistle and declining to take a coffee card from the cashier, when I start channeling:

Me: "I'm sooo going to work that angle."

C: "What angle?"

Me: "....I don't know."

______________________________

At lunch with co-workers today. We start talking about pets. One of them (female) says: "I have a pet snake."

Me: "So do I!" And then I laughed like a 5-year-old. Everything is funny when you make it double entendre. It just is.

C was super thrilled when I made sure the whole table caught my meaning.

Co-worker: "He's an African Black ........" I didn't hear the rest, because after the first part of that sentence the 5-year-old in my head was screaming with laughter. Oh, and so was the outside, supposedly grown-up me at the table.

C: "So how many batteries does it take?" Do you see why we are perfect for each other?

Co-worker: "He's at least 4 feet long."

Would You Like a Coffe Card?

I can't function during the work week without my coffee. It's decaf coffe, but I still need it.

Now, I have a purse. I love this purse. C bought it for me at Christmas time, and it's the nicest item of accessory I've ever owned. It's perfect in every way. But there's one thing it can't do for me - and that is organize me. I will forever dig in my purse for my wallet, sunglasses, keys, chapstick - and I will forever, instead, find in my hand gum wrappers, receipts, business cards, way-ward change that has escaped the wallet, paper clips, surprise office supplies, stickie notes, empty film canisters and any other un-needed object that I've collected.

Which brings me to the COFFEE CARD.

The coffee place I go to knows me by now. They promptly hand over my large decaf without even asking. It used to be just the one employee, but now all of them have learned my order. I love the fact that I really don't have to speak anymore before I get my coffee whistle*.

The thing that kills me though, is EVERY TIME they ask me if I want a coffee card (buy 9 get the 10th one free). Not wanting to waste time, paper or space in my purse - I always say "Thank you but no, I'll just lose it."

The next day: "Would you like a coffee card?" "Thank you but no, I'll just lose it." Repeat until I retire.

I understand that there are secret shoppers out there, and that the people helping me are told that they must ask if someone wants a coffee card. I find it totally irritating - and as evidenced here - apparently I'm unable to let it go.

And, the 10th cup of coffee that's free isn't even the same size as what I normally get! It's a small. There's no way I'm going with a small, free or not.

There was a gas station near my old house that I would go to for my coffee. Same friggin thing with them. "Would you like a coffee card?" At one point I got so tired of fighting it I just started taking them and throwing them in the trash bin on my way out. Sometimes though, I'd have my hands full so guess where the card ended up?

That's right. Floating around in the soup of disorganization that I cook in my purse. I already have to go through 4 or 5 tries to get something I need out of there. I'd rather not consciously add to it.

So there you are, corporate gimmick creators of the coffee world, I DON'T WANT A COFFEE CARD! Furthermore, I'd be a lot more loyal to your company if you would instruct your employees to STOP ASKING ME IF I WANT ONE.

*C dubbed my cup of coffee to go "Coffee Whistle" because I tend to mindlessly blow in the lid while fixed staring off into space, creating an apparently nick-nameable noise.

My Idiot

Here's the obligatory "how I ended up blogging here" post.

C and I are in the final stages of wedding preparation. ("I just want to put on the dress, do the thing, get to a bar and drink myself into a coma...") Being less than enthusiastic about full-blown frou frou weddings or forced tradition, we have been somewhat reluctant to make this any more of a big deal than necessary to appease the respective Moms.
We thought a web site would be good for our out of town as well as all-to-familiar with us guests. We wanted something free, simple, and not attached to any of the very popular and I'll grant you - useful - wedding sites that are all over the net. I admit it is making something simple harder than it needs to be. But using one of them would be like admitting we were falling for the "special special you must spend gagillions of dollars on this moment and drink out of a shoe at the reception" thing we have always despised about weddings.

One day I'm exploring Google because, well, I'm silly like that. I click on "More" and was drawn to the orange and white B. I decided to make my own account and see if it was indeed, as easy as the walk through was telling me it was.

I posted a few times and managed to get pictures to appear. Right there I knew we had found our wedding website home. After all, if I could do that without the template dissappearing and somehow freezing up my computer - well we were already miles ahead of my progress at the office when faced with computer learning situations.

There was another, more important reason I started this.

You see, C is an amazing wit and intellectual. There's no way I could adequately represent these qualities of his so that you'd understand. When suggesting we use blogger as a wedding site, I mentioned that he should perhaps take the time to set up a personal blog of his own and put there some of the amazing thoughts, ideas and humor that make me love him so much.

And he's finally done it! It's an easy way to organize, memorialize and enjoy C.

http://talestoldbyanidiot.blogspot.com/

Which leads me to the fact that I need to thank him for loading my Gir icon in my profile. He's a computer magician, and therefore knows a thing or twelve about links, posting pictures, editing links (seriously, I almost went blind trying to edit my links - the "edit me" still taunts me....) and so on.

I love him, but that hasn't stopped me from saying things like "You are now my picture posting bitch!" and "Don't go making your template all great and creative and not expect to do something for me too."

He is SUCH a lucky boy!

But It DOES Have Wonkavators!

Yup. C's going to figure out his mistake before I get him to the altar. He wanted to know how I feel about certain hotels in Vegas for a tournament we are attending sometime this year.

I was all easy-going until the Luxor came up. My reason? I'm afraid of the slanty elevators in the pyramid. C calls them Wonkavators. Good name, still scary to me.

We now have a semi-wager as to whether the Luxor has "normal" elevators in addition to the wonkavators.

I'm Ready For A Kick in Teeth

It's Sunday, which means that Intervention is on tonight. This show is brutal. I've often wondered why I'm drawn to watch it, even though it results in what feels like I'm willingly asking the t.v. to kick me right in the teeth.

I think it's something C said once while we discussed our ability to absorb and/or TiVo every show about "weirdo" behavior that the cable company can throw at us. I've mentioned them before, City Confidential, Cold Case Files, Cold Case (fictional), American Justice, Law & Order (fictional), as well as other shows related to the same kind of thing.

He says "We are both fascinated with deviant behavior".

Now, I don't want anyone thinking we hold the mistaken belief that we are better than anyone or that we aren't just as likely to end up in unfortunate situations ourselves. That's not it. For me, it's just a life-long question I've had: "How do people end up there?" (Having murdered, or even serial murdered? Being so addicted to drugs that they steal, hurt family, end up homeless, that kind of thing.)

I also seem equally fascinated with religions, cults, so-called secret societies, number based fortune telling - any belief system that comes with its own "woo woo" set of rules and regulations.

There are two "ah-ha" times in my life that I can look back on and realize this has been with me for a while.

My mom had raised me Protestant. One weekend I had to stay with an Aunt, and she took me to her traditional Catholic Church. Because I had been told and believed "ONLY ONE religion is the RIGHT religion....all others are evil", I apparently left the Catholic Church terrified of my own family members. After all, the mumbling of a language I couldn't understand (how did everyone around me know what to say?) and the constant kneeling was freaking me out.

My mom explained that it wasn't evil. That there were all kinds of religions out there and that people chose which one they wanted. So then I asked her "If all of these different religions are out there, how do we know which one is the right one?" She didn't have an answer. How could she?

From that point on, I knew that there was an entire world of belief systems out there that I could discover. I knew learning about them didn't mean I had to believe them - but if I found one I liked, I might be able to get on board.

The second time was during a class in either high school or junior college. It involved the instructor showing us a historic gothic church. He explained how from the "air", the church's floor plan revealing a cross can be seen. I thought that was the coolest thing I'd ever learned.

Today I am without religious affiliation, but have in no way run out of religions to explore.

Just In Case ...

Sometimes I just say stuff to C. Out loud. At the time, I actually believe what I'm saying makes ALL THE SENSE IN THE WORLD.

Tonight I'm at the table with C, as we are unwrapping our latest dvd binge. I see he has unwrapped AVP. Without even knowing it, I activate the automated program linking my thoughts and outside voice:

Me: "You know, I think AVP is a crappy movie."

C: "Mmkay. and...."

Me: "Well, you know. In case we are ever at a coctail party or the like, and someone says something about AVP, you should know that I think it's a crappy movie."

C: "Like, in case we end up on the Newlywed game or something."

Me: "Yeah."

Because coctail parties and game shows based on our knowledge of each other's film preferences are very much a part of our life?