Sunday, July 31, 2005
C and I went to the car wash today. I visited the girl loo, he visited the guy loo.
When he came out, he tracked me down and said "Come here. I need to show you something." He seemed very serious, so I just followed along.
He peeked into the girls loo, and says "Yup, yours has them too." He then pointed to the guys loo and says "There, see the air fresheners? Remember in "Seven" when they find that one guy?....I'm in here washing my hands and I see those things in the mirror and it freaked me out!"
Not only did I miss them completely in my own loo tour, but if I had, I would have instantly thought Repo Man. Find one in every car. You'll see.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
I was born in 1969, before the medical world really knew about dairy allergies. I managed to loose an ounce and freak out my parents in my first month of life due to said allergy. Apparently I spent that entire month screaming the scream of "she who can't tell me why the hell she's screaming all the time." The Drs. at the time just kept telling them I was fussy. Not to worry. Finally, someone told them to start feeding me Similac (a soy alternative). My mom says the first night they did that I slept without so much as a peep, and for the whole night. It was such a dramatic change that she woke up in the morning and said to my dad, "Oh my god...she's ..." and she ran to my room. She thought I had died.
Lactaid. Wonderful invention, but not 100% effective. And considering the symptoms it is asked to prevent, I have no complaints. those are some ugly symptoms, and even a 50% success rate is good enough for me.
Jenga Building Block 1: Dairy Allergy - a.k.a Lactose Intolerant
When I was in 6th grade, I was riding the bus to school. I stared to get a floaty feeling, and my vision started to wobble. I had auras in my eyes and could only see about 75% of "normal". Being a weird child, I immediately convinced myself that I was dying. I just figured it was only a matter of time. So, not wanting to cause trouble, and because I had a math test, I went to class. During the math test, the headache part of the migraine hit and I was asking death to take me quick. I had never experienced anything that intense - nor did I have any clue there was a name for it. I finally told my teacher I needed to go home. My mom came to get me from school. When I told her what was happening, she said "Oh...those are migraine headaches. Your great aunts have them and it appears you do to." I rarely get them anymore, maybe once a year. But for a while I was getting them about once every two months.
Jenga Building Block 2: Migraine Headaches
When I was in college, I started to develop an evil case of anxiety attacks. Heart racing, palms sweating, overwhelming sense of doom and a feeling that at any moment, my body would run away from me out of control. This time I figured I was simply going insane. After all, what 20 year old can't drive on a freeway, can't ride in an elevator, can't sit in a room without choosing a chair close to an exit, and can't be alone for fear of her body "losing it"? These were the days before internet. My only resource was a library. Which is exactly where I went instead of class. I started reading and found out I wasn't alone. While that didn't fix the problem, I felt a lot better. One book I read called the situation "the screaming memes." I totally love that. It says everything, and nothing.
This caused me to visit approximately 3,243 doctors to try and figure out what the hell was wrong with me. Most of them just patted me on the head and said "avoid stress." One of them even said "If you find a good man, your problems will go away." Going insane or not, I KNEW that was a stupid diagnosis.
After visiting all the doctors, and none of them being able to find anything "wrong" with me, I had to go to a psychologist. I did this for 3 years. His name was Dr. Lee Solow. One day he said "Zoom, there is absolutely nothing mentally wrong with you that requires you continue to see me. [note the qualification] I've seen some new studies that suggest that panic attacks are linked to brain chemisty issues. Stop seeing me and go see a psychiatrist. I think that might help you."
This I did, and save my life it did. I am not going to get into the Tom Cruise debate here. All I'm going to say is that after finding a particular drug that blocks some somethin somethin in my head, my life returned to "normal." I have my life back. I can work like a normal person. I can drive on the freeway like a typical girl driver, all by myself. I can ride an elevator without hyperventilating, I CAN FLY IN AIRPLANES, and be alone. Turns out that panic attacks are a symptom of depression, which isn't a woe is me disease. It's a brain chemistry thing. And I have it.
Jenga Building Block Number 3: Depression
While I was trying to figure out what was causing my panic attacks, I took numerous blood tests. It turned out that at the age of 20, I had the cholesterol count of Homer Simpson. I had another blood test at 30, and it's still really high.
Jenga Building Block Number 4: High Cholesterol
So in order to reduce my cholesterol, I started to exercise and eat more fiber. That's all well and good, but this is how I found out I'm allergic to wheat, or grain, as well as peanuts. *sigh* After eating mini wheats and cheerios (sans milk) instead of crap for breakfast, I started to develop this hive type rash all over my legs. I would get an insurmountable exhaustion, and my head would hurt. Once I cut the grains, I reutrned to normal. Then I went back to the grains, and the same thing developed. I started to eat peanut butter with an apple as a substitute. The rash and the exhaustion returned.
This is precisely when I got REALLY bitter at my body. I can deal with the dairy allergy. It isn't fun, but ok. But don't give me MORE food to be allergic to!! That's not fair. Or fun. And right about here, I've seriously had enough of the medical drama.
Jenga Building Block Number 5: Wheat and Peanut Allergy
oh but wait...there's more.
Most of my teens and 20s I was on birth control pills. I was in steady, committed relationships and it made sense. In my 30s however, the weight gain and the stress on my already stressed Homer heart made it necessary for me to find alternative methods of baby blockage. C and I chose condoms. AND GUESS WHO IS ALLERGIC TO LATEX? Frigging hell. This one landed me in the emergency room with a team of medical school flunkees who diagnosed me with Scabies. SCABIES?! I had a rash, incredible inability to stay awake, general poopy feeling - but I hadn't been anywhere near a pirate ship. It was just a latex allergy. But they didn't figure THAT out until after the scabie remedy, which was covering my nekkid body from head to toe in some gasoline smelling goo for an hour. Which did nothing for my symptoms.
I also can't wear band-aids. My skin bubbles as if you poured acid on it. And itches like crazy. I now own Hello Kitty non latex band aids. Those totally rock.
Update after posting: C just laughed at me and said "Scurvy, honey, not Scabies. You get Scurvy from being on a pirate ship." Yeah well, Scurvy Scabies. Whatever.
Jenga Building Block Number 6: Latex Allergy
And here's where I start to hate my uterus with the fire of 200 suns. Turns out that I've got menstral cramps that can bring down an elephant. Because I can't take birth control pills (which covered that up for me all those years), I have to figure something else out.
Because I already take anti depressants, I have to find something that won't intrfere with those.
I now have to take Naproxin for two days a cycle just to function. Before I found that stuff, I would miss at least a day or two of work every month. I DON'T EVEN WANT KIDS. WHY IS MY UTERUS MAKING MY LIFE SO DIFFICULT? And I was always the first person to tel anyone that PMS or missing work for one's Girlie Issues was lame. I didn't believe in that stuff. Numerous medical tests showed that well, I'm just lucky enough to have severe cramps. wheeeeeee.
Jenga Building Block Number 7: Menstral Cramps
When I get a cold or flu, I have to be super careful about which OTC medicines I take. Becuase of the medication I may or may not be on at that particular moment, and the anxiety issues I'm already prone to - I can't take Nyquil. I did once, and had an episode of hallucinations that put me on the phone to my mother at 2 a.m. saying things like "Purple spiders and dinosaurs....help me I'm strung out....there's who? where am I?" And then I passed out only to wake up 10 minutes later and call her again.
Jenga Building Block Number 8: OTC Medication Roulette
Now, I don't want anyone to get the idea that I'm always flapping my pie hole about these conditions. I try to hide them as much as possible from people. When we are at a friend's house and they order a pizza, I just try to pick off the cheese or hope that the lactaid will work (a risk I take if I'm close enough to home only). If people do find out I'm allergic to cheese or milk, they apologize like crazy. I don't want that. I very much roll with what I have and work around it.
Sometimes I'm in a situation like last night. Happy hour. I couldn't have any alcohol due to my Naproxin useage this last couple of days. When people want to know why I'm not having a drink, I try to deflect the issue or say "I'm on medication" and hope they don't want to know more. Somtimes though I'm with people that know the reason and I can say "Stupid UTERUS, that's why.
And I also know I'm pretty lucky. I don't have any of these conditions to a point where a minor tangle with the things I'm allergic to is going to put my life in any danger. It's just annoying and inconvenient at times.
Life is good, even when I'm allergic to it.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
C had dealt with this person for about a week. C said "I don't know if he's quite ... right ... like he's a little touched in the head..." Now, we weren't complaining, or making fun. C was simply making an observation at how every time this guy talked to him, he seemed to take about 5 seconds to register and process each word spoken.
So of course I say to C: "Do you think he's had a habit of taking his food out of the microwave before the third ding all of these years?"
See, when I was younger, my Mom told us kids that we couldn't take food out of the microwave before the third and final little ding that it made when food was done cooking. She said that the bad microwaves wouldn't be "gone" yet, and if we took the food out before the oven indicated it was safe....well then we were eating radioactive food. We wouldn't die. No, we'd damage our brains and well, THEN we'd be sory.
It's my short bus. I can't have been the only kid who grew up with this cautionary tale told to them? It's a technological version of "Your face is going to freeze like that."
That little preventative story worked on me and my brothers for about 30 seconds. That was the exact amount of time it took us to realize that we could microwave marshmallows until they nearly filled the entire microwave oven with a sugary bubble the size of a bowling ball. Then we would pull them out, watch them deflate, and eat the solidified remains of marshmallow off the paper plate.
Most of these food experiments were performed after school while the parents were both at work.
I probably don't have to tell you that one marshmallow became 2 and 4 and more, and that there was plenty of food removal prior to done dings.
Man, do I ever have an answer for the next person that asks me "What is wrong with you?"
Monday, July 25, 2005
BUT, there are few things that will make me do the eye roll, sigh, slog to the fax room with more pissed offness than an incorrect fax number on my document.
You have a number. It looks functional. It looks official. Just when you think your day is going fairly well ..... *dddiiing*, it's the fax room calling to say "This here letter doesn't have the right fax number on it. We've been trying to get it through for the last three hours, and well...it appears the number you have listed here is actually a direct line to some kind of mime school."
And the thing that's most irritating is the fact that a fax number is probably the third easist piece of information to find on someone using the internet, if one isn't lucky enough to have the file right there on the desk with the correct number mocking me...er...one.
Stoopid mime schools. Stop with the fax numbers on my stuff already.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
I liked the symbolism and the women's Parsi cothes were very pretty. During the ceremony, the Zoroastrian priests shower the couple with rice and rose petals. Ma being the Parsi by marriage started to get the giggles as they beaned him a few times with these things. We all started to chuckle.
And then my inner 3 year old woke up and I said to C "I want to throw things at Ma too!"
At the reception the tables had candles and a pile of rose petals in the center. When we were called for a group photo, I took a handful of the petals and went up to Ma. I said "I'm feeling a little left out, I want to throw stuff at you too." Then I did.
Later in the evenining is where C would say "Honey, your speaker is on" [meaning, it's ok to think those things, but really you might want to not say them out loud.]
An's Maid of Honor came by to say hello. I, attempting to be friendly and talkative said "I really liked your toast." Now, I should have just left it at that, but of course I didn't. I continued: "Normally, I snooze right through those, but yours was really good!" She looked at me, put on a "awww, you are a little strange" smile and patted me on the arm. "Thank you" she said "That...actually....makes me feel pretty good about it."
Then she moved on to the next table.
I looked at C and said "Seriously. What is it with me? Why? How do I not shut up sometimes, or most of the time?" He assured me it was ok. I wasn't totally sure, until...
An has recently graduated from a nursing program. She had invited a bunch of her fellow nurses to the wedding. There were about 2 tables full of them. We all couldn't believe these really pretty girls were indeed, real nurses. Many of the guys were saying "Gee, I've never encountered a nurse like that when I've been to the hospital! I'll go break my leg right now if I can have one of those!"
They had quite a bit to drink, so they began to dance with each other - and often break into a hair whipping, body jerking cheerleader type routines that had ALL eyes (and videocameras) on the dance floor.
For once, my speaker and inner 3 year old wouldn't have to worry about being the "can you believe" story. Those nurses became my favorite part of the reception.
Friday, July 22, 2005
And all of this pre jibber jabber will hopefully become more clear in a moment.
I recently switched departments within our law firm. The new victims of zoom got their crash course in all things me. Well, not all of them, but at least the introductory ones.
So the inevitable question is asked of me: "Why are you satisfied with being a secretary?"
What happens is that people learn that I have a 2 year degree in paralegal studies, that I have my Certified Legal Assistant certification ("CLA"), and I'm actually about 4 classes away from a 4 year degree in Criminal Justice.
Apparently being a secretary in a law firm is about as respectable as being a porn star. (Simile!) People are really happy and appreciative that you are there and good at what you do, but they can't understand why you don't go for the "better" job, the "more money" they think is guaranteed at any other position. See what I did there? Position? See? See?
Illustrative example: I was in a serious relationship prior to C. I was living with that person. He told his co-workers that I was an attorney at the firm I worked for. Apparently he couldn't bear to admit that his girlfriend was just a secretary. He actually told me about this lie as we were scheduled to be at one of his office functions. He asked me to go along with it. I told him NO, and made him take me home. That was my first inkling that that relationship was not going to work out. I left him shortly after that.
There was a time when I thought I wanted to go to law school. I believed lawyering (and all other jobs, I might add) were exactly what they claimed to be on the surface.
Then I started working in a law firm as a receptionist. I eventually worked my way to paralegal. And I soon learned about billing requirements, office politics, and bad management. The bad management I'm referring to is me. I was all of 22 years old when the firm I was working for put me in charge of a department handling 150+ files a month. The work wasn't an issue. The people skills and experience needed to be a good manager were. I had none of it. NONE. I was absolutely awful at it.
While I liked paralegal research and writing, I hated trying to justify my billing. I hated trying to squeeze another .5 or .2 out of something during my day so I'd have the minimum billable requirement completed. It just wasn't my thing, and to make it even worse, IT WAS MATH. Math and I do not now, nor have we ever gotten along. At all. It's safe to say that Math is the bully and I'm the kid it steals lunch money from every day. Even on weekends.
From all of this I have learned that I not only LOVE being "just a secretary", but I'm good at it. I'm busy and the days fly by. I was busy in those other positions, but I dreaded going to work and I was miserable the entire time I was there.
I am truly a lucky girl. Not only do I enjoy what I do for a living, I've found a guy that supports me no matter what I chose to do. As long as I'm happy. And on those days that things go a little sucky, he brings me carrot cake.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
I exit the shower, wrap up in towels and go right for a pair of Q-tips. Normal so far, right? Sure. Then I clean my ears, but I defy all of the warnings on the box and insert the Q-tip waaaaay in there. And I twist it around. AND I LOVE IT! Ok, still somewhat normal, maybe.
But recently I've taken to doing this little dance thing while I go in for another round - and I kid you not I said this to C the other day: "Sometimes I wonder if some of the nerve endings that were supposed to go in my coolie were accidentally placed in my ears....because THIS FEELS ALMOST AS GOOD as sex! Thank goodness I didn't discover this when I was twelve!" And then I'll do this little post orgasmic sigh thing.
Now who's talking not quite normal? That'd be me.
Now, at the risk of burning the eyes of some friends of ours that might be checking in on my koo koo blog....and regretting that they didn't lose this link right about now...let me just tell you that C and I have the great sex. Seriously. So it's not displaced sex needs, and if it is - then it's probably a good thing those needs are displaced because we do have to get to work at some point, and we have to do it fully clothed...if you get what I mean.
And I ask you. If sticking things in our ears was not intended, then why all the good sensitivity in there?
Monday, July 18, 2005
Now, I realize some of you have probably already encountered these. Because I know myself. If I find some sort of restaurant brick-a-brack to be entertaining, and new - then there's a 99.9 % chance said bric-a-brack is already yesterday's news to everyone else.
But that's ok with us.
And as you can see, we fall right into the hands of most advertisers.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Sometimes though, I find myself reading some angry, accusatory letter by the other side - what I categorize as a chest thumper.
The last time this happened, it was over discovery. Our office had issued some deposition notices. Per regular, cusotmary practice, we mailed the notices. What we didn't know was that one of the members of our mail room had started taking the overnight mail and the u.s. mail, and depositing them in transposed bins for pick up.
Because opposing counsel got his notice some 4 days after the date on the proof of service, he decided to call us out on our tragically inept practice of law.
The line that qualified this particular letter as a chest thumper was: "Now that I see your firm plays fast and loose with the rules of discovery..."
Fast and loose?
Nevermind that all he had to do was call us up and say "Hey, what's the deal? Can we move the deposition date around? Can we make this mutually agreeable?" or that the rules of mailing documents in California law have specific corrections for situations exactly like this - and we would have gladly worked it out - or that billing your client to write an entire letter over 4 days past a proof of service date on a deposition notice is fairly nit-witted... but
Fast and loose?
When I read those words, I immediately pictured me and my co-workers in a dirty, dusty western saloon. I further pictured us sitting around pimping out ways to get around California Discovery Rules - mad scientist cackle included. Not sure why. Perhaps the first time I heard that phrase I was watching a bad western. My dad had a habit of trying to convince me and my brothers that we loved western films. Clint Eastwood and John Wayne, especially. Do I even have to tell you what life was like at our house when "Pale Rider" or "Tombstone" came out?
It made me giggle. I took it to the attorney I work for on the case and suggested that we write back: "Let's end this now. I'll be waiting for you outside of your office building tonight. We shall duel at sunset in the courtyard next to the decorative fountain. The winner can schedule the deposition on whatever day he wants."
Friday, July 15, 2005
Anyway, here's the e-mail (date was June 17, 2004):
SUBJECT: I'm going to tell you something REALLY emberrassing...
I can't believe I'm sharing this story with you...but hey...you take the leaf thing so well so now you have some teasing of your own to do:
This morning when getting coffee from the gas station, I spied the powdered doughnuts. C loves those, so I got him some and I had a pack also.
I get to work and I am busy eating (read...inhaling) them. I look at my desk and notice a good sized white spot on the napkin...I think "mmm, powdered sugar drooooolllll" and put it in my mouth...
Do I even have to tell you how wrong that is? I'm making the noises, trying to get it out of my mouth, people are like "um...been eating long?"
Yeah. That just sucked.
I way overdo the deodorant, I know this. However, I've never had it flake off my pitts and run for my doughnuts.
That night, Skillit came to my house with a present for me. She said "HI! I brought you dessert!" and she handed me the Berry Blossom Teen Spirit Stick, which you can see lives on my desk at work.
I'm not the kid who ate paste in grade school, I swear. But I might have been better off if I had.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Me: "FRICK! I just dropped one of my earrings and now I'll NEVER find it. It's in Canada by now."
C: *gigglling* "Canada huh?"
See, we have cement acid washed floors. Various rugs are placed around, except in the particular places that I manage to drop things. These floors are great for cleaning, lousy for dropping things on. Anything that doesn't immediately break into 4,201 pieces literally hops in an invisible bobsled and ends up in....Canada. Or Mexico if you drop it while facing the opposite direction.
Today while I managed to avoid a clothes fight or invisible jewelery olympics - I did something far more frustrating.
C asked me if I saw the story on the news about the guy who is walking across the US in order to lose weight. I said "Does he have a car at least following behind him?" C said "No." I said "OHMYGOD, Someone's going to kill him!"
See, apparently I'm not satisfied taking on just my mother's nurosis. This morning's brain train somehow jumped the tracks and headed for a different Mom station. I recognized it almost immediately as the Mom of my pal S.
S's mom is a hoot. At least to C and I. It's hard to explain, but basically any time S goes on a trip with friends, her mom digs up some urban legend about how a girl went on a trip and was killed by her companions. Or some incredibly twisted result that is practically guaranteed the second S walks out the door.
We understand a Mom wanting to protect her kids. We do. I'm sure we'd do the same. What we find humorous is that S's Mom delivers these warnings in such a way that one can't help but find it melodramatic.
Yeah, it's funny - until it possesses YOUR speaker and starts going to town.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Our hostess fed us and chatted with us, and then when she was ready to end the affair said "Ok, there's the door. You can stay as long as you want, but if I were you I'd leave!"
There was nothing rude about it. I was relieved to have someone tell me it's time to go. That she had other things she needed/wanted to do that day.
Nobody was offended. In fact, we all had things we really needed to get to anyway. It was nice to have a reason to leave. Not that I didn't have a nice time there - but now I could get on with the rest of my napping on the couch.
I know from being my Mom's dumping ground of grr that whenever she has people over, she gets all wound up if they don't catch her subtle "go away" clues. I never could figure out what she thought was so obvious. Because there's no way I could tell you what to look for. But that's my Mom. She's spent her entire life keeping her real needs/wants hidden from the people who could, and probably would, make them a reality.
And if you asked my Mom what her best qualities were, she would deny that she's got any qualities worth pointing out; that she's just a woman who works hard and tries to make sure her kids are happy. Then she'd go to lunch with me some day and say: "I'm always honest. And I expect people to be honest with me."
Saturday, July 09, 2005
I look at it like other people might look at hiring a housekeeper or gardener. It's just one of those things I can't sit still long enough to do myself, nor do I have the skill for it.
On those occasions I DO paint my own toes, I use the "paint it all up to the first bend in the toe, skin included " method. This requires pre-planning, in that Zoomicures take literally two shower cycles to remove the excess polish and look presentable.
Who has time for that?
But as usual, that's not what this post is about.
It is about the most evil cake I've ever eaten. Evil has been hiding on this Earth as Trader Joe's Carrot Cake. The only reason this cake isn't currently riding around on one of the four horsemen is that the frosting on top was made by angels.
If my wedding dress doesn't fit in November, Trader Joe's is responsible for obtaining a new one for me. I will have probably consumed no less than 350 of their frozen carrot cakes by August, so I can only imagine what kind of mu mu I'm going to need by November.
Why is this cake so evil? It doesn't have raisins in it. THERE ARE NO RAISINS.
I hate raisins in my food, especially cooked food. There is everything wrong with the textrue they have after being cooked. I hate them almost as much as I hate peas. The difference is that I can eat raw raisins out of a box just fine. I simply don't want them mixed in with any other food I might eat. Peas are just impossible for me to eat nekkid, raw or cooked, or with food costumes.
I realized this morning I have a serious carrot cake habit, and this is how I know: As I left the house this morning for my appointments, I had the tin containing what was left of the last carrot cake in one hand, a plastic fork in the front pocket of my overalls, and my car keys in the other hand. !?
Don't worry, I didn't drive and eat it at the same time. Noooooo. I went ahead and had my breakfast in the parking lot of the salon after parking the car. !?
Because that's classy.
I see an all pea diet in my future.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
C: "They really need a driving range around here."
Z: "Like automobile... or gun?"
I'm sitting at my desk and notice a red laser light on the wall in front of me. I say to the air "OK, who's messing with me?" and it goes away. An attorney walks by and says "What?" I explain to her that well, there was a red light there on the wall wiggling at me.
Yeah, I expected her to just back away slowly.
So she leaves and the light comes back. And I start laughing, and saying to the air "Seriously. Who is that!!" And I get up and start to look around for any hiding space someone can be in - and I find NOTHING.
The light keeps coming back, and I can tell that it CAN HEAR ME. Because every time I say "WHO ARE YOU!" and jump up to investigate, it goes away.
Finally C comes around the corner with the laser pointer, and he's giggling and very proud of himself. He had been able to hide clear down the hallway and bounce the light off of one of the name plates, onto the wall in front of me. And he could hear me talking to the air the whole time.
God I love him!
Simple things make me happy. And, those of you getting to know me will probably agree that I really need all the help I can get - especially when it comes to faucets and knobs.
But as is usually the case, I've found a way to make even automatic faucetry a ZoomLiability. A Zoomability.
Yesterday I was in a public loo drying off my paws and I thought "Gee, that automatic faucet might be broken. It hasn't turned off yet....la la la."
Apparently the brain I own can create a logical string to anything, no matter how ridiculous, but it can't remember that the sink I'm using HAS KNOBS. Knobs that I, only seconds before, had turned on myself.
Thank goodness I was never wooed by Moonies. With my sponge of a brain, I'd have probably gone in, made Top Mooney and started my own little Mooney Camp - while my parents hired countless deprogrammers to ride by and throw me in a van for a stern talking to.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Que wedding advice monster, suspended from the ceiling and swinging through the room. Actually, I must admit that I've been really lucky in this department. Aside from the occasional "OH, you absolutely must consider having my cousin prepare your centerpieces!! What color popsicle sticks should I tell her to buy?" - I've received little unwanted wedding advice.
There is, however, another creature that lives inside people. I've named it the Bitter Marriage Counselor Hyena. Sometimes it's laughing as it chews on my confidence concerning the potential marriage C and I will have.
I believe that these people do have good intentions. And most of them have been and/or are still married as they release the hyena.
A recent example comes from a woman learning that not only are C and I going to get married, but we don't plan on having any children. We are very much accustomed to dealing with the "Aww, come on. You know you want to..." "She will change her mind" "It's different when it's yours" and other type discussions. We can do those with our eyes closed.
What we weren't prepared for was that this woman basically told us that as we manage to arrive at an anniversary or six, we will find that we MUST have children....or at least a pet. Her reason? Without a pet or child, we WILL discover that there's nothing new. We will have done it all. There will be no excitement, no fun, quite literally we will be on the brink of comas without that element in our lives; and we will welcome said coma.
She did offer us one glimmer of hope though. She said we might make it if we decide to travel a lot.
And no, she doesn't currently have any children, but she does have pets. 5 of them. And a husband.
Wow. She's got skills. Her directive of MUST HAVE children combined with the promise of saving our marriage was most creative. I gave it a 4 out of 5 stars.
But I don't buy it. Not for a second.
C and I know that we have no idea how to make a marriage work. We are flying on pure, perhaps naive, blind faith.
Besides. We have fish.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
C also wanted to get some tools.
Because I can't resist pointy things, I immediately went for this blue pitch fork and started taking pictures.
C demonstrates the weed tool.
Notice the sign in the background: Chain Saws.
You know how I'm always saying "If there's one thing we shouldn't have, it's children."? Well, I need to modify that statement.
"If there are two things we shouldn't have, they are children and a chain saw."
We could barely handle the samples, and they weren't even plugged in.
We are thinking of registering for a chain saw as a wedding gift.
I see lots of over-pruned bushes in our future.
I snapped this picture of him and said "You look like an angry geisha girl!"
To me, it looked like his fan had disintegrated; therefore the mad.
C and I were at our third garden store when I found the Holloween yard decoration section. And I thought Christmas decorations came out early.
I now have a new phobia.
Some people fear clowns or mannequins.
I now fear garden ornaments made to look like children.
I don't know about the rest of you out there, but to me? There's no way that these things are anything but downright terrifying.
I realize the zombie genre is hot right now, but really.
Someone needs to tell Frankengardener that he needs to head on back to the drawing board. Maybe encourage him to work in bunnies or turtles. Even if they come out looking less than cute, I won't need therapy after visiting my local garden store for a bag of freaking wood chips.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
There is this park near my old home. The one I lived in before I tricked C into thinking he wanted to marry me. When the war started in 2002 (?), this memorial showed up there. Eventually it was taken down.
I drove by today and saw that it was back. Each post has something different on it. It isn't clear as to what, exactly each post represents. They seem to represent anything from one person to 20 that have been lost in the war.
It's quite interesting to watch people walk by and realize that it's a home made memorial. Then they take a detour right into the middle of it. Just like I did.