Monday, August 29, 2005
During the commercials, Mom muted the t.v. She began to spin a great tale of wackery. She said "The neighbors over here? Yeah, they threatened to sue the people across the street."
Zoom: "Sue them for what?"
Mom: "They have a camera."
Zoom: "Who has a camera? How can someone threaten to sue someone, because they have a camera?"
Mom: "No no no no, see. The neighbors have a camera mounted on their house. I think they are paranoid"
Zoom's inside voice "Really. you recognize paranoid do you?"
Mom, practically whispering in a very dramatic way: "The neighbors. They have a camera on their house to record the comings and goings of.....people. They go to Mexico a lot, and they seem to have quite a bit of extra money to redo the house all the time. HE is working two foreman jobs. And that is illegal. At least I think it is. So they go to Mexico, they go over the border and back, and well, I just don't know what they bring back...but...well, you know"
and she emphasises this with a knowing nod and a raised brow.
Zoom: "Where did you hear this?"
Zoom: "Mom, Janine has been the recognized neighborhood busy body and zany lady for over 20 years. As far as we know, she tells the neighbors that you guys are aliens. And that Slausen here is your alien baby (Slausen is the cat) just because he looks funny. "
Mom: "NO, I saw the camera myself. So I know it's true. I'm just going to stay out of their way."
Zoom: "Ok, that's probably a good idea."
Now, as a further display of power, the painful family visit gods made it so that Janine was walking up the driveway right when I tried to leave to go home.
Among Janine's stories was the following:
Janine, to my Mom: "Have you seen the inside of your neighbor's house? They just re-carpeted the house last week! $40 a square yard is what that cost!"
Zoom's inside voice: "Yard? Don't you mean foot? Eh, as if that's the only thing wrong with this current conversation...." **UPDATE AFTER POSTING: C says "no honey, they DO sell carpet by the yard." Great, there goes MY credibility.**
Mom: "I was just telling Zoom about the camera...."
That was a Toyota Prius with a full tank of hybrid wackery, lain at the feet of my Mom. She will now drive it in circles around me for the next 6 months to a year, waving the "I told you so" flag. With checkers.
And then it will make appearances at Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners.
Zoom: "What about a hooker with no holes?"
C: "Can you get that out of your system before my grandma gets here?"
Zoom: "I'm trying. Really, I am."
Friday, August 26, 2005
So in the name of trying to look busy, here's a quote from a pal nick named "Ninja G". He is a horrible ninja. He actually sprained his ankle doing things only certified ninjas should do, but we humor him nonetheless.
At a party a bit ago, we were trying to convince him that he should not go home and get a good night's sleep - instead he should stay at the party with us. After all, the only obligation he had the next day was working on a property for his mom. We kept pushing him, using the peer pressure that apparently we believe justifies almost anything, when he said to us: "But you haven't met my Mom. She's like Hitler..." and after a fairly long pause he added "...but with a hoo hoo."
Thursday, August 25, 2005
One of my co-workers, just came to me and said "Would you like a banana?" and there he is, standing there with a Chiquita Banana in his hand. I said "...Um, no thank you."
And then he said "It has no artificial colors or preservatives." And he's dead serious about these facts, and I can tell that he expects this to be the thing that makes me go "OH, well in that case, give 'er here!"
I said "NO, really. Thank you though."
Just this morning I started my day with a 20 oz bottle of diet coke, which is STILL on my desk. Do I look like I avoid artificial anything?
And I know what everyone is thinking. "Sure, I'll bet he offers bananas to all the girls he meets." And yes, yes he does - but he's not exactly swift enough to offer a banana as a euphemism. You'd have to meet him in person to know this is true - so all I can say is just ask C. He says that banana guy actually sucks the life force out of the room when he speaks. And we aren't talking about developmentally slow. We are just talking S.L.O.W. as in walks slow, speaks slow, just slow all over. I think the idea of actual sex is far too much work for banana guy.
About 3 months ago, banana guy went around the office offering people a bag of trail mix. As each person said "no thank you", he followed up with the "It has no artificial colors or preservatives."
And while I'm on a banana topic, here's something I was just talking to C about at lunch time:
You know how Disneyland has frozen chocolate covered bananas? My pal Skillit says to me a while ago: "I always feel like I should hide from the view of children when I eat those, they make me feel dirty."
"Please send us copies of the two dicks [instead of disks] deposited by plaintiff on....."
We've been making the requisite jokes ever since.
"...sheesh Donna, didn't you just get back from vacation with your husband? ...apparently we need to call Mr. Donna, let him know that you need multiple dick."
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
She tells us stories about her son that have C and I laughing and telling MOJ to give him a high five from us when she gets home that night.
Last night about 12:30 a.m., MOJ woke to find Joey standing in her room asking for a sandwich. When MOJ said "no honey, go back to bed", she thought that was the end of it. Instead, she wakes up a few minutes later with Joey smaking her arm with a package of lunch meat from the refrigerator, and he's saying "This one mommy".
So she gets up and makes him a sandwich. After he's done, he says "Well now I need ice cream, of course" as if it is just natural.
This kid is only 4 years old. Being that C and I know nothing about kids, these little stories of Joey may be nothing unusual. By the way, C calls him Joey because of the sandwich story and C's love of the Joey character on Friends.
The first story I got about Joey was this one: He goes to a Christian Pre-School. One day his grandma was taking him to class, and he started acting up. When the teacher told him that the bible wants little children to be good, he said "The bible lies."
...just like that.
MOJ says that he's not getting it [the bible talk] from her, and the only people who watch him while she's at work are her family. ...or, the kid has an astounding sense of comedy timing and dark humor. It's a mystery for everyone right now.
The second story I got about him was that one night his grandma asked him to say his prayers before bed. He didn't want to. His grandma told him that prayer was a chance to "ask for things you want." Joey said "Dear Jesus, I want a new batmobile." Then he opened his eyes and said "See Grandma? Jesus doesn't work."
Monday, August 22, 2005
On Sunday I had gone out to gain some photographic enhancements to a particular rant I wanted to get off of my chest. I will still be doing that, but it will be some other time.
On my journey, I realized I was very close to the Santa Ana Cemetery - so I went over to wander around. This place is absolutely fascinating to me. There are grave stones in there dating all kinds of way back when. I've been in this cemetery many many times, trying to get pictures that convey the neat-o ness of this place - but I generally fail in that regard.
How can you not love a grave stone that says "FRICK"?
The other thing I love about it is the high number of masonic graves that you can find there. I read somewhere on the net that a masonic graveyard was incorporated into this cemetery. And it makes sense, as there are a number of masonic lodges in very close proximity to this particular location.
The above picture was taken on one of my earlier visits this year. DOUBLE SCORE! It's STRANGE, and it's masonic. This side has the female version of the masonic woo woo order symbol on it. I think they are called Eastern Stars or something, but I can't remember. Thank goodness my livelihood doesn't depend on reasearch and junk... er... wait...
The above picture is the masonic man symbol side of the STRANGE.
And this picture below is just one of the fascinating moss covered statues found there.
As I walked about on Sunday, I tried to avoid groups of people. I've never learned the etiquitte to walking around in there, and I can just see myself sending some stranger into a fit of sorrow by walking in the wrong place, or something.
Minding my own business, as it were...this old man began calling out to me: "There's another one over here." and he was pointing. Now, I'm thinking to myself "he's SO not talking to me. Because that would be bad. And OF COURSE there's another grave over there. There are probably thousands of them in this place and I'm standing right in the center of like, at least 50....what in the heck is he jibber jabbering about....I'll ignore him, because that always works."
He called out again, and this time there was no mistake he wanted MY attention: "HEY, there's another really old one over here if you want to take a look at it." As I got closer to him, he started talking even more. I was still in shock that a total stranger would call to me across a park of graves, so I wasn't totally comprehending everything he was saying. The gist of it was, he's been working in this cemetery for the last 3 and a half years or so, restoring war veteran's graves. And their families' graves. He's been using a sealer on them, painting them with it. Below is the grave that he suggested I look at.
He went on to tell me that "they want to take it away, take MY WORK off of the stones. At this point, he hadn't really told me who "they" were. After all, I had assumed that when he said he was restoring graves, he was employed by the cemetery. I started to think he might be talking about ghosts or something. Touched in the head maybe? But as he kept talking, I realized he was talking about ... not really families of the deceased, but just the public in general. That there was a campaign to get him not only to stop what he's doing, but to remove what he's done.
So about the time I decide he's a little unique and to politely make my way away from him, he says to me "I've been waiting for someone to come along. My body is aching and I'm in a tremendous amount of pain. I'm going to stop working for today. Would you mind helping me get these buckets [of supplies] back to my van?"
I didn't know if this guy was a raving loony or if this was his way of kidnapping people or WHAT. Gimmie a break. My formerly Amish Mom put all kinds of "what if" scenario programs in my head and after 30 or so years, they still run flawlessly. It's also all of those internet scam forwards warning you about freakishly poisonous spiders and nefarious strangers with clever ruses. I told you my mind is a sponge for crazy shit!
I quickly assessed the situation and figured that there were enough people around that I'd be OK if he tried anything. Also, age had either shrunken him, or he was never very large to begin with - I further reasoned that if he tried to grab me, I could also flail like a girl and hit him with my camera. And my car keys.
So he sat in the back of his mini-van with Jesus stickers all over the back while I trudged over to the site he had been working on. It took me two trips to gather everything. On the last leg I handed him the last bucket as I saw him fishing around in a prescription pill bottle. I prepared myself to bolt, scream, flail.....and then he put something in the palm of my hand. He didn't grab onto my hand, he just firmly placed an object there.
I opened up my clenched fist and found...
And I had a little inside conversation with myself that went like this: "Wha? What is this? Oh, no wait. I can't take this. I'm not a bibley religious person! This old man would HATE me if he read my blog, or knew that I have a roller skating Jesus action figure, or that well, I'm just a heathen and find really old stones that say "frick" entertaining."
Instead, my outside voice said "What is your name, sir?" He said "Gene-O Platt. Platt like the river (my head said oh, not Plat like the Map?) Everyone here knows who I am. Thank you sweetheart for helping me." I silently railed against the sweetheart moniker, and then waved good-bye as he got into his car and drove away.
I wandered around the cemetery some more, and I found a very large monument that Gene-O had ... ahem.... restored:
You can't really see it in this particular picture, but the eagle now looks VERY MUCH like a clown eagle. I suppose the idea is "from a distance. It looks OK from a distance." But I couldn't help but shudder as I approached it. And I thought "Well no wonder they want you to stop this." and then I also thought "See? I'm a jackass. I'm criticizing an older man's labor of love. Might as well go out and make fun of some developmentally challenged kids while I'm at it."
I did a little reseach on Gene-O.
And at the end of the day, I don't know who's side I'd be on if asked to choose.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
I think it was last weekend, or the weekend before that. C and I were doing weekend chore things when I saw Jesus' Ministry Truck. And it just struck me as odd, that the S apostrophe was used correctly. And why wouldn't it be? It's Jesus'. But you wouldn't believe the debates I get into at work over this one particular grammatical rule. Which is probably why I was so excited.
So I said "LOOK HONEY! It's Jesus' ministry truck, with an s apostrophe!"
And C said "That's how Jesus rolls, yo."
Thursday, August 18, 2005
One of the most often cited ways to save money is to eat out as little as possible. Ok, ok. This makes sense. Unfortunately, I'd rather sunburn my eyeballs than take food to our office and later eat it.
First of all, there's the regular "the kitchen is gross" thing. People cook/reheat their gruel in there, and it smells like - well, hot trash.
And the microwave? I call our office microwave "the old man's artery". It used to have like at least a 9 by 12 inch opening in which to insert food. Due to food carnage and remains having built up over time, there is now approximately 4 by 6 inches of space within which to work.
Then there is the refrigerator. Management claims that the refrigerator is cleaned out every week. That no matter what, everything is tossed out on Fridays. This is a huge, HUGE lie. The only cleaning out of the refrigerator that happens is the stealing of food.
Not one single day goes by that someone doesn't say out loud, and generally to no-one in particular..."I swear I put my food right there. It's gone. Seriously gone. Someone ate my FOOD?!" It's usually someone new to the firm.
I sometimes wonder if it's actually the old food in the fridge that ate the new food. Sorta like fish sometimes eat their young?
Here's an honest to goodness conversation between two individuals in the kitchen today:
Person 1: As she opened the freezer door, she said "I totally miss seeing the corndog here when I open the freezer door. It was in here for so long. It used to fall out of the box every time we opened the door."
Person 2: "Who's was it?"
Person 1: "It was Jane's. It used to lay here with that ice fuzz all over it. I think she said it was soy."
Paging Chandler Bing.
Which brings me to our wonderful co-workers. If I bring lunch, I'll have to eat in the kitchen where people ALWAYS talk to me. I can have my face in a book or the paper, and they still insist on talking to me.
When I'm at my desk and working, nobody comes over to say: "Do you want some of my potato chips? They are less greasy than Ruffles!" or "I bought some doilies on E-bay the other day." And "Here's my catalogue of faux stylie bling. I get to wear a button that says "I'm super fantastic" if I sell at least 13 units of this by next week. Please order something!"
Conversations like the above examples will drive me to drink. And we all know that booze is far more expensive than just eating lunch out every day.
And believe me, I know that restaurant food could be, and probably is, full of scary things too. But the difference is - and this is key - I can't see it, and therefore I don't know about it.
I'd rather work 10 extra years and eat lunch out of the office every day than deal with our office kitchen.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
My boyfriend and I are planning on getting married on November 4, 2005. This usually would't concern you, as you do not know either of us.
But here's the thing. My boyfriend loves you. He doesn't just love you like "yeeah yeeah, I'd hit that", but he loves you like "Wow, she's pretty, is a great actress AND she's smart...we love her...." He says you have a classic beauty, like Audrey Hepburn.
And I have to agree with him. You seem to have managed to avoid that look of "cheap hot girl" that most of us - whether we will admit it or not - have tried, and fallen short of, before we try selling people on the belief that the modest, classic look is more our style. We all hate you for that, by the way.
And then there's the graduating from Harvard thing. I pretty much hate you for that too.
BUT, all of this is why YOU are the only girl in the world I'd give him up to. And I know you get a gagillion of these wacky requests, but I really need you to listen to me on this.
When we get married in November, I need him to go through the ceremony knowing that you had a chance to marry him, that you thought it out carefully, but decided that while he is a great catch, you believe he will REALLY be happier with me. And that it just wouldn't have worked out between the two of you in the long run.
So, in order for you to make an informed and honest choice as to whether you will forever pass up the opportunity to be with him or not, you should know the following:
1. He's the kindest, most understanding and thoughtful person you'd ever want to meet. He never passes by a situation in obvious need of help without throwing himself in the middle of it. Friends, family and strangers alike.
2. He's really smart. He knows a lot about math - which is HUGE. He knows a lot about philosophy, science, English (and a ton of other languages) and computers.
3. He has a wonderful sense of humor. He can take all kinds of harassment as well as give it out. He constantly makes me laugh. Even when I'm pretty sure I don't want to laugh.
4. He's honest. No, really. He is. Even when it super sucks to be honest, he is.
5. He's very protective of his friends and family.
6. He listens. No, again...REALLY. When I talk, he actually listens. Which, is sometimes not always the best. Especially when I make up words and he shoots coke through his nose laughing at me...but in general it is a good thing.
7. He never gets involved in a hair/clothing fight. You know those times when nothing you wear feels right, when your hair seems to look horrible....but the rest of the world just can't tell the difference? [Maybe you don't, you have peeps that prep you for stuff, but I'm guessing you are still a regular human being and still go through this stuff] You know how much you hate it when someone tries to tell you "Well, I think you look just fine" to diffuse the situation? He never does that. He just waits patiently while I finish my fight.
8. He puts up with all of my quirks. I say things at the wrong time, in the wrong place, and he comforts me.
I have a habit of using ALL of our water glasses at home at pretty much the same time. I can't seem to use just one glass repeatedly. Instead, I leave them all over the house as if we were decorating with them. In fact, we probably could float some votives in there. He just says "That's ok honey."
Sometimes I steal all of the covers and all of the bed. He goes to sleep in the guest room when I do that - and doesn't make me feel bad. He also doesn't make me feel bad when I snore him out of the bed.
9. He is a movie and musical rain man. When he speaks, I'm never really sure if he's really asking me something, or if he's channeling a line from a movie or a song. It's like having IMDB dot com without a computer hook up, accessible at parties or, anytime, really. Handy for settling little quibbles about who was in what movie, when it came out, and what the theme music was. It just seems to activate when you least expect it to.
10. He loves to shop. If you are a girl that loves to shop and you don't want anyone taking away your spotlight, this might be an issue. But if he has a gift certificate to spend, you better believe that he won't have it with him when he goes to spend it. Somehow he always forgets those at home. Which leads me to...
11. His memory. Don't count on it for more than hockey, computer passwords, where the nearest Banana Republic is, or movie and music trivia. Should he happen to remember something extra - be thankful and don't expect it ever again. And don't let him tell you what time you need to be at anyone's wedding. Just trust me on that one.
12. He has more shoes than any girl ever would. And they are all organized by style and color, and each has its own plastic box.
13. He snores. Ear plugs work pretty well. Sometimes they go missing from my own ears in the middle of the night though. I can't fumble around for more of them, so I go sleep in the guest room. I can recommend that you tape record his snoring for much amusement the next day.
14. I love him.
If I do not hear from you, Natalie Portman, before our wedding day, I will assume that silence on your part indicates that he's all mine. And that you, of course, find him appealing - but don't believe you two could share a life together in marriage. And that I'm the luckiest girl in the world to be getting him.
It would really mean a lot to me if I could say to him on our wedding day: "Sweetie, Natalie's not coming. She had her chance, but things just wouldn't have worked out for you crazy kids. Now suck it up and take me home for the rest of your life."
Thank you for your time,
Monday, August 15, 2005
I ordered a cadillac margarita. When it came to the table, I laughed. I said "What is that? A dixie cup?" and C said "Yeah, the margarita sampler."
The last few times I've had caddy margs, they've come out in pint glasses. Therefore, my simpleton ness decides that this puny drink is but a warm up to being able to have several more of these.
My grand total at the end of the evening was 3 of them. You would have thought the unfamiliar tequila sting I was experiencing would have been a clue that they might be small, but they were freakishly powerful. "Hey, stupid girl...this drink will be knocking you on your ass very soon. Stop with the re-ordering already."
By the time the show was over, I was numb all over. I could hear what people were saying to me, but it was as if I was sitting at the bottom of a well. Everything was moving in slow motion. And all I could do when people looked at me or spoke to me was wave and say "Hi."
I somehow managed to communicate to C that I needed some food in order to try and keep myself from passing out. He went and got me a big pretzel. The weird thing is, I remember being in a funnel cake place with the rest of my friends, telling them "I've never had funnel cake before." Which was true.
And all of this would really be nothing more than another notch on my "stupid action" belt, except that C and I had to get up early on Saturday to take care of wedding things.
I got up and was absolutely determined to face down my hangover. Which worked pretty well...until....
We were registering at a department store, and I started to get a bit wonky about all the choices and how to do it and making it perfect - and then I started to cry. Not because of anything C did, or I did, or anyone did. Not for any real legitimate reason, actually. I even tried to talk it out with C, and everything I said was a complete contradiction of what I had said four seconds before that. I couldn't make my face stop crying or talking in circles.
I am probably the only girl that can cry while she is "shopping", because there's too much to choose from?
By Sunday I was just a puddle of unconsciousness and slept most of the day. I went to bed early and when C tried to come to bed himself, I had a night terror.
This time, I am told, I screamed "THANK YOU!! ... oh hi, sorry" ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
I actually remember the oh hi, sorry part. But not the screaming thank you part.
Who does that? Who? I mean besides me. Who?
Saturday, August 13, 2005
I'm hoping that whoever owns that car lives far far away. And that when they do leave, they take Big Spider with them. Although I doubt I'll get that lucky.
And you might be saying "What if the owner of that car is afraid of spiders too?" And I would say that's mighty unfortunate, but my good will towards fellow drivers goes straight out the window when we are dealing with a Big Spider that tried to crawl through a river to get me. Everyone's on their own in this.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
I just wish I could control it. Or make money off of it.
I made 25 copies of a form I need when closing files. This antiquated form isn't on our computer system, but I've made a mental note to somehow make it so. As you will see, this computer version is more important now than ever.
I took my 25 copies from the copier, and the master form. In the 20 steps from the copier to my desk, I made the copies .completely. disappear. But not the master form.
No one has seen them since. I spent about 20 minutes looking at my desk, retracing my steps, and wondering exactly how I managed that. I tore apart everything around me, even looked in all of the trash cans. If those forms ever show up again, I plan on asking them exactly how my magic works.
And when I had to recreate the 25 copies....I paid careful attention to where the replacement copies were at ALL TIMES. As I type this, I still know where those are. They are not susceptible to my magical powers, apparently.
I don't want to face the fact that I can lose something that is as large as a stack of 25 of something in a matter of seconds. And not just misplace it and find it again. We are talking GONE. No dramatic wave of the hands and pulling it out of someone's desk drawer three cubicles away from me. GONE, like my dignity when I trip on invisible stuff and land on the ground. That kind of gone. My dignity only half leaves when I stumble and then regain my balance.
It has to be magic. Has. to. be.
My grandfather was a dowsing expert in Pennsylvania. A water witcher. He'd run around in fields with the stick and whatnot, claiming the stick would tell him where the water was. He was hired by his co-farmers to locate wells for them, and sometimes people in the nearby town would seek him out for it.
This is a teeny family fact I never really thought I'd have a use for, until today.
Leave it to me to take a perfectly good, and admittedly weird, family trait and implement it as unintended and unproductively as possible. I am the worst dowser of things EVER.
Monday, August 08, 2005
As I was about to get into the truck I noticed a pretty elaborate spider web attached to my side of the car and anchored to our mail box. We know there is a spider living on our mail box, but this is the first time he's used a car to make his house (that we know of.)
And C is the only one who cares about the mail, so I don't ever have to come face to face with the spider.
I hate spiders. They freak me out. As C says, they make me squeal like a 1950's housewife. I can't kill them, either. Their bulbous bodies would make a noise and I couldn't handle that. And I would be able to feel it. The only time I've been forced to deal with a spider on my own I was thankfully, able to use the vacuum cleaner to "get rid of him". But I was still convinced I could feel his body banging against the hose on the way to the dirt canister.
Knowing that I'm such a weirdo, C pulled the car away from the mail box before I get in so that I didn't have to worry about spider sightings. I opened the car door, got in and went to reach over and close the door... and there he was...
Big Spider was hanging from the window, ON THE INSIDE of the car. I don't know how he got there. All I knew at the time was that I couldn't flee past him, because he might just fly out and attach himself to me.
I made the squeaky noises and pointed so that C would rescue me. I held my breath, got out of my seat and bolted past the spider and ran over to the other side of the street. From there I watched C take a news paper and scoop Big Spider out of the car. When it was "ok", C told me to come back over.
But then something flew and attached itself to C! And he did the "aiee yaiaiie ya ya" dance and brush off while holding the newspaper. It turned out it was just a ladybug, but still.
When I came back over, C said "Look there, there is the Big Spider". And it was climbing out of the gutter, through the water and coming right for me. I kept telling C "It's trying to kill me! It's trying to kill me! See? It was going the opposite way until I showed up, now it's coming straight for me!"
Poor C. All he was trying to do was show me that the Big Spider was no longer in the car, and that I was safe. Instead, I turn his good intentions into further proof that "the Big Spider is trying to get me."
I finally got in the truck as C held the news paper in between me and the Big Spider. As C came around the car to get in, I watched the Big Spider alter his course one more time and start to come straight for me. Again.
I kept telling C "SEE??? He was going towards the garage and now he's coming back for me! He's even willing to go through the river (the gutter run-off HAS to look like a river to him) to come for me! DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE!"
Ok, I didn't say the DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE part out loud, but the rest of it I did. And my head was screaming "DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE".
And when we got to the office, I said "And did you see how when he was hanging on the inside of the car he was squishing up in a little ball and then expanding again?"
C just said "Yeah, well. Spiders do that when they are trying not to die."
And I scream like a 1950's housewife.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
"Divided Minds" by Pamela Spiro Wagner and Carolyn S. Spiro, M.D.
Identical twin sisters, one has schizophrenia and the other doesnt. The true story of their lives growing up.
This thing is mesmerizing. And heartbreaking. And scarier than any horror story. And has already caused me to drool on myself in public as I sat there forgetting my body and reading this book.
I'm on page 40.
If this sounds the least bit interesting, do yourself a favor and buy this book. You will not be sorry.
Friday, August 05, 2005
I said "Mmmm. No."
Which to him means "Of course I do! Show me now."
So he rolled up his sleeve and showed me the almost healed incision on his shoulder. He had surgery about a month ago, and sticking out of the incision was a teeny little string, about 1/8th of an inch long. It was white.
He starts pointing at it and saying "YEAH! The doctor said he's not really sure why it is there, but that he would cut it out. But he forgot by the time the appointment was over, so I came home and asked your Mom to do it for me. She said she couldn't do it without fainting."
And he said that as if he were shocked she couldn't/wouldn't do it.
I just turned away and said "DAD! Cover that up! Nobody wants to see that! You know I can't handle blood or needles or ... or... or....random string hanging out of someone's shoulder!! That's just freaky!"
My Dad has officially crossed the line from just Dad, to Dad who is now acting like a stereotypical old guy - someone who gives unwelcome medical freakshow tours of their own bodies to friends and family.
I remember when my Grandfather went into the hospital to have some kidney stones removed. After surgery, he insisted that the doctors put the stones in a vial that he could bust out at Grandpa shows. Those little presentations that he would give to unsuspecting friends, family and a few random strangers - telling them how it all went down and what the results were.
Note to potential wedding guests: At the reception, my Dad might just try and supplement the DJ entertainment by showing you how he looks like the backside of an embroidery project gone wrong.
Sure. Other weddings get drunk nurses. I get Embroidery Shoulder Man. Amd I'm related to him.
Meh. What's a wedding without some craziness, right?
Thursday, August 04, 2005
1. Tan in a Can. Seriously. I have no idea what I thought I could accomplish with the supposedly bozo proof spray on tan. I thought to myself..."Gee, my legs are so scary white...I bet a little color would help me look like a regular, active human being."
Instead, I accomplished the One Leg Darker - oh so much darker - Than The Other Leg Look. And I of course, had the requisite too much product around the knees and ankles thing they specifically warn you about on the can. It hurts to be me sometimes.
And nothing lasts longer than temporary tattoos and spray on bozo tans from a can. Trust me on this.
2. Tap That Ass. Yeah. AGAIN, I forgot that C and I work in the same office and happen to be dating, but not everyone working with us:
b. Wants visual proof, and
c. Is even aware that we are dating.
We have had a few new employees join the firm. The orientation doesn't cover who is currently sleeping with who. Whom or who....*Meh*
So the other day I walk by C who is working on a project with a new employee. I mindlessly reach over and smack C on the butt with my documents.
I find out later that the new guy working with C said to him "Dude, I think she wants you." Because he hadn't learned about "us" yet. So C played with him "You really think so?" and finally "She better, I bought her a house!"
All of this sent new guy back to his department with a "Thanks guys for making me look like a jackass by not telling me about them" chip on his shoulder. Which isn't what he looked like at all, but I suppose he felt like he looked like one.
Learning at least one lesson from past experiences, I resisted the urge to go over there and try and explain and apologize. This usually leads to more crying (me) and more anger (them) due to my inability to say what I mean competently (communication zoom).
3. White Sands Liquid Texture - Curly Look - experiment before work. I was recently introduced to this wonderful product for people with baby fine, thin hair. The White Sands line is amazing when I use it on my hair in a straightened style.
This morning I read the label and it said "use with straight or curly styles". My hair is naturally curly, so I thought I'd give it a try with the diffuser. I believe in myself far too much sometimes. Especially when a label gives me permission.
My hair emerged from the diffuser with crispy crunchy ringlets. Ringlets that I could have used as weapons of pointy pokeage. To my own as well as other people's eyes. And skin. And whatever else had the misfortune of coming anywhere near my hair. Not only that, but it was "the wet look."
And there was no combing, brushing or picking through this hair mess. All of it just ended up in a clip on the back of my head, where the ends are sticking out, looking like one of those cobb web brooms. I really hope nothing scary flies past my head at lunch.
4. 2 Cadillac Margaritas with Dinner on a Wednesday Night. Yes, this was last night.
Due to my alcohol use before bed last night, I gave myself the night willies.
Apparently I had raced to bed before C could get there an proceeded to stake my claim of THE WHOLE BED. C went to sleep in the guest room.
I woke up at 4:30 in the morning convinced that I had stolen a pillow from C (he has two pillows that he has had for years, and sometimes I'll accidentally grab one from his side of the bed), and that there was a clicking noise in the room that couldn't be located. And not that I knew what significance any of this had on anything, but apparently I knew it wasn't good. Note that I didn't actually get up, go to where C was sleeping and offer to "give him his pillow back."
In the morning I looked and saw that I had my own pillow and had, in fact, had it all night. C was just fine and comfy with his pillows in the guest room. Also, there was no noise. It was probably just the gears in my head. Laughing at me.
Monday, August 01, 2005
C and I went to the college center for some dinner tonight. C said he wanted to go to the ATM on campus, so we walked over there after eating.
There is a little bit of construction going on at the campus. The preventative fences and warning signs are posted.
To which I said "HA!" and started climbing around to find stuff like this:
C decided to go ahead to the ATM, because he knows that trying to wait for me to stop taking pictures could take all night. Actually, if he let me, it could probably take a week or two.
As I climbed down off of the cement thing, I felt my left flip flop go flop. When I got down on solid ground, I realized I had broken one of the straps off. Those shoes are about three years old, and I had nearly worn the heels off of them as it was. They were the best $9 I ever spent.
I tried to walk with the un-flipping only flopping shoe, but it wasn't working at all. I finally just took it off and wandered around with only one flip flop. I couldn't go very far, so I just waited in the area for C to come back around.
When C came back he saw my shoe. He wasn't surprised in the least. He just said "Well, ok. Note to self. Extra shoes for Zoom when walking around."
We began the walk back to the car, me with just one shoe. When we got to the parking lot, C picked me up to carry me the rest of the way to the car. It was so cute of him.
When we got close, he set me down very gently. I didn't have my balance though, and I basically just crumpled onto the ground, bringing C down with me. We sorta rolled into an empty parking space.
We both just started laughing. C kept saying "I TOTALLY DROPPED YOU!" And then he tried to help me up, but I was laughing too hard and with only one shoe, couldn't get my balance OR traction.
We laughed all the way home. Where I ran inside and washed off my foot.