Friday, March 31, 2006
There once was this unfortunate individual who ended up working on a project with me. I was informed by the powers holding my strings that I had to give it to him to work on. Fine by me, as it got one more thing off of my desk.
However, unbeknownst to me before hand, not so fine by him. He made it very clear that he disliked my project very much. That he knew for a fact that it was below his position in this particular company to work on such a thing.
Whatever. I can handle a little misdirected aggravation. Considering my ability to blunder human interaction, I wasn't about to judge him too quickly.
That was, until I had to answer his questions. It wasn't the questions he asked. It was the fact that he was sitting at his desk and I was standing in his cube when he asked them. He would scooch his chair incredibly close to me, which made it so his hairless, shiney laser head was pointed directly at me. Now that I think about it, he might have had a military background.
I already dislike my person to person space being cut so small, but then the smell came. I can't describe it. It wasn't a lack of cleanliness smell. It wasn't a breath smell. It wasn't a dead clown issue. It was foul, and it made my eyes water. I would literally hold my breath anytime I had to go over there. I kept wondering if there was a product that could remedy this. Some kind of antiperspirant for hairless heads? Maybe some kind of man personal hygiene thing that girls just don't get told about? And he forgot his? I just couldn't figure out how this odor got generated by someone's head? I mean, he'd been around the office for years and not one rumor about his smelliness had been uttered.
After a time, I simply concluded..."This must be what hate smells like!"
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
It's 10 a.m. I'm in a particular department at the office. A co-worker that I am acquainted with lets it be known that he will be "going away for a few days very suddenly. It's a t.v. thing."
I looked at my co-worker and said "OH MY! I hope it's... it's nothing ...BAAAD. ... IS IT??"
I immediately tried to retrieve my decorum, but it's kinda hard when you've thrown it down on the floor and pretty much kicked it under the nearest filing cabinet.
I clumsily explained that my family spent a good number of years fearing television appearances by certain other members of our family - due to the rather unorthodox and quite illegal lives they were pursuing.
Oh hello, nice to meet you. Let's not bother with my actual name, you may now simply refer to me as ineptoolio, yo.
Thank goodness he is familiar enough with my sense of humor and social clumsiness that he didn't take it in a way that made him file a complaint with management. Although, I bet the next time I need his department to work on a project with me there's a good chance that it will come back with "Die Clown!" written all over it. And I wouldn't blame him.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
And I think you will agree. I can't even...yeah. Just - it's just going to have to speak for itself:
Okay, come on... I was just looking at target.com, at their Easter stuff, and came across this:
In the middle of all the cute egg dishes and weird ceramic bunny pitchers, an adult Jeebus costume. Really? Do people dress up like him for Easter? I need to look into this more... I mean, probably at church or something, but are church people shopping at Target for the costume? Don't they have some jeebus store of their own they go to?
If I don't get struck by lightning very shortly, I'll be very surprised...
I now need to know too.
How is dressing up as Jeebus on Easter or at anytime not blatently flying in the face of everything Jeebus is supposed to be about? HOW?
Not that I don't want people to do this, because if there really is a demand for Jeebus costumes at Easter, I'm going to HAVE to find some of the people who use them so I can see this for myself. I might even get up early that day just to see that.
Target was already my favorite place to get tasteless, fun things. I can't wait for their Halloween offerings this year!
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
It did. Someone had the phone and was burning up the keypad sending text messages with it. I was peeved, but realized there's no way anyone but me is going to care enough to actually try and figure out who had it. The phone company can't be bothered and I'd not expect police to waste their time with that. So we canceled the phone and I got a new one.
And the worst thing about it is, there's this little place in my gut that holds on to the anger I get over stuff like this. I can't see those silly "kids texting" commercials without a Nam Flashback of the realization "SOMEONE HAS MY PHONE! and they aren't afraid to use it."
This experience went directly on top of an older stolen cell phone experience. After receiving a cell bill with the telephone calls of someone who had stolen my phone, I spent an evening calling those numbers. When someone would pick up, I would say "Someone stole my phone and used it to call you. TELL ME WHO IT WAS." Most people just hung up on me, and I spent my time re-calling them over and over.
Absolutely useless, but for some reason I felt a teeny bit better because I was able to get that much closer to whoever did it.
If the text message telephone numbers show up on our bill, I'll do the same thing again.
See how retarded I am?
So today I get an e-mail from Mr. Zoom. Turns out that someone got a hold of a bit of financial info of ours and went shopping with it.
...they bought Juno internet service with it.
Yup. $6.95 worth of damage actual damage, and incalculable actual cost in astonishment, frustration and anger. Mr. Zoom had to file a police report, and we had to get everything canceled and reissued.
Not that I want to be robbed of more than $7.00 actual dollars... but what kind of rocket scientist master criminal buys JUNO INTERNET SERVICE with stolen information?
I didn't even know Juno still existed. From the price, I'm guessing they signed up for dial-up. By the time we found the charge, they couldn't have had time to even download one e-mail using dial up. Maybe they bought more stuff, but none of it will be clearing the account now.
Whoever you are, why don't you go pull change out of water fountains? You will probably make more than $7.00 a shot and I won't be forced to sit around trying to think of ways to find you. And run you over with my truck.
WWCND? = What would Chuck Norris do?
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Mr. Zoom: pointing "...you...got me lunch."
Me: "YES! This is actually much more kind than if I tried to cook something for you. If I ever start cooking meals for you....you might want to start sleeping with one eye open, or something."
Friday, March 17, 2006
Mr. Zoom couldn’t go. That meant that I had to get in a car with Mom and Dad. At 6:00 a.m. Carpooling was the only choice, as the destination was about 60 miles away. Even then, it took us two solid hours to get there.
I almost always have a book with me wherever I go. This was no exception. Unfortunately, the book I’m currently reading is "The Other Hollywood - The Uncensored Oral History of the Porn Industry." The quote on the front cover sums it up nicely: "Eloquent and Sleazy."
After the big police event, my family and I were waiting for my brother so that we could go get something to eat. I was putting my camera away when a dear family friend spied my book. She hadn’t seen the title of it, but she is a librarian - so she’s attracted to books just like I am. She’s probably about 75 years old.
She said "HEY! What book are you reading?" It was at that exact moment that I realized what book I had with me, and how the contents stood in such contrast to my surroundings at that moment.
I said "Oh, that? Uh...er....uh....that’s not a book. That’s a pamphlet on legal stuff....for work..." This couldn’t have been a worse punt if I tried. What I attempted to pass off as a pamphlet is indeed, a 620 page, bright orange and yellow book on the history of porn.
Our family pal wouldn’t give up. "Oh, come on" she said "let me see it." and before I knew it she had grabbed it out of my bag and had it out in the open. Damn stealthy for a 75 year old lady.
Because she was sitting there watching this unfold, I yelled to my Mom "Look away Mom, it’s naughty!" to which my Mom responded "Wha? What are you...oooooooooh, ZOOM! Geez, can’t take you anywhere....."
Our dear 75 year old family friend put the book down and began to leaf through it. She pulled out a piece of paper and took note of the title and authors. She then passed it back to me. I tucked it into my bag and thought "Of course I brought porn to a police station. Next time I should buy some drugs and then ask for a tour of the facilities."
Monday, March 13, 2006
"One of 40 Pieces of Great Grandma's Antique Lace That Was Lovingly Left To Me, But With It, I Know Not What to Do."
"Items left at Our House by Friends' Kids - December 05"
"Favorite Vegas Trinket Purchased By Me and Given to Mr. Zoom"
You might not be able to tell, but this is a lighter made to look like a girl's torso - and when the top is opened, the boobs strobe red lights and the coolie cover strobes green light.
"Best Road Trip Gift Ever Given to Me"
This is a boxing skull pen. It even lights up red when you write with it. I LOVE THIS PEN. My pal Skillit got it for me when she went on a road trip across the country last year.
Here's a side view with boxing action:
And finally: "Something I Love, Far More Than I Should"
This is what happens when I'm left at home alone on a Saturday, and it's raining outside. Oh, and there's some random packing styrofoam in the house. That looks exactly like a frame.
I'm fully aware that while I crack myself up with random crap like this - the outside world isn't nearly as easily amused.
Cox. Remote. How can you not laugh at that?
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Last night I was in bed doing that pre-sleep mind roaming thing when I felt the light in the room turn on. I thought "There's no way Mr. Zoom got up...and if he did, I wonder what's up."
I opened my eyes and in a single moment realized Mr. Zoom was still asleep next to me, and that the light in our room was on...and then blinked off. BY.ITSELF.
I'm tellling you right now, I was dangerously close to wetting the bed. I shook Mr. Zoom awake and started jibber jabber about the light turning itself on and off, and aieeeeeeeeeeeee! He tried to explain it all away like this: "Power surge honey. Ish the inert gashes in the bulb. It's prooohbly about to burn outh. Careful next thime youh turn it on, it might exhplohde....DON'T WORRY ZOOM, there's no ghost in here. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz".
Please don't think I'm trying to make him out as insensitive. I had woke him out of a deep sleep, and I honestly find it so cute that he talks to me in his half sleep when I'm doing something retarded. He knows and I know that if I need more from him at any moment, I make sure to FULLY wake him up until I get what I need. Wow. That went from explanation to sounding like porn faster than the light blinked on and off. Or maybe it's just me.
Of course, even with what sounded like a logical explanation and the comfort of my husband snoring next to me, I couldn't sleep. I would try to drift off, but I kept opening my eyes - just to see if I could catch it again. I would also see a shadow out of the corner of my eye and freak myself out. Shadows, mind you, that I see every single night of my life but at that particular moment were giving me the wibblies.
I got out of bed and turned on some other lights. Only they didn't turn on. It was a power outage and of course, now I had all the reasons to laugh at myself. Instantly, I could tell myself that the power outage had caused the sugre which had caused the light to go on and off. Even though Mr. Zoom had tried to tell me that already.
This morning Mr. Zoom and I were going over the power out scary light issue, and I said:
"Yeah, I know. I just thought Satan was in the room. I guess that's what I get for watching two documentaries from the History channel on the Anticrhist and a third one on Hell right before bed."
Thursday, March 09, 2006
This morning I got my coffee at my usual place. They were out of cinnamon sugar bagels, so I jumped at the chance to buy a chocolate chip muffin for breakfast instead. My breakfast math. No cinnamon sugar bagels? Screw the other bagels, I must now chose something chocolatey for breakfast! It is out of my hands.
As I walked to my car with coffee, keys, sunglasses, and my muffin, I saw what I almost always see. Another person was walking on the same sidewalk the opposite direction as I was. The thing that drew my attention to him was that I thought he was saying "May I offer you a bagel?" I instinctively turned around, as if to see someone behind me that he was surely talking to. There was no one. And I thought "WEIRD! I almost always get a bagel, and some stranger somehow knows I couldn't get one today. WEIRD, and freaky. And knowing me, he probably didn't say anything about a bagel at all and I'm just doing that creative hearing/seeing thing I seem to do. Probably best to run away."
This man was about my age, dressed casually, but not sloppy. He didn't give off the street crazy vibe. All the same, I chose to believe I heard what he said incorrectly and keep going. When I got to my truck, he said "Coffee and a doughnut. That's a terribly unhealthy breakfast. Bagels are better. Go get a bagel." He never broke his stride as he issued his verbal ticket to me and then walked out of my line of vision.
All I could do was say in a quiet little voice - to myself: "It's a muffin, not a doughnut, and I didn't have a choice."
Monday, March 06, 2006
Mr. Zoom: "You know, if you squeeze off all of the rounds in your pity gun, you aren't going to have any ammo left for later."
Mr. Zoom: "I need to go buy a new chair for my office."
Mr. Zoom: "Because my butt keeps falling asleep."
Sunday, March 05, 2006
The problem is, I am shy. I don't want to have people watching me doing this. I don't want to interract with them on any level. I prefer to find an abandoned something and play with that. But, more often than not, I draw the attention of some security being, if not some koo koo that, understandably, believes they've found a friend.
When I go to some historic districts, I'm frustrated by people constantly asking me "What are you doing? Why are you doing that? Is it digital or film?" I'm considering passing myself off as a student just to get them to leave me alone. Albeit a REALLY old one. What's worse, is that I don't really blame owners/security for wanting to know. If I saw some random person pointing a camera at me or my house (not that I've gone after any strangers' houses), I'd make Mr. Zoom go find out what the deal was too.
So, this combined with my total fascination for all things religious and symbollic causes me to seek out all of the graveyards, memorial parks, cemeteries, etc. I can find in order to indulge my almost compulsive need to photograph things. I can wander around for hours, and even though security keeps an eye on me, I don't find that many people question me. I am always mindful of people mourning or having a service, and I stay as far away from them as I can to maintain their privacy and right to be uninterrupted.
I had exhausted all of the ones fairly close to home, so I took a little hour road trip yesterday to a Forest Lawn Memorial Park I had located on the internet. This place was like the Disneyland of Memorial Parks. It was HUGE, and there were thousands (my estimate) of people either participating in services or just visiting. Even with all of them, there was still plenty of room for me to wander.
There was one section that was clearly set up for a service. In the back was an elaborate structure. I could see that nobody was "there" for the service yet, so I wandered back to check out the art...I guess we can call it.
While in there, I kept hearing an eerie noise. I finally realized it was birds. Birds in that white box you can see there. POOR BIRDS! Now, I don't like birds at all. But, I don't think they should be raised to be put in a box, and then thrown out in the world. How are they supposed to defend themselves?
And if I'm wrong, I'm wrong. Maybe they do just fine and poop on someone's clean car, probably mine. I don't know. But I find it incredibly strange to be mourning a life and then releasing more life to die in honor of that life.
As I was exiting that section I saw a large group assembled to release birds they had in another box. I was drawn to the event because of the dress of what I can only guess was the priests?
I continued along and noted an interesting marketing strategy for crypts:
It says "Purchased Before Need". I suppose it would be distasteful to put "SOLD" or "Reserved". "Taken" might imply someone actually took the contents.
Then I saw the best thing ever. And you won't know why it's the best thing ever until I explain it:
This will be my Dad's Father's Day Card. When my Dad and Uncle were little kids, a police man brought them home and told my grandparents that he caught them gathering flowers off of graves and then re-selling the flowers to visitors coming into the cemetery. This is one of those famous family stories that gets re-told every Christmas.
So, I'm going to send this as a card to my Dad with a note that he's going to have to find another way to supplement his retirement.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Like little science class experiments that turn out exactly the same every time, I've learned a few things recently:
1. There is one guaranteed way to make Mr. Zoom laugh. Show him a video of some chump being kicked/knocked in the man coolie. I'm not saying Mr. Zoom doesn't laugh at lots of other stuff. What I'm trying to get at here is that this particular situation, if caught on video, contrived or otherwise, will make him laugh out loud. Over and over. God, I love him.
2. I will never ever ever ever ever be able to apply sunscreen to my face without poking myself in BOTH of my eyes, with one or more fingers. And there will always be a secret reserve of sunscreen under the fingernails of those fingers. Eyeliner and mascara will betray me when my eyes start to tear from the suncreen burn. Ironic, no? Sunscreen burns. I'll bet my co-workers think I was raised by wild mimes.