Wednesday, May 31, 2006
I can only update my little jibber jabber space from the office, I cannot view it or make/read comments. I can't view or make comments on any of YOUR blogs, either.
Stupid funproof work internet.
Here's what I have to work with. Approximately 5 minutes in the morning before I run out the door late to work (again). And that's only if I haven't had a clothes fight. And I'm sure you can all guess how often that isn't.
I sometimes have a while after work. Thing is, I've got season 3 of Scrubs on dvd. And while I like all of you, I love Scrubs. So between hockey play off games, and re-watching every episode of Scrubs - you are all better at math than I am so there you go.
That's my incredibly inept way of telling you all that while I don't get to make comments all the time, I'm still reading. And even if I don't get to comment back to you when you leave a comment here, I still appreciate you.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
I only go to Kohls when I need something I can't find at Target. Usually, that is some kind of cheap jewelry to wear at some event I need to look "coordinated" at. Weddings, etc.
Kohls has the largest selection of cheap bling I have ever seen. It's like the holy grail of crappy jewelry, surrounded on all sides by items that - even if you wanted to purchase - you could never actually pick up and take to the register. At least you wouldn't want to.
Why? Because Kohls ALWAYS looks like it hosted a field trip of difficult, unsupervised school children just hours before you enter the store. Shelves are half empty. They are only half empty because the items that ARE there don't belong there. All of the merchandise is either on the floor, or strewn about the racks/shelves in random places as if feral humans (nod to Scaggsville) have tried to construct nests - and subsequently abandoned them.
I don't fancy myself a snooty shopper, but I'd like to at least have the illusion that the item I'm buying hasn't been crumpled, folded, drop kicked or drooled on more than once. Being able to find just one of the item on the shelf/hanger (the intended shelf/hanger) will do that for me.
Last week I found myself in the "have to go to Kohls" place. I went, found the crappy jewelry I needed, and proceeded to the one register in about 20 that had a person working it. I was lucky, nobody was in line yet.
When I got to the main aisle, an older man with a cart FULL of women's clothes saw that I was headed to the same register he was. I swear to you, that man gathered up every ounce of old man gusto (yes, I said gusto) he had and sprinted to the register with his cart in order to get there before I could. In fact, I dare say he used a bit of future old man gusto just to beat me there.
And I was annoyed. I had exactly one $8.00 item in my hand. Even if he didn't see that I had only one thing, he had to have noticed I didn't have a cart full of - anything, so he could have safely let me go ahead of him and not been out more than 30 seconds.
Then the real fun began.
He had the 40 or so items of women's clothing arranged by size. He explained to the register woman that he would most likely be bringing a lot of them back, so could she please ring them up in groups of "size"? Easier for returns, you know.
The register lady had already rung up 3 of these items, and had to void them out, and start over. Per his request. This went on for a good 2 minutes.
That's when I pulled out the camera and pointed the video function at the object of my grr. That would be the highly underwhelming video linked below. At one point, you can see me stick my hand in front of the camera with my bling as an illustration: "I HAVE ONE STUPID ITEM, and he has piles of crap. He purposely raced me to the register for this."
Knowing my luck, the next time I need bling I'll be forced to stand in line behind this guy while he returns stuff. I better take a sandwich.
Check this out:
Frustration Dealer - Custom videocodes by MyWynk
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
"If you had wings, what in the world would possess you to get rid of them?!"
And forever striving to be helpful AND logical, I said:
"Maybe because you'd like to try a Red Bull once in a while?"
Which leads me to Lost. The season head exploder finale is on tonight. If you take that there example above and apply it to me trying to watch just one episode of Lost ...I'm sure you can deduce how it might make Mr. Zoom fear the experience.
The first season was great. Because while it was frustrating to have NO answers - the show was moving slow enough that even I thought I had a chance at catching some of the clues/symbolism/etc. Then comes season two - and I feel like all the clues are flying at me like lawn fertilizer pellets. Didn't everyone have siblings who chased them around with one of those contraptions screaming "It's POO!"
Ok, well - I think you get the idea anyway.
Monday, May 22, 2006
I will say that 4 Stellas, one Lemon Drop shot and countless random filler beers gave me one hell of an evil hangover on Sunday.
We began at a function at Dave and Busters Saturday afternoon. After some liquid fun, one person suggested a game called Hyperbowl. At least I think that's the name of this game. It was suggested because it seems to be the great equalizer of a group's game skill level. It doesn't matter how good you are at video games, "It's impossible to look like anything but a monkey fucking a football when playing this game."
The game console is just a big bowling ball suspended in front of you. You spin the ball and the screen shows where your efforts are taking you. Those efforts almost never take you where you want to go. Oh, and did we mention the mad noodle arm this thing hands out? The expert course (chosen by the same foolio that suggested this game in the first place) puts a good amount of tension on the ball and made us drive it uphill.
We were sweating and exhausted by frame 3. And still had a score of 0.
By the time we got home that night, the hooch analgesic was starting to wear off, or the arm pain was eating through the buzz. It was hard to tell which. I'd have felt a lot more ashamed of letting a video game work me like that, except that Mr. Zoom plays ice hockey and even HE was uncomfortable. I forgot to ask him this morning if "it still hurt."
I was too busy wondering where my weekend went. And whether or not we were going to need an attorney.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
While she wants to be an engineer, she has developed quite an interest in law firm "stuff". Whenever she has a question, she asks someone to explain how/why/what to her.
One day my attorneys were handling a deposition here in our office, which was being videotaped. Ms. Sparkle came to me with a confused look. She wanted to know:
"There's that screen in the window of the conference room so you can't see the person they are interviewing. But how in the world do they expect him to remain anonymous if he just keeps walking around the office talking on his cell phone during breaks? He just walks around, in and out of the room without covering up his identity!!"
Oh, how it killed me to explain to her that it was not nearly THAT exciting. That screen in the window is just so that the video guys can get a well lit session, and so that the video doesn't pick up office activity in the background.
I further explained that some people think it's fun to walk past the deposition room and try and make the person from our office stuck in there laugh with a strategic stroll past the window and a wave/face/sign that only THEY can see. For example, at a previous job, plaintiff's counsel showed up in a light mint blue colored suit 3 days in a row. Someone nick named him blueberry sherbert. Some people made a little sign that said "going for sherbert?" and walked past the conference room with it during the deposition.
Not that I'd EVER participate in such activities.
Her question reminded me about the first time I saw a group of business men eating lunch. They all had their ties thrown over their shoulders. I had never seen that before, and I immediately thought to myself:
"It's not even windy out here. When and how did some gust of wind come out and blow all of their ties over their shoulders? And why don't they fix them?"
It wasn't until I actually saw some guy intentionally flip his tie that I realized what I'd seen that day.
Or the time I first saw laser printers. I had been accustomed to using an ink jet or *gasp* a daisy wheel printer for so long. And here's the key, there was only ONE in the whole office/school lab.
One day I came in and every two or three desks, there was this thing in between - shooting out paper - which caused me to ask OUT LOUD "What are all of these miniature copy machines doing in here?"
BIRD BOMBING UPDATE! - I was hit AGAIN by a bird today. This time a car full of women saw it happen. This time the bird landed on the ground behind me after the assault. I spun around and glared at the bird (ok, I lost it a little bit and actually growled at it). Then I saw the car full of women who witnessed it - and they looked terrified. As I told Mr. Zoom, it was as if they were watching either The Birds or they thought I was some evil being that caused wild animals to fling themselves at me - ala some horror movie de jour.
Mr. Zoom suggests a hat with a fake owl or hawk - as a deterrent to such attacks. (Where's the Shmoo when you need him?) And I'm close to going to Ace Hardware and seeing what I can find to make such a thing. Except I'll have to run the gauntlet o' bird bombings to get inside the Ace. Maybe a fake snake on my head? Too many jokes there. Too many.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Now, this happened to me last year. Same location, same time of year. The birds are currently nesting and this gives them super powers, apparently. Last year I got three pokes in the head by the bird, who actually landed on my head. This year my attacker simply flew by and gave me a flick in the back of my head without landing.
I turned around and tried to see where the bird went, but he was already gone. The guy walking behind me giggled at me. This caused me to say under my breath "stupid nesting birds." I also wondered if now I had a wisp of hair standing straight up where the bird had attacked.
"It figures." I thought. "I never thought this would happen to me two years in a row, I guess it's just one of those things I can now count on. That should take care of the random weird happening for this week. Now I can relax."
Today, Big Gay MoMo (co-worker, openly gay and friend of mine - as much as someone I talk to in the office can be a "friend") approaches me as I'm walking to lunch and proceeds to have this exact conversation with me:
MoMo:"I need to tell you something."
Zoom: "Ok. What?"
MoMo: "You know I love you, right? You know I think highly of you and all."
Zoom: "....ooooh GOD NO. WHAT?! WHAT IS IT?? Am I walking around with toilet paper stuck on me somewhere that I missed?" As I flail and try to see the idiot flag I must be waving in order to draw MoMo to me at lunch...
MoMo: *astonished* "No, why do you say that?"
Zoom: "Because any time you say 'you know I love you', there's always a 'but', and it's usually quite embarrassing for me."
MoMo: "...BUT...yes, there's a but. I'm only telling you this because someone overheard me make this comment and I didn't want it to get back to you out of context. I didn't want people telling you that I talk about you behind your back. Because I don't. I'll tell you to your face."
...which is true to an extent. Big Gay MoMo will say the most outlandish things right to my face. Which is why we get a long so well. BUT, he just told me he was talking about me when I wasn't around...but it's neither here nor there (channeling my mom?). I don't worry too much about what other people say when I'm not around. If it entertains them, all the better. And I don't have to deal with it.
Zoom: "Ok, just ... let's get this over with. What am I wearing or not wearing that you see as a complete fashion disaster. Because I know you have these ideas about what I should wear, and I can't wear those. I know you are gay and you know these things - but I wouldn't be comfortable in what you would dress me in. So spill it, what's the fashion ticket today?"
MoMo: "Well, not exactly today. It's about your butt."
MoMo: "I was saying how you are black in the butt. It's nice and big. Your pants today are showing it off, and I need you to know I like those pants. I love your butt. I'm not hitting on you or anything...well, you probably know I'm not hitting on you [um, yeah...that one's a given - unless suddenly I look like a boy]. Your butt is spectacular in those pants."
Zoom: "I have a big butt."
MoMo: "You are black in the butt."
Now, before Mr. Zoom reads this and tries to make Big Gay MoMo into a hockey puck, I have to say it's not like I felt like running home, taking a shower, burning my clothes and picking up a meth habit to drop a bunch of weight. This kind of statement out of Big MoMo is pretty common and I DO know it isn't meant to bring me down. That's not his style, at least that's what I believe.
But I will tell you that next year, or even next week, I'll take my bird dive bombings with a lot less grumbling. I'd like life to just take a teeny step backwards and go back to THAT as the bar for my weird encounters.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
The most recent disclosure I've made to Mr. Zoom is how much I hate a clap track in a song. HATE IT. The band that comes to mind that I can point to as an example is the Cure. I love the Cure, but can't stand that song with the clapping in it.
And I say disclosure as if I sat around and thought about it, and decided to just share this information with him. When in reality, he has to endure certain repetitive acts of mine until we name them - i.e. "hating the clap track in any song." Disclosure then = giving my crazy a title - shorthand, if you will.
I'm also absolutely dismal with song titles and album names. I know all the songs, can sing a long when I hear them - but don't ask me to name them without the actual song playing, and even then it's not always possible. That's just my way. Which is why this discussion will not contain pointed examples. Wear it.
I also become overly agitated when an otherwise great song throws in a random "yeee haw" or guitar/drum solo. I say things like "Now why would they do that? Why would they put that in the song? It nearly makes it unlistenable! arrrrrrrr." And I say that every damn time I hear the song.
There is a band Mr. Zoom likes that I have taken to over orating the little *dink* the acoustic guitar makes. As we drive down the road, I sing along - not with lyrics, but *dink* *dink* *dink* in time with the song. Mr. Zoom just kindof laughs it off and waits for the next item to take my attention away. Sometimes I get a "You and your noises...."
While transferring my cds to the itunes library recently, I was reminded of how I thought the words to Prodigy's....crap...I have to google it to know the title...hold on..."Firestarter" were as follows:
"BIG sale BIG sale BIG sale"
"Exhale Exhale Exhale"
Which was further exacerbated by the logic in my head that said "Firestarter....sometimes stores call sales Fire Sales.....don't they?"
And I remember thinking back then, after I realized it was EXHALE...
"Why doesn't some company use their song for a commercial? Change the words Big Sale Big Sale Big Sale? How much more tidy could that be? And recently, it seems like every time I turn around a commercial has some hit from my college/high school years blaring from it. I think that means I'm getting old. I remember telling myself back in the 70's I'd know I was getting old when songs I knew started showing up on those K-Tel collections. But those don't exist anymore - or do they? Either way, I'm getting old."
And that's how I silently travel from being a 37 year old hearing a Prodigy song to checking myself (and Mr. Zoom) into a cute little senior citizen's community - in just under 60 seconds.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Instantly shuts up all who inquire here.
In other news, I was completely enthralled with the little handicap parking space icon next to the word verification box in comments when I first noticed it. Problem was, when I clicked on it, I did not have my speakers on. So, there was a lot of "what the hell?"
Apparently I can't let things like that go, so the next time I tried it I guess my speakers were on. I was able to hear it call out the numbers. Giving me a creepy Lost sensation. Now that I've tested it, and realize it's a way to word verify with numbers, the world is right again.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Ever go to a restaurant and find a band playing in it? I'm not talking about a bar or restaurant that is known for live music. Those are excluded from this hissyfit. I'm talking about a place that you've gone to for years, and then suddenly there's a person with a guitar, an amp and a tip jar screeching out a tune. He's not crazy, homeless or trespassing, he's been hired ON PURPOSE. There's a time and a place for live music, but my dinner/lunch isn't that place. Ever.
One of my favorite restaurants in the world recently hired such a person. This place is small. There's not enough room in there for "entertainment". I'm easily amused, and I can entertain myself - thanks. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but the music is so loud, I feel like I'm in a kind of musical trash compactor and it's only a matter of time before I lie down and just let myself be crushed.
Why, why why does live music have to be at the making my ears bleed volume? How can one little round man with one acoustic guitar require any kind of an amp in a 20ft by 80ft enclosure? I get it at live concert events - places with actual stages. But while trying to eat, I do not need to hear the Charlie Brown theme at amphitheater volume. No matter how stinking cool the tune is.
Do you people have any idea how hard it is to get food in my yap when my teeth are clenched together in that "make it stop" face? If I'm already at Hangry stage, you want food going in, not being deflected. Trust me on this.
And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. This place is so small, people seat themselves. And every single person claws their way to a table as far away from "the band" as possible. There is always a row of empty tables directly in front of the music man.
So please, dining establishments, if you haven't in the past hired a band, don't start now. In fact, it should be illegal to change atmospheres on me unexpectedly - but I'll trust for now that you would rather take my money than have me spend it elsewhere. See how cooperative I can be?
And to those of you who perform, I'm not trying to take away your performance options. I'm all for loud, live music in those places I've come to expect it - Although I still need to know why it must be played so loud that I'd almost rather be locked in my car with crying babies.
I need a cookie.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
We stopped on the way for some lunch, and Jeeber quickly made an issue out of the lack of napkin freedom. Here's Jeeber protesting the fact that napkins in restaurants are more closely regulated than over the counter cold medicine. We get it, Jeeber. We don't like it either - but you aren't going to win any extra napkins by smoting the employees. It's better to figure out what equasion they are using, ie. is it a bevarage ordered/napkin ratio or entree/napkin ratio and work from there.
When we finally reached our hotel, Jeeber spied a pack of Harleys that were on the River Run. We only let him get away with playing on them because we saw the owners of these bikes leave just moments before. We calculated the likelihood of our being beaten because of Jeeber's actions against the thrill of being immature, and decided to take a chance:
But of course, Jeeber had to take it too far. For the rest of the trip he told everyone who would listen "I laid down my harley on the Las Vegas Strip." Jeeber doesn't quite realize how stupid that sounds, nor did he realize "lay it down" doesn't mean "laid down on it."
Then he noticed the footprints on the beams within the ceiling of the parking structure.
He kept yammering about some inspirational poem. The one about carrying people and leaving his footprints in the sand....yawn. We told him he could stay and figure out who left what prints if he wanted, and why they are on cement and not sand, but we were hungry and needed to check in to the hotel.
Here's Jeeber showing off on the escalator at the monorail station. I didn't have the heart to tell him ascending was probably more impressive than descending - having just passed the Easter holiday and all.
Here's Jeeber taking a ride in Ka's pocket. Jeeber wanted to talk to Ka about Zoroastrianism. Jeeber is tired of people accusing him of using Zoroastrian doctrine as a basis for his teachings. We had to separate them when Jeeber kept yelling "We did not plagiarize your monotheistic faith idea or the final judgment!"
Probably the only time Jeeber kept his yap shut was while touring Vegas from Miss P's back pocket. If we ever need a Jeebersitter, I'm totally calling her.
Here's a bar we found off the strip. You can't tell, but the blurry words over the sign say "24 hrs Gaming and Clamming"
Jeeber was confused, since there was nowhere to fish for miles. Or so he thought.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Over the weekend I heard via the news that there is a huge protest going wherein people were asked not to go to work and not to spend money today. I do not know if it was only the immigrant workers that were supposed to do this, or the entire working world. (After posting, I will be looking up the details.)
What I do know is that my drive to work today was absolutely FABULOUS! So was obtaining my morning coffee. No lines. No crowding. No traffic on the freeway.
Insensitive as it might be, I find myself absolutely giddy with the lack of people trying to occupy the same space as me, today.
I do recognize that at some point, I will probably be inconvenienced by the protest. I actually hope that I am, so that I can realize what these people are fighting for. What I should probably be fighting for.
Until then, I am going to wrap myself in the glee that comes from being uninformed and able to drive 65 on the freeway.