Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Prettiest Pretty.

Last night I was just plain tired. I never want to admit when I'm worn out. I think it comes from being put to bed in the summers when it was still light outside.

Whenever Mr. Zoom and I are on the couch watching t.v. and I start to drift off, he tries to do the kind thing. He will say "How about we put you to bed?" This pushes my button which is clearly marked "harbored bitterness from childhood". Conversation goes as such: "NooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOO. I don't want to. /pout/ You can't make me. I'm not even tired." Followed by my passing out and drooling on the couch. Mid protest. Again.

I'm not sure why whenever he tries to coax me to bed I immediately climb on a mental soap box and start addressing the crowd as such: "If there's one thing that growing up and moving out of my parents' house has given me, it is the right to determine when I will go to bed. And what I can eat for dinner. Nobody else gets to tell me that."

Last night Mr. Zoom faced an evil combination of Reluctantly Tired, PMS, Night Terror Wife.

I wasn't ready to go to bed (surprise) and he was working on his computer. I climbed onto the spare bed in the computer room so I could be with him. I soon fell asleep. I stirred and he convinced me to go to the real bed. At this point I said "My boobs hurt. And now you will pay." And then I went to our room, fell face first into bed and began to drool.

Some time after that, I had a night terror. Or so reports Mr. Zoom. Apparently this is some kind of typical affliction which causes the sleeping person to hallucinate something and act out at it, but not be conscious. A type of sleep walking, only with screaming and lots of it. I normally reserve these precious screaming fits for when Mr. Zoom tries to come to bed himself. It is at this point that I will involuntarily reset his tired meter to downright sober with a dash of "let me check my underwear."

Apparently my mind has changed tactics on both of us, because it let Mr. Zoom settle back down to his computer in the other room before I let loose with a shriek. At nothing.

Next time I'll be sure to invite Mr. Zoom to his own bed by screaming at him and then stealing ALL the covers while making sure to occupy every square inch of the bed, save the 4 inch square spot I'll leave him to sleep in. Oh, and I might as well drool on HIS pillows while I'm at it.

Mr. Zoom was going to leave a comment that said "and this is different than any other night how?"...until I said the drooling on his pillows part.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Exercise In The Face of Being Arrested

The college close to us is a neverending source of amusement for me. Why didn't I ever think to make graffiti with masking tape? It's perfect. It harms nothing, yet can say everything.

And then there's this. The audio outruns the video on these, but you get the idea. There's no plot, as usual.

Check this out:

Vent Ninja - Custom videocodes by MyWynk

Check this out:

Chair Rodeo - Custom videocodes by MyWynk

Wednesday, June 21, 2006


Mr. Zoom snores. He snores loud and funny. Sometimes he wakes me up and I jump, because I'm in that half sleep half wake state and the growly noise scares me until I realize what it is. Sometimes I'll be in that half awake state, but feel like something out of my field of vision is poking me in the ears. I usually fully wake to realize it's the snoring I'm hearing and mixing into my thoughts at the time.

I have tools/strategies to get me through the night. I try to get to bed and to sleep before him. It's like a running start on getting up a hill. I have ear plugs. Those tend to wiggle their way out of my ears at some point in the night. There's got to be about 359 orphaned foam ear plugs under the bed and in between the mattress and the frame. Statistics show that it's generally my right ear that rejects the thing.

Some mornings Mr. Zoom will ask what time I ran for the spare bedroom in order to complete the sleep. He's forever apologizing for "snoring me out of bed", but I honestly don't find it that disruptive. I've developed quite a stealthy path from bed to spare bed, while toting my favorite pillow with me. The only regret I have is that I don't get to spend the whole night in bed with him when that happens.

Several times I've placed my camera beside the bed so that I could video Mr. Zoom's snoring. It was the audio I was after. It's dark, afterall - so all it does is capture the snoring. We laughed over it the next day. Well, I laughed, and he courtesy laughed and then gave me the "how could you" face. Then he came back around to laughing.

Lately though, it appears that I've started to get in on the snoring thing. Mr. Zoom says I don't usually rhythmically snore, that it's like a fit for a while and then I wake up, reposition and go quiet for a while.

When he first started telling me about my snoring, I did the internal denial thing. I told myself "But I don't want to be someone who snores! It's just not ... not ... well it's just not something I want to do, much less have the husband tell me about the next day."

I fully and completely acknowledge the double standard here. Snoring is a guy thing and it's ok for them to do it. Snoring isn't a girly thing and while I don't want to be considered ultra girly, I'd like to at least be recognized as feminine - and I can't really believe my snoring enhances that all too much.

Well, that's all gone now. I'm forced to embrace my snoring, and I'll tell you why. One night I actually woke myself up mid snore. It was spectacular. Mr. Zoom was still asleep, so he missed that one. I got the giggles over myself once I realized the answer to "what the hell WAS that noise?" was me.

Also, I've just come around to accepting the fact that I snore. It's funny, and should be laughed at. In fact, it should be caught on video. This is now Mr. Zooms assignment.

This morning he shared a snoring moment with me. He says that last night he was watching t.v. when suddenly he heard a noise that scared him. He said he honestly thought "a woodland creature had gotten into the house and was making this noise because it wanted out." I'd like to point out that he did, in fact, say "woodland creature." Which kills me, since we have no woods anywhere near our cement and asphalt neighborhood. Even the regional park up the road can't be considered woody at all.

We have a habit of leaving the front door wide open when we first get home at night so that air circulates through the house. We don't have a screen door. There have been a few instances where bunnies have come very close to the entry way - so it's not all that unbelievable (to us) that a bunny got trapped in the house by accident.

So he continues to tell me that he came in our room and realized the growly noise was me - snoring. He said "I've NEVER heard you growl at the moon the way you were last night. It was loud. Holy crap it was loud. And I went to get the camera, but you shifted and it ended. But while it was happening, I wanted to say to you "Honey, resist the change!! Please!"

I'm still laughing to myself over that one.

I told him that his duty now is to capture my snoring on video. Then we can post them on the net and have a snore off.

I'm totally serious.

Saturday, June 17, 2006


One morning during a clothes fight, I said in frustration "None of my clothes want to be worn today. NONE of them." Mr. Zoom didn't even flinch - he just said "So now you are the sweater whisperer, are you?"

He doesn't realize that his non questioning of the things that fly out of my mouth only serves to encourage the situation. Or maybe he does. Either way, I love him for not runing away from me holding up a crucifix.

We were at a shopping center one evening when we spied a couple with their absolutely adorable, teeny tiny puppy. The little guy had on a mini hoodie and was romping around having a great time. And I'm not kidding, he was no bigger than a standard 12oz beer can. It was probably a she, since the hoodie was pink....but whatever.

And regardless of my opinion that people really shouldn't carry animals as accessories in their purses - or drag them to malls for shopping (if it's just doggie exercise and one isn't hauling them into stores, I suppose I think it's less evil) - I still can't help but coo over the cuteness of critters. I mean, if it's already there, I might as well give in, right?

This, by the way, is the same strategy I employ with cake. My gym membership thanks me for this not so effective diet tactic.

I said to Mr. Zoom "OHMYGAWD that's so cute I bet that when it poops, jelly beans come out!"

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Lick My Boot

I'll just relay the incident as it occurred. I'm pretty sure it speaks for itself.

Big Gay MoMo at the Office: "Can I tell you something?"

Zoom: "Will it make me cry?"

MoMo: "No. But I could get in trouble for it. Here goes. I want to spank you."

Zoom: "...

thank you? I guess? Thank you but - you already know this - I'm married and YOU ARE GAY."

MoMo: "UGH, NOOOOOOOOO. It's not like that. I just love to spank/smack butts. Like all of my friends and stuff. It's not SEXUAL!! I just consider you a friend and it's hard not to smack your butt." This is when I observed a little nose crinkle on MoMo's face in what I can only imagine is Gay Guy disgust when imagining touching a girl for any kind of reason other than "pal".

Zoom: "Again, thank you...that's all kinds of sweet. Shall I try and hide my backside so you aren't tempted? I mean, we've all been told about acting appropriately in the office environment. I think this is one of those situations we should probably avoid."

MoMo: "Ok. Thanks."

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

It's GOT to be Better Than the Remake of House of Wax

A couple of weekends ago, I was waiting in my car for an appointment. I was in an older, historic part of town. It was a little overcast.

My favorite.

The night before, Mr. Zoom and I had watched a movie. A movie we should have known would be all kinds of steamy poo, but we watched it anyway. It was the remake of House of Wax. I won't go into detail about how we ended up watching it. Let's just say someone we know is due for a repeated eye poking. With a rusty fork.

So I was in this old part of town daydreaming when an older lady cruised by an abandoned building in her Lark scooter. And she scared the crap out of me. Something about her demented smile and scooter swag - combined with the fact that she looked like she could easily take me in a bar fight despite her 100 year old appearance.

Suddenly I became a movie director/producer/writer. "OH! We could totally make a horror movie about a town made up of evil elderly scooter people! People always think they are harmless because they are in the scooter. Or that they are grandmas who make cookies and knit. We could set it up so that all the counters and stuff are low, all the houses/stores/public areas have amenities that are too low for the walking people to access in time to save themselves. The scooter people could invoke clever trickery and scooter modifications to separate each member of the group and pick them off one by one.

We could call it "The Town that Legs Failed!"

Mind you, I'm in the car BY MYSELF.

Then I went home and told Mr. Zoom about my conversation. With myself. He said "I want in there. I want inside your head. I'd love to know how this happens." He emphasized "this" with an extended wagging index finger pointed at me.

I'd like to get in there myself.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Shredded Cheese: Stickier Than You Thought

Someone new and important started working at my office the other day. The only reason I know this is that our group took this person out to lunch. It wasn't a group decision. The Boss came over and told us we were all going to lunch with this person.

Um. ok.

I'm accustomed to watching our new hires tentatively go to lunch on their own for months before they hook up socially with another co-worker. We generally don't do the "hey, welcome and get to know us better" thing.

How much do I love lunches with co-workers (who don't know me) and bosses? I'd rather jump in the ocean with jeans on, and then wear wet, sand filled pants all day. Granted, it's been a good 15 years since I've experienced said wet sandy pants discomfort, but I'm telling you it would be better than these lunches.

So let me break down how not well this lunch session went:

1. There were so many people in our group, we got split up into two tables. I got stuck at the table with the boss and two other attorneys I work for. The new person we were supposed to be welcoming DIDN'T EVEN GET TO MEET THEIR NEW BOSS. Instead, that person got to sit with all the other people in our group, the very people in our group that DO know me, and I wouldn't be uncomfortable lunching with.

2. My boss involuntarily impersonated Scott Ian of Anthrax. With cheese.
Let me explain what I mean. If you don't know who Scott Ian is, try clicking this link -

Do you see that beardie type thing hanging off of Mr. Ian's chin? Ok, now imagine my Boss - a distinguished business type person, dressed in a suit, more hair on his head and a Scott Ian beard of SHREDDED CHEESE. He had taken a bite out of his food, and the cheese, at least 3 shreds of it, had attached themselves to his chin and the free ends were waving around as he spoke of important business type things.

I was sitting next to him, and watched as the cheese flapped around in the direction of the other two attorneys at the table. Both of those attorneys were sitting across from him, so I kept shooting the one directly across from him the "OMG YOU SEE THAT - I know you see that - it's your duty to tell him he's RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!" look.

This particular attorney gave me the "No way in hell am I doing that. I'm not telling him, YOU tell him." look back.

Realizing I was about to lose a silent eyefight with an attorney, and in serious danger of laughing out loud at my Boss With Cheese On, I waited for the next available pause in conversation and elbowed the Boss while making the international "go like this" napkin signal.

The Boss shed his cheese and I whispered "kill me" into my diet coke. Approximately an hour later I was back at my desk wishing I had played hookie that day and been forced to wear jeans into the ocean.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Flip My Switch

So last night I got the bright idea to vacuum the house. Mr. Zoom was working late, and I had a case of the zooms.

Who knew electricity systems had limits? Apparently running the t.v., lights, a fan and the vacuum cleaner all at one time is a little much for the old girl. The house, not me.

Luckily, I only took out about 1/3 of the house. Unfortunately that 1/3 was the computer room. Mr. Zoom still had work to do and mistakenly believed that he could do it "remotely" from home. That was before I was left unattended in said home playing Enron VP.

When he drove up I met him out in the garage with the words every tired husband wants to hear: "Um...sweetie...do you remember where the fuse box is?"

We got a flashlight and made the trip around the side of the house. Only problem was, lots of spiders were now living on that side of the house and had made quite an impressive blanket of web over the switches.

Lots of now ANGRY spiders, since Mr. Zoom and I just walked through their webs and weren't about to stick around and be dinner.

I started to get the wibblies and then I spied one of the biggest spiders I've ever seen hanging out in his web. Right on the corner of the house we needed to be at.

I ran past Mr. Zoom and into the house - making squeaky noises, and then I pointed and said "SPIDER!" Mr. Zoom is prettty used to this, so he wasn't phased. Not until he saw the spider himself. I was trying to shake that "WEBS ALL OVER ME!" sensation.

Then I hear: "CHRIST that's a big spider." "Do me a favor, and go get the broom."

I found some Raid and passed that to him, along with a broom that I will probably now burn. I wouldn't come out of the house. I just gave him the stuff and practically slammed the screen door shut again.

Mr. Zoom then said "OH GREAT! It's a Black Widow! It's turned around now so I can see it's red mark."

Not that I could hear anything. I was too busy making the "uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuaiaaaiiiieeeeeeeeee" noise while hiding in the house behind the screen door. You'd think I could at least hold the flashlight for him so he could have his hands free to deal with MY MESS. No, instead I busied myself with the "ew a spider" dance until it was over. Mr. Zoom calls it my "1950's housewife reaction."

He finally found and flipped the thingie that I had angered in my quest for simultaneous t.v., lights, fans and cleanliness.

You might be able to imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning and he hadn't moved me out to the curb in my jammies. Or listed me on Craiglist as "free to home, any home...it doesn't really even have to be a home."

Monday, June 05, 2006

What Do You Mean It's Leafs not Leaves?

"My" team was out of the playoffs in the...er...I think second round. I don't pay attention all that well to the way this Stanley Cup thing works.

I love hockey because I get to watch grown men windmill girl fight each other over pretty much nothing. Well, nothing until one team touches the other team's goalie. Then it's more of a righting of the unbalance in the world.

Before Mr. Zoom came along, I would occasionally go to an ice hockey game with friends. I'd watch the fighting and drink my beer - never bothering to learn teams, rules, or anything like that.

Now that Mr. Zoom is here I have started to learn a little bit about the game. Short handed goals, icing (still gets me sometimes), hat trick, power play, the fact that they are PERIODS not QUARTERS or HALVES.

Mr. Zoom's favorite team is the Colorado Avalanche. He was actually born there so I guess he goes about this favorite team thing the traditional way.

My team is the Wrenches. The tools. Ok, so the official name is New Jersey Devils. I've never been to NJ, nor do I know anything about the team. What happened was, one year Mr. Zoom and I were watching a game at home. I didn't have my glasses on. I stupidly said "so those guys, the wrenches..." Giggles from Mr. Zoom. "WHAT?! It looks like wrenches on their jerseys...." Mr. Zoom clarifies things. "OOOOOOoooh. Devils. That's supposed to be symbolic of devils. Ok, but I like mine better."

That's the way I get myself a hockey team to root for.