Friday, February 23, 2007

Airborne Snacks and Understanding Husbands

Last night Mr. Zoom and I settled down to watch the tivo'd Lost, Office, Scrubs and would have gotten to Survivor but we ran out of time.

I've been in full ramp up mode for that which strikes women monthly. There is only one cure for the mood I'm in while running up the ramp and it's Trader Joes Chocolate Covered Peanut Butter Pretzels [TJCCPBP]. My pal Skillit introduced me to this product. I now have simultaneous competing emotions of (1) loving her for this; and (2) wanting to girl wrestler sneak attack pull her hair and clothesline her [it has to be sneak attack, because she could and would kick my ass].

They are that good.

They come in celophaney foil like bags. Anyone who's ever witnessed me open a bag of chips or a box/bag of cookies will know that packaging is, according to me, "In My Way". It is something to be torn through, as if I'm in a giant hurry and I haven't eaten for days. Sure, there are methods of opening these things without tearing a long, continuous and sometimes corkscrew tear in them, but I can't, won't and don't work that way. Mr. Zoom always giggles when he sees the hollowed out container I've destroyed like an octopus eating a crab and then leaving the shell behind.

So last night I had my bag of TJCCPBP. The bag had been torn so much that I had to place it in a zip lock bag so the contents would stay put long enough to be eaten. I ate far too many of them, and decided it was time to quit. Being that I'm lazy, I didn't want to get up to put them away. And I knew if they sat on the coffee table, I'd continually reach over and eat them until they were gone.

I sealed up the zip loc bag and hucked it across the room. It hit the wall and slid to the floor as I hoped it would. I did all of this from my reclining position on the couch. Mr. Zoom looked at me and said "What just happened?" Code for "I know you are crazy, I'm used to that. But what I just saw is a new one. I need an explanation or I make the call bringing in the professionals."

My explanation came as if everyone knows this. "I was afraid I'd eat them all and I wanted it away from me. If it's on the table, it's still too close. If I can't reach it, I can't eat it."

The Out of Reach Diet.

Monday, February 19, 2007

My Clown Door Isn't as Good as it Used to Be.

I've got a case that went to trial last week [at work] and we are waiting for the results. It's been busy, and might get busier if the judge decides we need to have a penalty phase next.

Last night Mr. Zoom and I were watching Bad Santa. Neither one of us had seen this movie, but the concept appealed to me. Problem was - it was broadcast on Comedy Central and all of the editing for general public consumption left approximately 3 words in the entire film.

That's ok, because even without the full colorful dialogue, I could tell I didn't much like this movie. The only time Mr. Zoom and I laughed was when everyone kicked everyone else in the nuts. Because no matter how lame something is, a good jab in the nuts seems to make boys laugh every time. As long as it's not them getting the jabbing.

So there we were, laughing about the scene when I did something horrible. I went to sit up and laughed at the same time, and I KILLED A CLOWN! Right there in front of Mr. Zoom.

Understandably, he ran around the room in circles laughing and yelling "This is the greatest day ever". I laugh cried, wanting to cry more than laugh, and grabbed a blanket so that no more dead clowns could get out (at least audibly).

I'm not saying girls never kill clowns. I'm saying we usually try to keep that activity out of the presence of our husbands. At least I do. My body betrayed me, and if my family history is correct, it can only get worse from here. After all, my FAM once walked up a flight of stairs in front of me, and each step was followed by a little fouf. She laughed, turned to me and said "Oh, I just can't hold them anymore."

It's a good thing my house has no stairs in it.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Sponsored Blue Ball Map Hate

I am officially requiring Mapquest dot com to re-register as MapWhore dot totally useless. I hate it.

What's so hard about generating directions from one address to another - or what it calls STARTING LOCATION and ENDING LOCATION? I work in an office building surrounded by other office buildings. We have an actual address here. It's not like I'm asking it to go from Billy Joe's cow to the diner in the center of town. Don't send me hate mail, my family grew up on a farm. Yet, every time I go to put in our office address so that I can get an attorney from here to wherever he's going, I get to play pick a start and end point that has nothing to do with the addresses I just told it I care about. Complete with Zip flipping codes.

The destination screen fades out but remains playfully visible. "OOoo, you want something from me and you aren't going to get it until you pick one of our sponsored "starting locations." It's like playing peek-a-boo with a Thomas Guide. If I make the right face it might loosen up and give me the f ing information I need.

So after you pick a totally irrelevant hyperlinked address, the next screen fades out the STARTING LOCATION and forces you to pick a sponsored link for your ending location.

Did Mapquest hire my Mom as their U/I developer? Because every time I tell her something she tries to make me revise my statement so it fits in her world too.

F that.

Mapquest is a teasing whore. I like Yahoo maps. It totally puts out on the addresses I give it the first time.

Monday, February 05, 2007

High Def Eye Rolling.

Mr. Zoom is a channel flipper. He will watch a show only as long as there is actual show being broadcast. As soon as a commercial comes on, he flips to another show he is keeping in the wings. Bad times are when commercials appear on both channels.

This is where I am ever so thankful for cheater tivo. If we can fast forward the commercials, I actually get the illusion of staying on the same channel for an entire show.

My all or nothing personality and upbringing squeal in disapproval every time he flips. My body involuntarily huffs. Won't the world tilt a little in the wrong direction if we miss .25 seconds of the show you just flipped from? It actually has more to do with my ability to get sucked into whatever is in front of me with no regard for the previous thing I was sucked into. It's a mental u-turn ever time the fade to commercial arrives and "FLIP", I'm now looking at something else. Because I am woman, this all comes out as as His Fault.

This weekend he was recovering from the flu and I was in the middle of denying I had it. "I'm fine. I feel like crap, but I'M FINE." We decided to take a look at the Superbowl. And this is one show where commercials are allowed. Things were fine until channel 2 reminded Mr. Zoom that it was also broadcast in High Definition.

Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.

Yes, the same contents - the same channel - only he wanted to compare the difference between high def and regular.

"You know, I didn't used to be able to tell the difference."

"Me either, but with high def it actually looks like I'm wearing my glasses."

Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.

"So, you still working out those comparissons? Is this what it's come to? You now flip to the same channel in a never ending test of what the actual differences are? It is, isn't it. This is how I will live out the rest of my t.v. viewing with you."

"You don't know me. I just want to see ... I like to compare." "High def's cameras are further away than the regular channel."

"Yes you do. And I think you might be right on the cameras."

Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.

"That's what I thought was going to happen."

Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.

And the reason I can know we will now live non-tivo viewing in dual channel comparisson flipping is because I know us and our ability to be amused with something far beyond the regular intentions of the "thing". I might roll my eyes at his flip, but behind that I'm analyzing the contents of the broadcast too.

Like when I brought home an actual paycheck from my new job. The check wasn't on direct deposit yet, so I was given an actual paper check. On the back was a security stamp that said if you touched it or breathed on it, it would dissapear. AND IT DID. Totally. Not just lightened, but gone.

We spent a good 15 minutes making the stamp dissappear and watching it reappear. Like the proverbial magic.

So a channell that is also broadcast in High Def and can be accessed by remote from the couch will undoubtably get a lot more Zoom Time than the security stamp on a paycheck.

Friday, February 02, 2007

Crosswalk is for Yelling. Jaywalk is for Not My Problem.

To the lady who jaywalked in front of me today carrying a garment bag and apparently a load of unresolved crazy, try using the crosswalk next time, or simply crossing at a flipping intersection. I didn't hit you, or even come close. But your reaction at what I can only guess is your opinion that I was trying to run you over - was given strict orders to hunt you down and do so - was distracting. I am now angry at myself for failing to aim for you.

When you and your entourage decide to cross a street by bolting out of a parking structure into traffic where there is no expectation of pedestrians without a death wish rather than using the crosswalk up the path a bit - the onus is on YOU to dodge traffic. (I just said onus.) It's not my problem that your bottled up bitter tipped over while I happened to be following the rules of the road. The rest of your group seemed to understand this, as they didn't even flinch or give me a second look until you started waving your arms around and yelling at me - looking a lot like a pinwheel about to exceed maximum spin.

Find a crosswalk, get in it and then you can yell at me if I appear to nearly run you over. Otherwise, keep your flailing to yourself until you end up on the hood of my truck.