Monday, March 26, 2007

Not a Pretty Post

This post is going to scream all kinds of innuendo and wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Welcome to my life.

Tide to Go Pen. My favorite office supply. Wait, no. I lied. It's my second favorite office supply. Mr. Zoom is first, then the TTGPen. I've used one of these at least a hundred times to get coffee off of the front of my shirt. The pen, not the Mr. Zoom. He just says things like "Maybe you shouldn't drink coffee in the car."

Yeah, that's a viable solution alright. How about you just not point that out to me. Ramping up for girlie time or no, simple logic like that pushes my squirrelly button and makes me give you angry crazy eyeball. It's still going to be your fault - no matter what. You should probably just say "awww" and let it go at that.

About two weeks ago, I was in Mr. Zoom's office and we were discussing general not work stuff with one of the people in his department. This co-worker happens to be gay. The reason you might need to know that will become obvious in a moment.

Mr. Zoom had told JSHTBGG (Just So Happens To Be Gay Guy) that I was a kindred spirit of his. The reason? JSHTBGG had spilled something on his shirt that day, and apparently does this with the same frequency that I do. I immediately asked him if he's ever used the TTGpen in order to help himself with those situations. Before Mr. Zoom or I could continue that I use and LOVE the TTGpen, JSHTBGG offered:

"Oh my God - those things smell like ass. Know how I know? I used one once. A while later, I was at the fax machine and some other guy was there too. I thought 'gee, this guy smells like ass. That's awful.'. Later, I realized it was my own shirt that made that awful smell and it was the Tide to Go Pen that specifically made that smell. Those things are awful - I threw it away and never used it again."

Now here I am. I'm listening to an openly gay man talk about what he claims is the smell of ass. Am I about to question him? No. What kind of evidence could I possibly have that he can't literally rebut with "yeah, but I know what ass smells like." I said rebut.

What I do is keep all kinds of quiet about my own use of the TTGpen and how I like it. And how I might not have the level of experience with ass smell that other people might - I have never had the TTGpen ever give off any scent that I could ever distinguish as belonging to IT or ASS or anything else, for that matter.

Today I'm at the office and my shirt is still coffee-less. Until about 3 minutes after I arrived. I predictably shot coffee onto my shirt - in one of those unfortunate places. It looked like Big Rightie had decided to lactate coffee. I got my TTGpen out of my drawer - and paused. Did it really make shirts smell like ass? I took the cap off and gave it a snif. I smelled nothing at all. So I thought "Aw hell. I never run into Mr. Zoom or his department guys during the day. We are all so busy, we are all on different floors...and I've never run into JSHTBGG...I'm going to use it because Big Rightie can't look like a target all day long."

About 30 minutes later, JSHTBGG walked right up to my desk. First time in 6 months he's ever done this. He was asking me some questions about locating a co-worker on my floor. All I could think of was "DO I SMELL LIKE ASS?" After I clumsily directed him on where he needed to go, I sat down and continued to wonder if he knew I'd used the devil pen.

I sent an e-mail to Mr. Zoom to check (read from bottom up):

On your floor? No.

Our floor is supposed to be the floor of ass smell. What happened on your floor

From: Zoom, Mrs.
Sent: Monday, March 26, 2007 4:41 PM
To: Zoom, Mr.
Subject: Question:

Did JSHTBGG say anything about the smell of ass on my floor today?


I suppose I'm safe for today. Although I know there's a lot more coffee wearing in my future, and I desperately want JSHTBGG to say "No, I was wrong. TTGpen doesn't smell like ass. Turns out it was the result of an accident involving a defective container of laundry detergent and some peas." I need to be able to use the pen without fearing I smell like ass.

Just ask Mr. Zoom. I have been known to overreact when I'm convinced my deodorant has ceased working. He doesn't need this too.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

And This is How I Thank Him

So this morning on our way to get my coffee, Mr. Zoom and I had a vent fight. Well, not so much a fight, as it was a battle of wills in positioning the vents in the car.

Mr. Zoom runs at about 3,259 degrees. I run at 70. There is a constant fussing with the vents in the car because Mr. Zoom always has the a/c on and I sometimes forget to bring a jacket into the car with me. Even when I remember the jacket, I try to shut the little vents off because I'm cold. The vents in the middle of the dash do not have fully-close-off-ability like the ones on the side.

So normally I point both center vents at Mr. Zoom. This morning he pointed one of the vents back in my general direction and I flipped it back to him. "No, no - see? See it's not reaching you - the cold. When you push it all the way towards me, it doesn't hit me."

I answered by flipping the vent back at him. "Look" he said, "I've tested it and your zone doesn't get any of the cold air." He was demonstrating by drawing an invisible verticle line up and down near my zone.

"FINE." I pouted. And I sat there in silence with my hands in my lap. I did not believe that air vents pointed anywhere near my zone actually hit him and not me, but I had given up the struggle for vent control and decided to wallow in my own fumage.

When we got to the coffee shop I exited the car and bought my coffee. By the time I'd returned to the car, I had totally forgotten I was even "annoyed at him". This is my biggest failing as a wife. I can't remember to stay annoyed for more than two minutes. I'm like a commercial break of childishness.

During the last part of the drive to work, I had to sneeze. I turned away from him and covered my mouth and nose. Or so I thought. Looking out of the passenger window of Mr. Zooms recently washed vehicle, I saw what COULD HAVE been passed off as little rain drops or splash from a puddle. There was no viscosity there, it was clear, watery spit and not the other variety, thank goodness.

I was mortified, and decided to use the arm of my sweater to get rid of the evidence. I casually lifted my left arm to the window and made a series of wiping motions. Mr. Zoom caught on immediately, and when he saw what I was up to he started laughing so hard I started to get the giggles too.

Later at the office I was presented with two boxes from one of the mail guys. Mr. Zoom had ordered and had delivered to the office, tulips for me. He does that all the time. He will randomly order flowers for me and have them delivered to the office for no particular reason. It's so very sweet of him. And I very much appreciate it.

Except for the fact that all my co-workers feel like they've missed my birthday or some flower worthy event in my life. And I almost feel bad telling them no, it's just because. So this round when they ask "special occasion?", I'm going to say "Yeah, I sneezed on his car."

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

My Luminiferous Ether - Excellent Conductor of Lunacy

I've been eating a lot of oatmeal for breakfast. I love oatmeal. It's (instant) easy and tends to keep me from totally loosing it before lunch time. I like cinnamon and brown sugar. Unfortunately, the last box I bought was some flavor they call cinnamon and spice. Sure, if spice = pot pourri. It smells like Christmas and tastes like a scented candle. I honestly expect the box to list perfume as the first and most abundant ingredient.

I ended up with this flavor because I have a bad habit of seeing what I want to see. Or reading the first couple of letters of something and assuming it's what I want it to be. Cinnamon Sugar looks a lot like Cinnamon Spice to me because of this. DRAT.

And I'm not having much luck with artichoke hearts, either. Every single time I'm faced with an artichoke heart (cut up and in my food), I wonder how to eat it. I literally do the exact same thought process every time - and I never seem to find the answer. Do I just take the whole thing and eat it in its entirety? Or do I cut off the "heart heart" part and dispose of the leafy parts?

The leaves aren't super tough - since they are the smaller ones that are obviously closest to the heart. But I still can't figure out if it's ok to eat the whole thing.

I keep thinking, if it wasn't intended to be eaten entirely, then why is it buried in my food? Wouldn't that be dangerous if one was expected to pull the leaves off? Yet, every time I find myself dissecting the piece and leaving the leafy bits off to the side. I wonder if I'm making it harder than it needs to be. But then I remember; artichokes are giant thistles. Not a ton of room for experimentation.

The other evening Mr. Zoom and I were at one of our favorite super markets buying dinner out of the deli. He's always so cute when we order, because he asks me what I want and then says to the person helping us "the lady will have...." What he should be saying is "My wife doesn't cook. So please sell us food so we don't starve." After he ordered a couple of chicken strips for me, I decided that I'd also like a bbq rib. When he went to order for me "And the lady would also like..." I stopped him. I said "SHHHHHH! NO! Don't tell him it's for me." (the counter guy wasn't hearing Mr. Zoom when he first started this line, so when I shuushed him, the counter guy wasn't even paying attention to us.)

WHY CAN'T HE TELL HIM I WANT THE RIB? Because I'm a fool. Seriously.

I'm sure it's the same feature that caused me to wrestle with my closet of clothing the other day and say to Mr. Zoom - as if he were to blame - "UUUUUUUUUUUUGH." pout.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

I said I'd Post It if He Caught It

Mr. Zoom finally captured my snoring on video.

This starts out fairly quiet, but soon enough my "shhroooonk" takes over. I even drown out the t.v. noise in the background. No wonder my mother was convinced I'd never find a husband.

Just about the only thing scarier than that - is the fact that my FAM has now started using e-mail with a terrifying frequency. Back before she would even consider using the computer, all forwarded e-mail jokes and special news bulletins [by special I mean the spider under the toilet seat kind] would be transmitted to me via telephone. If it was really good, she'd make a copy with a xerox copier and make me take it home the next time I came by for a visit.

Just last week, my FAM wanted my "personal" e-mail address. She has my work address, but she had/has some things she'd like me to have that aren't work appropriate. The fact that she understands one address is my account at work and one is for personal use is startling enough. What I'm guessing is headed down the internet pipe for me now is a load of photoshopped puppy and kitten pictures, as well as all those forwarded jokes/chain e-mails/ what have you that everyone YOU know has already stopped forwarding to you.

FWD: Warning for you and all of your women friends. NOT A HOAX!!
FWD: ...I normally don't send these but....
FWD: This is an actual picture of...

FAM has a gagillion slides from the 60s or maybe even before that time. She bought a machine that takes the slides and converts them into jpegs on the computer. Of course she asked me to come over and help her understand how to use it. Even sparing most of the details, I think you can sense the monkey fucking a football absurdity of what I should have known was going to happen.

I thought I was over there to show her how to work her slide converter/scanner....but half way through that she insisted that I show her how to archive internet forwards. She had received a power point slide show about ice in her e-mail. With music. She was so excited about it, she insisted I watch it. THEN, she wanted to know how she could put it on a CD so that she'd have it forever.

Yes. Forever.

And keeping them in a folder was out of the question.

I tried to escape by telling her "I don't know how to make a video (pointing at the screen) go to that (pointing to the drive with a cd in it.) Normally she'd have given up, but instead she tried on her own.

I tried to explain that cds aren't like floppies, that you can't put something on them, and then keep adding later. She heard "feel free to keep trying to add anything you want to that cd."

I tried to explain why Windows tries to "help" by providing a default files to be copied to CD feature, and how we don't need that program because we are using another one. The one I just spent 20 minutes tutoring her on. She heard "Go ahead and click wildly all around the screen and then please fume at me when you become totally confused."

When she finally went back to converting her slides, the default Windows screen came up saying "you have files ready to be copied to cd". The wild clicking willy nilly continued and *Shazaaam*, her video landed on a cd.

It is the ONLY thing on that CD.

And I can guarantee you that the next time I go over there, she will have about a thousand cds, all containing ONE internet joke.