Tuesday, January 15, 2008

The Bizarro Effect

There just isn't much going on lately that is write-about-able.

There's the recurring dream I've been having lately. Which showcases my broken being so very well. You know how most people have that recurring dream about being back in high school/college, and they've missed a final, or can't get their locker open? Pretty typical stuff, right?

Well here's what I've got going on. Whenever I have that dream? I'm back in high school/college FOR A SECOND TIME, AND JUST FOR THE HECK OF IT. I literally keep telling people that I've graduated already, but I'm back on campus taking classes again... just because. And sure, I still can't find my locker, I've missed a final and I can't remember what order my classes are in or what days they are. But I console myself by saying "I've already graduated, and they know I'm here because I want to be, so it should be ok." I can only presume that "they" is the administration of the school. I've had this dream no less than 60 times in the last 5 years.

And my hopes of growing up and out of any childhood traumas that cause this dream to keep happening have been shoved in a grave and buried alive.

We need look no further back than this past Christmas Eve. My parents had people over for a traditional Christmas Eve dinner. They do it every year. Sometimes friends and family with no other obligations come to this event. This year I was especially excited because pal Ka and his super fantastic girlfriend were going to be there. Ka had been before, but she had not. And the parents have missed Ka very much.

So just imagine my abject horror when my Dad was seen running around the house and preparing Christmas Eve dinner, WITH A RUBBER GLOVE ON ONE OF HIS HANDS. Yes, just one hand. And yes, it never came off. No, it was not something like an oven mitt. It was just plain creepy and psycho doctor-y.

See the orb in the photo? That's my soul, trying to escape the pull of my obviously nut-bar father. I was half waiting for him to throw some sequins on his mitt, moon walk and squeal "heee heeeeeeee" while dancing in front of the flames on the gas stove.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Hookers, Mimes, Sweaters and Beer. And a Really Good Book.

How was your new year? Too bad I can't really answer that question honestly to the people who ask. Because if I did, I'd say "It was fun. You know the saying 'hookers and blow'? Well ours [Me and Mr. Zoom] was kind of like that. Only it was strippers and booze. And pictionary." But you can't really say that to the people you work with.

All I can tell you, even with the relative anononimity provided by nicknames and throw away e-mail accounts, is that a party we were at had some very random circumstances/guests. And I will admit that it sounds a lot more fascinating than it really was, but to explain it all would reveal things that I don't have permission to reveal publicly.

Prior to pictionary with strippers, we met some friends for a low key - dangerously close to senior citizen dinner time - dinner. These friends have a 3 year old (none of these people would be attending the later party) which was part of the reason for eating so early. The restaurant was a new one and the food was surprisingly SOO GOOD that I forgave the fact that it was a place where you order something and then.....gasp.....share?! Yes, that good.

When we got ready to leave, Friend Mom got her child's sweater out for him to wear outside. Mr. Zoom saw this and began chanting "that's the exact same sweater my wife is wearing RIGHT NOW!" And it was. Of course it was. Because who else but me can end up at a dinner, wearing the exact same sweater as a three year old LITTLE BOY. Those around the table and on the way outside got to picking up the child and holding him up next to me while everyone confirmed that yes, indeed, we had on the identical sweater. Giggles all around.

Speaking of really good food, I've had to make extra effort to get myself to the gym regularly. I needed to go last night in order to stay on track. And truly, I like Friday nights for the gym because of the non-crowd factor. And because Southern California was actually seeing some rain from the doomsday storm watch we'd been absorbing for the last week - there were literally about 5 people in the entire gym.

3 of us on treadmills, and 2 no-necks down working the free weights. And here's what I hate most about the gym experience: no matter how few people there are, it seems that no gym visit can be completed without SOMEONE killing a mime*.

* Killing a Clown - Zoom slang for loud boom farts.
* Killing a Mime - Zoom slang for silent, and unfortunately still detectable farts.

It's not just the horrible smell factor - but I always feel compelled to look around at people accusingly, as if the person who did it will hold up a sign or wave - accepting my silent scorn.

And finally, I need to thank Mr. Kevin Smith, film maker - producer - author. I picked up his book My Boring Ass Life: The Uncomfortably Candid Diary of Kevin Smith. Through this witty, heartfelt and most definitely candid work - I have now been provided with the answer to a question I have had since meeting Mr. Zoom in 2002.

Mr. Zoom will disappear into the loo for very long periods of time. Not quite an hour, but there have been times when I guarantee it has been 30 minutes or more. I've always wondered what the hell he's doing in there. I've asked, too. And there's just no real response. Or at least I didn't think there was.

Some said porn - but I didn't see that being an issue. Because I have nothing against porn and he could wallpaper our home office with it if he wanted. Some said masturbation - but I didn't think that was it either - and if it was he'd have told me so. Some said drugs - and I can't tell you how I know that's not an option - but it isn't.

Turns out that within the fabulous book that Kevin Smith wrote, he answered the question of what Mr. Zoom does in there - in one simple paragraph. I intended to bring the book home from work so I could cite the exact page and quote proper, but of course I left it in my desk at work. So I'll have to paraphrase. It turns out that some guys just like to take care of business and then linger in the loo for a really REALLY long time. He wrote something about the whirring of the exhaust fan drowning out the outside world for a little while. And a loud click could be heard as I realized that Mr. Zoom just likes his solitude sometimes. And our loo fan is definitely going to drown out the outside world for as long as any occupant wishes.

So now when he is gone for 20 minutes or more, I fall back on "oh, he's just blocking out the outside world for a bit." And as psychotic as that might sound, having that explanation literally quiets me and my mind so I can focus on something else.

Like, finding some clothing options that aren't sold in Baby Gap.