Spills Consistently

Really not much going on lately. I would love to be spending my non-work time outside with my camera(s), taking less than mediocre pictures of things that amuse me, but I'm not. It's too EFing hot outside. And I've exhausted all of the places I can go alone. Without Mr. Zoom or some other brave friend to keep me from getting into trouble.

Until summer ends, I'm left with those opportunities that land in my lap. And there aren't many. Even I recognize the boredom that could kill by posting only pictures of the drive throughs I visit on my Flickr account.

I went to the gym yesterday because I figured it had a/c, and I know there's hardly anyone there on a Saturday afternoon. I walked in and a huge, muscl-y employee with not enough to do (apparently) yelled across the floor "YOU HERE TO RIP IT UP!?" I kept looking behind me to see who he was talking to. Yeah, he was hollering at me. When I figured that out, I looked at the floor and then bolted for the upstairs where I do my thing. And I surely wouldn't consider what I do "ripping it up", unless that now means consistently picking the machine that makes the most annoying noise in the whole gym.

Myspace. I've found a ton of people on there that I know or knew in the past. Co-workers who don't know I see them, that kind of thing. I have a friend or two that plays in bands, so they've encouraged me to check out their page. Which I did and still do from time to time. I put our zip code in the browse feature and when the results came up I said to Mr. Zoom: "Funny, when I go outside - the public doesn't look nearly as good as you would think they would by looking at this."

If myspace existed when I was in college or even when I was in my late 20s, I bet I'd have joined in and had one of those profiles that takes about 4 mintues to load and even then, doesn't quite load everything properly. And the curser would be customized. I'd probably have no friends. I'm not saying older people these days can't have fun with it. It's just that for me and in my stage of life, I don't have the time or energy to do more than give it a fake name, fake e-mail, fake location and check out all of my friends and co-workers with it.

Last night Mr. Zoom had an ice hockey game. I opted to stay home and watch a movie. I hit the couch with a glass of ice water. I put the glass down on a coaster. I swear to you, that glass levitated, turned upside down and landed on the rug - and all over my slippers. All I could do was look down and say "Oh, of course. I was due for a spill."

When Mr. Zoom came home I said "HONEY! I did that trick I always do where the glass of water and all of the ice ends up on the living room floor!" He said "OOOOO, I did one too! I went to Del Taco and afterwards made a turn too quickly. The whole thing went all over the floor of the truck!"

Mr. Zoom usually performs food juggling exclusively where I am the expert at unintentional beverage flinging. I guess the heat effects us all in different ways.

Toll Road Hate: The Sequel

PAMGONUTS
Originally uploaded by ivegotzooms.

The 4th of July was a nice day. Mr. Zoom and I went to a beach community where our Jeebersitter lives. She had an open house type thing we couldn't resist. The day was so good that Jeeber didn't even get out of his bag. Seriously.

Upon entering the enclosed porch area, a friend who had already arrived at the house handed me a jello shot and said "CATCHTHS UP! I'm already had thwoo!" It was the most convenient, yet strange jello shot I've ever seen. It was in one of those salsa containers they give you at El Pollo Loco through the drive through. It had the lid and everything. My pal had her 3rd and I had my first. It hit me about 10 minutes later. I had to resist any more, as I had to work today. I kept to my 2 can Sam beer limit after that.

We walked down to the beach and on our way found this here, bigger than life size....

Moose. I kept calling it a moose. *sigh*

You can see our excellent party hostess and favorite Jeeber Sitter in the background. I put a circle around her so it's a little easier to see her. Although because I had to use Flickr, the picture is a bit small.

When it came time to watch fireworks, some of our party grabbed surf boards to paddle out by the pier to watch.

paddleout
Originally uploaded by ivegotzooms.

I'm a sissy. I chose to stay up on land and watch from there. I can't even drive a vehicle competently, I'm not about to drive a surf board in the night time.

Mr. Zoom and I left after that. There are only 2 main roads out of this little community and all of Southern California was on those two roads. We were sandwiched in there. Oh, and every foolio with a lighter and an explosive device of any kind was outside making with the shenanigans. I love shenanigans, but not when they land at my feet, go boom and scare the britches off of me.

When we finally got to the freeway, it was obvious we were in for a long ride home. We decided to grab the toll road as soon as we could.
I noted out loud that the UPS center we had tried so hard to get to earlier this year was all kinds of visible and lit up on our right. I said "LOOK HONEY! It's the UPS!" He gave them a wave with one finger and I giggled, secure in my ignorance of the revenge Brown would soon take out on us for so much as looking in their direction. Apparently they do not appreciate the single finger wave.

We pulled up to the lines forming at the exit gates. Neither one of us had seen the lines like this in all the times we've used the toll roads. It soon became obvious that we were in the lane marked retarded turtle, while everyone else was stuck in lanes simply marked regular turtle. We sat there for a good hour before it was our turn at the gate.

The problem only became obvious after we stuffed a $5 bill into the machine. The screen kept blinking "Toll is $3.75, no change available from this machine, exact payment only." You will note that the machine took our $5, but did not register that it had it, did not give it back, nor did it give change. At this point we figured "Aw hell, well, give it exact change, maybe it will let us out? Even though we just put $5 in the damn thing." So we put four quarters in. And it just kept blinking the same message at us.

At this point two things happened. A lady ran across all the lanes and yelled into the booth next to ours where an actual human was taking money. "Our machine isn't taking our money, and we've been here for an F-ing HOUR!" Mr. Zoom said to mad lady "Neither is ours!" and she said "See? Neither is theirs!" The lady in the toll booth looked scared, and she grabbed a telephone. At the same time, some guy in a car behind us kept yelling "Write a letter! run the thing! I'll pay your fine, let's just get this thing MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVING. C'MON DUDE!! I'll pay your fine!" He sounded exactly like that turtle in Finding Nemo.

We ran the gate and will probably get a ticket. Along with the 200 + other cars that probably had to run it. Or, the agency will just wipe out that block of tickets knowing that they\'ve got a lot more money in the box than they would have gotten by collecting the regular toll. Who knows.

We will now invest in one of those transponders that bills you as you drive through the gate marked "Fast Pass". If the toll roads can redeem themselves with us, this will do it.

My Formerly Amish Mom is terrified of the technology - especially the invisible technology. Credit cards were bad enough for her to accept. Those, you know, are the work of the beast. And Debit cards? Oh, those are only one of the beast's 6 heads.

I.CAN.NOT.WAIT. When our fast pass gets here, I'm going to find a reason to shuttle my Mom down south and jump on the toll road. Then when we go through the gates I'm going to cue up some Rob Zombie on the stereo and explain to Mom what that little bling noise she just heard was. I'll tell her that we are now just like supermarket items on a conveyer belt being scanned and that the grocery bag we are going home in has "Thank you for shopping at BeastMart" on it.

The only problem with my plan will be getting her to actually let me drive. I've come to a disturbing place in my life where both my Mom and I are equally scared of each other's driving. Any joint venture begins with an excuse off as to why one or the other should or should not drive.

DRAT.

He Said Put It On The Internet, I Bet It Happens All The Time

I'm always the last to find out anything. If you haven't seen this site before, prepare to die from overwhelming cuteness. Repeatedly.

http://www.cuteoverload.com/

Mr. Zoom found that site and left it for me on my comptuer one day. I now spend my time cooing at it, and then cursing him for turning me on to it.

Now for my official Disclaimer, and the part of the post that relates to the title:

IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, IF YOU FEAR TOO MUCH INFORMATION, IF YOU HAVE A LINE IN THE SAND AND YOU ARE FAIRLY CERTAIN I'M ABOUT TO CROSS IT (AND I AM), STOP READING NOW..

Are you still here? Because really, this isn't going to be pretty. And I warned you.

Alright then. On with it.

Last night Mr. Zoom was on the computer. I went to the loo. I took care of business. I flushed and to my horror, the toilet gave a wheeze and died.

In disbelief, I tried again with the flusing, and this time was rewarded with all the water filling the bowl. Threatening to overflow onto my floor with my deposits still bobbing around in there.

Yes, this is horrifying to me too. I warned you.

I shot across the house to the utility room and fetched a plunger. I did the ew ew dance while trying to fix the issue. This did nothing. I was defeated.

I went into the computer room to report to Mr. Zoom.

"The toilet's backed up" was all I managed to squeak out with the first breath. He said "Oh? It won't flush?" I responded "WITH MY POO!" And then I cried a little.

Let me just tell you that revealing to your husband that your deposits are currently floating around in what is now your broken toilet is about as comfortable as having your nekkid bum on an examiniation table and your feet in those stirrups - IF the Dr. Decided he'd like to show your isue to any number of other Dr.s and then invited about 20 more strangers in to have a look. And then asked you to "scoot down a little more please."

Mr. Zoom took care of things while I fled to the bedroom emitting the "aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" noise with "I'm going to dieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" thrown in every once in a while.

Mr. Zoom got the gigles over this whole production. He came in and tried to reason with me. "I bet this happens to everyone" he said. "Oh really? I've lived 37 years now and never once heard of this happeneing to anyone I know. Nor have I ever seen it happen when I lived in a house with at least 5 occupants, sometimes more in it. I don't believe you. I'm going to dieeeeeeeeeeeeee!" was my dramatic response.

He said "Ok, I guess I have to remember that girls don't poo." I said "It's not that we don't poo, it's just that YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO SEE IT. EVER! Especially not that way."

And so here we are. I'm able to laugh now. Although I do now have a brand new fear. "What if this happens to me while we are at someone else's house?"

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.

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

I SNORE!

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.

Observations

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!"

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."

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.

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 -
http://images.google.com/images?q=scott+ian&hl=en

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.

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."

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.

The Sweater Won The Fight This Morning

To all the bloggers I link to, and even some I don't link but try to read every day: I'm still reading your stuff, I just can't comment on it every time I do. Also, I don't get to respond to any comments left here as often as I'd like.

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.

Race to Register Ends in Video

I dislike Kohls. I hate WalMart. I love Target.

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

Fuzzy Logic

Last night Mr. Zoom was watching the first X-Men movie on cable. During that show, they showed clips from the new X-Men movie. This caused Mr. Zoom to say:

"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!"

No?

Ok, well - I think you get the idea anyway.

Who Is That Monkey? Is That a Football?

I must say, the Zooms had themselves a myspace worthy weekend, only we didn't take pictures. I wouldn't have been able to post them, even if I had. And we aren't on myspace. But if we were...

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.

You Mean He's Not Trying To Hide?

One of my newer co-workers is a college student. She is one of my favorite people in the world, because she has a sense of humor I can very much relate to. Let's call her Ms. Sparkle.

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.

"You Know I Love You, Right?"

Yesterday began with my usual trip to the coffee shop. I was on my way to my truck with my bagel and coffee, when a bird flew down and pecked me on the head.

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."

HAH!

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."

Zoom: "..."

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.

"Gloria Estefan Was Right...

...The Rhythim is Going to Get You". - Mr. Zoom

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"

instead of

"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.

The Best Excuse In The World

So it seems I've discovered a get out of jail free card type excuse for my antics: "It's for a scavenger hunt."

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.

If It's Too Loud, You Are Too Old. Cool, I'm Deaf!

Eating out these days costs more than money. Sometimes it means giving the establishment a small amount of one's hearing abilities. I'm not looking forward to inflation.

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.

Since I Already Offered a Vegetarian a Hot Dog...

I suppose I should re-cap Jeeber's last trip to Vegas.

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.

Please Protest All Week

I am not politically educated. I'm guilty of the "that which doesn't affect me doesn't get my attention" type existence. I'm not necessarily proud of that, just cognizant of it.

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.

Not Back Yet...

...but in the meantime, here's something to read.

"Phantoms in the Brain" by V.S. Ramachandran, M.D., PH.D.

I picked this book up at the bookstore, read the back and knew I had to have it. It's hard to explain exactly what it's about, but I'll try.

I thought we (meaning science, society, etc.) knew quite a bit about the human brain and how it works. Turns out, we know pretty much nothing. Back in 1998, when I had my very first panic attack - and doctors told me they couldn't tell me why - I just figured I was insane. In 1995, I was finally put on a series of pills, because "there's no test for what you have, we just have to experiment." I was lucky. My experiments led to a solution. Even through all of that, I still thought we pretty much knew what we could about the human brain.

WE KNOW NOTHING.

This book discusses neuroscience in a way that I can TOTALLY understand. It's dumbed down to the masses, rather than being taylored to the doctors and superbright people in this world. Poor Mr. Zoom has to endure my excited re-cap of every chapter.

The best part is, the Dr. who wrote it has taken real life patients (names, small details changed to preserve privacy) and led the reader through the brain damage and the resulting strange behaviors. Then there are simple experiments that further demonstrate how our brains work.

The case histories you are presented with in the beginning feel like you are reading about someone who has "gone insane". Apparently, in medicine, the strange cases were/are mostly written off as either insane or not worth the time to explore.

But that's just it, they aren't crazy. They are perfectly sane, intelligent people who have suffered a kind of brain injury that causes these things or actions. There's a quote in the book from Sherlock Holmes "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routines of everyday life." Stuff like that is as good as chocolate to me.

There is a down side to reading this book, however. There are times when I've come to realize that our brain is almost another "being" in our heads. It literally has a "mind" of it's own, and can make one do, say or see things that we KNOW are incorrect. And with most of these case studies, that's exactly the frustrating part for the patient and the doctor alike. They KNOW it's not right, but something is happening. And through these demonstrations, you come to see exactly how it can and does happen. It's very unsettling, at least to me, if I think about it too hard. And right about now you are probably thinking I've been doing more than chores with my time lately.

The other downside, if I can call it that, is a loss of the feeling of mysticism in the world. I'm not sure if mysticism is the word I'm looking for.... After reading this book (I'm almost done with it), there's sortof a scientific "explanation" as to why... say ... someone might have a religious experience, or someone migh have a "premonition". I don't get on the ghost/esp/mystic band wagon all too eagerly, but it was kindof nice to sometimes think that things like that beyond our explanation were out there.

That probably sounds as retarded as I think it does.

Now, the author comes right out and tells you that these ideas of his are pure theory. Nothing can be proven as fact. However, his examples are so compelling, I defy any of you with the huge knowledge out there to point out the reasons why it can't be true (other than those the author already acknowledges.)

Anyway, that's my book recommendation.

I won't be able to resume my usual stories of coffee spillage and Mr. Zoom smart alecness until at least Monday. Stay safe, everyone!

Of Course Life Got In The Way.

I'm going to be a bit scarce in the next couple of weeks. I've got a bunch of projects piling up and work is getting a little more demanding than normal.

One of these projects is loading the gagillion cds I brought to this marriage onto Mr. Zoom's itunes. So far I've managed to sully his collection with some Megadeath, Queensryche, a Barb Wire soundtrack (totally not kidding), Alien Sex Fiend, Chicasaw Mud Puppies, Muckypup, Metallica, Aerosmith, Sisters of Mercy, Kiss, Saves the Day, Love and Rockets, A Newfound Glory, Tones on Tail, Infectious Grooves, Mindless Self Indulgence, Erasure, Bauhaus, Crass, The Vandals, White Zombie, Rob Zombie, Weird Al Yankovik, Damn Yankees, Marilyn Manson, GWAR, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Pixies, Pennywise, Creed, Psi Com, Nick Cave, Prong, Guns and Roses, Lords of the New Church, X, Human Traffic soundtrack, Anthrax, Corrosion of Conformity, Misfits, Pig, Foetus, Frank Black, Virgin Prunes, Stone Roses, Underworld, Crystal Method and Slaughter. And I really can't wait until I find that digitized Warlock Pinchers song I downloaded about 3 years ago.

And these are just the bands that we didn't have in common, meaning he didn't already have them on his itunes library. Some of them he'd never heard of, some of them he had and was probably thinking "holy crap, I've now got Megadeath in my itunes."

I'm only about halfway through, and I'm super tired of wading through the piles to get to my computer every day (night, after work). I'm clumsy. I don't need obsticles to manuever when I'm already tired and cranky.

I've updated the links, so be sure to go visit those folks. They are all fun in their own way. At least I think so. Hopefully I'll still be able to check in on them myself in the next few weeks.

Pet Name Generator

Mr. Zoom and I have discovered that there is a white owl that lives in the palm tree about two houses down from us. As owls do, it only comes out at dusk or night, which makes it really hard for me to get a picture of it.

Why would I need a picture of it? Because we've decided he's OUR owl, even though he doesn't live in our yard. As if we are the only ones who notice him flying around screeching and clicking. He's just so darn cool!

So the other day Mr. Zoom asked me what we should name him. He asks me this because he knows I've got a few strange pet names in reserve that I want to name a pet. We can't actually have a dog or a cat, so we are left with whatever wanders our way and semi-stays - as well as our 9 goldfish in the pond.

The 9 fish are named: Felvis (that was supposed to be for my next cat), Mr. Limpet, Travis, Jeebus, Moby, Cleo, Abraham, Liam (Mr. Zoom's favorite name for a child) and Seamus (which I try to spell as Shamus every time).

Back to the owl.

So we went back and forth for a mintue when I said "What about SHMOO?" Mr. Zoom said "Ah, I knew it was only a matter of time before I activated the koo koo name generator!"

I said "So you never saw that cartoon? The Shmoo? I think it was on for a very short time as a Saturday morning cartoon." "He was like Casper, with no arms. I think. I don't know if he was even a ghost, but he was a white glob." He said "No. No I didn't." in a way that made me think he was sure I was making this up.

So I was then on a mission to prove that back in the 70s there was a cartoon with a character named Shmoo.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shmoo

THANK GOODNESS FOR THE INTERNET.

I'm not sure I could have convinced Mr. Zoom (or myself, for that matter) that I really had seen a cartoon with a Shmoo in it back in the 70s.

The owl's name is now Shmoo.

Just Now, I Googled Rumplestiltskin.

Mr. Zoom and I were in the car the other day when he let loose with a string of insults at some drivers around us. He turned to me after it was over and said "Are you ready for this for the rest of your life? How do you like being married to Old Man River?"

I said "...Old.Man.River? Did you just say that? Wait....wha....who is/was old man river?" And what my brian, if that's what we are going to call it, was chewing on was - Is that like Rumplestiltskin? or that character that slept for like 100 years or something and woke up to a whole new world?

Mr. Zoom said "No, Old Man River is what they call the Mississippi."

I said "OH." "...so........I'm married to a river?"

Mr. Zoom said "*sigh*. I knew the second I said that it was going to come back around like this. I just knew it."

YAY! Verbal eye roll!

I'm Just Sayin...

My Lost Theory:

Henry Gale = Kaiser Soze

My Office is Suddenly the New World and We are Indigenous Peoples

So the new soda machine arrived the other day. And it is now my most favorite office supply, ever.

This new machine fires cans of soda out of the chute at the bottom with such force, that you'd think it was actually powered by Conquistadors. Anyone making a soda selection is first led to believe that the machine will be keeping their .65 by wheezing a distressing wheeze. When adequately peeved, the customer is then shot in the foot with their icy cold refreshment of choice as it flies from the machine trebuchet style.

Angry soda. Now that's some good times.

I'd Rather Eat A Fish Taco Than Drink a Pepsi

Dear Wahoo's Fish Tacos:

Despite the fact that your official name contains "Fish Tacos", I have become addicted to your food. I love the #2 combo. Black beans, rice and two chicken tacos. CHICKEN, not fish. Ew! with the fish.

The only thing that would make me love you more would be for you to drop the contract you have with Pepsi. I hate Pepsi. I used to think Pepsi tasted like dirt. And I know what dirt tastes like thanks to two older brothers and two working parents. I now testify that Pepsi tastes a little like soap AND dirt combined. Yes, I also know what soap tastes like.

Please obtain a contract with Coca Cola. Coke. The beverage that tastes like and is, in fact, good times. You won't be sorry.

Thank you,
Zoom

My Doctor Says There's No Creme for Tag

Barry's Baghdad Blog

Ok, so BBB gave me the tagging. And thank goodness this isn't my first one. Because a little while ago I got tagged...and I didn't know what to do with/about it.

In fact, I think I answered all of the questions in the Tagger's comments. Then there was the time that I got tagged, and I think I literally forgot to respond. You know, in the .5 of a second it took me to see something else and run after it.

I think it's neat-o that people try and include me in stuff after I've demonstrated over and over again how wrong I can go with it.

So, here's my official, and hopefully less annoying (although I seriously doubt that) response to BBB's tag:

Four Jobs I've Had:

1. Telephone survey minion. Mystery Shopper for fast food chain. These were for the same company. This was the perfect job for me in high school, as I looked like a punk rock trainwreck.

2. Planogram team at Target. I also worked a cash register for exactly 4 minutes before they realized that I had more fun with the scanning gun than was ever intended.

3. Mail Boxes Etc. - before BROWN came around and bought them all up. I was a jack of all box duties and this register was an older one. No scanning gun. Totally off the subject, but I'm on a one girl mission to change the name of the Fed Ex Kinkos stores to FINKOS. Mr. Zoom must now, in my presence, refer to any former Kinkos as FINKOS.

4. Receptionist at a law firm. They quickly got me the hell out of that position, as more than one blinky line at a time made for "accidental" disconnections.

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over:

1. Wizards
2. Dream with the Fishes
3. Billy Madison
4. Repo Man

Four Places I Have Lived:

1. Albuquerque, NM
2. 29 Palms, CA
3. Somewhere else in CA
4. Somewhere Somewhere else in CA.

Four T.V. Shows I Love:

1. Scrubs
2. Lost
3. The Soup (on the E Channel)
4. ALL the reality crime shows on A&E channel

Four Places I Have Vacationed:

1. IRELAND!!
2. Thailand
3. Pennsylvania
4. Arizona

Four of my Favorite Dishes:

This better mean food, because the only dishes I know about are paper ones with food on them.

1. Chow Mein.
2. Gringo Burrito - Whole wheat tortilla with rice, chicken and broccoli - and a mystery sauce.
3. Beef
4. Tortellini. Did I even spell that right?

Four Sites I Visit Daily:

1. www.milkandcookies.com
2. http://www.courtinfo.ca.gov/index.htm
3. http://www.mcsweeneys.net/ - although I KNOW I don't get half the funny out of it. Freaking Big Brains with a sense of humor make me so jealous.
4. My blog links.

Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now:

1. IRELAND!!
2. Seattle
3. Canada
4. Working in the same office as Mr. Zoom again.

Four People I Am Tagging:

I think I'm supposed to put in a cute little link with everybody's name...
That's about as likely as me NOT spilling my morning coffee on my chest. Mr. Zoom calls it "splitting the uprights."

Anyway. Just try to forgive my unlinkiness, k?

1. Al - Jeeber's pal.
2. Rev. Brandy
3. My Idiot (Mr. Zoom - it might just be time for his every six months update)
4. Andy T13

Take a Peek. Then Slam the Cover Down and Run.

The Zooms' dry cleaner is located in the same shopping center as my morning coffee.

Sometimes I have to park the car in such a way that I walk past the dry cleaner. And every time I do that, I think to myself:

"I wonder if they ever look outside, see me or other people walking by, and think 'hey, I cleaned and pressed that sweater/dress/jacket just last week!'"?

And this thought will annoy me. I mean really, this couldn't be more ludicrous. Who would be self absorbed enough to think that their mere passage in front of an open store would cause the people inside to even look up? And even if they did, do I really believe they could identify a piece of clothing on a person...just because they applied that plastic see through bag over perfectly folded articles that are now on me?

No. No I don't.

And I then spend the next 10 minutes trying to get the entire thought trail out of my head.

And even if I really thought someone could recognize my sweater after doing...whatever it is that dry cleaners do with clothes besides fold them...I doubt they'd recognize mine.

Just ask Mr. Zoom. Almost 98% of the time I will button a shirt/sweater up the front in such a way that the buttons aren't lined up with the holes. It's completely crooked, and I don't ever realize it until I am facing Mr. Zoom and he starts laughing. I'd be willing to bet I can disguise any piece of clothing just by attempting to wear it.**

Of course I get the amazing, never failing, compulsive thought process that is completely useless to me. OF COURSE I DO! Just because I walk past the dry cleaner on my way to my morning coffee. And you know what? If I walk past there at night and it's closed? It doesn't happen. Not even a "well, if they were open...." type thing.

Yet...I can't remember where I put my car keys [instructions I just printed/ earrings / jacket / shoe(s)/ glasses - make infinity sign here] 5 minutes ago. Hint? It's the same place I've been putting them for about 2 years now. Oh nooo. Can't pick up a compulsion for that, apparently. Or button my clothes in such a way that I don't look like I've escaped from some kind of supervised care.

**And here's the fun part for Mr. Zoom. When he gets the giggles over my crooked buttoning, I spend a good 2 minutes (clueless) grilling him "WHAT?! What's so funny? What happened? What'd I miss?". And this only makes him laugh harder. By the time he's able to get it out, I'm all indignant. As if it's HIS fault I've been walking around with crooked buttoning.

I am a joy. An absolute JOY to be with.

Time Changes Everything

Isn't it amazing how the Monday after the spring forward time change my Gym looks EXACTLY like a Target? One of my best workouts. Ever.

There are a few people I am acquainted with who recently had children. The hot e-mail topic yesterday was: "How soon after birthing critters can they be taken into public."

One doctor said 4 weeks, one said 6. I don't know if the issue is germs or the fact that babies need time for some kind of sun shield to harden? I know their skulls have soft spots that one shouldn't poke...but the rest is a mystery.

And people wonder why I'm afraid to hold one when they bring it out.

If my parents and other elders are to be believed, newly born children can pretty much be slung in one arm and run like footballs to any destination one chooses. Of course, this is also the tail end of that generation that smoked and drank during pregnancy.

In fact, someone in our little social group, someone who's sass I admire greatly said to Mr. Zoom "That's because your momma smoked when she was pregnant with you."

The Smell of Hatred

I think I made someone so mad that the pure hate he grew for me manifested itself in an awful smell. A smell that shot from his bald cranium like a laser beam of animosity.

There once was this unfortunate individual who ended up working on a project with me. I was informed by the powers holding my strings that I had to give it to him to work on. Fine by me, as it got one more thing off of my desk.

However, unbeknownst to me before hand, not so fine by him. He made it very clear that he disliked my project very much. That he knew for a fact that it was below his position in this particular company to work on such a thing.

Whatever. I can handle a little misdirected aggravation. Considering my ability to blunder human interaction, I wasn't about to judge him too quickly.

That was, until I had to answer his questions. It wasn't the questions he asked. It was the fact that he was sitting at his desk and I was standing in his cube when he asked them. He would scooch his chair incredibly close to me, which made it so his hairless, shiney laser head was pointed directly at me. Now that I think about it, he might have had a military background.

I already dislike my person to person space being cut so small, but then the smell came. I can't describe it. It wasn't a lack of cleanliness smell. It wasn't a breath smell. It wasn't a dead clown issue. It was foul, and it made my eyes water. I would literally hold my breath anytime I had to go over there. I kept wondering if there was a product that could remedy this. Some kind of antiperspirant for hairless heads? Maybe some kind of man personal hygiene thing that girls just don't get told about? And he forgot his? I just couldn't figure out how this odor got generated by someone's head? I mean, he'd been around the office for years and not one rumor about his smelliness had been uttered.

After a time, I simply concluded..."This must be what hate smells like!"

My New Hit Single - Stultified

Things can be going quite normally one moment, and the next you find yourself explaining to someone that no, you didn't mean to imply that because he's black and he is leaving town suddenly, that he might be a fugitive.

No, really.

It's 10 a.m. I'm in a particular department at the office. A co-worker that I am acquainted with lets it be known that he will be "going away for a few days very suddenly. It's a t.v. thing."

I looked at my co-worker and said "OH MY! I hope it's... it's nothing ...BAAAD. ... IS IT??"

I immediately tried to retrieve my decorum, but it's kinda hard when you've thrown it down on the floor and pretty much kicked it under the nearest filing cabinet.

I clumsily explained that my family spent a good number of years fearing television appearances by certain other members of our family - due to the rather unorthodox and quite illegal lives they were pursuing.

Oh hello, nice to meet you. Let's not bother with my actual name, you may now simply refer to me as ineptoolio, yo.

Thank goodness he is familiar enough with my sense of humor and social clumsiness that he didn't take it in a way that made him file a complaint with management. Although, I bet the next time I need his department to work on a project with me there's a good chance that it will come back with "Die Clown!" written all over it. And I wouldn't blame him.

This is the Same Target that is CLOSED ON EASTER.

Ok. My pal Skillit sent me an e-mail yesterday that made me go "wha?"

And I think you will agree. I can't even...yeah. Just - it's just going to have to speak for itself:

____________________________________________________

Okay, come on... I was just looking at target.com, at their Easter stuff, and came across this:

http://www.target.com/gp/browse.html/ref=sc_fe_l_1_16345561_21/601-0149636-4552927?%5Fencoding=UTF8&node=16434921

In the middle of all the cute egg dishes and weird ceramic bunny pitchers, an adult Jeebus costume. Really? Do people dress up like him for Easter? I need to look into this more... I mean, probably at church or something, but are church people shopping at Target for the costume? Don't they have some jeebus store of their own they go to?

If I don't get struck by lightning very shortly, I'll be very surprised...

__________________________________________________

I now need to know too.

How is dressing up as Jeebus on Easter or at anytime not blatently flying in the face of everything Jeebus is supposed to be about? HOW?

Not that I don't want people to do this, because if there really is a demand for Jeebus costumes at Easter, I'm going to HAVE to find some of the people who use them so I can see this for myself. I might even get up early that day just to see that.

Target was already my favorite place to get tasteless, fun things. I can't wait for their Halloween offerings this year!

It's Like I'm Frustrated and Angry

So last week sometime, my cell phone went missing. At first I assumed I misplaced it in the house (I lose EVERYTHING I touch). After tearing home/work/car and places I've never been to apart, we checked on the internet to see if the account showed useage - that obviously wasn't mine.

It did. Someone had the phone and was burning up the keypad sending text messages with it. I was peeved, but realized there's no way anyone but me is going to care enough to actually try and figure out who had it. The phone company can't be bothered and I'd not expect police to waste their time with that. So we canceled the phone and I got a new one.

And the worst thing about it is, there's this little place in my gut that holds on to the anger I get over stuff like this. I can't see those silly "kids texting" commercials without a Nam Flashback of the realization "SOMEONE HAS MY PHONE! and they aren't afraid to use it."

This experience went directly on top of an older stolen cell phone experience. After receiving a cell bill with the telephone calls of someone who had stolen my phone, I spent an evening calling those numbers. When someone would pick up, I would say "Someone stole my phone and used it to call you. TELL ME WHO IT WAS." Most people just hung up on me, and I spent my time re-calling them over and over.

Absolutely useless, but for some reason I felt a teeny bit better because I was able to get that much closer to whoever did it.

If the text message telephone numbers show up on our bill, I'll do the same thing again.

See how retarded I am?

So today I get an e-mail from Mr. Zoom. Turns out that someone got a hold of a bit of financial info of ours and went shopping with it.

...they bought Juno internet service with it.

Yup. $6.95 worth of damage actual damage, and incalculable actual cost in astonishment, frustration and anger. Mr. Zoom had to file a police report, and we had to get everything canceled and reissued.

Not that I want to be robbed of more than $7.00 actual dollars... but what kind of rocket scientist master criminal buys JUNO INTERNET SERVICE with stolen information?

I didn't even know Juno still existed. From the price, I'm guessing they signed up for dial-up. By the time we found the charge, they couldn't have had time to even download one e-mail using dial up. Maybe they bought more stuff, but none of it will be clearing the account now.

Whoever you are, why don't you go pull change out of water fountains? You will probably make more than $7.00 a shot and I won't be forced to sit around trying to think of ways to find you. And run you over with my truck.

WWCND? = What would Chuck Norris do?

I Suck at Cooking

Me, to Mr. Zoom - after I ordered a pizza and had it delivered: "See? I got you lunch."

Mr. Zoom: pointing "...you...got me lunch."

Me: "YES! This is actually much more kind than if I tried to cook something for you. If I ever start cooking meals for you....you might want to start sleeping with one eye open, or something."

I Brought Porn to the Police Station

Contrary to what your gut might be telling you, I wasn’t arrested. My family and I were attending an event honoring my brother.

Mr. Zoom couldn’t go. That meant that I had to get in a car with Mom and Dad. At 6:00 a.m. Carpooling was the only choice, as the destination was about 60 miles away. Even then, it took us two solid hours to get there.

I almost always have a book with me wherever I go. This was no exception. Unfortunately, the book I’m currently reading is "The Other Hollywood - The Uncensored Oral History of the Porn Industry." The quote on the front cover sums it up nicely: "Eloquent and Sleazy."

After the big police event, my family and I were waiting for my brother so that we could go get something to eat. I was putting my camera away when a dear family friend spied my book. She hadn’t seen the title of it, but she is a librarian - so she’s attracted to books just like I am. She’s probably about 75 years old.

She said "HEY! What book are you reading?" It was at that exact moment that I realized what book I had with me, and how the contents stood in such contrast to my surroundings at that moment.

I said "Oh, that? Uh...er....uh....that’s not a book. That’s a pamphlet on legal stuff....for work..." This couldn’t have been a worse punt if I tried. What I attempted to pass off as a pamphlet is indeed, a 620 page, bright orange and yellow book on the history of porn.

Our family pal wouldn’t give up. "Oh, come on" she said "let me see it." and before I knew it she had grabbed it out of my bag and had it out in the open. Damn stealthy for a 75 year old lady.

Because she was sitting there watching this unfold, I yelled to my Mom "Look away Mom, it’s naughty!" to which my Mom responded "Wha? What are you...oooooooooh, ZOOM! Geez, can’t take you anywhere....."

Our dear 75 year old family friend put the book down and began to leaf through it. She pulled out a piece of paper and took note of the title and authors. She then passed it back to me. I tucked it into my bag and thought "Of course I brought porn to a police station. Next time I should buy some drugs and then ask for a tour of the facilities."

I Call This One ...

I call this one: "Perfectionist Drug Score"

_____________________________________________________

"One of 40 Pieces of Great Grandma's Antique Lace That Was Lovingly Left To Me, But With It, I Know Not What to Do."

___________________________________________________

"Items left at Our House by Friends' Kids - December 05"

___________________________________________________

"Favorite Vegas Trinket Purchased By Me and Given to Mr. Zoom"

You might not be able to tell, but this is a lighter made to look like a girl's torso - and when the top is opened, the boobs strobe red lights and the coolie cover strobes green light.

_____________________________________________________

"Best Road Trip Gift Ever Given to Me"

This is a boxing skull pen. It even lights up red when you write with it. I LOVE THIS PEN. My pal Skillit got it for me when she went on a road trip across the country last year.

Here's a side view with boxing action:

____________________________________________________

And finally: "Something I Love, Far More Than I Should"

____________________________________________________

This is what happens when I'm left at home alone on a Saturday, and it's raining outside. Oh, and there's some random packing styrofoam in the house. That looks exactly like a frame.

I'm fully aware that while I crack myself up with random crap like this - the outside world isn't nearly as easily amused.

Cox. Remote. How can you not laugh at that?

The Devil is in the Details

California is currently getting spanked by big rain. Mr. Zoom and I love the rain.

Last night I was in bed doing that pre-sleep mind roaming thing when I felt the light in the room turn on. I thought "There's no way Mr. Zoom got up...and if he did, I wonder what's up."

I opened my eyes and in a single moment realized Mr. Zoom was still asleep next to me, and that the light in our room was on...and then blinked off. BY.ITSELF.

I'm tellling you right now, I was dangerously close to wetting the bed. I shook Mr. Zoom awake and started jibber jabber about the light turning itself on and off, and aieeeeeeeeeeeee! He tried to explain it all away like this: "Power surge honey. Ish the inert gashes in the bulb. It's prooohbly about to burn outh. Careful next thime youh turn it on, it might exhplohde....DON'T WORRY ZOOM, there's no ghost in here. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz".

Please don't think I'm trying to make him out as insensitive. I had woke him out of a deep sleep, and I honestly find it so cute that he talks to me in his half sleep when I'm doing something retarded. He knows and I know that if I need more from him at any moment, I make sure to FULLY wake him up until I get what I need. Wow. That went from explanation to sounding like porn faster than the light blinked on and off. Or maybe it's just me.

Of course, even with what sounded like a logical explanation and the comfort of my husband snoring next to me, I couldn't sleep. I would try to drift off, but I kept opening my eyes - just to see if I could catch it again. I would also see a shadow out of the corner of my eye and freak myself out. Shadows, mind you, that I see every single night of my life but at that particular moment were giving me the wibblies.

I got out of bed and turned on some other lights. Only they didn't turn on. It was a power outage and of course, now I had all the reasons to laugh at myself. Instantly, I could tell myself that the power outage had caused the sugre which had caused the light to go on and off. Even though Mr. Zoom had tried to tell me that already.

This morning Mr. Zoom and I were going over the power out scary light issue, and I said:

"Yeah, I know. I just thought Satan was in the room. I guess that's what I get for watching two documentaries from the History channel on the Anticrhist and a third one on Hell right before bed."

Are Muffins Doughnuts? And if So, What's With the Bagel Guy?

I don't make this stuff up. And maybe I'm just hyper shy, so that when complete strangers speak to me, it registers far stronger on my Richter scale than it would say, for normal people.

This morning I got my coffee at my usual place. They were out of cinnamon sugar bagels, so I jumped at the chance to buy a chocolate chip muffin for breakfast instead. My breakfast math. No cinnamon sugar bagels? Screw the other bagels, I must now chose something chocolatey for breakfast! It is out of my hands.

As I walked to my car with coffee, keys, sunglasses, and my muffin, I saw what I almost always see. Another person was walking on the same sidewalk the opposite direction as I was. The thing that drew my attention to him was that I thought he was saying "May I offer you a bagel?" I instinctively turned around, as if to see someone behind me that he was surely talking to. There was no one. And I thought "WEIRD! I almost always get a bagel, and some stranger somehow knows I couldn't get one today. WEIRD, and freaky. And knowing me, he probably didn't say anything about a bagel at all and I'm just doing that creative hearing/seeing thing I seem to do. Probably best to run away."

This man was about my age, dressed casually, but not sloppy. He didn't give off the street crazy vibe. All the same, I chose to believe I heard what he said incorrectly and keep going. When I got to my truck, he said "Coffee and a doughnut. That's a terribly unhealthy breakfast. Bagels are better. Go get a bagel." He never broke his stride as he issued his verbal ticket to me and then walked out of my line of vision.

All I could do was say in a quiet little voice - to myself: "It's a muffin, not a doughnut, and I didn't have a choice."

Mr. Zoom, The Master of Shutting Me Up

Me: "Whine, whine whine, complain, whine, complain......"

Mr. Zoom: "You know, if you squeeze off all of the rounds in your pity gun, you aren't going to have any ammo left for later."

_____________________________

Mr. Zoom: "I need to go buy a new chair for my office."

Me: "Why?"

Mr. Zoom: "Because my butt keeps falling asleep."

It Is A Memorial PARK.

I love taking pictures, and I have for as long as I can remember. I never had the patience or talent to study it and try to make a career or hobby that I could share with other people. I just impulsively grab the camera and take off for hours shooting random things.

The problem is, I am shy. I don't want to have people watching me doing this. I don't want to interract with them on any level. I prefer to find an abandoned something and play with that. But, more often than not, I draw the attention of some security being, if not some koo koo that, understandably, believes they've found a friend.

When I go to some historic districts, I'm frustrated by people constantly asking me "What are you doing? Why are you doing that? Is it digital or film?" I'm considering passing myself off as a student just to get them to leave me alone. Albeit a REALLY old one. What's worse, is that I don't really blame owners/security for wanting to know. If I saw some random person pointing a camera at me or my house (not that I've gone after any strangers' houses), I'd make Mr. Zoom go find out what the deal was too.

So, this combined with my total fascination for all things religious and symbollic causes me to seek out all of the graveyards, memorial parks, cemeteries, etc. I can find in order to indulge my almost compulsive need to photograph things. I can wander around for hours, and even though security keeps an eye on me, I don't find that many people question me. I am always mindful of people mourning or having a service, and I stay as far away from them as I can to maintain their privacy and right to be uninterrupted.

I had exhausted all of the ones fairly close to home, so I took a little hour road trip yesterday to a Forest Lawn Memorial Park I had located on the internet. This place was like the Disneyland of Memorial Parks. It was HUGE, and there were thousands (my estimate) of people either participating in services or just visiting. Even with all of them, there was still plenty of room for me to wander.

There was one section that was clearly set up for a service. In the back was an elaborate structure. I could see that nobody was "there" for the service yet, so I wandered back to check out the art...I guess we can call it.

While in there, I kept hearing an eerie noise. I finally realized it was birds. Birds in that white box you can see there. POOR BIRDS! Now, I don't like birds at all. But, I don't think they should be raised to be put in a box, and then thrown out in the world. How are they supposed to defend themselves?

And if I'm wrong, I'm wrong. Maybe they do just fine and poop on someone's clean car, probably mine. I don't know. But I find it incredibly strange to be mourning a life and then releasing more life to die in honor of that life.

As I was exiting that section I saw a large group assembled to release birds they had in another box. I was drawn to the event because of the dress of what I can only guess was the priests?

I continued along and noted an interesting marketing strategy for crypts:

It says "Purchased Before Need". I suppose it would be distasteful to put "SOLD" or "Reserved". "Taken" might imply someone actually took the contents.

Then I saw the best thing ever. And you won't know why it's the best thing ever until I explain it:

This will be my Dad's Father's Day Card. When my Dad and Uncle were little kids, a police man brought them home and told my grandparents that he caught them gathering flowers off of graves and then re-selling the flowers to visitors coming into the cemetery. This is one of those famous family stories that gets re-told every Christmas.

So, I'm going to send this as a card to my Dad with a note that he's going to have to find another way to supplement his retirement.

Some Days You Feel Like You've Finally Figured Things Out ...

And then you realize that no, you just accidentally took one too many anti-depressant capsules.

Like little science class experiments that turn out exactly the same every time, I've learned a few things recently:

1. There is one guaranteed way to make Mr. Zoom laugh. Show him a video of some chump being kicked/knocked in the man coolie. I'm not saying Mr. Zoom doesn't laugh at lots of other stuff. What I'm trying to get at here is that this particular situation, if caught on video, contrived or otherwise, will make him laugh out loud. Over and over. God, I love him.

2. I will never ever ever ever ever be able to apply sunscreen to my face without poking myself in BOTH of my eyes, with one or more fingers. And there will always be a secret reserve of sunscreen under the fingernails of those fingers. Eyeliner and mascara will betray me when my eyes start to tear from the suncreen burn. Ironic, no? Sunscreen burns. I'll bet my co-workers think I was raised by wild mimes.