Roulette

A lot has been going on behind the dancingblog curtain. Mainly, I had an opportunity to interview for a position at not just one, but two companies in the last couple of months.

And I got one of them.

I wasn't actively looking for new employment, but I will now be saying goodbye to my current job and starting a new one in November. One of the best things about this job is that Mr. Zoom and I will be car pooling again. Actually, we will be working in the same company again - just on different floors and completely different departments.

I'd have taken this opportunity if Mr. Zoom didn't happen to work there. Although I'd have never known about it if he didn't. And the company seems to have not one single problem with us being married and working in the same office. AWESOME.

Some people are happy for us. Others think we will be divorced soon because of it. All I can say is that every one of the couples I know that has been divorced never worked together. So, I can't see that it's any more of a threat to marriage than snoring yetis and blanket burritos.

At least this way Mr. Zoom can keep a daily hand on my wheel of emotions. Makes it easier to knock it off of its spinner when it lands - a time or two too many - on the section marked "for every action (perceived or actual) there is a disproportionate and inappropriate reaction you've never seen before."

For any women out there who are young enough to believe you won't turn into your mother, I say "hang on to that dream as long as you can." For the rest of us, all we can do is hope the percentage of MOM is less than the percentage of US that takes over our daily consciousness.

I was discussing a project with a co-worker the other day. As is often the case, this person was NOT happy with the circumstances. Normally my interior ** dialogue goes something like "...uh, yeah...I'd be upset too. But he/she knows I can't change the circumstances. This isn't personal. I'll let them complain, then they can get on with the project."

That thought process was apparently too much trouble. Instead, this day I surrendered 1% of my SELF to Internal MOM who thought...

"Why is this person giving me LIP?"

I'm pretty sure that in the dictionary, the word LIP - when used as slang (a synonym? metonym?) for back talk or sass - has one of those little "WE CARD!" stickers you see in liquor stores. "Unless you were born before 1906, knit pet sweaters and eat dinner at 4pm, we cannot lawfully allow you to use this word. Be prepared to show proof of your age."

Mr. Zoom is lucky. All he ever worries about is getting to an age where it's ok to tuck his shirt into his shorts. He's asked me to intervene if this happens. Ok, easy enough.

But who is going to pull my MOMshirt out of MY SHORTS? Sure, I've asked him to intervene - knowing full well that when he says "You are acting like your mother", the wheel of emotions will spin. And the pointer will rest on angrybittercrying wife.

I guess I'll know what he's trying to tell me if he says we need to talk and he's wearing all of his ice hockey goalie gear. And swinging a stick.

**Update after posting...INTERIOR dialogue? Really? It doesn't even have as many syllables as INNER. Maybe it is time to take up knitting pet sweaters.

Bake for 8 Hours at 350 Degrees

There are certain things I do that Mr. Zoom claims will "help me distinguish the real you from the clone/alien you." - should that ever become necessary.

Things like, every time I see an ad on t.v. for Islands Restaurants, I feel the need to say "I don't like that restaurant. I don't know why, but I just don't like their burgers." Every.time. As if he can't possibly remember that from the 232 other times I said it. Or how I ALWAYS have 3 open bottles of drinking water in various locations in the house. Mr. Zoom says it's like I'm afraid to finish one.

Mr. Zoom has tells too. He finishes up most rants with "toot sweet". ".....and they better refund my money. Toot sweet." He stops all tivo'd t.v. shows mid playback to do SOMETHING. Which causes me to sass/whine from the couch "please come back...I'm going to forget how this show staaaaaaaaarted..."

Here's another thing I do every single year. Although I don't know if Mr. Zoom is quite as aware of it as I am - in the same way that I am.

Whenever Fall finally starts to give us the slightest chill in the evenings, I immediately activate the blanket burrito effect. This is where I wind myself up in all of the blankets because it's finally cold outside. And I love Mr. Zoom only the teeniest bit more than I love sleeping in cold weather with all of the blankets.

The problem is that it's not THAT cold. I end up waking in the middle of the night and sleep fighting all of the blankets off so I can breathe/stop sweating. I don't know about you, but there are few things more annoying than going to sleep dry and happy - only to wake up 3 hours later damp and uncomfortable - with no one else to blame. In fact, I'm fairly certain this is the sole reason babies cry.

Mr. Zoom is painfully aware of the blanket burrito - simply because he's lucky if he gets even a shred of blanket for his own use during this time. I don't know if he's aware of how angry I am at myself when I fight the blankets off each night in an effort to bring my body temperature back under 150 degrees. I'm pretty sure I've passed it off as "Oh honey, you need blankets too. Here. Have some."

No wonder my mother's first question upon seeing me is always "How's Mr. Zoom?" I'm not a huge read between the lines kind of person, but I can guarantee you that question is less about how he is than it is about how she's terrified he's going to figure out what kind of crazy he's married into. And try to get away.

And if he thinks it's hard to get some blanket in the winter time, he should just try getting away from me and my family.

OCD Humor Husbandry

Poor Mr. Zoom.

Last monday was Columbus Day. And while we didn't get to take that day off work, I did take that day off from the gym. Which meant that a lot of sugar/caffeine consumed by me during the day had nowhere to go. Nowhere, but for planning a practical joke on Mr. Zoom.

Mr. Zoom isn't OCD in the gets in the way of life kind of way. He's OCD in the little bit of information is dangerous and exploited by his wife kind of way.

The towels in the bathroom must be just so. They are hung perfectly and adjusted by him every day. When I get onrey, I like to tweek the towels while he's watching and see how long it takes him to fix them.

Monday night we were changing into comfy clothes to go out after work and I had an idea. I went in the loo and pretended to wee. I had my camera with me. I set it on video and placed it in such a way that I hoped it could capture a towel tweeking event.

And it did. Although there's a lot of space in this where nothing happens. And it's horribly out of focus. It's like a director's cut.

After he re-adjusts the towels, we get into a gigle wrestle match as he thinks I'm trying to re-muss the towels. I lovingly call him a jackass.

Check this out:

towelfoolery - Custom videocodes by MyWynk

Right. Ok.

Mr. Zoom and I pulled into the parking lot of our local IHOP. We were both distracted right away by the large apaprtment complex that sits next to that parking lot. There was activity in one of the apartments. Mr. Zoom said "See that? It looks like there's some nekkid going on there..." I didn't have my glasses on, and could only see featurless forms from that far away.

After about 20 seconds, we both lost interest and started to get out of the truck. Mr. Zoom had driven. I opened my door and at that moment a police officer ran by. I almost tagged him by opening my door. I actually said out loud "oh no" as he went past. It wasn't even an excited "oh no", just a matter of fact "oh.no."

I watched the cop go through the bushes (about 2 ft high) that border the parking lot, and then disappear. He fell right on his face. Kerplunk. The bushes hide the fact that immediately after the asphalt of the parking lot is a nasty decline? (down and away - leading to a sidewalk) with pelenty of slippery foliage on it. If you aren't ready for it, apparently one takes a nasty tumble forward and pretty much lands on their head. And any nightstick that person happens to be carrying will fly up in the air so that any witnesses will think "how cartoony was that?"

Mr. Zoom said to the space where we thought the cop landed "are you ok?" While that was going on, I got excited and tried to exit the truck. What I forgot was that we were parked in such a way that the parking lot gutters made a strange valley right where I jumped out. And this should be no surprise to anyone out there, I too fell down but next to my truck. Right there in the parking lot. I pulled myself up about the time I heard the police man say "I'm fine". I turned around and watched him run into a waiting police car and they drove away.

Mr. Zoom had been watching the polcie man activity. He didn't know his balance challenged wife had managed to skin her knees in the IHOP parking lot. He didn't know the grown ups all around him this night would start falling over like a 7 10 split being picked up. He came over and helped me assess the damage. I assured him I was fine, just scraped up a bit.

We had come to the IHOP for some breakfast for dinner, and I wasn't about to let falling down get in the way of that. When we got inside I went to the loo to wash off my knees where I could see the bruising and scraping was going to mature into some wicked pretty colors in the next few days.

While in there I caught my reflection in the mirror and had the talking heads moment that goes "How did I get here? Less than 10 minutes ago this day was damn near normal. Next thing you know after a conversation about nekkid strangers, a police man runs by, falls down, I fall down, and then I find myself practically taking a bath in the sink of an IHOP loo! Thank goodness I wore flip flops."

BRILLIANT!

Continuous Loop of Duh

I'm sure my parents had high hopes for their daughter. I think they even tried to maintain that optimism after I managed to need stitches after simply walking home from school one day. I was in first grade. I was walking along perfectly fine when suddenly I woke up with my chin resting on the curb and the rest of my body sprawled in the gutter. My babysitter was walking with me, so she scooped me up and dusted me off. I had tumbled off the sidewalk. Under my own power.

My babysitter was a wise girl. She saw that I had caused some serious harm to myself, but she didn't let me know that. I had "split my chin open", and was happily oblivious to that fact - and the blood. She talked to me as if things were completely normal as she sped me back to the house and called my mom. I later came out of the Dr.'s office with stitches in my chin, one very weary mother, no lollipop and my first official blackballing from a Dr.'s office.

I've never been a good patient, even under the best of circumstances - and my abilities for fighting a Dr. were well honed, even at 6 years old. This skill would later earn me highlighted files in various dental and optical offices - as times changed and outright refusal to see a patient became a perceived litigatable (probably not even a word) offense.

Over the years I managed to chip my front teeth roller skating, ride a skateboard into a fence, follow my older brothers into situations with road signs warning "BAD DECISION", and other little gems that are now stories in constant rotation at the holiday dinner table.

You might see these examples and think "Sure, that's all physical stuff that most kids go through. Sure, most kids don't just fall down their entire lives and through young adult hood at that rate...but it doesn't mean she can't excel at something....right?"

I'll tell you about the day that logic went out the window for my Mom and Dad. I was 19. I was at home studying for class when my Dad asked me to run to the grocery store for him. I was happy for the break, and took the list to the store. I returned with all but one item. That was the 3 bananas he had asked for. He said "You forgot the bananas?" But I hadn't. "Well, I got to the banana section, and there weren't any bunches with just 3 bananas on them. So I couldn't get your bananas." He shook his head as if I'd just squirted him in the face with a water gun. "You.do.know....that you can...tear... bananas off a bunch, right? You do know that you don't have to buy them as they are - that you are allowed to pick and choose and separate them if necessary??"

I didn't know. HAD.NO.CLUE.

And you may be wondering what brought on these memories for me.

I was at work the other day. I walked into the copy room. There wasn't anyone else in there, which is rare. The door shut behind me and I began looking for my supplies. When I found what I needed I headed to the door I had just come through. This is an important fact, simply because of what I did next.

On that door was a post-it note. It said "Please do not use." And I'll be damned if I didn't just stand there and think "Hm. Wonder what's up with the door. I guess I shouldn't use it. I should stand here all alone in this room and wait for it to be safe to use again." And there I stood for a good 60 seconds.

Right about then, one of our copy guys came through the door. I had one of those "OHMYGOSH!" looks on my face. He asked "What's wrong?" I pointed to the stickie note on the door. He took it off. "That was left over from some earlier copy project we did." And then the realization hit him. "DID YOU THINK THAT WAS FOR THE DOOR? IS THAT WHY YOU WERE STANDING IN HERE?" Others had filtered in at this point.

"No, uh...no. I ... well!?...ok, yes. Maybe? But the note..and the thing..." I whined and pointed in a meek attempt to justify my immobilization. "gah...whatever...." I gave up and pouted all the way back to my desk.

It was the bananas all over again. And there were witnesses.

It's Like He Loves Me Anyway

Friday night I settled onto the couch to rule my living room queendom and order the subject television around. Mr. Zoom cuddled up with me and said "I'm going to stay here forever." My reply? "Bring ice cream."

I left the house today with the camera. I wanted to give Mr. Zoom some time to have the house to himself. Plus, I just don't sit still very well and wanted to go exploring.

I went up to Old Town Orange. I was goofing around at the train station when a train came through. It had fun graffiti on it. I love graffiti. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because someone wanted someone to notice what they did...and I noticed. So I got to just stand there while the train came by and brought me fun graffiti to take pictures of.

Here's the link to the set on flickr if you want to see it:

http://flickr.com/photos/ivegotzooms/sets/72157594318850457/

I also came across this shop window. The shop WAS called Stiches. But someone fixed the window so it now says "TITS". And I'm still laughing about that.

The other night when I was driving home from work, I saw this cross on the side of the road.

It says Robert on it. It also says "from your little sister." Roadside memorials get me the same way graffiti does. Someone wanted someone to notice, and I did. I just wish I knew more about what happened. Or maybe I don't.

It's Like Having Your Dreams Become Reality.

Just in time for Halloween, in fact so early it's almost "Christmas Crap in June" sickening, I've unintentionally transformed our bedroom into a set for horror movies.

Imagine, if you can, your loving spouse asleep in bed as you enter the room and approach "your side" to settle down in what should be the one place you feel the safest. There is no light, because you know from past experience that she has night terrors. And sometimes turning on the light triggers them. So you've learned to approach softly. You've learned that if you can round the corner of the foot of the bed, you are home free. So you get to the corner of your own bed and think "Ah, safe. Bed bed bed bed, mmmmm". Your guard down, your wife shoots straight up in bed and emits a scream that could only be manufactured in hell by minions from the wrong side of hell's tracks and sent to kthulu and a Minotaur for delivery to the human world.

This kind of performance last night by me caused Mr. Zoom to suffer what he has dubbed "a crumbler". That's when I scream at him without warning and cause him to lose muscle control in his legs. And it makes him crumble to the floor.

This particular night terror was one of the most vivid I have ever had. I remember "waking up" to a form standing right next to my bed. I remember being terribly frightened, and swinging wildly at it. It then split into 3 forms and I continued to swing. As I was doing this, I looked to my left and saw Mr. Zoom's figure crumbling next to the bed. This is the moment that I "woke up" for real and realized I was having a terror. I had not heard myself screaming. I immediately began to apologize to Mr. Zoom, who amazingly didn't walk over to my side of the bed and smother me with a pillow.

After he got in bed, he said "Wow honey, that was a crumbler. I nearly peed on the floor just now." And that's when I broke out into loud, uncontrollable sobs. Not just the squeaky crying kind, but the out of breath, manic, unreasonable, sobbing kind.

All of you people out there with normal wives and girlfriends, don't you just wish you could get you one of these? Mr. Zoom calls it the wheel of emotions. Then he makes the best "whirring" noise while he fake spins it in the air.

I was devastated that I had once again night terror crumbled him. I try not to cry in front of him, because I know how much girls crying rips his heart apart. And I don't find myself crying except when I'm tired and I feel overwhelmed. All the frustration of having this hair trigger screaming switch that I can't get rid of or even be conscious for when it's flipped just got to me and I felt defeated.

Mr. Zoom tried to comfort me. After I continued to fall apart, he said "Well, just know that if you ever wake up and there's a warm, smelly biscuit on your side of the bed, you will know why."

And that brought me back around. I began to laugh cry, which finally evolved into laughing. And apologizing. Over and over. But he wouldn't let me keep saying I was sorry.

Because he is, hands down, THE best husband in the world. I hope he knows how much I appreciate him. Even when I'm screaming.

It's Like We Heard a Noise.

Mr. Zoom and I witnessed something very surreal this past Saturday night. We were on the couch watching t.v. I was taking up my regular 85% of the couch lounging space by lying down - which forces Mr. Zoom to sit up at the end. I usually drive the remote until I've become frustrated with the Tivo and my inability to distinguish actual show from commercials. Which leads to a lot of forward, backward, forward, cuss cuss cuss, backward - and then me tossing the remote at Mr. Zoom with a "you do it, it hates me."

Now, we've known we have a family of Raccoons that visits our home at night. They scared the crap out of me one night by walking through our courtyard about midnight. They were so loud that I woke up thinking there was a person or two in our courtyard - for nefarious reasons. I got up, peeked outside and was shocked to see two large raccoons, with a smaller baby traveling behind them as they ran up over the fence. They had been taking turns in our fish pond, apparently. So far none of the fish have been eaten, but we have to count them every morning to be sure.

So back to me hogging the couch. Mr. Zoom and I suddenly hear a lot of commotion in the back yard. Our sliding glass doors were open, and the screens were closed. The noises were definitely animal. They were sorta growly, sorta chattery. Hard to describe. It made the back of my neck wriggly with hairs standing on end. We paused the t.v. and looked at each other. Our couch is situated so that our backs are to the yard/screens/sliders.

Mr. Zoom turned slowly around and whispered "HONEY, IT'S THE RACCOONS!" I raised myself and could barely see a little racoon with his paws up on our screen, looking in the house like he was a shopper at the mall. When we Zooms got up to move, we were positive the raccoons would bolt. But they didn't. Instead, Mom and Dad raccoon spent the time running at each other full speed, and tumbling in a ball of fur together until they came to a rest at the other side of the yard. The baby continued to peer inside the house. He even started to pull on the screen as if he was going to pull it down. Mom and Dad were HUGE. I mean HUGE. I don't know about you guys, but I used to think raccoons were maybe as large as a cat. Let's just say, these guys could eat all the cats in our neighborhood - and give any of the dogs a good run for their kibble.

Me, being a total sucker for anything animal and furry kept saying "AWWW HONEY LOOK! AREN'T THEY CUTE! HE'S HUNGRY!" Mr. Zoom very gingerly went to the screen and shut both of the sliding glass doors. And locked them. If we had a hockey stick in the house, I know he would have fetched that first. He wisely said "I don't want them trying to get into the house. They will get into the house. Look at the size of them. They could get through the screen in no time."

We both grabbed our cameras and tried to take pictures. None of mine came out because of the glass on the sliding doors. Mr. Zoom got a picture of some glowing eyes, and one of a fuzzy tail, and that was about it. The entire time we watched them, they romped in our back yard and continued to pull on the screen doors. They rolled in the grass, stretched out, got up and continued to charge each other. They talked to each other. They kindof reminded me of miniature bears.

It was the most bizarre thing I've ever seen play out in my back yard.

"That's it" said Mr. Zoom. "They are far too comfortable around us. I'm off to Ace tomorrow to buy some synthetic coyote urine." Listen folks. This is only our second year of owning this house. What kind of animal wiz am I going to be looking for this time NEXT year at the hardware store? And why does everyone I ask about this product act like it's common knowledge? Again with the living under a rock for me.

Turns out that coyote wee wee freaks them out and they avoid such areas completely. Natural predator and such and such. Which, great - they don't get hurt, nothing gets poisoned, everyone is happy. But I was still a little sad.

I really didn't want to coyote wee wee the yard, but I knew it was for the best. The raccoons aren't going to benefit from my making them comfortable around humans, and I'm not going to benefit from them eating one of our fish at some point. And they are destructive. They eat everything, and tear up everything looking for things to eat.

We still have the Shmoo visit us from time to time, and we still have our fish. Apparently their pee isn't good for deterring much wildlife.

It's Like An ET Extra Wandered Away from the Movie

Home ownership rocks. It really does. Except when it blows hard. It blows pretty hard when you have to hire a band of beekeepers to extract a hive out of your roof. Twice.

The only good thing about it is watching the cars drive by and wonder why there's some guy in a hazmat looking suit on your roof? Because the bees aren't visible to just anyone happening on the scene randomly. Or so we've learned.

I was only brave enough to take pictures (from practically across the street) for about 5 minutes. Then I ran back inside where the angry bees couldn't get me.

If the bees are smart, which I think they are, they will just let me continue to live my life in unbelievable Needs Helmetness as their revenge.

I had learned after about 15 years of being a member of the work force that I am never EVER going to be able to obtain a cup of coffe and drive to work with it, without wearing it. Or having the interior of my car wear it. Impressive, no?

To counter act this, I put one of those little packages of kleenex in the center console of my truck. You know the ones I'm talking about? The little plastic wrapped mini kleenex package your gradma or your mom carried in her purse?

The next day I get my coffee on the way to work. I predictablly spilled it. Thing is, I didn't count on spilling it directly into the plastic reservoir that is ON TOP OF the center console that I put the kleenex in. And it happens that the center console flips open in order to get to the contents inside. Flips open in a way that all the coffee it was now holding would have been flug all over the truck and me (again) in an attempt to clean it up.

It was a magnificinet moment. I drove to work with a little puddle of coffee flowing around the center console top like a lava lamp goo blob. And it circulated in time with my traffic stops, starts and turns. DELIGHTFUL. It's footprint remains dried on the console today.

It's Like Morning Conversation with the Zooms

Mr. Zoom and I were having our typical

"....bla bla distrubing conversation, disturbing conversation, bla bla bla...."

He stopped me mid bla and asked "You know this why?"

"...uh, ok, but remember you asked for this..."

This is when he put on his sassy pants and delivered a speech. "Did I also ask for you to get out of the shower every day, refuse to dry off, and then hug me so that all the water ends up on my clothes?"

I have a strange dislike for bothering to "dry off like a normal person" after a shower. It's one of my features.

"Yes, yes you did. When you said 'I do'".

"Oh really? I don't remember that."

"That's ok, most men don't remember much about their wedding. You love being my towel."

"I do.?!"

"SEE! You just asked for it again!"

It's Like Trying To Read Alien

I am the master of communication encryption. I believe the government will be knocking on my door shortly with an important assignment.

Friday night Mr. Zoom and I took his mom out for her birthday. She was browsing the wine list and asked me "how do you pronounce that" as she pointed to a 15 letter word. I said "not on your life. I have no clue." Mr. Zoom said "where are you guys looking?" What I read? Dessert Wines. What I said? "Desert wines."

"Really?" he said. "Wines they serve in hot sandy places?"

At another point in the evening, Mr. Zoom threw out a trivia question. "What do they have in Agusta every year?"

"..A gusta wind?" said I. This caused me to be amused at myself for the remainder of the evening. The correct answer was some golf thing, but I was too busy being a simpleton.

Sunday we were at El Pollo Loco's drive through in our jammies. I was driving, so I was charged with ordering. What I said "Three chicken breasts, five orders of flour tortillas, one diet coke and one regular coke." What the girl working the speaker heard "One chicken breast, 10 flour tortillas and a large coke?"

I tried again. "THREE chicken breasts. FIVE packets, orders of flour tortillas. ONE DIET COKE. ONE REGULAR COKE." "Ok" she said, "drive forward."

At the window she said to me "So that's 2 tortillas and a breast?" After finally clarifying the order, I turned to Mr. Zoom and said "I really need to figure out the code words each day before I leave the house. Maybe I should have orderd 10 dalmation sandwiches and two crow pies?" I have no idea why my mind went to 101 dalmations and made them sandwiches, or the nursery rhyme of birds baked into a pie, but there you go.

I also asked for salt (Mr. Zoom loves extra salt) and was given a packet of sauce.

It's Like Scrubs is in Syndication

Once again I'm in a place where I can't post very much. And as you are all probably sick of hearing me say, I can't read the rest of you, or comment from the office. It makes me sad, because I'm getting to know a few more writers out there and I like their stuff.

And comments. I believe in a past comment, Wolf Girl eloquently described how my (hesitant to call it a) brain works when interacting with others. I adore how you people give me little bits of fortune cookie like wisdom to carry with me. I just wish I could let you know that a little more often, or with a little more consistency.

Lately, the office thinks it needs me more than usual. Although I'm positive I will have caused a revision of that assessment within the week. This combined with the fact that *heart* Scrubs is now in syndication on WGN, well - I'm pretty useless by the end of the day. More so than normal.

The only things that have even hit my radar that aren't Scrubs or work related are these:

1. Supermarket milk is kept at an alarmingly cold temperature. I'm talking dry ice like injuries from carrying the stuff 100 feet to the register. Ice cream containers don't even make me do the hand switch, use the arms of my shirt for protection wiggles like supermarket milk did last night. And we had four containers of ice cream Dibs with us, so I know. I kept telling Mr. Zoom how much this concerned me - and he properly dismissed me by explaining "you picked the ones from the back, knucklehead."

2. Finkos (FedExKinko's) are ruining things. Kinkos was always open 24 hours a day, and now some Finkos have HOURS! That's not cool. Ok sure, I don't ever need a Finkos, but that's not the point. For some reason I find a Finkos with hours to be a threat to my sense of "things that just are." Like, 7-11 is always open, there is always something you need from Target, and Mr. Zoom will always get out of a traffic ticket, and I will not.

So there you have it. I'll be out for about a week, wherein out means being at the office (more than normal) and unintentionally alienating my co-workers (some of them for perhaps the third or fourth time).

It's Like I'm Tourette's Lite

You know how sometimes you can say the wrong thing out loud - and far too loud - for the situation? You know how YOU probably only do that, I dunno, like three times a year? If that? I do not know what normal behavior is anymore, so I'm probably guessing high.

Well I do it often. So much lately, that it's becoming alarmingly less surprising each time. Look, if I'm alarmed, you know it's pretty scary for those around me.

Today's office jibber jabber consisted of famous people. Some people in our office apparently have famous pals, sisters, brothers, friends of someone's dog sitter, etc. Some have been in movies no one has heard of, some were extras, some are names everyone would recognize.

A co-worker came to my desk after ovehearing one of these conversations. She was reviewing the names that had been dropped. She was ruminating about how nifty it would be to hang out with the "famous". This is when I impulsively blurted out "The thing is, we don't know what 'famous' people are really like apart from their public persona...."

Right about here is were all ambient office noise suddenly ceased, creating (what I prefer to view as) the illusion that I was practicaly screaming when I continued,

"...I mean, most of them probably just end up locking themselves in your bathroom so they can do a line or ten of coke off your counter!"

Well that did it. The co-worker in question suddeny heard her phone ringing and ran the hell away. All the other people who didn't just hear my comment, but were force fed the thing at a freakishly uncomfortable volume, intermittently broke their stunned stance and wandered away while trying not to make eye contact with me.

My mind loves - LOVES - to take a conversation happening in my vacininty, find an obscure reference from my life's past, and pretend that it makes perfect sense to throw some varation of that experience out into the world.

Years before Mr. Zoom I dated a musician. He played in a band with another musician who was - semi famous - maybe at some point in his past musical career. At this point however, about 98, 97 - this particular individual had made it a habit to appear at our home without notice. He would then walk directly into our loo, lock himself in, and do coke off our counters for hours. By himself. I never found out what finally made him leave - I had always bolted from the household before he departed.

That situation, while possibly the teeniest bit relevant to a discussion about famous people, was of no value to the conversation at hand. Yet my mind readied and shot that cannon ball of information out into my workplace - as if it was the bestest example of famous folk and their antics, EVER.

I tell Mr. Zoom all the time "Sometimes my face just talks. I don't know how or why. Please don't divorce me." Now I'll have to add "when I get fired."

It's Like Paying For Air, Only It Makes Even Less Sense Than That.

I bet that's what it feels like to be married to me.

Mr. Zoom kindly reminded me that we were back on track for watching our funds this morning. I consciously registered the message. I was not going to make that $20 tip mistake again. My inner dyslexic, however, sent the following orders to my body: "At the first possible moment after this conversation, throw some money at a situation and obtain nothing in return. That'd be NEAT."

Not 5 minutes after our e-mail conversation, I bought lunch from our office lunch vending lady. I paid her in advance for an item she would bring around noon. She does this every single day. I've done this with her at least 38 times, and it always works out just fine.

This time she returned to our office when I was away from my desk AND she left without even trying to find me. Normally, she will have someone go find the person who ordered from her so she can deliver. I've been the person she's asked to do this very thing, a bunch of times. Our office paging system isn't the best, so you can't always be sure you will hear the arrival of the lunch lady. She knows that.

About 12:30 I started to wonder where she was. I asked around and everyone gave me the face. The "oooh bummer, she already came and went" face. So there I stood, in the middle of my office having paid $6.00 for a lunch that would never find it's way to me today. I ended up going to Del Taco and spending another $6.00.

So basically I paid $12.00 to eat barely $6.00 worth of food today. FANTASTIC!

How could I have thought it would go any differently? There's nothing more dangerous than my being extremely careful.

In addition, as I walked through the mall to get to the Del Taco, a human pop up ad handed me a Bic Duo "For free! It's a high lighter and a pen, all in one!" SWELL! Can I eat it? NO. Do I need one of these? NO. Did anyone at the office want it when I came back? No.

My ability to obtain the things I don't need and lose or outright destroy the ones I do is truly astounding. I played with the pen while waiting in line for my lunch, and predictably wrote on myself (unintentionally) with both the ink (black) and the high lighter (yellow).

Might as well write FINANCIAL DOOM!! on my forehead and highlight it with screaming yellow high lighter.

Gumdrop With an Attitude Problem or Rice Candy?

My co-workers will often bring all kinds of cookies and candy back from wherever they went to lunch. The particular day in question was special because they all went for sushi, and had stopped at a japanese market that was nearby.

They introduced me to the perfect cookie this way. It is called Pocky. They taste exactly like chocolate milano cookies, only they are what I call "chocolate covered sticks." Basically the cookie part is in a stick form, and the chocolate is on one side of it. Sooooo goood.

On another occasion, they brought back something called Botan Rice Candy.

Because they had been so right about the Pocky cookie sticks' fabulousness, I decided to try a piece of this rice candy that they were all raving about. Now, anyone already familiar with rice candy can probably guess where this is going. Apparently there's an entire subgroup of people out there that know this stuff and how it works. This group consists of everyone but me.

This is what the candy looks like out of the box. Simple enough, right? It's got a plastic wrapper on it and you unwrap it to get to the good stuff, right?

Not so much. I unwrapped the first layer and was faced with a second layer. I thought "uh? What's up with that? Oh well, sometimes you have to work for it I guess." I tried to get the gummy candy out of the inner wrapper, and I had no luck. The insides split apart and the wrapper broke off in my fingers in such a way that it was obvious the candy would not ever be freed from it's wrappery sufficiently enough to be consumed. I just figured that maybe the contents were old and I quietly slid the piece I was fighting with into the trash can.

About 10 minutes passed when the two attorneys that had purchased the candy came out and asked how I liked it. "Oh, I'm not hungry at the moment..." I said. They knew right away I was totally fibbing. "Ohmygosh!" they gushed, "YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO EAT IT, DO YOU?!"

I just kinda looked at them with a stupid look on my face. One of them grabbed a piece out of the box and started telling me "It's fun! You have to eat the wrapper! Seriously. It's meant to be eaten. That's how it works. I never should have left you alone with the candy. I didn't realize you had no idea how to work it."

I immediately thought this was an elaborate set up for retribution. I've pulled quite a few jokes on my co-workers, and was convinced that this was a clever way to trick me into eating plastic. I unintentially highlighed my naivete by defending my choice not to eat the candy wrapper with some bravado.

"Please. I might not be an expert of many things, but I know my candy and confectionary foods. I also managed to pay attention when my parents taught me not to eat paste as a kid. I'm not eating plastic. Sorry."

One of them got the gigles over my terror of eating "the plastic". She unwrapped the piece of candy she had in her hand and showed me the candy wrapped in only ONE wrapper. She then popped it in her mouth and chewed it up. Swallowed it. Then laughed at me some more.

A few other co-workers came by, and because the universe loves to grind my confidence into the carpet with the heel of it's shoe, this is exactly what happened next. Almost every single one of them saw the box, paused and then said "OH, is that Rice Candy? I love this stuff. Eating the wrapper is half the fun!"

Oh, of course it is.

That's when I gave in and realized that life had pulled a joke on me without even trying. I threw one of the candies in my mouth with the edible wrapper. It still felt like plastic to me, and sorta tasted like plastic too. But it did dissolve rather effortlessly.

That night I came home and demanded that Mr. Zoom drop everything he was doing and join me in the kitchen. You see, I still wasn't convinced that I hadn't actually eaten plastic at the office. I wanted to see if someone else, in the same kind of circumstances, would try to eat the candy the same way I did; i.e., trying to get all of the plastic off of it before eating it. To my relief, he tried to remove the second, inner wrapper too. When I told him that there was a chance that we were supposed to actually eat that inner wrapper, he said "OH, rice paper!"

And that's the exact moment I noticed the instructions/information on the box:

Well, at least I know what to be for Halloween. Girl living under a rock.

When a Bagel and Coffee Costs $23.60, It's Time To Hang It Up

Today began just like any other day. I left for work and stopped at the coffee shop for a large decaf and a cinnamon sugar bagel. Because the coffee ladies are always so nice to me, I try to tip them with a dollar about every week or so. I often pay with a card, so the opportunity for dumping any extra change from cash in their tip jar just doesn't present itself. I placed a dollar in the jar and proceeded on my way. On my way to the car, I predictably spilled much of the coffee directly onto my blue shirt. I cussed at myself and got into my truck.

On the way to the office, I made a turn. A turn I've made every day for nearly five years. Unfortunately for me, my bagel was placed in my bag in such a way that this particular turn flung the bagel and it's protective pastry bag directly onto the floor of my truck. THUMP! The bagel wiggled it's way out of the bag with each minor bump in the road - because only being half way covered in muck wasn't good enough.

I made another turn. Unbeknownst to me, I had returned my wallet in my purse so that it sat on the same trajectory as my bagel. I am not kidding you when I say my wallet flew out of my purse and landed INSIDE the now empty (save for the goo that cinnamon sugar leaves behind) pastry baggie ON THE FLOOR OF MY TRUCK.

I arrived at work and gathered up the shrapnel that was now my possessions - and inedible breakfast. I dumped the bagel and magic bag into the trash, and spilled EVEN MORE COFFEE ON MYSELF while hobbling to the elevator in my office building.

We have a food vendor lady that comes to our office in the morning, and then at lunch time. She sells breakfast and lunch items. Because I now had no breakfast, I went to her to buy something to replace my bagel. I chose something innocuous, and went to pay her the $2 I owed her.

I opened my sticky wallet, and inside looking back at me was a $1 bill. What you don't know at this particular moment is that I left my house this morning with both a $20 AND a $1. Because I was now staring at only a $1 bill - say it with me people - that meant that I had tipped the coffee ladies $20 this morning!!

I started to laugh - so that I wouldn't cry. I explained to the food lady that I would not be needing her services - but thanks.

I sat down at my desk and looked at the clock. It was only 9:15. I had left my house at 8:45 this morning. In one half hour I had managed to buy a bagel and a coffee for $23.60 - of which I was able to consume ONLY about half of the coffee and none of the bagel. Oh, and lets not forget the cost of now dry cleaning an item for yet another coffee stain.

I knew I had to confess to Mr. Zoom right away. Because making this sad situation even worse was the fact that JUST LAST NIGHT he and I had a talk about saving money and being super careful with what we bought. Of course we did. And apparently my first act in helping us accomplish that goal was to literally throw money away.

I shot him an e-mail with the subject line: Your Wife is a Moron. The body said "Go ahead, ask me how. But first promise you won't divorce me."

About 2 minutes later my desk phone rang. It was Mr. Zoom. He wanted to know "what did you do. I won't divorce you." After a good few false starts by me, both due to my giggles AND my reluctance to just come out with what I'd done, he said "Is this going to cause me great pain and anguish?" And of course I heard "cause" and thought he said "cost" - so I said "Well, I can tell you that so far it's cost you at least $20!"

I finally got the whole story out. Mr. Zoom gave me the Best Husband Ever response by giggling right along with me. Then about 2 hours later I got an e-mail from him with a present attached. I don't know how to get it to display here, I think it is too large.

It was a "cheat sheet" with a picture of a $20 and a $1 with a huge = sign between them. And that was crossed out with a giant red circle and a slash.

His Ticket Comes in the Form of a Marriage License

Labor Day afternoon. Mr. Zoom and I had slept in. We wallowed in our day off with glee. We didn't even bother to change out of our jammies the entire day.

About 3 or 4, we got hungry. I don't cook. I hate cooking. I will never like it. I did not hide this fact from Mr. Zoom before we got married. We didn't have much in the way of groceries in the house anyway, so that left us with the drive through option.

We didn't change. We just climbed into the truck in full jammie couture and began to make our way to junk food sustenance. It comes out of a window and we never have to exit the vehicle - it's like driving your couch to the kitchen.

On our way Mr. Zoom broke out into what I thought was channeling. "I just California stopped that stop sign dammit. CRAP. Rolled it. dammit. DAMMIT." I said "uhhhh....what's wrong? Is there a cop pulling you over? I don't see lights...or a car .... " He said "Yeah....DAMMIT." That's about when Mr. Zoom pulled over, and I saw the police car coming up behind us. Now, here's the important part. The police man hadn't even started his lights or was he even behind us before Mr. Zoom started to pull over. I tried to be supportive "It's ok honey. It's just a ticket, no biggie. Traffic school."

Mr. Officer came over to my side of the vehicle. I had removed my sunglasses, because I figured the way we looked - jammies, slippers and my special fright wig bed head, it would be helpful. He asked us to turn off the engine. He said "I assume you know why I'm here, since I didn't even pull you over yet." Mr. Zoom took full responsibility. He admitted he rolled the sign. Mr. Officer wanted his license, registration and insurance.

Here's where we looked like total crack heads. I had about 2 years worth of registrations in my glove compartment. I fished the wrong one out and gave it to the Officer. THEN I found the right one and gave him that. Mr. Zoom handed over his license, and an expired insurance card. We assured the officer that our insurance was current, but we didn't exactly have proof of that...at the moment.

I knew we were going down. I've been yelled at by traffic officers before. My proof of insurance cards renew ever six months, so often I forget to take them from the house into the car. STUPID, I know. It's just one of those things with me. Like losing my keys. I do it all the time and I should know better - yet I insist on making that same mistake over and over.

Now, even though I knew a ticket was unavoidable, I was a little happy about it. You see, I've had to go to traffic school 4 times since I started driving. And this time the ticket wasn't going to me. I love Mr. Zoom more than anything, but the guy hasn't had to experience traffic school on the level I have. Some might argue that is because he is a better driver than I am, and I would agree. Very much so. But this is my sense of fairness we are looking into and your logic has no authority here.

In the 4 times I've been pulled over and ticketed, I've never once been disrespectful to the officer. I've always admitted what I've done. I always thought being honest and respectful might get me a pass. And I've got boobs! If Mr. Zoom's opinion of them is correct, they are quite nice and should have at least gotten me out of a ticket or two. Alas, this is not the case for me. I've been to traffic school every time as a result. Anyone who's been to this snoozefest just one time knows how claw your eyes out agonizing it is. Stupid not working boobs.

So you can, perhaps, see how I smugly thought to myself "Ah, Mr. Zoom...be polite, apologize and be honest. It's not going to get you out of it. Trust me, I know. I'll pack you a little lunchable for your day at traffic school."

That's when the officer said "Well, since it's a holiday and all, I'm not going to write you a ticket. Bla bla bla careful bla bla bla pay attention......" and my body visibly tightened in disbelief. Mr. Zoom thanked the officer and we were on our way again.

I turned to him and said "I hate you." I then followed up with some impressive bitterpout, "I NEVER GET OUT OF TICKETS! And I've got the girls! It's not fair. How many times have you been to traffic school?" He responded, "Once." I repeated "I hate you." Mr. Zoom knowing he was dealing with crazy, decided to run with it. "Not only that, but the one time I had to go, it was Kevin and Bean's comedy traffic school." For anyone not familiar, Kevin and Bean are the comedy morning drive duo on radio station KROQ. They are immature jackasses. I love their shtick. So of course it's only fair that he got to attend their traffic school that NO LONGER EXISTS.

Now, I can't hold on to a thought for very long. Generally I'd have been peeved at the perceived injustice for about 5 minutes, and then totally forgotten about it. This was not to be the case this day. As we rounded the corner on our way home again, I said "AND WEREN'T WE NEXT TO A SCHOOL?? How is that fair? I NEVER get out of tickets. EVER. AND I HAVE THE GIRLS!"

Mr. Zoom, probably amazed that I'd maintained a subject for more than 10 minutes now, asked "So, are you saying that if you were driving, we would have gotten a ticket?" I put on my indignant face and shot back "YES. Not only that, we would have ALSO been cited for not having proof of insurance all proper like. IN FACT, I bet if you had ASKED him for a ticket, he would have STILL let you go. I hate you."

As we sat at the light waiting, I took the opportunity to yell out of the truck's open windows so other drivers with open windows could hear: "YES, here he is! The great ticket avoider. Yesireee. Ticketless."

Mr. Zoom calmly replied "Look, why don't you get on your bike and ride back over to the officer. Explain all of this to him and get me a ticket. OK?" My reply was flat and bitter. "I still hate you."

Later that night we were watching t.v. on the couch. I got a warm and fuzzy feeling over having Mr. Zoom with me and I said "I love you. Thanks for putting up with me." He said "Aw, I love you too. I'm glad to see you didn't hate me for very long." I smiled and said "Oh, I still hate you - traffic ticket shield man. Ticket repeller. I just love you at the same time."

Cujo Was A Jack Russel

I needed some mystery bricks (frozen dinners) so I hit the grocery store behind our house the other night. When I came out, there was some police activity outside the shopping center - down the sidewalk a ways. This is nothing out of the ordinary. All the same, I decided to avoid that area. I cut through the parking lot to get to my truck.

It was past dusk. It wasn't quite dark, but just minutes away from that if I had to guess. I was keeping an eye on the police activity, which at the time seemed like a really good idea.

Proud of myself for not walking straight into trouble, I gently swung my bag of frozen food at my side as I journeyed to my truck. At the very moment I chose to mentally pat myself on the back, a growling, snarling set of teeth with a black nose attached and some fur lunged at me from inside a parked car. At the time it happened though, I did not know 1. what it was, or 2. that it couldn't get me - that the window was only cracked enough to funnel the noise directly into my ear.

When I regained mental consciousness, I was hugging myself and my teeth were chattering together as if I was really REALLY cold. I couldn't scream, although I wanted to. Somehow I managed to hold on to both my mystery bricks AND my bladder. All I can say is that the owner of that car is extremely lucky that I made a visit to the loo before I left the house that night. I'm telling you right now, if I had anything to give up in the pipes when that incident happened, it would have been all over the parking lot and probably on the car as well.

While I was regaining my composure, I realized I had jettisoned myself a good 30 feet away from the car without knowing it. I looked back in to see what kind of beast had given me the scare of my life. I'm pretty sure it was a Jack Russell Terrier. His tail was wagging. He was keeping an eye on me and my threatening dinners. I love animals, but at this particular moment I gave the doggie the finger. I know it's not his "fault". He's only protecting his owner's car.

I was so mad and scared at the same time that I thought about staking out the car so I could verbally berate the owner for leaving his/her pooch in the car with the window cracked enough to make me think I was going to DIE. I didn't. I got in my truck (which ironically was only two cars away) and sat there trying to control the shaking. I finally got my heart rate close to normal and drove home.

People please. I don't want to have to start carrying extra britches every time I go to the grocery store. It's inconvenient and there's no place for me to change. I shouldn't have to survey every car I pass in a dark parking lot for the hound of hell which seems to want nothing more than for my plumbing to release as I run screaming from the car in question. DON'T LEAVE YOUR DOG LOCKED IN YOUR CAR UNATTENDED.

When The Yeti Sleeps

I finally captured a sample of Mr. Zoom and his nocturnal symphony. It is free of any visuals and clown killing. If it were listed on itunes, it would have a little [clean] next to it.

Check this out:

BuzzSaw Husband - Custom videocodes by MyWynk

It should be noted that Mr. Zoom probably deserves an award for the amount of tomfoolery he puts up with (from me alone) - and the fact that I just called it tomfoolery.

I'm Not Pregnant. Just Itchy.

I'm quite a representation of food allergies that suck. Let's take a look:

All dairy and foods made with dairy. Milk, cheese, ice cream. Real butter. Even mashed potatoes if there's enough milk/cheese/real butter in them. That right there was enough to make me cry for a whole day.

Oats. Cheerios, instant oatmeal. Seriously people. I already can't have milk (in cereal), so now we have to take away the oatmeal too?

Wheat. Frosted shredded wheat is now a distant memory.

Peanuts, walnuts, actually, any kind of nut. I don't get the scary reaction that you've heard in the news, I just get hives/rash/itching that will.not.stop. Even my hair itches. NO PEANUTBUTTER. Do you even know what it's like to give up Trader Joe's chocolate covered peanut butter pretzels? DO YOU!?

And now we can add alcoholic beverages to the list. That's right. I am allergic to booze. Thank god I already fooled Mr. Zoom into marriage.

It's not the actual alcohol I'm reacting to - but it might as well be:

http://allergies.about.com/cs/alcohol/a/aa043001a.htm

This is all based on my novice opinion and the 3,000 tubes/spray bottles of Gold Bond anti-itch savior sauce I've marinated in over the last year. All in an attempt to deny that this fact can actually be true.

And let me tell you something. You know how Claritin is "non-drowsey"? Maybe when compared to narcolepsy. Because when I have to take it for a week straight, It puts me down like a lawn dart. It is much better than trying to function on Benadryl, but it still isn't exactly the antihistamine alertness miracle.

And here's a new, lower level of reason to be bummed at the alcohol allergy. You see, ever since Mr. Zoom and I got married, our pals have created (so I've heard, anyway) a pool wherein money has been placed on when we will have a critter.

I really hope there's a square for "no critter" and someone puts a lot of money on it. Because WE AREN'T HAVING ANY KIDS. But nobody wants to hear or accept that.

Anytime I sit out a gathering among friends, they now think I'm pregnant. One weapon I could always count on to stop that silliness was DRINKING when I did see my friends.

I need to have pamphlets made. "I am not pregnant. We are sorry you won't be winning the bet - but we told you so. I am living this way because I am allergic to all foods/beverages fun. Please water me frequently. Feed me cheese less pizza, dry salad and plain or powdered doughnuts. With a side of steak."

Buttons in a Loo

I officially hate the pants I'm wearing today.

There are 3 buttons I must do/undo. Two of these three buttons do nothing but try and look decorative. And they refuse to go in or out of their respective button holes. Annoying. Like trying to crack a safe. Only you have to pee really bad and you can't go until the safe is opened. If they were some kind of convoluted pulley system that kept my britches from fleeing to my ankles without notice, I'd not hate with so much button hate. Sadly though, the only one doing any kind of naked preventing is the third hidden button. Which gives me no grief.

So I am at the office lootorium. My back is to the bowl as I struggle with my pants. In one motion I feel the button tension ease, and I hear a *kerplink* behind me. I looked down and one of the two angry buttons is gone. Both were free of their holes, but one was just plain missing. I thought "Get out. There's NO WAY my button somehow got away from me and landed in the toilet. There just isn't."

Oh, but there was. Don't ask me how it happened, because I don't know. When I turned around to look, I saw that button resting at the bottom of the toilet bowl. It looked peaceful, like a nickel someone wished on and tossed into a fountain.

I wished my button a nice trip through the sewer systems of California. I let it know that I hated it, probably as much as it hated me. I silently questioned whether it would actually flush, being somewhat weighted - and to my relief it did. The last thing I needed was to have a button from my pants resting in the office loo, unflushable without a stick.

Don't ask me why this seemed like such a horror, especially when I've got an anti theft TamPen on my desk, in my pen holder.

When It's a Slow Zoom Week

There's so much that happens in my days that I can't write about. Believe it or not, I think about it [sometimes] before I throw something on here.

That, combined with a spike in business for my particular group at work has made for infrequent posting by me.

So what's a girl to do? Turn the video feature on her husband. That's what.

It's hard to video him by surprise anymore. He's SOO on to me, that I can rarely evoke that sigh signaling his reminder program has been activated: "I married her. Voluntarily. Remember when you thought stuff like this was cute. REMEMBER!"

Last night at a shopping center Mr. Zoom went into a sunglasses store. He's been shopping for new ones for at least the last 50 years. Ok, maybe I embellish. It's only been about 3 years.

I tried to catch him trying glasses on, but he was too far away from me. The only thing I did get was when he finally saw me shooting video at him through the store's window, he did that sigh/head shake thing. Which makes me laugh. Which equals entertainment for me. Underwhelment for you.

Check this out:

fired - Custom videocodes by MyWynk

In previous sunglass browsing experiences, I've noticed the name PEOPLES. Of course, I didn't bother to read the OLIVER part. I said to Mr. Zoom "Wasn't that an actor in ... uh... the 80s or something? Didn't he have kinda funny hair or something? How does just anybody sell stuff now?"

Mr. Zoom cleared things up: "No knucklehead. That was MARIO VAN, not OLIVER."

We Can't Stop Here - This is Bat Country

I just finished having this conversation at the office:

Big Gay MoMo: "Where are you going right now?'

Z: "Back to my desk.?."

MoMo: "Really? mmm.. Because, well...."

Z: "Ugh. Just spill it. These talks never end well. You might as well just get whatever it is out there."

MoMo: "Ok. Well, JL is worried that you are going to tell on us because we were talking about boobs."

Z: "Um. What? You were? Do I care? I don't think so. What are you talking about?"

MoMo: "Well, he's paranoid. Did you even hear us talking about boobs? Because we weren't talking about yours. We were talking about transvestite boobs."

Z: "...No...I wasn't aware of any conversation involving boobs, mine or otherwise by you or anyone else. And even if I had, I'd laugh. I suppose you can go tell JL that I won't be reporting him for not talking about my boobs? Or transvestite boobs? Or whatever you need to tell him to make this conversation not happen again?"

How To Keep Co-Workers From Stealing Your Pens

I'm so tired of trying to find a pen when I need one, which is about every thirty seconds.

I even tried keeping a stash of pens in my desk drawers, but that didn't help. People know you are likely hiding them and will just go through your drawers when you aren't there. Sometimes they will do it even when you are sitting right there.

This week I found a way to keep my pens in their holder where they belong. Very cheap, and oh so effective.

One tampon, which shall remain in it's wrapper, placed strategically in my pen holder.

Turns out they stop more than leaks.

I've now placed one in each of my desk drawers. My extra stash of pens has remained undisturbed.

Woot.

Diagnosis: Internet VD

Sunday Mr. Zoom woke up to the following sentence by his wife:

"I've got internet VD!"

Turns out that I'm fairly compulsive with my need to convey information the very moment that Mr. Zoom appears to have reached consciousness. Or walked through the door.

Saturday night I had busied myself with the internet after Mr. Zoom went to bed. I was browsing blogs with the "next blog" button. Turns out there's a one.thousand.percent chance that when doing this in the wee hours of the morning - like 2 a.m. - that the "next blog" will be porn. Loud porn that runs little sound files that make you feel like You've actually stumbled upon Caligula's Myspace account. Username Priapus.

After hitting two or three of these in a row, my computer started protesting with a little warning box on my task bar "Your computer is infected! Click here to fix it."

I followed instructions, but the little warning wouldn't go away. I gave up and resolved myself to the fact that Mr. Zoom would have to fix it when he woke up. Hence, internet VD.

"Don't worry Zoom, I'll fix it." he said. Which he did.

Too bad he can't fix my biological computer.

Last night after watching a show off of the cheater tivo, I got to thinking that I hadn't seen him watch a particular game show recently.

I, of course, had also forgotten the name of the show. But no matter, I proceeded to speak the question I had for him assuming the name would just occur to me in time. Which it didn't.

"Did they stop making that Who Wants to Guess a Million Dollars in the Suitcase show?"

Mr. Zoom giggled and said "Deal?......"

"OOOOOOOOOOH yeah! Deal or No Deal."

Then I totally lost interest in why I'd asked in the first place and moved on to whining about not wanting to go to bed yet or something.

I want a Road Toaster

roadtoast
Originally uploaded by ivegotzooms.

This is the picture that goes with the post below, since Blogger suddenly stopped letting me upload pictures.

I probably nagged it to disfunctionality.

Oh well, it wouldn't truly represent me if it weren't completely difficult to use or understand.

Kitty Returns to His Castle

This last week I'd been taking care of my parents' house while they took a road trip. They put Slausen (resident King Fluffy Britches) in the kitty hotel for a week and a half for a couple of reasons. One was the horrible heat we've had. They didn't want to leave him in the house with the unpredictable heat where I could only check on him after work. Another was he had recently been sick, and we are all a little afraid he will get sick while we weren't watching and we might lose him. Irrational, yes. Indicitive of how much we love our critters, yes.

Yesterday I went and got Slausen from his hotel for Mom and Dad, since they would be returning after pick up hours. Slausen used to be my cat. My baby. Because poor Mr. Zoom ends up in the hospital and nearly dying himself when exposed to cat for a long time...well, that's how Mom and Dad ended up adopting him. Because I had Slausen as a kitten, I knew he liked to ride in cars. When I got him safely in the truck I let him out of his carrier:

He doesn't know he's a cat. Wags his tail even while running to the various windows to look out. I'd bet he'd hang his head out the window too if I dared roll one down. Which I don't.

After leaving him fully petted, fooded and watered, I headed back to work.

This next picture is going to require a little explaining.

You see, I've got this thing about harassing Mr. Zoom into taking me to Canada on vacation. I don't even have much of a specific reason to want to go there, or a specific location within the Canada that I want to see. I just - for some reason - latched on to that idea and in true womanly fashion - will not let it go.

If there's ever an open ended discussion about destination - I'll illogically reply with "how about Canada?" i.e. "Where should we go to eat tonight?" "How about Canada?" Sometimes I'm more creative: "I need to find a place that sells ___________." "OHH, I bet there's one in CANADA!"

It's gotten to the point where he feeds me the lines now. "If we drove to __________, the shortest route there would probably be through ...." "CANADA!?" "Yes Zoom, Canada. I know you want to go there. I haven't forgotten."

I've now brought this unfortunate passtime to another level by wanting to obtain a motor home type thing and drive everywhere on vacation. Not just Canada. I have officially hit the crazy, old lady (sans cats) who wants a motor home age. I suppose this could be my mid life crisis.

So on the way back to work after replacing kitty in his castle, I saw THIS on the road:

Ok, originally the vision for this part of the post had the picture. But Blogger won't let me do it now so it's all out of order and the picture in the post above this one.

I want one of these Road Toaster Airstream thingies. Mr. Zoom and I looked on the all knowing internet, and we've determined that my new love is actually an Airstream Bambi. Although I can't ride in something called a Bambi, so I'm going to call it a road toaster.

I came home with this picture and all kinds of jibber jabber: "We could upgrade my truck with a tow package, buy one of these and GO TO CANADA!"

How Do You Feel About Gift Cards?

heart
Originally uploaded by ivegotzooms.

Or, in my younger days, that which was called a Gift Certificate.

I love them. Honest. If I'm fortunate enough to get one, I'll sometimes put it on the table and peer at it through a heart shaped hand formation.

Ok, I lied. I don't really do that. The only time I've made that heart shaped hand formation (other than just now making that blurry picture) was when I brought the third season of Scrubs home on DVD. Apparently I also had an overwhelming need to show Mr. Zoom how unfortunate his choice in wifery was. Again.

But in all non-lying ness, I really love receiving a Gift Card. It's not that I like shopping, either. I hate shopping with a purpose. "Have to find a ______ for ________ to go with _________." What I love is being somewhere without an agenda, finding a thing that I believe I can't live without, and having a Gift Card to buy it with.

It should be noted that I am equally in love with gifts I have received that were of the non-gift-card type. A number of my favorite possessions were given to me in that retro "aha, there's something I bet she'd like for Christmas/Birthday/Happy Parole Party and hasn't bought for herself yet" kind of way.

I think both are wonderful gestures.

So many people are annoyed at Gift Cards. Not just annoyed, but downright offended. I've never seen something so clearly intended for good feelings go so wrong. Not since the last time I offered a piece of my steak to my best vegetarian pal in the world.

Maybe other people live in the kind of world where the friend/relative/secret santa target DOESN'T already have that particular item in the price range they are considering. Or that someone else hasn't already gotten for them. Or that they said they liked because someone's sister was there and would be offended if they told the truth, but they really don't want that thing. Sure, gift receipts are great for exchanges or returns, but isn't that really just a more complicated Gift Card when you are done with all of that?

I'm not saying everyone I know has the ability to buy everything they've ever wanted. Far from it. But, in this world of Target where you can buy multiples of just about everything you could ever want for what feels like less than what a #2 meal deal costs at Carl's Jr., it's really difficult to pick up an item that someone doesn't already have.

Even worse is the fact that the internet makes pre-ordering and hard to find items available to the giftee 24 hours a day. Even on the most notoriously impossible to shop on holidays "in real life." I don't have the time or energy to try and beat someone to the purchase, and I certainly don't expect someone else to do it for me in reverse.

Dear world: Stop complaining about how uncreative and unthoughtful the Gift Card you just received is. If it came from me, it is actually quite the opposite. It means I've considered the possibilities of my being able to make you smile, and I felt that this form of smileage was going to be the most effective.

I'd also like to point out that many Gift Cards now come in a downright cute, if not clever, design. Some with impressive holders to present them in. Presented to YOU. From ME. Quit it with the entitlement for a moment and whine to me about real injustices, like having your organs donated without your permission. Or being forced to meet my parents without an interventionist.

If you can't appreciate someone trying to give you an opportunity to chose something you'd like - send your cards to me. I might even make that heart shaped hand formation while I'm picking up a 20 pack of extra large granny style undies for you at Target. You're going to need them if you insist on wearing your head up your ass.

That Wasn't How I Thought That Was Going to Go

So at lunch today I run over to the shi shi Shopping Center to make an exchange on an item. Since I was there, I thought I'd hit Wahoos, because I love Wahoos. And I'm alone. So I can be as messy as I want to be. Lettuce flying, rice and bean shrapnel - basically I could chipper shredder my way through it because...I'M ALONE!

I'm halfway through my second chicken taco when I hear "OOOH, we know the same restaurant!"

I turn around and it's a file clerk from our firm. And he's not just any file clerk. No. Of course he's the one who - I can say this because he's over 18 - he's hot. He's all of 21 years old.

While I hope to pride myself on being the kind of dirty old lady who is absolutely harmless - yet isn't afraid to acknowledge hotness (quietly in her own head and with full disclosure to her husband - as we share these kinds of harmless observations with each other), it's quite uncomfortable when said hotness is being all polite and junk out of the office. I want to appreciate hotness from afar. I don't need it walking up to me and having manners. I don't know what to do with social situations in general - adding manners nearly gives me anaphylactic shock.

He says to me "OH HI! Are you here alone? My goodness. Would you like to come over to our table over there? I'm here with so-and-so from the copy room and we saw you sitting here."

I smiled nervously and said "Oh, no thank you. That's nice, but no. I'm fine here." He said "Ok then, just wanted to see if you wanted company." Then he went away.

That's when I discovered what had have been an entire head of shredded lettuce and at least 3 black beans in my teeth!! Not JUST the back or side teeth, noooooo. THE FRONT ONES. Can you imagine? He probably ran back to his table and told his friend "Not only is she alone for lunch, but she has all this food in her grille! How sad. Is that what happens when you get old?"

I didn't know where they were sitting, so I tried to wait them out so I wouldn't have to pass them on the way out to my truck. Unfortunately, this backfired on me. He and his friend must have just left minutes before I did. They pulled out of the parking space in their own truck- which thanks to the math of "what are the chances" - is parked directly behind mine. They see me, I don't see them. They honk the horn and scare the lettuce right out of my teeth. He yells "NICE TRUCK!"

I waved and said to myself "I bet he's gay" just because I felt defensive, and now needed a change of underwear.

Of course we arrived at the office parking structure at the same time. I again tried to be clever and avoid having to do the uncomfortable walk to the elevator and ride up to our floor with him and the other guy. I guess they saw me drive in as well, and so they kinda waited. AGAIN WITH THE POLITE. So questions were thrown at me, and I answered them by showing as little teeth as possible and taking sips of my soda through the straw. As if to say "oh, sorry, can't talk....busy....drinking."

Of course we all rode in the elevator together.

I've never been so happy to see those elevator doors part. I waved and practically sprinted to my desk.

Dave Matthews Fans - Look Away.

Dave Matthews' voice annoys me. I'm sorry. I don't hear what the rest of you seem to hear. And love.

I will say the tunes are agreeable, and even Mr. Zoom is a fan of him/them. But, when the DM starts to sing I involuntarily siezure with teeth gritting and eye squinting. Stone me if you must.

Tonight after dinner Mr. Zoom and I got into the car to drive home when I remembered that a co-worker of his had told him to keep a specific weekend open this month. That particular weekend happened to be one we had already committed to do something, so Mr. Zoom had to turn him down.

I hadn't remembered to ask at the time what they were trying to plan, so I brought it up in the car.

"What was it that The Pilot wanted you to do on that weekend?"

"Oh, go see Dave Matthews."

"Oh, I hate him [DM]. Too bad. You could have totally gone to that if we didn't already have that other thing we said we'd go to."

"Yes, I know this. So does The Pilot. That's why he was trying to arrange it."

Right then, Mr. Zoom killed a very noisey clown. Normally these incidents pass with negligible odor. This time, however, windows were suddenly rolled down and Mr. Zoom made a noise that indicated doom was now a passenger in our car.

It took about 2 seconds for me to realize just how smelly our passenger was. I sqeaked "DRIVE AWAY DRIVE AWAY - hurry! before the car engine lights it on fire!" I had the passenger door open, hoping to draw in some slightly less polluted air. He drove and circulation finally relieved us of our unwanted passenger.

I don't know if my eyes were watering from laughing or from the burn of one very dead clown.

I turned to Mr. Zoom and said "You know, it's funny how we were talking about Dave Matthews when that smell came out of your butt."

Possible Negative Drug Interractions

If I ever get the opportunity to come face to face (or I suppose soul to misty soul like thing?) with an omniscient being, there's actually only a few questions I'd have for him/her/it.

Bla bla bla meaning of life and all - but more importantly, what the hell is up with the world's pharmacies? Is it a test? Because I keep failing it.

There's this line on the floor and a sign that indicates "To insure privacy, please wait here for the next available pharmacist." It's probably 6 feet away from the counter.

Horseshit. I contend that the government makes us stand there so that we work out the urge to squeeze the life out of pharmacy techs before we can reach the counter.

If privacy were a concern at all, I seriously doubt I'd be prompted to call out my name and the number of prescriptions I'm seeking over the heads of my co-que-panions. I feel like I'm attending an auction where every shouted letter of my name is a bid for medication - and if I just over enunciate enough - every single letter of my first and last name, the tech will yell "GOING ONCE, GOING TWICE......SOLD!" and eventually start looking for my flipping drugs IN THE CORRECT SECTION.

"Name please?"

"Last name SASSENPANTS, first name SASS. Last name spelled ESSSS, AAYE, ESSSS...."

"I don't see your prescriptions here in the D section....how many did you say you have?"

"THREE, and the last name is SASSENPANTS. It starts with an ESSSS." Which I illustrate by drawing an S in the air. "ESSSS, AAYE, ESSSS....."

"Nope, sorry. Can't find it here in the P section. What's your phone number?"

"ESSSSSSSSSSS! MY LAST NAME AND FIRST NAME BEGIN WITH ESSSSSSSSSSS!"

My name isn't difficult. At all. If I had one of those names that everyone mispronounced or couldn't read, I'd be a lot more patient with the pharmacy. I'd be willing to bet you there are at least 5 strangers in the neighborhood of this pharmacy who could probably answer this Daily Double clue on Jeopardy "She was arrested for jumping over a pharmacy counter and screaming 'here, just let me find it for you'" - "Who is Sass Sassenpants?" BLING! Correct. You win a jillion dollars. And a lifetime of drama free pharmacy visits.

Personally, I don't give a crap about "privacy" at the pharmacy. I don't care if the whole world knows what kind of medicine I'm trying to pick up. I never have. I'd wear a sandwich board with my name on it and a list of my meds if I thought it would actually improve the process of picking this stuff up.

Seriously. We might as well slap a drive through speaker on the counter and give that a shot. I get more accurate output from the El Pollo Loco drive through and their record is abysmal.

And don't think I haven't noticed the positive feelings the media is trying to hypnotize me into having when I walk into a pharmacy. If commercials are to be believed, I'm supposed to be taken by some kind of customer orgasm if these people point out a possible drug interraction to me.

I have never, ever in all of my years at the medicine counter been told about a drug interraction, possible or destined, by the pharmacist. All of that information has come from my doctor. The doctor who is able to pull my chart from the "S" section on the first try.

I will, however, get very tingly if I'm ever able to pick up my prescriptons without having to talk myself down from the urge to jump the counter.

I Was Raised by Amish Carnies

Last week Mr. Zoom and I joined some friends at the County Fair. Ms. Sparkle, a co-worker pal of mine came with me. I was to meet Mr. Zoom and the others there, since we all came directly from work and/or various locations.

Everything was going great. We had our beers and our big fat pretzels, when I saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks.

Coming towards me was my Formerly Amish Mom (FAM) and my Dad. Don't get me wrong, I adore my parents. I don't mind running into them unexpectedly. What gets a little uncomfortable is not knowing what they will be saying to the people I might happen to have with me. People that haven't been given the "here's what to expect" speech. And signed the release.

I waved at FAM and Dad, and introduced Ms. Sparkle to them. They exchanged introductory pleasantries. Before I go further, let it be known that my family is not the kind of family that believes in racial bigotry. Unfortunately, exposure to my parents without a lot of explanations might lead people to believe otherwise. Hence, much squirming from me when I see FAM and Dad approaching me at the fair when I've got an uninitiated friend with me.

My dad launched into recommendations for exhibit viewing. "We went and saw the baby piglets, and OH MY that was a good time! They were nursing, and you wouldn't believe it. This black lady kept screaming at the piglets 'you get that tittie, you go. GET THAT TITTIE!"

By the time this little gem of a story registered in my consciousness, Dad had his new cell phone out and was showing Ms. Sparkle the "Cool GPS technology that came with it." He was also trying to explain the history of cell phones - beginning with the Pilgrims. Poor Ms. Sparkle oscillated from smiling politely to raising her eyebrows in what I pray was mostly amusement, not stifled screams of terror.

When my parents announced they were catching one of the free shows, I jumped at the chance to RUN AWAY. "OH, well we won't hold you up any further, you might be late. ok.nicetoseeyou. ok BYE!"

Turns out, that which goes into a show must eventually come out. Out they came some few hours later and magically appeared at my side once more. This time the entire group was assembled.

This time Ms. Sparkle's unfortunate "wrong place at the wrong time" type luck held strong. I went over to Dad and said "Hey, let me buy you a beer!" I was trying to keep him busy. Bad idea. He practically screamed out "Oh, no thanks. I just shed water off the taters and that wouldn't be a good idea."

Confused, I stupidly asked "Pardon?" He said "You know, peed! I just got done peeing. Your grandfather in his Irish accent used to say that all the time when I was a kid. 'Shed water from the potatos. taters.'"

"Ah" I said. "Yooou betcha. Ok then."

Funny. Grandpa obviously didn't often say that out loud and in front of a ton of people he didn't know, or else I'm pretty sure I'd have been far more familiar with that phrase.

At some point when I was talking to Mr. Zoom - probably begging him to stop the WARNING buzzer that was going off in my head - my parents slipped away and headed for home.

How can two people, whom I legitimately view as unpredictable powder kegs of loony talk, be missed so much when they just slip away? That's the magic of my parents.

Nothing Goes With Record Heat...

...like illogical anger from a woman.

Last week after work I raced to a birthday dinner with friends. I was on the freeway when I spied THIS sharing our roads:



From afar, when I first noticed it, I thought it was a giant seal. I wasn't wearing my glasses. I fumbled for my camera and began shooting it through the bug encrusted windshield until I got close enough to take a shot out of my passenger window.

And here's where I got annoyed. I'm on an already highly over crowded freeway. It's close to 7pm and there's no speeds over 30mph. Oh, and I was hungry. HANGRY and HOT. And woman. There's no more lethal combination in the world. Just ask Mr. Zoom, or that lady I yelled at once in IKEA.

When I'm close enough to see that this trailer with a Dinosaur Barney on it belongs to a company called monsterdeals.com - I immediately think freeway Pop Up Ad. Pop Up Ad I can't block, can't click off and worse yet - causes me to take pictures of it while I'm driving.

I am amused at the photo op - as well as the newly acquired ability to say to my friends that evening "I saw a dinosaur on the way here tonight, it was on the freeway with me!" Yet, I am angered that what is probably 24-30 feet of freeway driving space is occupied by an advertisement resembling a Barney designed to appeal to goth children.

I've looked up the company's site on the web:

Monsterdeals.com

There's nothing there but a little message saying "coming soon". I beg to differ. It's already here and it's riding my freeways with me.

I've had some time to obtain an attitude adjustment. Air conditioning, and the consumption of food will do that for me.

I do not know if this company's mission statement includes pimping out life size, durable statues of ... word play. I do not know if I will soon be forced to take a Xanax in preparation of my evening drive home. I can't much handle the sheer joy of a bizzarre photo op and then the irritation of thinking "Ugh. Yet another advertisement crammed down my eye sockets that I can't get away from." I am woman. It is my duty to be both amused and annoyed at the same time.

I doubt that's what they are after. I'm sure it's something completely harmless and probably clever. In fact, I'm pretty sure that they are just victims of zoom logic.

Years ago vehicles began to appear that were covered in decals - ads. People signed up and were paid to have their car scream "ad whore" like a city bus - at about 1/4 the size.

I might have, in my hangry hot state, pulled that long ago phenomenon out of my head and laser beam imposed it on the monsterdeals.com dinosaur barney truck. Welcome to my super power. It's not pretty, but isn't a super power supposed to be oppressive to the super power-er?

I Just Butt Dialed With My E-Mail

Before Cell phones came all standard with keypad lock - or at least before people started using that feature regularly - one could accidentally sit on one's phone, call someone, and they would hear everything going on without you knowing it.

I can't even remember to keep my phone on unless I'm actually meeting people somewhere. That has to be the ONLY reason I've never butt dialed someone.

Because today, TODAY I had adventures with "reply to all" feature in e-mail. Yes ... yessireee.

Mr. Zoom sent me an interesting e-mail by bcc. My dumb ass was doing far too much not working all at one time to realize I'd chosen the "reply to all" feature and then I typed out my normal, sass heavy reply.

That got delivered to HIS BOSS, and the entire department he works with. THANK THE HELMET GODS that the contents of both the original e-mail and my reply were non-sensitive, easily swept under the desk type topics. I did elicit some raised eyebrows, but as far as this kind of boo boo goes, I probably made it with the best possible e-mail if it was destined to occur.

That doesn't help the "want to puke" feeling I'm currently shaking hands with, however. Mr. Zoom assures me that while being an unfortunate occurrence, the damage is minimal. All I have to do is buy certain people's forgiveness. And I will.

Forgiveness is now on lay away, and I'm just praying my receipt does not arrive via e-mail.

Sometimes People Ask

Who wears the pants in your family?

If there's anything worthy of being pointed out as being worn by anyone in our family, it is that I wear the helmet and Mr. Zoom wears my sass.

One night while watching a documentary on the Queen Mary 2 Cruise Ship, Mr. Zoom asked me a trivia question. "What ship also went to England and went through that ceremony thing there?" My answer leaked out of me with a questioning tone. "Ship of Fools?"

He sighed. "No, Titanic."

One morning I was on the search for a washcloth for our bathroom. Mr. Zoom came out holding the item I had retrieved saying "Knucklehead, this is a face/hand towel. Not a washcloth." I immediately shot back at him "Don't get all domestic name cally on ME!"

Of all the things traditionally domestic and womany that I don't know or don't do, why did I attack him for calling a towel by it's proper name? Why did I suddenly feel like he was giving me the business and somehow saying (without saying, mind you) that I was inadequate in the towel/wash cloth department?

Diagnosis: Missing helmet. Sometimes I forget to wear it.

This is why I'm so excited to present this video to you. Every speck of red on Mr. Zoom is from his participation in the belly flop contest that occured not more than 10 minutes after we arrived at a friend's house this weekend. It's as close as I might ever get to seeing him without a helmet.

Check this out:





Belly Flop - Custom videocodes by MyWynk

When MeMe becomes MeMoron

Dancing UG was nice enough to send me an e-mail and let me know that the blogger who tagged me was in fact: A circle has too much symmetry.

Since Dancing UG does not mind that I linked her by mistake, I'm going to leave it that way. There are a couple of reasons for that. 1. If I try anything with linking, as already forcefully demonstrated below, I'll mess it up. And 2. I want to make sure I apologize appropriately to Spin Doc for my - what some might call my predictable outcome of playing with technology.

Thank you for not showing up in my yard with torches.

TAG! I'm "it" - Wherein "it" Now Means Doofus

I've been tagged by the Dancing Unacknowledged Genius. Five Things meme, here I go -

IN MY PURSE:

1. Ultra Mentha Lip Shine - "the ultimate mint-infused balm" it says on the tube. I LOVE this stuff. Have never heard of it before, but a family member gave it to me for my birthday. Never thought I'd ever carry (or use) anything more than chapstick with me. I'm going to cry when this tube runs out unless I take proactive measures to find out where to buy it before then. Although that's about as likely as me not losing my car keys every 10 minutes. You will notice they are not on this list.

2. Maximum Strngth Gold Bond Medicated Anti-Itch Cream. I'm allergic to new stuff every day (at least it feels like it sometimes). I don't want it to slow me down, so any hives get a shot of this. The only bummer is it smells "medicated." Works great, smells ... sorta zesty.

3. My cell phone, which if I remember to turn it on, has the ringer on silent. So friends often find it extremely frustrating to try and reach me.

4. Sunglasses.

5. Glasses. I wear them only at work or when driving at night. I don't seem to remember to use them when I'm running around the house or just in general on the weekends. Unless we go to a movie.

IN MY REFRIGERATOR:

1. Those 12 oz plastic bottles (mini?) of Regular and Diet Coke.

2. Starbucks Mocha Frappa Whappa Chino Shamalamadingdong. Mr. Zoom isn't one for traditional coffee in the morning. He has been a Mocha Frap addict for years.

3. A bottle of Blackthorn Cider (We love Trader Joes).

4. Peels Blueberry Pomegranate "premium malt beverage with 100% pure fruit juice concentrate, natural flavors and color from blueberry and carrot juices." I am not kidding you, all of those words are on a 4 pack of pure crazy that apparently Mr. Zoom and I had to buy while wandering the liquor department at Ralphs. Have I tried one? No. Will I? I can't answer that. Any "trying" I do with that will have to involve me forgetting that there is CARROT flavor in it.

5. My Dad's latest wacky food offering. It's an apple carmel cake. Or so he claims it is. He's really a great cook, but he insists on making the most obscure item he can find. And even the ones he makes that you've heard of, there's always some twist to it. "LOOK, I made a pie with no crust and substituted shampoo where the recipie calls for butter!"

IN MY CLOSET:

1. Doc Marten Boots.

2. Doc Marten ... uh... Mr. Zoom calls them "Mary Jane Like" shoes.

3. Sweaters. Sweaters that hate me and never want to be worn.

4. Drawer of socks.

5. Drawer of belts.

IN MY TRUCK:

1. Gir Air Freshener

2. Happy Bunny "You Smell Like Butt" Air Freshener

3. Bat Beanie Baby that rides in my ashtray. It looks exactly like my kitty Slausen did when he was a baby.

4. 5 cds of mixed songs from itunes.

5. Lots and lots of empty water bottles.

And I'm suppolsed to tag 5 people, but I'm going to leave it open to anyone who would like to be tagged.

Whores Need Supplies Too

There has been much sass thrown around the workplace by co-workers as a result of the "please surrender supplies" memo described in the last post.

Today someone tried to sass me as I ran from the supply closet with an entire box of manilla pocket folders for my cases going to trial.

"OOOOOOOOO! I'm telling management! You are hoarding!"

And believing I heard something else, I responded enthusiastically "COOL! But you should know I'm married now and I only whore with my husband. Are there bonuses involved if I'm identified as a whore?"

My opponent shook her head and said "NO, HOARDING! Office supplies." As she pointed to the folders in my hands. "The memo?... ...oh, never mind."

As she walked away I said "Ok, but I'm still up for being reported for something if you really have your heart set on it. Should I call my husband over for lunch and then have a nooner in the supply closet?"

Wherever You Hang Your Shingle

Last week we got one of those company wide notifications that we were to clean out our desks and voluntarily surrender any office supplies that were in excess of "one week's supply." It was pretty fun to listen to the defensive whispers as people opened and read the notice - "uh, I'd like to see management come over here and prove I can't use all of this in one week." or "Deposit excess supplies in collection containers? How about I deposit this instead?" "Will it bring back the open bar and real holiday parties for this company? No? Ok, then I think I'll keep the 6 extra post it pads I currently have."

I joined right in, for there's nothing like telling management what you think of their memo when you believe you are fairly safe from them actually hearing these brave words come out of your mouth.

I opened one of my drawers and dug through the 317 pen caps, 12 post it note flags in 4 different colors, 5 feral staple sticks that escaped from their box, and some rubber bands that eerily held all of this together. Under all of this I found a supply I had TOTALLY forgoten even existed.

White Out Tape. I think it's also made by the post it people. It is used like white out, but can be removed from the document when you are done - no damage to the document. It comes in all kinds of sizes. I found the 1 inch version hiding in my desk and screaming to be used. This week.




This is the office window of one of the associates I work for.

"When will the tape stop screaming?"