My New Hit Single - Stultified

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

No, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the Same Target that is CLOSED ON EASTER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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I now need to know too.

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

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

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

It's Like I'm Frustrated and Angry

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

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

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

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

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

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

See how retarded I am?

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

...they bought Juno internet service with it.

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

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

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

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

WWCND? = What would Chuck Norris do?

I Suck at Cooking

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

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

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

I Brought Porn to the Police Station

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Call This One ...

I call this one: "Perfectionist Drug Score"

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

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

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

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

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"Best Road Trip Gift Ever Given to Me"

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

Here's a side view with boxing action:

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

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

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

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

The Devil is in the Details

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Zoom, The Master of Shutting Me Up

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

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

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

Me: "Why?"

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

It Is A Memorial PARK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bad Hairdar

It's like the universe wants me to learn how to tell a wig, a rug, any fake hair from real hair. Or else.

Yes, I'm crazy. I've embraced it, you might as well too.

For as long as I can remember, I've been unable to be the first or even fifth person to realize that someone's hair is fake in any way. In fact, most of the time I am utterly amazed to learn that "she wears a wig" or "he's totally got a tupe/hair plugs."

I guess it actually says a lot about me and my gullibility. I take almost everyone/everything at face value. Well, aside from those things/people I've learned NOT to, like televangelists. And people in advertizing. But I mean everyday people. People I work with. People I see in the grocery store. Friends of friends, or even MY FRIENDS.

For instance, there was a co-worker at my office who literally had a different hair style every week. And every week I'd see her go by and think "Wow, she's so experimental with her hair!" There would be color changes and length changes. But here's the thing. It happened in a way that it went from long to short....so my brain just figured she was really just trying to find a style she liked.

NO, NOT QUITE. Turns out she had the biggest collection of wigs ever owned. And I FINALLY figured out it wasn't "her real hair". And I felt like a total idiot. Years later I'd hear people discuss her wigs, as if it was controversial. I never really understood that, but at the same time, I felt like a moron because I couldn't recognize fake hair right away.

That person eventually left our firm. And here's where the universe tried to test me: The woman who took her place? Yeah, she came by my side of the office on Friday and TOOK OFF HER HAIR! She was showing some of the other girls how she could just "throw this thing on her head in the morning" and how she'd never have to "do" her own hair ever again.

I thought yelled at the forces that do this kind of thing to me: "You've got to be kidding me, right? So I can't recognize fake hair. That doesn't mean I need an unwelcome demonstration of it's fakeness while I'm struggling with my excel spreadsheet!"

And here's what I don't get. Aside from the obvious wiggery of drastic color/length changes and the person who just takes it off to show you how it works....how do you people figure out what hair is fake and what hair is real? Do you dare say anything to the person? Or do you just figure it out on your own?

There was one time when I actually might have recognized fake hair before anyone told me about it. I had worked in an office for about 3 years with someone. I finally realized that her hair had been the same length, the same color, and pretty much the exact same style - for that entire 3 year period.

About that time our office changed locations and she didn't work with us anymore. BUT, I still can't think of her without my mind going "OH YEAH, she wears a wig...................I think......." And then I think in circles about why I even care if her hair was fake or not, and why I'm so frustrated that I never found out for sure.

The Post Most Likely To Get Me Hate Mail

February is already Black History Month. I don't know who makes the official designation of what month will be what - but I've decided that February should actually be Me and My Coolie (Vagina, Cookie, Buscuit, Coochie, whatever term you prefer) month.

I'm not saying Black History Month isn't important. I believe it is. But, we need to give it to one of the 11 other months.

February has 28 days! C'mon! What further evidence could you possibly need in order to make this change? For those years with 29 days, we could have like, I don't know, Coolie Olympics instead.

I'd totally take Me and My Coolie Month ("M&MCM") a step further. You know how you are sitting around watching t.v. and some obnoxious commerical comes on about tampons, or maxi pads, PMS and menopause, that kind of thing? Well, I would make it so that those products could ONLY be advertized during the month of February. That's right. ILLEGAL to poke out the eyes and ears of the general public with femine concern commericals the rest of the year.

Oh my gosh, how great would that be?

I used to look forward to the day that my uterus would shrivel up and turn to dust. My biological clock definitely runs backwards. Unfortunately, every time I turn around lately some drug company is telling me that my human form will become nothing more than a vessel for draconian hormones of life change. That I will grow claws and fangs, and say "I'm hot, I'm cold, I'm hot...no...wait....now I'm cold" while I perfunctorily slaughter anyone who innocently got too close to me when my expiration date came around.

I know I'd definitely be a lot happier if I didn't have to think about that all year.

Disturbing Trends in Medicine

What I'm about to go on about here is not eactly creative bloggery. I already understand that the Dear ________ format is tired. But I don't care. This is where I dump my observations in hissy fit format. It makes me feel better and hopefully I don't poke anyone's eye out in the process. But if I do, whoops by me. I hope you find an eye patch.

Dear Medical World,

Quit it with the baby turkey baster method of decongestant administration. Can't you people make an effective capsule or tablet? Nobody I know wants to stick something like this up their nose, spray something up there, pull the dispenser out and put a cap on it for later use! NOBODY. I don't care how effective it might be.

When I am congested, the last thing I want to do is put MORE runny stuff up in my sinuses so that I can play slow leak with my nose.

I've spent a good many years keeping things OUT of my nose. Everyone knows that kid on the block who put a peanut or green bean up their nose and had to be taken to the hospital. Not only that, but simply being alive in the 80s meant watching film after film about drugs going up one's nose and eating away part of one's face.

This product is about as appealing as tampons designed by Clive Barker.

A Mystery Solved

When I first started dating Mr. Zoom, there was this cloud. This cloud was an ex girlfriend of his - from dang, I don't know how many years before I showed up. For those of you who know Mr. Zoom well, this is the one with the blonde hair. This girl was his learning relationship.

I say cloud, because whenever her name came up - people in the room would shiver. Or say "uuuh, no, no no no, let's not ever speak that name again." Even in e-mail, the mention of her name would bring a "reply to all" that read "STOP WITH THAT, WE DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT."

I had one of those myself. It was my first serious, long term relationship and I retardedly thought I'd marry the guy. I was a 19 year-old idealist in every possible way. When the guy started to distance himself and finally broke up with me, I was absolutely devastated.

But at the same time, it was the turning point in my life where I decided to go out and see what the world was all about. And I also learned I could do it alone, with friends or possibly bump into a future boyfriend or two. When I look back on it, it actually isn't a negative memory for me. I feel it's one of those moments that I can point to, one that led me to the great life I have now.

And the thing is, none of the people associated with Mr. Zoom knew me back then. The people he has around him have pretty much been there since elementary school. Because I am from a military family, I moved every 3 years. I atttended multiple elementary, jr. high and high schools.

I always wondered why she was such a pariah.

As Mr. Zoom and I got to know each other, we discussed our past relationships. I learned about the cloud. I'm not going to detail anything about their relationship because, it's not my place. But the more he talked about her, the more I stated to suspect there was a really big chance that I had actually gone to high school with her.

Which brings us to this Sunday afternoon. Mr. Zoom was working out in the garage. I took this opportunity to drag out my high school yearbooks. I brought them inside.

I only have three of them. My freshman year was spent at a high school in the middle of nowhere. That yearbook is lost. My sophmore, junior and senior years were at the same school.

I started with 1985, and looked for Ms. Cloud's name in the index. Nothing.
1986 - nothing.
1987 - DING!

She was a junior when I was a senior! Even seeing her picture in the yearbook, she didn't look familiar in any way. The high school was pretty big. And I wasn't exactly someone who mingled well.

Back then, we actually had a section on campus that was chain linked off. It was the smoking section. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? We actually had a school sanctioned place to smoke. That's where I spent every lunch and break. The skinheads, deathrockers/punkers and metal heads were all there too. There was even a sub-section of popular kids who dared smoke cigarettes. I hung out with the metal heads, skin heads, and deathrock/punkers.

I had a bleached white spikey haircut that I made into a mohawk - to the distress of my parents. I wore black and my Doc Martens every day. I had black finger nails. I wasn't allowed piercings or "anyting permanent" - so that was about as far as I went. Despite my looks, I was actually afraid of my parents and getting in trouble. I was also able to carry a decent gpa - except for math classes.

I took the yearbook out to Mr. Zoom and confirmed that yes, his ex and I did go to high school together. But that I don't remember her at all. And I doubt if she remembers me, either.

Mr. Zoom said "Aieeee, this actually gives me a very weird Lost vibe."

Freaking show has invaded every possible pore of my life.

Ah. Could've Been a Better Week.

With the enourmous production I make almost daily about going to work [to Mr. Zoom], you'd think I've still got a fever when I tell you...

I can NOT wait to get back to work.

It wasn't until Wednesday of this week that I believe I turned the corner from feeling crappier every day to feeling like at some point I'd be "normal" again. Advil had been my best friend in the world until Thursday. I can't tell you how happy I am not to have to drag the bottle around the house with me anymore.

I've seen too many talk shows. Maury and Montel. I've seen far too many Jerry Springer episodes. I've rented a bunch of films from the on demand - and they were all awful. But they were better than my choices on cable.

Very stinky daytime t.v. indeed.

I called my formerly amish mom a bunch this week too. Turns out, she's officially retired now. I can only imagine that the combination of both mom and dad retired is going to provide many a story for me to share with you.

For instance: Mom had noticed last October that the guest bathroom sink leaked. She asked Dad to fix it. She came home from work and it was fixed.

About December, Mom noticed that only hot water would come out of the sink in the guest bathroom. Concerned that her Christmas guests would, perhaps, flee her home while selling the story to the Enquirer, she asked Dad to fix it.

He didn't. And I used that bathroom at Christmas time and never even noticed there was no cold water.

So recently Mom called a plumber while Dad was at cooking class. The plumber took one look at the sink and said "Mam, someone has turned OFF the cold water under this sink. It's not broken. But it does leak when the water is turned ON.

She had him fix it.

Poor Dad. His fix was discovered. Although he put up quite a fight with the "I have no idea how that got turned off".

It's like watching my brothers and I 30 years ago, how we would try and pull one or more over on the parents or each other. And how we'd bold face lie about any knowledge of the crime. This will probably be fun.

Lie Down Before You Hurt Yourself

I've been sick. It started last Friday and just today I sorta feel better. Although not a lot better.

On Sunday morning, at 1:00 a.m., I awoke to the worst throat pain I've ever had. Oh, and I couldn't breathe at all. Mr. Zoom had let me sleep in our room and he was asleep in the spare room. I went in and woke him up.

We decided I should probably go to the er. Which we did. I got some breathing treatment that opened up my airway and a few x-rays. They told me I have tracheal bronchitis. They gave me liquid vicodin for the pain and a Z pack of antibiotics for the infection.

Now, I've had vicodin before. And I've been fine with it. However, it was not to be this time around.

I think we got home around 3 a.m. I had my drugs and was off to sleep in no time.

Abut 7:30 a.m., I awoke and couldn't breathe again. And I was burning up. Not just "oh, I'm uncomfortable" hot, but tearing off my clothes and swimming in sweat hot. I got up, actually stumbled up out of bed and headed for Mr. Zoom.

I kept shaking him awake. Understandably, he was a bit out of it. I could feel myself starting to faint. I could see stars, I was completely numb and dripping sweat the whole way over to him. I could only say "I'm sick, help me. I'm sick, help me." And then "I'm going to faint, I'm just going to lie down on the floor here."

And I did. It kept me conscious. Who knew that Lie Down Before You Hurt Yourself was not just a snappy reply, but actual advice?

About this time Mr. Zoom came completely awake. He's looking at his wife half nekkid, sweating, and mumbling - lying on the concrete floor. He jumped up and said "wait here."

But I didn't. I got up, and went back to our bed. Without even saying "What the hell is wrong with you?" he took my temperature. Asked if I wanted to go back to the hospital. (At this point, the temperature was back down to like 100, I think - which is where I'd been at before the first er trip.)

I said "no." And then almost immediately went right back to sleep.

Even for a Zoom, that's just plain weird.

I won't be taking Vicodin again anytime soon. I already have enough trouble with erratic behavior without freaking out the husband at 4 hour intervals in the middle of the night. And I did try the stuff again a night or two later (a half dose this time) and I woke up feeling like someone had hammered on my arms and legs all night.

So that's where I've been lately. I hope the rest of you are well.

Whoop Ass Cake

Mornings are not my favorite part of the day. Ever. Not even if I were waking up to chocolate french toast that could guarantee that not only would I not grow out of my latest round of pants, but that I'd be able to get back into the pants I wore 5 years ago.

Mr. Zoom isn't a morning person either, but he certainly hides it a lot better than I do. He even makes sure we are both up and out the door for work. Or I'd never ever go. Ever. Well, ok - I'd go, but my hours would be Noon to 8.

Now, Mr. Zoom has a thing with symmetry. In the bathroom, he has to hang the towels perfectly. Or it makes him crazy. CRAZY. I, for one, love this. I am usually so busy protesting being awake that I generally just leave bath towels where they fall until I get home at night. This way, Mr. Zoom hangs them up and I suppose, we all win.

This morning we were participating in our usual sass match when I decided it was time to pull out the secret weapon. While looking him in the eye, I shimmied over to the perfectly hung towles and tugged on the corner of one of them. THAT'S RIGHT, it was now CROOKED!! I was so proud of myself I could hardly keep still.

Mr. Zoom looked at me with sudden clarity and said "DID YOU JUST DO WHAT I THINKYOU DID?" I spent the next 10 minutes or so taunting him. "Does your universe feel funny now?" "How long do you think you can keep from rehanging that ?"

His response was swift: "The whoop ass cake is already in the oven. What is wrong with you?"

I'm just hoping a squeak and some eye batting will get me out of the revenge he finally dishes out - although he's pretty good at calling me out on my bullshit.

The Cinnamon Rolls, They Smell So Good

Remind me to have some dinner before I shop the next time I get the brilliant idea to go running off to Ikea to meet Mr. Zoom after work on a Friday.

There's this thing about me. When I'm hungry, I "put on the cranky pants", as Mr. Zoom would say. That's actually a rather kind way of describing what we've come to recognize as "danger hungry".

If I'm forced to interract with anyone while in this particular mood, I'll shoot a hole in their soul with my conniption fit bazooka before anyone has a chance to throw a cracker at me. One might get away with a only flesh wound if the cracker actually makes it into my yapper.

Friday night I was in an ok hungry place when I got to Ikea. We spent a while there getting all of the things we've needed for the house that have been sold out for the last couple of months. I was standing with our cart, when a lady walked up to me and said: "Excuse me, but where can I find those carts?"

I verbally stumbled to tell her that they were located "over there" - pointing off to my left - "near the pet section, on the right...there's a dispenser over there that pops out the carts."

She looks at me and says "Aren't they over there?" as she points to my RIGHT, towards the cash registers. I think this was the exact, unfortunate moment that my blood sugar left my body and ran for the clearance section of Ikea without me.

I wanted to scream at her "IF YOU KNOW WHERE THEY ARE, WHY DID YOU ASK ME WHERE THEY ARE? Are you a mystery shopper? Because if you are, you suck. Because I DON'T WORK HERE. I'm simply a shy girl who finds it difficult to talk to strangers as it is, and I happen to have just lapsed into Danger Hungry. You asked me a question, and I did my best to answer it."

But I didn't. I just kindof squeaked in Mr. Zoom's direction and he took over for me. He politely told her that there might be carts by the registers, but we got ours from over by the pet section. She walked away, towards the pet section.

And then I started with the petulance. I said to Mr. Zoom, loud enough for many people to hear: "HOW can it be that she asked me a question, I answered it, and she ARGUED with me? Who does that? Who?"

Mr. Zoom, being on the receiving end of my hissyfit friendly fire got me out of the Ikea as fast as he could and drove us straight to some food. I'm still convinced my Mom paid him to marry me. I better tell her to start doubling those payments.

She Called the Van Helsing Van HESSLING!

I think I've mentioned before that my parents adore going to the movies. They see pretty much every film that gets played in wide release. It doesn't seem to matter what it is. And the most reliable thing about them is that they love every movie they see. Or, at least like it. The only film my Mom openly hated was "Reservoir Dogs."

Drivel films with latest teen stars in them? They love em. Especially the remakes. "Herbie Makes Someone's Mortgage Payment" even got a glowing review.

My Mom said to me after seeing "Pirates of the Caribbean": "That Jack Sparrow is such a loveable scoundrel!" This made/makes Mr. Zoom nearly wet himself with glee. My mom said "scoundrel", and she meant it.

It's not that I don't recognize that if those movies make them happy, then why the heck shouldn't they see them? That's not it. The thing that kills me is that when they love all the movies - they spend our visits trying to convince me and Mr. Zoom that we must must must see all the movies too. And we can't very well take their opinions to heart since it doesn't seem to matter WHAT the movie is, they love it. My parents offer the movie world unconditional love - and attempting to logically discuss film with them is like trying to stop an avalanche with a spoon.

Oh, and once you are covered in snow with your spoon? You'll want to poke yourself in the eyes with it. Why? Because even if you wanted to hear Mom's opinion on the movie, you will spend at least 10 minutes sorting out the title of it. "The Lion King" becomes "The Boy King", and other such mangalations that I can't remember at the moment.

Can you all hear the frustration oozing out of my pores? Ok, just checking.

All of this, so you will understand why I nearly fainted when my Mom called today and said: "We saw 'The Matador', and it is simply awful."

I had to ask her to repeat that. Twice. it was as if she had suddenly learned fluent Spanish and I could freakishly understand her without learning it myself.

I immediately shot Mr. Zoom an e-mail, informing him that not only had my parents finally seen a movie in wide release that they hated, but Mom actually got the title right the first time she spoke it. His response was "I'm totally buying us a lottery ticket tonight."

Knowing our luck, we'll win the DVD anniversary edition of "Pirates of the Caribbean", in the first ever non-monetary lottery prize.