I've been eating a lot of oatmeal for breakfast. I love oatmeal. It's (instant) easy and tends to keep me from totally loosing it before lunch time. I like cinnamon and brown sugar. Unfortunately, the last box I bought was some flavor they call cinnamon and spice. Sure, if spice = pot pourri. It smells like Christmas and tastes like a scented candle. I honestly expect the box to list perfume as the first and most abundant ingredient.
I ended up with this flavor because I have a bad habit of seeing what I want to see. Or reading the first couple of letters of something and assuming it's what I want it to be. Cinnamon Sugar looks a lot like Cinnamon Spice to me because of this. DRAT.
And I'm not having much luck with artichoke hearts, either. Every single time I'm faced with an artichoke heart (cut up and in my food), I wonder how to eat it. I literally do the exact same thought process every time - and I never seem to find the answer. Do I just take the whole thing and eat it in its entirety? Or do I cut off the "heart heart" part and dispose of the leafy parts?
The leaves aren't super tough - since they are the smaller ones that are obviously closest to the heart. But I still can't figure out if it's ok to eat the whole thing.
I keep thinking, if it wasn't intended to be eaten entirely, then why is it buried in my food? Wouldn't that be dangerous if one was expected to pull the leaves off? Yet, every time I find myself dissecting the piece and leaving the leafy bits off to the side. I wonder if I'm making it harder than it needs to be. But then I remember; artichokes are giant thistles. Not a ton of room for experimentation.
The other evening Mr. Zoom and I were at one of our favorite super markets buying dinner out of the deli. He's always so cute when we order, because he asks me what I want and then says to the person helping us "the lady will have...." What he should be saying is "My wife doesn't cook. So please sell us food so we don't starve." After he ordered a couple of chicken strips for me, I decided that I'd also like a bbq rib. When he went to order for me "And the lady would also like..." I stopped him. I said "SHHHHHH! NO! Don't tell him it's for me." (the counter guy wasn't hearing Mr. Zoom when he first started this line, so when I shuushed him, the counter guy wasn't even paying attention to us.)
WHY CAN'T HE TELL HIM I WANT THE RIB? Because I'm a fool. Seriously.
I'm sure it's the same feature that caused me to wrestle with my closet of clothing the other day and say to Mr. Zoom - as if he were to blame - "UUUUUUUUUUUUGH. Stupid......clothes......not......look....like.....supermodel." pout.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
I said I'd Post It if He Caught It
Mr. Zoom finally captured my snoring on video.
This starts out fairly quiet, but soon enough my "shhroooonk" takes over. I even drown out the t.v. noise in the background. No wonder my mother was convinced I'd never find a husband.
Just about the only thing scarier than that - is the fact that my FAM has now started using e-mail with a terrifying frequency. Back before she would even consider using the computer, all forwarded e-mail jokes and special news bulletins [by special I mean the spider under the toilet seat kind] would be transmitted to me via telephone. If it was really good, she'd make a copy with a xerox copier and make me take it home the next time I came by for a visit.
Just last week, my FAM wanted my "personal" e-mail address. She has my work address, but she had/has some things she'd like me to have that aren't work appropriate. The fact that she understands one address is my account at work and one is for personal use is startling enough. What I'm guessing is headed down the internet pipe for me now is a load of photoshopped puppy and kitten pictures, as well as all those forwarded jokes/chain e-mails/ what have you that everyone YOU know has already stopped forwarding to you.
FWD: CUTE!!
FWD: Warning for you and all of your women friends. NOT A HOAX!!
FWD: ...I normally don't send these but....
FWD: This is an actual picture of...
FAM has a gagillion slides from the 60s or maybe even before that time. She bought a machine that takes the slides and converts them into jpegs on the computer. Of course she asked me to come over and help her understand how to use it. Even sparing most of the details, I think you can sense the monkey fucking a football absurdity of what I should have known was going to happen.
I thought I was over there to show her how to work her slide converter/scanner....but half way through that she insisted that I show her how to archive internet forwards. She had received a power point slide show about ice in her e-mail. With music. She was so excited about it, she insisted I watch it. THEN, she wanted to know how she could put it on a CD so that she'd have it forever.
Yes. Forever.
And keeping them in a folder was out of the question.
I tried to escape by telling her "I don't know how to make a video (pointing at the screen) go to that (pointing to the drive with a cd in it.) Normally she'd have given up, but instead she tried on her own.
I tried to explain that cds aren't like floppies, that you can't put something on them, and then keep adding later. She heard "feel free to keep trying to add anything you want to that cd."
I tried to explain why Windows tries to "help" by providing a default files to be copied to CD feature, and how we don't need that program because we are using another one. The one I just spent 20 minutes tutoring her on. She heard "Go ahead and click wildly all around the screen and then please fume at me when you become totally confused."
When she finally went back to converting her slides, the default Windows screen came up saying "you have files ready to be copied to cd". The wild clicking willy nilly continued and *Shazaaam*, her video landed on a cd.
It is the ONLY thing on that CD.
And I can guarantee you that the next time I go over there, she will have about a thousand cds, all containing ONE internet joke.
Forever.
This starts out fairly quiet, but soon enough my "shhroooonk" takes over. I even drown out the t.v. noise in the background. No wonder my mother was convinced I'd never find a husband.
Just about the only thing scarier than that - is the fact that my FAM has now started using e-mail with a terrifying frequency. Back before she would even consider using the computer, all forwarded e-mail jokes and special news bulletins [by special I mean the spider under the toilet seat kind] would be transmitted to me via telephone. If it was really good, she'd make a copy with a xerox copier and make me take it home the next time I came by for a visit.
Just last week, my FAM wanted my "personal" e-mail address. She has my work address, but she had/has some things she'd like me to have that aren't work appropriate. The fact that she understands one address is my account at work and one is for personal use is startling enough. What I'm guessing is headed down the internet pipe for me now is a load of photoshopped puppy and kitten pictures, as well as all those forwarded jokes/chain e-mails/ what have you that everyone YOU know has already stopped forwarding to you.
FWD: CUTE!!
FWD: Warning for you and all of your women friends. NOT A HOAX!!
FWD: ...I normally don't send these but....
FWD: This is an actual picture of...
FAM has a gagillion slides from the 60s or maybe even before that time. She bought a machine that takes the slides and converts them into jpegs on the computer. Of course she asked me to come over and help her understand how to use it. Even sparing most of the details, I think you can sense the monkey fucking a football absurdity of what I should have known was going to happen.
I thought I was over there to show her how to work her slide converter/scanner....but half way through that she insisted that I show her how to archive internet forwards. She had received a power point slide show about ice in her e-mail. With music. She was so excited about it, she insisted I watch it. THEN, she wanted to know how she could put it on a CD so that she'd have it forever.
Yes. Forever.
And keeping them in a folder was out of the question.
I tried to escape by telling her "I don't know how to make a video (pointing at the screen) go to that (pointing to the drive with a cd in it.) Normally she'd have given up, but instead she tried on her own.
I tried to explain that cds aren't like floppies, that you can't put something on them, and then keep adding later. She heard "feel free to keep trying to add anything you want to that cd."
I tried to explain why Windows tries to "help" by providing a default files to be copied to CD feature, and how we don't need that program because we are using another one. The one I just spent 20 minutes tutoring her on. She heard "Go ahead and click wildly all around the screen and then please fume at me when you become totally confused."
When she finally went back to converting her slides, the default Windows screen came up saying "you have files ready to be copied to cd". The wild clicking willy nilly continued and *Shazaaam*, her video landed on a cd.
It is the ONLY thing on that CD.
And I can guarantee you that the next time I go over there, she will have about a thousand cds, all containing ONE internet joke.
Forever.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Airborne Snacks and Understanding Husbands
Last night Mr. Zoom and I settled down to watch the tivo'd Lost, Office, Scrubs and would have gotten to Survivor but we ran out of time.
I've been in full ramp up mode for that which strikes women monthly. There is only one cure for the mood I'm in while running up the ramp and it's Trader Joes Chocolate Covered Peanut Butter Pretzels [TJCCPBP]. My pal Skillit introduced me to this product. I now have simultaneous competing emotions of (1) loving her for this; and (2) wanting to girl wrestler sneak attack pull her hair and clothesline her [it has to be sneak attack, because she could and would kick my ass].
They are that good.
They come in celophaney foil like bags. Anyone who's ever witnessed me open a bag of chips or a box/bag of cookies will know that packaging is, according to me, "In My Way". It is something to be torn through, as if I'm in a giant hurry and I haven't eaten for days. Sure, there are methods of opening these things without tearing a long, continuous and sometimes corkscrew tear in them, but I can't, won't and don't work that way. Mr. Zoom always giggles when he sees the hollowed out container I've destroyed like an octopus eating a crab and then leaving the shell behind.
So last night I had my bag of TJCCPBP. The bag had been torn so much that I had to place it in a zip lock bag so the contents would stay put long enough to be eaten. I ate far too many of them, and decided it was time to quit. Being that I'm lazy, I didn't want to get up to put them away. And I knew if they sat on the coffee table, I'd continually reach over and eat them until they were gone.
I sealed up the zip loc bag and hucked it across the room. It hit the wall and slid to the floor as I hoped it would. I did all of this from my reclining position on the couch. Mr. Zoom looked at me and said "What just happened?" Code for "I know you are crazy, I'm used to that. But what I just saw is a new one. I need an explanation or I make the call bringing in the professionals."
My explanation came as if everyone knows this. "I was afraid I'd eat them all and I wanted it away from me. If it's on the table, it's still too close. If I can't reach it, I can't eat it."
The Out of Reach Diet.
I've been in full ramp up mode for that which strikes women monthly. There is only one cure for the mood I'm in while running up the ramp and it's Trader Joes Chocolate Covered Peanut Butter Pretzels [TJCCPBP]. My pal Skillit introduced me to this product. I now have simultaneous competing emotions of (1) loving her for this; and (2) wanting to girl wrestler sneak attack pull her hair and clothesline her [it has to be sneak attack, because she could and would kick my ass].
They are that good.
They come in celophaney foil like bags. Anyone who's ever witnessed me open a bag of chips or a box/bag of cookies will know that packaging is, according to me, "In My Way". It is something to be torn through, as if I'm in a giant hurry and I haven't eaten for days. Sure, there are methods of opening these things without tearing a long, continuous and sometimes corkscrew tear in them, but I can't, won't and don't work that way. Mr. Zoom always giggles when he sees the hollowed out container I've destroyed like an octopus eating a crab and then leaving the shell behind.
So last night I had my bag of TJCCPBP. The bag had been torn so much that I had to place it in a zip lock bag so the contents would stay put long enough to be eaten. I ate far too many of them, and decided it was time to quit. Being that I'm lazy, I didn't want to get up to put them away. And I knew if they sat on the coffee table, I'd continually reach over and eat them until they were gone.
I sealed up the zip loc bag and hucked it across the room. It hit the wall and slid to the floor as I hoped it would. I did all of this from my reclining position on the couch. Mr. Zoom looked at me and said "What just happened?" Code for "I know you are crazy, I'm used to that. But what I just saw is a new one. I need an explanation or I make the call bringing in the professionals."
My explanation came as if everyone knows this. "I was afraid I'd eat them all and I wanted it away from me. If it's on the table, it's still too close. If I can't reach it, I can't eat it."
The Out of Reach Diet.
Monday, February 19, 2007
My Clown Door Isn't as Good as it Used to Be.
I've got a case that went to trial last week [at work] and we are waiting for the results. It's been busy, and might get busier if the judge decides we need to have a penalty phase next.
Last night Mr. Zoom and I were watching Bad Santa. Neither one of us had seen this movie, but the concept appealed to me. Problem was - it was broadcast on Comedy Central and all of the editing for general public consumption left approximately 3 words in the entire film.
That's ok, because even without the full colorful dialogue, I could tell I didn't much like this movie. The only time Mr. Zoom and I laughed was when everyone kicked everyone else in the nuts. Because no matter how lame something is, a good jab in the nuts seems to make boys laugh every time. As long as it's not them getting the jabbing.
So there we were, laughing about the scene when I did something horrible. I went to sit up and laughed at the same time, and I KILLED A CLOWN! Right there in front of Mr. Zoom.
Understandably, he ran around the room in circles laughing and yelling "This is the greatest day ever". I laugh cried, wanting to cry more than laugh, and grabbed a blanket so that no more dead clowns could get out (at least audibly).
I'm not saying girls never kill clowns. I'm saying we usually try to keep that activity out of the presence of our husbands. At least I do. My body betrayed me, and if my family history is correct, it can only get worse from here. After all, my FAM once walked up a flight of stairs in front of me, and each step was followed by a little fouf. She laughed, turned to me and said "Oh, I just can't hold them anymore."
It's a good thing my house has no stairs in it.
Last night Mr. Zoom and I were watching Bad Santa. Neither one of us had seen this movie, but the concept appealed to me. Problem was - it was broadcast on Comedy Central and all of the editing for general public consumption left approximately 3 words in the entire film.
That's ok, because even without the full colorful dialogue, I could tell I didn't much like this movie. The only time Mr. Zoom and I laughed was when everyone kicked everyone else in the nuts. Because no matter how lame something is, a good jab in the nuts seems to make boys laugh every time. As long as it's not them getting the jabbing.
So there we were, laughing about the scene when I did something horrible. I went to sit up and laughed at the same time, and I KILLED A CLOWN! Right there in front of Mr. Zoom.
Understandably, he ran around the room in circles laughing and yelling "This is the greatest day ever". I laugh cried, wanting to cry more than laugh, and grabbed a blanket so that no more dead clowns could get out (at least audibly).
I'm not saying girls never kill clowns. I'm saying we usually try to keep that activity out of the presence of our husbands. At least I do. My body betrayed me, and if my family history is correct, it can only get worse from here. After all, my FAM once walked up a flight of stairs in front of me, and each step was followed by a little fouf. She laughed, turned to me and said "Oh, I just can't hold them anymore."
It's a good thing my house has no stairs in it.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Sponsored Blue Ball Map Hate
I am officially requiring Mapquest dot com to re-register as MapWhore dot totally useless. I hate it.
What's so hard about generating directions from one address to another - or what it calls STARTING LOCATION and ENDING LOCATION? I work in an office building surrounded by other office buildings. We have an actual address here. It's not like I'm asking it to go from Billy Joe's cow to the diner in the center of town. Don't send me hate mail, my family grew up on a farm. Yet, every time I go to put in our office address so that I can get an attorney from here to wherever he's going, I get to play pick a start and end point that has nothing to do with the addresses I just told it I care about. Complete with Zip flipping codes.
The destination screen fades out but remains playfully visible. "OOoo, you want something from me and you aren't going to get it until you pick one of our sponsored "starting locations." It's like playing peek-a-boo with a Thomas Guide. If I make the right face it might loosen up and give me the f ing information I need.
So after you pick a totally irrelevant hyperlinked address, the next screen fades out the STARTING LOCATION and forces you to pick a sponsored link for your ending location.
Did Mapquest hire my Mom as their U/I developer? Because every time I tell her something she tries to make me revise my statement so it fits in her world too.
F that.
Mapquest is a teasing whore. I like Yahoo maps. It totally puts out on the addresses I give it the first time.
What's so hard about generating directions from one address to another - or what it calls STARTING LOCATION and ENDING LOCATION? I work in an office building surrounded by other office buildings. We have an actual address here. It's not like I'm asking it to go from Billy Joe's cow to the diner in the center of town. Don't send me hate mail, my family grew up on a farm. Yet, every time I go to put in our office address so that I can get an attorney from here to wherever he's going, I get to play pick a start and end point that has nothing to do with the addresses I just told it I care about. Complete with Zip flipping codes.
The destination screen fades out but remains playfully visible. "OOoo, you want something from me and you aren't going to get it until you pick one of our sponsored "starting locations." It's like playing peek-a-boo with a Thomas Guide. If I make the right face it might loosen up and give me the f ing information I need.
So after you pick a totally irrelevant hyperlinked address, the next screen fades out the STARTING LOCATION and forces you to pick a sponsored link for your ending location.
Did Mapquest hire my Mom as their U/I developer? Because every time I tell her something she tries to make me revise my statement so it fits in her world too.
F that.
Mapquest is a teasing whore. I like Yahoo maps. It totally puts out on the addresses I give it the first time.
Monday, February 05, 2007
High Def Eye Rolling.
Mr. Zoom is a channel flipper. He will watch a show only as long as there is actual show being broadcast. As soon as a commercial comes on, he flips to another show he is keeping in the wings. Bad times are when commercials appear on both channels.
This is where I am ever so thankful for cheater tivo. If we can fast forward the commercials, I actually get the illusion of staying on the same channel for an entire show.
My all or nothing personality and upbringing squeal in disapproval every time he flips. My body involuntarily huffs. Won't the world tilt a little in the wrong direction if we miss .25 seconds of the show you just flipped from? It actually has more to do with my ability to get sucked into whatever is in front of me with no regard for the previous thing I was sucked into. It's a mental u-turn ever time the fade to commercial arrives and "FLIP", I'm now looking at something else. Because I am woman, this all comes out as as His Fault.
This weekend he was recovering from the flu and I was in the middle of denying I had it. "I'm fine. I feel like crap, but I'M FINE." We decided to take a look at the Superbowl. And this is one show where commercials are allowed. Things were fine until channel 2 reminded Mr. Zoom that it was also broadcast in High Definition.
Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.
Yes, the same contents - the same channel - only he wanted to compare the difference between high def and regular.
"You know, I didn't used to be able to tell the difference."
"Me either, but with high def it actually looks like I'm wearing my glasses."
Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.
"So, you still working out those comparissons? Is this what it's come to? You now flip to the same channel in a never ending test of what the actual differences are? It is, isn't it. This is how I will live out the rest of my t.v. viewing with you."
"You don't know me. I just want to see ... I like to compare." "High def's cameras are further away than the regular channel."
"Yes you do. And I think you might be right on the cameras."
Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.
"That's what I thought was going to happen."
Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.
And the reason I can know we will now live non-tivo viewing in dual channel comparisson flipping is because I know us and our ability to be amused with something far beyond the regular intentions of the "thing". I might roll my eyes at his flip, but behind that I'm analyzing the contents of the broadcast too.
Like when I brought home an actual paycheck from my new job. The check wasn't on direct deposit yet, so I was given an actual paper check. On the back was a security stamp that said if you touched it or breathed on it, it would dissapear. AND IT DID. Totally. Not just lightened, but gone.
We spent a good 15 minutes making the stamp dissappear and watching it reappear. Like the proverbial magic.
So a channell that is also broadcast in High Def and can be accessed by remote from the couch will undoubtably get a lot more Zoom Time than the security stamp on a paycheck.
This is where I am ever so thankful for cheater tivo. If we can fast forward the commercials, I actually get the illusion of staying on the same channel for an entire show.
My all or nothing personality and upbringing squeal in disapproval every time he flips. My body involuntarily huffs. Won't the world tilt a little in the wrong direction if we miss .25 seconds of the show you just flipped from? It actually has more to do with my ability to get sucked into whatever is in front of me with no regard for the previous thing I was sucked into. It's a mental u-turn ever time the fade to commercial arrives and "FLIP", I'm now looking at something else. Because I am woman, this all comes out as as His Fault.
This weekend he was recovering from the flu and I was in the middle of denying I had it. "I'm fine. I feel like crap, but I'M FINE." We decided to take a look at the Superbowl. And this is one show where commercials are allowed. Things were fine until channel 2 reminded Mr. Zoom that it was also broadcast in High Definition.
Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.
Yes, the same contents - the same channel - only he wanted to compare the difference between high def and regular.
"You know, I didn't used to be able to tell the difference."
"Me either, but with high def it actually looks like I'm wearing my glasses."
Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.
"So, you still working out those comparissons? Is this what it's come to? You now flip to the same channel in a never ending test of what the actual differences are? It is, isn't it. This is how I will live out the rest of my t.v. viewing with you."
"You don't know me. I just want to see ... I like to compare." "High def's cameras are further away than the regular channel."
"Yes you do. And I think you might be right on the cameras."
Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.
"That's what I thought was going to happen."
Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.
And the reason I can know we will now live non-tivo viewing in dual channel comparisson flipping is because I know us and our ability to be amused with something far beyond the regular intentions of the "thing". I might roll my eyes at his flip, but behind that I'm analyzing the contents of the broadcast too.
Like when I brought home an actual paycheck from my new job. The check wasn't on direct deposit yet, so I was given an actual paper check. On the back was a security stamp that said if you touched it or breathed on it, it would dissapear. AND IT DID. Totally. Not just lightened, but gone.
We spent a good 15 minutes making the stamp dissappear and watching it reappear. Like the proverbial magic.
So a channell that is also broadcast in High Def and can be accessed by remote from the couch will undoubtably get a lot more Zoom Time than the security stamp on a paycheck.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Crosswalk is for Yelling. Jaywalk is for Not My Problem.
To the lady who jaywalked in front of me today carrying a garment bag and apparently a load of unresolved crazy, try using the crosswalk next time, or simply crossing at a flipping intersection. I didn't hit you, or even come close. But your reaction at what I can only guess is your opinion that I was trying to run you over - was given strict orders to hunt you down and do so - was distracting. I am now angry at myself for failing to aim for you.
When you and your entourage decide to cross a street by bolting out of a parking structure into traffic where there is no expectation of pedestrians without a death wish rather than using the crosswalk up the path a bit - the onus is on YOU to dodge traffic. (I just said onus.) It's not my problem that your bottled up bitter tipped over while I happened to be following the rules of the road. The rest of your group seemed to understand this, as they didn't even flinch or give me a second look until you started waving your arms around and yelling at me - looking a lot like a pinwheel about to exceed maximum spin.
Find a crosswalk, get in it and then you can yell at me if I appear to nearly run you over. Otherwise, keep your flailing to yourself until you end up on the hood of my truck.
When you and your entourage decide to cross a street by bolting out of a parking structure into traffic where there is no expectation of pedestrians without a death wish rather than using the crosswalk up the path a bit - the onus is on YOU to dodge traffic. (I just said onus.) It's not my problem that your bottled up bitter tipped over while I happened to be following the rules of the road. The rest of your group seemed to understand this, as they didn't even flinch or give me a second look until you started waving your arms around and yelling at me - looking a lot like a pinwheel about to exceed maximum spin.
Find a crosswalk, get in it and then you can yell at me if I appear to nearly run you over. Otherwise, keep your flailing to yourself until you end up on the hood of my truck.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Mr. Zoom's About to go Planes Trains on Me
Unfortunately for him, Mr. Zoom let it be known that leaving a drawer open a little bit drives him compulsive. The great thing for me is that I now have a new sass weapon that I don't even have to think about. My daily routine automatically leaves all drawers I open unclosed just about 1/2 an inch. I'm convinced it's the counter top that hangs over just a teeny bit - which gets in my closing way.
I've even started sending him e-mail at the office to let him know that the cabinet drawers in my cube are open a teeny bit. And I want to know if he's going to be ok.
I heart effortless sass.
I've also learned that he has a certain telephone ... um... practice. One evening I offered to call my parents and let them know we wouldn't make a weekend event with them. I thought I was going to do Mr. Zoom a favor by doing this while he changed clothes. Thank goodness I asked before I picked up the phone and started dialing, because it turns out that Mr. Zoom does NOT do telephone when he's ... er... nekkid or nearly nekkid.
And it wasn't like he'd have even been on the phone with them, or they would have really even known he was in the house. Much less sorta in an underwear and socks only state.
"So even though you won't be on the phone with them, and you know they can't see you ... you do know that right...you have a thing where the phone can't be in use because you are changing clothes?"
"Yes."
"BAHHHAHAHAH AHAHAHHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HAHHHHH AHHAHAHHHAHAHAHHA BAHHHA HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHHA!! ...no, really. Be serious."
"I am."
"Snort Giggle....hoookay."
"Don't apply logic to it. It just is."
"You know this is going on the web, right?"
A few minutes later he told me to go ahead and call in our dinner order so we could pick it up. I protested "But...you aren't fully dressed yet."
"That's ok, because I don't know the people at _______ restaurant."
"Sooo, if you know the people on the other end of the phone, whether they even know you are in the room, ney - just the general vicinity of the phone and you might not be fully clothed, you can't have the phone in use. But total strangers, who you will be seeing in 10 to 20 minutes from which we will pick up our sustenance, THAT'S PERFECTLY OK?"
"Yes."
"This is totally going on the web."
I've even started sending him e-mail at the office to let him know that the cabinet drawers in my cube are open a teeny bit. And I want to know if he's going to be ok.
I heart effortless sass.
I've also learned that he has a certain telephone ... um... practice. One evening I offered to call my parents and let them know we wouldn't make a weekend event with them. I thought I was going to do Mr. Zoom a favor by doing this while he changed clothes. Thank goodness I asked before I picked up the phone and started dialing, because it turns out that Mr. Zoom does NOT do telephone when he's ... er... nekkid or nearly nekkid.
And it wasn't like he'd have even been on the phone with them, or they would have really even known he was in the house. Much less sorta in an underwear and socks only state.
"So even though you won't be on the phone with them, and you know they can't see you ... you do know that right...you have a thing where the phone can't be in use because you are changing clothes?"
"Yes."
"BAHHHAHAHAH AHAHAHHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HAHHHHH AHHAHAHHHAHAHAHHA BAHHHA HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHHA!! ...no, really. Be serious."
"I am."
"Snort Giggle....hoookay."
"Don't apply logic to it. It just is."
"You know this is going on the web, right?"
A few minutes later he told me to go ahead and call in our dinner order so we could pick it up. I protested "But...you aren't fully dressed yet."
"That's ok, because I don't know the people at _______ restaurant."
"Sooo, if you know the people on the other end of the phone, whether they even know you are in the room, ney - just the general vicinity of the phone and you might not be fully clothed, you can't have the phone in use. But total strangers, who you will be seeing in 10 to 20 minutes from which we will pick up our sustenance, THAT'S PERFECTLY OK?"
"Yes."
"This is totally going on the web."
Friday, January 26, 2007
Hay's Wife is Dancing
I don't know crap about recognizing a brilliant lyricist, singer, band...bla bla bla. Most acts that I have been told are perfection incarnate - don't usually do much for me. Sometimes stuff grabs me, and it's absolute trash. Sometimes it's recognized brilliance. I'm not claiming to know the difference.
Last night Mr. Zoom took me to see Colin Hay co headline with Howard Jones at the Cerritos Performing Arts Center. I wasn't overly ecstatic to go to this show on a week night, but I am ever so glad tht I did. I owe Mr. Zoom a great big "You Were Right". Colin Hay rocks any and all parties so hard that Brad and Angelina wish he was a deprived orphan child so they could adopt him. And I bet he could blow the combover right off of Donald Trump's head.
I'm generally not a fan of the once huge, not quite one hit wonder, yet not occupying a ton of space in my music database, back from what feels like 10 years of gone missing band. I find it painful to see people holding on to what made them huge all those years ago when it just isn't appealing anymore. And I realize this is a very individual thing. For some fans, it might be the best thing ever to see a once huge band in a little location all those years later.
I'm not immune to cling myself. I'm positive I've held on to many things far past their expiration date - clothes, hairstyles and other things - yet people were kind enough not to point it out. But I'm not charging admission.
Mr. Zoom has followed Hay all these years, has all the albums. Aside from seeing Hay on Scrubs, I wasn't incredibly familiar with his music. Last night's show was Hay on a stage with probably 3 acoustic guitars. He spoke in between songs. Normally that talking too much thing drives me mad, but he was downright hysterical. A somewhat stand up type performance without the Laff Factory type atmosphere - mixed with stunning music. He's sarcastic, self depricating, funny, subtle, and genuine. His songs have all of those qualities too. I found myself really excited to hear the next "bit", song or talk - it didn't matter. The venue was so small it felt like being at a dinner party where a very charismatic guest steals the attention of everyone at the table without trying.
And his wife performed with him too. Now, when I say performed - I'm not sure that's the proper word. She does this thing where about halfway through his set she seems to sneak on stage and combine all forms of dance into this interpretive type accompanyment. It's so very hard to describe. And it's hard not to giggle at. You can tell she's literally compelled to do what she's doing - as if she's channeling. A mix of line dance, belly dance, rain dance and the worm, with some sign language and yodeling mixed in. As friends who also went described, she's impossible not to watch. I have to give it to Hay and his wife. They are obviously having a really great time doing what they are doing up there, and despite the giggle factor, they pull it off wonderfully.
It was nice to see someone who was so big in the past out performing, doing what he obviously loves, and doing it well without the aid of "Shooting Seizmore Flavor of Love Breaking Bonaduce" type exposure. Don't get me wrong. I adore the crazy of those shows. I am usually left horrified and amused at the documentation of all too real and disturbing difficulties in life. Hay's lack of "in your face my hard life" style of entertaining left me respecting him quite a bit.
Last night Mr. Zoom took me to see Colin Hay co headline with Howard Jones at the Cerritos Performing Arts Center. I wasn't overly ecstatic to go to this show on a week night, but I am ever so glad tht I did. I owe Mr. Zoom a great big "You Were Right". Colin Hay rocks any and all parties so hard that Brad and Angelina wish he was a deprived orphan child so they could adopt him. And I bet he could blow the combover right off of Donald Trump's head.
I'm generally not a fan of the once huge, not quite one hit wonder, yet not occupying a ton of space in my music database, back from what feels like 10 years of gone missing band. I find it painful to see people holding on to what made them huge all those years ago when it just isn't appealing anymore. And I realize this is a very individual thing. For some fans, it might be the best thing ever to see a once huge band in a little location all those years later.
I'm not immune to cling myself. I'm positive I've held on to many things far past their expiration date - clothes, hairstyles and other things - yet people were kind enough not to point it out. But I'm not charging admission.
Mr. Zoom has followed Hay all these years, has all the albums. Aside from seeing Hay on Scrubs, I wasn't incredibly familiar with his music. Last night's show was Hay on a stage with probably 3 acoustic guitars. He spoke in between songs. Normally that talking too much thing drives me mad, but he was downright hysterical. A somewhat stand up type performance without the Laff Factory type atmosphere - mixed with stunning music. He's sarcastic, self depricating, funny, subtle, and genuine. His songs have all of those qualities too. I found myself really excited to hear the next "bit", song or talk - it didn't matter. The venue was so small it felt like being at a dinner party where a very charismatic guest steals the attention of everyone at the table without trying.
And his wife performed with him too. Now, when I say performed - I'm not sure that's the proper word. She does this thing where about halfway through his set she seems to sneak on stage and combine all forms of dance into this interpretive type accompanyment. It's so very hard to describe. And it's hard not to giggle at. You can tell she's literally compelled to do what she's doing - as if she's channeling. A mix of line dance, belly dance, rain dance and the worm, with some sign language and yodeling mixed in. As friends who also went described, she's impossible not to watch. I have to give it to Hay and his wife. They are obviously having a really great time doing what they are doing up there, and despite the giggle factor, they pull it off wonderfully.
It was nice to see someone who was so big in the past out performing, doing what he obviously loves, and doing it well without the aid of "Shooting Seizmore Flavor of Love Breaking Bonaduce" type exposure. Don't get me wrong. I adore the crazy of those shows. I am usually left horrified and amused at the documentation of all too real and disturbing difficulties in life. Hay's lack of "in your face my hard life" style of entertaining left me respecting him quite a bit.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
My Point of Reference Went Home Early
It's strange how life slowly curves out from under you sometimes. It's like falling asleep at the wheel, only when you wake up you haven't crashed. You are just in a little bit of a different place than you were, and you aren't sure when, exactly, things changed.
I just haven't had the time to read and comment on my favorite blogs like I used to. You might say "But, you post, so you must have some free time in there?" I expel my current crazy at the office on a blank document, and then can only access blogger in a way where I can post, but can't read. Or comment. So while it might look like I'm spending some time in blog land, I'm not really. And if they have pictures, I've done them at home and fought long and hard with the computer.
And when I do get to read my favorites, I'm not even finding time to jot a comment. Partly because I'm not in the new account, so the commenting function all but tells me to F Off and refuses to acknowledge me or my jibber jabber in the comment section - and partly because what little time I do spend here, I want to read as many people as I can. Which leaves less time to comment.
So to any and all of you that are accustomed to seeing my nonsensical jibber jabber in your comments, it's probably not going to be that way any more. I might get a rare block of time, and if I do I will make sure I say hi.
In other words, you might not see evidence of my visits, but when I can I do. Or something.
In retardation news, I'm not having a lot of luck with the security at the new firm. The keypad that lets us into the office in the mornings looks exactly like an ATM pad. My firm now has a complete, repetitive record of my ATM card pin number - if they check my failed entry attempts. Turns out my pin number doesn't let me in the door - the assigned code does. But I can't seem to get the urge to put my pin number in the key pad out of my system. And the angry lights that blink at me when I put the wrong code in are starting to get a little old. Sometimes I'll wait for someone else to come by and act like I just got "there" too. I let them do the code thing so I can just follow them in.
There is currently a new sign on one of the doors indicating it would be really nice if people didn't attempt to enter the doors until the "click" of the lock release is heard. Apparently people inside and next to the doors are not as amused at my full speed crash into locked doors outside thing as I am.
Today after spraying my pants with Static Guard, I forgot to turn them right side out again. I even got the top hooks clasped before I tried to zip them up and couldn't figure out why the zipper wasn't "right".
Which incidentally, brings up another fact of life I've learned and am much amused with. There are a number of websites out there that gather all blog postings/web jibber jabber related to their particular product, and they link them - a compiler type thing - on their page. The pages are generally very weak attempts at - I'm not sure what. I think the idea is to sell advertising, but I'm still not sure. What makes me laugh is that at one point I wrote about how I don't like Dave Matthews. It was the story of how Mr. Zoom killed a clown while we discussed Dave Matthews and the fact that I noted: bad smell - Dave Matthews = Must.be.Related. At some point that entry was compiler linked to some Dave Matthews page.
So let me get this straight. I can compare Dave Matthews to a fetid smell that comes out of my husband's ass - and it gets linked to a site trying to convince you they are the authority on the subject?
AWESOME.
How did we get from inside out pants to Dave Matthews? Static Guard! Maybe that product has a compiler web page or 100 as well. Maybe I can convince someone that Static Guard turned my pants inside out. I don't know. I just see an opportunity to semi-mess with what is obviously not so much quality/relevance screening in that web linking process.
I just haven't had the time to read and comment on my favorite blogs like I used to. You might say "But, you post, so you must have some free time in there?" I expel my current crazy at the office on a blank document, and then can only access blogger in a way where I can post, but can't read. Or comment. So while it might look like I'm spending some time in blog land, I'm not really. And if they have pictures, I've done them at home and fought long and hard with the computer.
And when I do get to read my favorites, I'm not even finding time to jot a comment. Partly because I'm not in the new account, so the commenting function all but tells me to F Off and refuses to acknowledge me or my jibber jabber in the comment section - and partly because what little time I do spend here, I want to read as many people as I can. Which leaves less time to comment.
So to any and all of you that are accustomed to seeing my nonsensical jibber jabber in your comments, it's probably not going to be that way any more. I might get a rare block of time, and if I do I will make sure I say hi.
In other words, you might not see evidence of my visits, but when I can I do. Or something.
In retardation news, I'm not having a lot of luck with the security at the new firm. The keypad that lets us into the office in the mornings looks exactly like an ATM pad. My firm now has a complete, repetitive record of my ATM card pin number - if they check my failed entry attempts. Turns out my pin number doesn't let me in the door - the assigned code does. But I can't seem to get the urge to put my pin number in the key pad out of my system. And the angry lights that blink at me when I put the wrong code in are starting to get a little old. Sometimes I'll wait for someone else to come by and act like I just got "there" too. I let them do the code thing so I can just follow them in.
There is currently a new sign on one of the doors indicating it would be really nice if people didn't attempt to enter the doors until the "click" of the lock release is heard. Apparently people inside and next to the doors are not as amused at my full speed crash into locked doors outside thing as I am.
Today after spraying my pants with Static Guard, I forgot to turn them right side out again. I even got the top hooks clasped before I tried to zip them up and couldn't figure out why the zipper wasn't "right".
Which incidentally, brings up another fact of life I've learned and am much amused with. There are a number of websites out there that gather all blog postings/web jibber jabber related to their particular product, and they link them - a compiler type thing - on their page. The pages are generally very weak attempts at - I'm not sure what. I think the idea is to sell advertising, but I'm still not sure. What makes me laugh is that at one point I wrote about how I don't like Dave Matthews. It was the story of how Mr. Zoom killed a clown while we discussed Dave Matthews and the fact that I noted: bad smell - Dave Matthews = Must.be.Related. At some point that entry was compiler linked to some Dave Matthews page.
So let me get this straight. I can compare Dave Matthews to a fetid smell that comes out of my husband's ass - and it gets linked to a site trying to convince you they are the authority on the subject?
AWESOME.
How did we get from inside out pants to Dave Matthews? Static Guard! Maybe that product has a compiler web page or 100 as well. Maybe I can convince someone that Static Guard turned my pants inside out. I don't know. I just see an opportunity to semi-mess with what is obviously not so much quality/relevance screening in that web linking process.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Vacation Without Your Wife. How's That Working For You?
Mr. Zoom has the week off all to himself. I most recently changed jobs, which means I have no vacation time. Mr. Zoom gets a good chunk annually and since he's been at this "new" job a whole year, he found himself with the ability to take a whole week in January.
With all the advice flung at us pre wedding, nobody offered up the "Here's how you deal with you snoozing spouse when you have to wake up in record cold temperatures and drive away to work." advice.
The Sunday before his week started, I found myself amazingly bitter. I literally pouted on the couch over the fact that I would be working, he would not. Which was what I can only call the Crazy Woman No Logic Here Disease. I didn't want to be that girl, but I was. In fact, I was giving award winning performances. I even went to bed early.
I'm not sure you realize how much that says. I hate going to bed. I love sleeping, but I detest getting up and going into the bed place. I especially hate it when someone suggests that maybe I need to go there. I will fight Mr. Zoom so hard on this. I've been known to stand my ground on the couch, cuddled with my blanket and pillow, claiming "I can't go to bed now, I've got too much left to do." - and then 4 seconds later I'm unconscious.
Poor Mr. Zoom. I think I really hurt his feelings when I went to bed early. I want him to take vacation time without me. If he waited for me, he'd max out the vacation accrual and no doubt have finally told someone that they are a krunty old douchebag - and that's why their e-mail doesn't work. Then he'd be fired and he'd really have a lot of free time without me.
He's made me a crazy sissy girl. YES. This is all Mr. Zoom's fault. He loves me no matter how stinking retarded I act. I'd have told me to stop being ridiculous a long time ago. And then poked me in the eyes 3 stooges style if I still acted like a jackass.
No, instead he actually turned off the alarm I set to get myself up in the morning without him so that HE could be the one to get me up and into the shower this week. HE got up when he didn't have to, to do that for me.
And what did I do? How did I thank him? Here's how the conversation went:
"wha? Why didn't my cell phone alarm go off?"
"I turned it off..."
"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! Come back in 10 minutes." You need to be able to hear the shrillness with which I said "Why would you do that? in order to appreciate how much of an ass I was really being.
"Because I wanted to wake you up, I thought it would be easier for you."
"Come back at 7. I can't wake up on the first waking."
"I know."
So he came back and I stumbled into the shower. When I got out I realized he'd gone back to sleep. And my bitter crazy lady left the building. See, I know how much he HATES getting up out of bed when he doesn't have to. Especially if he's going to try and sleep through some more. So the fact that he got up just to wake ME up when he didn't have to - AND played snooze alarm with me - I mean, can anyone have a better husband than that?
I doubt it. And even if you think you have one, I'm ignoring you. Crazy Ladydom works on all kinds of levels. Let's hope it doesn't have to testify in divorce court.
With all the advice flung at us pre wedding, nobody offered up the "Here's how you deal with you snoozing spouse when you have to wake up in record cold temperatures and drive away to work." advice.
The Sunday before his week started, I found myself amazingly bitter. I literally pouted on the couch over the fact that I would be working, he would not. Which was what I can only call the Crazy Woman No Logic Here Disease. I didn't want to be that girl, but I was. In fact, I was giving award winning performances. I even went to bed early.
I'm not sure you realize how much that says. I hate going to bed. I love sleeping, but I detest getting up and going into the bed place. I especially hate it when someone suggests that maybe I need to go there. I will fight Mr. Zoom so hard on this. I've been known to stand my ground on the couch, cuddled with my blanket and pillow, claiming "I can't go to bed now, I've got too much left to do." - and then 4 seconds later I'm unconscious.
Poor Mr. Zoom. I think I really hurt his feelings when I went to bed early. I want him to take vacation time without me. If he waited for me, he'd max out the vacation accrual and no doubt have finally told someone that they are a krunty old douchebag - and that's why their e-mail doesn't work. Then he'd be fired and he'd really have a lot of free time without me.
He's made me a crazy sissy girl. YES. This is all Mr. Zoom's fault. He loves me no matter how stinking retarded I act. I'd have told me to stop being ridiculous a long time ago. And then poked me in the eyes 3 stooges style if I still acted like a jackass.
No, instead he actually turned off the alarm I set to get myself up in the morning without him so that HE could be the one to get me up and into the shower this week. HE got up when he didn't have to, to do that for me.
And what did I do? How did I thank him? Here's how the conversation went:
"wha? Why didn't my cell phone alarm go off?"
"I turned it off..."
"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! Come back in 10 minutes." You need to be able to hear the shrillness with which I said "Why would you do that? in order to appreciate how much of an ass I was really being.
"Because I wanted to wake you up, I thought it would be easier for you."
"Come back at 7. I can't wake up on the first waking."
"I know."
So he came back and I stumbled into the shower. When I got out I realized he'd gone back to sleep. And my bitter crazy lady left the building. See, I know how much he HATES getting up out of bed when he doesn't have to. Especially if he's going to try and sleep through some more. So the fact that he got up just to wake ME up when he didn't have to - AND played snooze alarm with me - I mean, can anyone have a better husband than that?
I doubt it. And even if you think you have one, I'm ignoring you. Crazy Ladydom works on all kinds of levels. Let's hope it doesn't have to testify in divorce court.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Scared of Falling Apart Wearing Elastic Pants
Wii time machine travel aside, I've just not been in the mood to come home and browse the internet lately. That means I haven't visited my favorite bloggers, either. Sorry guys.
There will be no awards for conversation clarity on my mantle. The post below encompasses something I tried to communicate to Mr. Zoom when I - out of the blue - said:
"I feel like I'm ready for elastic mom pants and a sweatshirt with a picture of a kitten embroidered on it."
Remember how I was allergic or becoming allergic to just about every food substance known to be not only edible, but fun? That problem, for the moment, seems to be solved.
Why am I not super excited about this? Why am I not rolling around in Trader Joes chocolate covered peanut butter pretzles?
Because it means taking another drug daily - for the rest of my life - to fix it.
Back when I was not taking any kind of medication, my life was a mess. Anxiety attacks had me housebound and hopeless. For over 10 years now, I've been taking something that prevents that. Makes me "normal" and productive - if not a lot weird and higly distractable. Although that isn't all due to the medication. Most of that was there long before meds. The point is, it took me a long time to get to a place where I'd take the medicine and not feel like a complete loser because I needed it to function.
I said "Ok, getting there sucked, but now I've got a chance for one damn near normal life. I should totally wear it." And I did.
After recently visiting the Dr. who fixed my anxiety problem for me, and discussing the various and multiple allergies I was beginning to collect, he lept out of his chair and started going through some charts in a book. He wrote me a prescription for - Hydroxyzine. Told me to take that, I should be able to eat anything I was previously having reactions to. I scoffed at him. Not only did I just not believe it possible, but I was afraid of it working.
I kept the prescription filled and unused for two whole months. I was afraid that taking it would interfere with the balance I've been able to keep for the past 10+ years. I was afraid that this new factor would throw something off and before I knew it, I'd be back to anxiety attacks I could not control.
Over New Year weekend, I sucked it up and took one of the pills. We didn't have any major plans and if my body mutinied on me, I would have time to recover. That night I had some shredded wheat. That ALWAYS makes me flare up within 4 hours and I'm usually miserable for a week over it. And I was FINE! Not one itch. Not one smidgen of discomfort!
The rest of that week I kept taking the pills and I ate everything I could think of that used to make me break out with the kind of itching where I would literally scratch some of the skin off in an attempt to get some relief. AND I DIDN'T HAVE ANY REACTIONS!
Here's what DID happen. Remember when you were a kid and you were being lectured by your parents? Remember how sometimes you thought it was over and you tried to walk away - just to hear "COME BACK HERE, I'm not finished with you yet."? You know that feeling you got when that happened? I feel like authority just called me back into the room after I made the mistake of thinking things were already taken care of. Only my body, my medication are my authority now. And how many more of these surprises will I face, and will they all be fixable?
I feel a little bit like I'm living on cheater time. Like my body was created in a way that I was never biologically meant to live a "normal" life - and how dare I try to defy it. Like I am now the monster created by the mad scientist - playing with biology and existence. All those things I used to consider medicine did for people when they got much older than I am now, as an attempt to squeeze out a few more good years for them before they ended up a crumpled blob - the cautionary moral of the story - in the corner of their room at the rest home.
But I'm not that old, and I guess I'm a little afraid I'm using up my medical advances a little too early. And I've watched far too many episodes of the Twilight Zone, where getting something you want artificially always seemed to make things worse than when they started.
I know it's futile to worry about what might happen. Really, I do. And I don't want to be all drama queen and claim that my "losing it" is any more devastating than any one else's on this planet. Because it's not. After all, any of us at any time could wake up and face a life changing situation concering our health. But it's difficult to enjoy the peanut butter now when you realize that at any moment you could be called right back into the room..."I'm not finsihed with you yet, put on this kitten sweatshirt."
There will be no awards for conversation clarity on my mantle. The post below encompasses something I tried to communicate to Mr. Zoom when I - out of the blue - said:
"I feel like I'm ready for elastic mom pants and a sweatshirt with a picture of a kitten embroidered on it."
Remember how I was allergic or becoming allergic to just about every food substance known to be not only edible, but fun? That problem, for the moment, seems to be solved.
Why am I not super excited about this? Why am I not rolling around in Trader Joes chocolate covered peanut butter pretzles?
Because it means taking another drug daily - for the rest of my life - to fix it.
Back when I was not taking any kind of medication, my life was a mess. Anxiety attacks had me housebound and hopeless. For over 10 years now, I've been taking something that prevents that. Makes me "normal" and productive - if not a lot weird and higly distractable. Although that isn't all due to the medication. Most of that was there long before meds. The point is, it took me a long time to get to a place where I'd take the medicine and not feel like a complete loser because I needed it to function.
I said "Ok, getting there sucked, but now I've got a chance for one damn near normal life. I should totally wear it." And I did.
After recently visiting the Dr. who fixed my anxiety problem for me, and discussing the various and multiple allergies I was beginning to collect, he lept out of his chair and started going through some charts in a book. He wrote me a prescription for - Hydroxyzine. Told me to take that, I should be able to eat anything I was previously having reactions to. I scoffed at him. Not only did I just not believe it possible, but I was afraid of it working.
I kept the prescription filled and unused for two whole months. I was afraid that taking it would interfere with the balance I've been able to keep for the past 10+ years. I was afraid that this new factor would throw something off and before I knew it, I'd be back to anxiety attacks I could not control.
Over New Year weekend, I sucked it up and took one of the pills. We didn't have any major plans and if my body mutinied on me, I would have time to recover. That night I had some shredded wheat. That ALWAYS makes me flare up within 4 hours and I'm usually miserable for a week over it. And I was FINE! Not one itch. Not one smidgen of discomfort!
The rest of that week I kept taking the pills and I ate everything I could think of that used to make me break out with the kind of itching where I would literally scratch some of the skin off in an attempt to get some relief. AND I DIDN'T HAVE ANY REACTIONS!
Here's what DID happen. Remember when you were a kid and you were being lectured by your parents? Remember how sometimes you thought it was over and you tried to walk away - just to hear "COME BACK HERE, I'm not finished with you yet."? You know that feeling you got when that happened? I feel like authority just called me back into the room after I made the mistake of thinking things were already taken care of. Only my body, my medication are my authority now. And how many more of these surprises will I face, and will they all be fixable?
I feel a little bit like I'm living on cheater time. Like my body was created in a way that I was never biologically meant to live a "normal" life - and how dare I try to defy it. Like I am now the monster created by the mad scientist - playing with biology and existence. All those things I used to consider medicine did for people when they got much older than I am now, as an attempt to squeeze out a few more good years for them before they ended up a crumpled blob - the cautionary moral of the story - in the corner of their room at the rest home.
But I'm not that old, and I guess I'm a little afraid I'm using up my medical advances a little too early. And I've watched far too many episodes of the Twilight Zone, where getting something you want artificially always seemed to make things worse than when they started.
I know it's futile to worry about what might happen. Really, I do. And I don't want to be all drama queen and claim that my "losing it" is any more devastating than any one else's on this planet. Because it's not. After all, any of us at any time could wake up and face a life changing situation concering our health. But it's difficult to enjoy the peanut butter now when you realize that at any moment you could be called right back into the room..."I'm not finsihed with you yet, put on this kitten sweatshirt."
Sunday, January 07, 2007
God Wants You To Vote Bikini
I love this God Truck I saw down in San Clemente. I don't know if those are bananas he's selling (on the back, towards the top?)
The text on the truck says "America's most beautiful women say our bush in the white house is better than no bush at all." "Go Good" (note Good, not God). And "Buy 2 and Save."
"Vote for God".
He had pretty much just started ... setting up when I came by. I should have stayed longer to see what other gems he had in there and for sale, no less. But I got a little spooked. When I'm in one place too long with the camera, accusations fly and grandmas get mean.
The text on the truck says "America's most beautiful women say our bush in the white house is better than no bush at all." "Go Good" (note Good, not God). And "Buy 2 and Save."
"Vote for God".
He had pretty much just started ... setting up when I came by. I should have stayed longer to see what other gems he had in there and for sale, no less. But I got a little spooked. When I'm in one place too long with the camera, accusations fly and grandmas get mean.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
2007. So Far So Wrong.
There is a lot wrong with 2007 already. Actually, it started in December 2006. But whatever, I choose to blame it on the 7.
Mr. Zoom and I are not those people. We don't hear about some item that isn't readily available from store or internet and go on some quest to have one. We've always just figured we'd get one later if we still wanted it. Life was predictable and good.
And then one day Mr. Zoom went to work and played with the Wii that a co-worker brought in. I am not technical and I am too lazy to google it, but Wii described in my own terms is an unfortunately named game platform, like a PS2 or something. It has wireless game controllers that one uses to play the games - interactively - different from "normal". The name Wii - actually now comes and goes in conversation without the giggles. I honestly thought that would never happen.
Mr. Zoom had to have one after playing with it. I snooted at him about how I just don't play video games that much. How I've managed to leave the Guitar Hero alone - therefore I am immune to video game lure. Because standing in front of the t.v. with a controller in my hand and wiggling around as if I'm doing the actual thing on the t.v. is NOT fun, how could it be? One would have to be drunk to subject themselves to that kind of game playing... I mean, haven't you tried to get a group of people to play Cranium before? The charades part is ALWAYS painful for everyone.
He still had to have one. So he got up at 3am and stood in line, in the rain, at a store he knew would have them. This was prior to Christmas, probably about a week. I supportingly rolled over in bed as he left and said "Ifsh you getsh one...put my name on it "To Mr. Zoom from Zoom", Merrshy Chrishmas." zzzzzzzzz. Emphasized with a diagonal bed take over by me.
So my husband became one of those people. He stood in line for hours, and he got the second to last Wii they had.
He brought it home and I flitted around him as he set it up, mostly so I could do my wife duty and say "You might want to read the instruction manual for that?." I superiorly watched from the sidelines as he began to play. The thing comes standard with Sports, which I even further tutted as "so not for me."
Now who's afraid of losing her pro bowling status and sparkly argyle patterned ball in Wii bowling? Yes, I have become one of those people. Dammit, I don't want to bowl with the plain ball.
Stupid Wii.
And here's the even better part. I've started yelling things out loud in response to strikes and spares. "UBANGI!"
...U. BANG. I. ... I don't know why, or where it came from, but that's my cheer now while we play.
Mr. Zoom talks to the golfing a lot. "Be the ball." "Be the 100" [when he's trying to play the version where you hit the ball onto a bulls eye type target] and "That might have a chance...might have a chance...." I told him that perhaps Wii isn't a fan of "Caddy Shack" and that might be the problem.
My favorite one from him so far is "Oh, THANK YOU for totally ignoring the laws of physics" when pins don't fall or balls don't land where he thinks they should.
We are now those people. And we are Pro.
Mr. Zoom and I are not those people. We don't hear about some item that isn't readily available from store or internet and go on some quest to have one. We've always just figured we'd get one later if we still wanted it. Life was predictable and good.
And then one day Mr. Zoom went to work and played with the Wii that a co-worker brought in. I am not technical and I am too lazy to google it, but Wii described in my own terms is an unfortunately named game platform, like a PS2 or something. It has wireless game controllers that one uses to play the games - interactively - different from "normal". The name Wii - actually now comes and goes in conversation without the giggles. I honestly thought that would never happen.
Mr. Zoom had to have one after playing with it. I snooted at him about how I just don't play video games that much. How I've managed to leave the Guitar Hero alone - therefore I am immune to video game lure. Because standing in front of the t.v. with a controller in my hand and wiggling around as if I'm doing the actual thing on the t.v. is NOT fun, how could it be? One would have to be drunk to subject themselves to that kind of game playing... I mean, haven't you tried to get a group of people to play Cranium before? The charades part is ALWAYS painful for everyone.
He still had to have one. So he got up at 3am and stood in line, in the rain, at a store he knew would have them. This was prior to Christmas, probably about a week. I supportingly rolled over in bed as he left and said "Ifsh you getsh one...put my name on it "To Mr. Zoom from Zoom", Merrshy Chrishmas." zzzzzzzzz. Emphasized with a diagonal bed take over by me.
So my husband became one of those people. He stood in line for hours, and he got the second to last Wii they had.
He brought it home and I flitted around him as he set it up, mostly so I could do my wife duty and say "You might want to read the instruction manual for that?." I superiorly watched from the sidelines as he began to play. The thing comes standard with Sports, which I even further tutted as "so not for me."
Now who's afraid of losing her pro bowling status and sparkly argyle patterned ball in Wii bowling? Yes, I have become one of those people. Dammit, I don't want to bowl with the plain ball.
Stupid Wii.
And here's the even better part. I've started yelling things out loud in response to strikes and spares. "UBANGI!"
...U. BANG. I. ... I don't know why, or where it came from, but that's my cheer now while we play.
Mr. Zoom talks to the golfing a lot. "Be the ball." "Be the 100" [when he's trying to play the version where you hit the ball onto a bulls eye type target] and "That might have a chance...might have a chance...." I told him that perhaps Wii isn't a fan of "Caddy Shack" and that might be the problem.
My favorite one from him so far is "Oh, THANK YOU for totally ignoring the laws of physics" when pins don't fall or balls don't land where he thinks they should.
We are now those people. And we are Pro.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
The Holidays. Kicking My Arse in the Free Time
Lack of posting due to whatever excuse I feel like using. And for now that would be the holidays. Which aren't officially over until after New Years.
Being one of the last hires this year, I am doomed to work every stinking working minute that isn't an official day off. This makes me sad. It's not like I didn't know that was going to happen, but sad nonetheless.
There is one thing that was pure unexpected joy for me this season though. It is Gay themed Christmas Cards. I've never gotten any before, and now that I have, I adore them. The jokes, the puns, the picture fun with once never dared make fun of subject matter. Pure glee in an envelope.
I got one the same day I got a card with some heavy Catholic content. I giggled as I put the two cards in the same bag facing each other for the ride home. When I got home there was no holy war, there was no name calling and nobody burst into flames.
It's too bad that people in general can't be more like their holiday cards. There's a spot for your message that people can take or leave, you wish everyone well and you don't mind when a different belief shows up for the ride home.
Being one of the last hires this year, I am doomed to work every stinking working minute that isn't an official day off. This makes me sad. It's not like I didn't know that was going to happen, but sad nonetheless.
There is one thing that was pure unexpected joy for me this season though. It is Gay themed Christmas Cards. I've never gotten any before, and now that I have, I adore them. The jokes, the puns, the picture fun with once never dared make fun of subject matter. Pure glee in an envelope.
I got one the same day I got a card with some heavy Catholic content. I giggled as I put the two cards in the same bag facing each other for the ride home. When I got home there was no holy war, there was no name calling and nobody burst into flames.
It's too bad that people in general can't be more like their holiday cards. There's a spot for your message that people can take or leave, you wish everyone well and you don't mind when a different belief shows up for the ride home.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
I've Been Thrown a Lit Stick of Dynamite
So at the new job, I learn the new boss has a sad event happen in his life. His mother in law has passed away after a battle with some kind of illness.
For normal people, this is a deal with able event. For me, it is a time to make sure I keep my trap shut the hell up so I don't offend the man. I smartly sent Mr. Zoom out for a card for me. And all I did to that card was sign my name.
"Ok, what kind of card should I get for you for him?"
"Something that won't offend a highly religious man who happens to be my boss of less than a month, who's mother in law just passed away? Is there a section at Hallmark for that?
It turns out my new boss is not only very religious, but so are several other co-workers. So much so that it's openly spoken about in passing among themselves. Which is fine with me. They don't try to convert me, ask me what I believe, or otherwise know I'm there. I'm all for any beliefs people want to have, as long as they respect my right to do the same.
But there will come a time when all of that changes. As Olympic Champion of snacking on my feet, both at once even, I can only hope I stay below the radar as long as possible.
I've already mispronounced the name of a key co-worker in such a way that people who witnessed it actually rolled on the floor laughing. I'd tell you what it was, but it's unique enough that it would instantly identify me to anyone happening along this here spot on the net - who happened to be connected with my job. I can tell you that I called him/her the name of a car manufacturer. An American one, at that. It made Mr. Zoom make that forceful "HAH" then silent laugh thing he does when he's really stricken with the funny.
About a week after I started the new job, a temp was assigned to the desk two desks away from me. She didn't have a lot to do there. She spent a lot of time on the internet. The way her computer was situated, I got a decent view of her web tour. I was struck with familiarity when I saw her staring at a screen...that I knew I knew....but couldn't place. I later realized it was the create post screen of blogger!
A fellow blogger.com-er! I didn't get a good enough view to see what her blog was though. I was so amused with the fact that a fellow blogger was temping at my office that I tried to secrety take her picture while she wasn't looking. I was hoping to get the blogger on screen when I did it, but as we already know, I suck at secret agent stuff.
When she had her back to me, I took my camera and lined up for a shot. This was tricky, since other people could see me and I had to time it perfectly. Turns out I forgot to turn off the flash, so when the camera went off, she immediately turned around. I put on my best "Hm, I'm looking down at my desk...looking for something that isn't there, it's important and I'm not paying attention to you at all...WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME?" act. I even talked to myself out loud "NO, no......that pencil isn't right here where I thought I put it......hmmmm".
I suck at acting too.
I tried again to take her picture since the one I had just snapped might have been fuzy. I turned off the flash, but this time the little *tink* noise the shutter makes caught her attention and she immediately turned around again. Which lead to me fake looking for my pencil again.
I haven't seen her since.
For normal people, this is a deal with able event. For me, it is a time to make sure I keep my trap shut the hell up so I don't offend the man. I smartly sent Mr. Zoom out for a card for me. And all I did to that card was sign my name.
"Ok, what kind of card should I get for you for him?"
"Something that won't offend a highly religious man who happens to be my boss of less than a month, who's mother in law just passed away? Is there a section at Hallmark for that?
It turns out my new boss is not only very religious, but so are several other co-workers. So much so that it's openly spoken about in passing among themselves. Which is fine with me. They don't try to convert me, ask me what I believe, or otherwise know I'm there. I'm all for any beliefs people want to have, as long as they respect my right to do the same.
But there will come a time when all of that changes. As Olympic Champion of snacking on my feet, both at once even, I can only hope I stay below the radar as long as possible.
I've already mispronounced the name of a key co-worker in such a way that people who witnessed it actually rolled on the floor laughing. I'd tell you what it was, but it's unique enough that it would instantly identify me to anyone happening along this here spot on the net - who happened to be connected with my job. I can tell you that I called him/her the name of a car manufacturer. An American one, at that. It made Mr. Zoom make that forceful "HAH" then silent laugh thing he does when he's really stricken with the funny.
About a week after I started the new job, a temp was assigned to the desk two desks away from me. She didn't have a lot to do there. She spent a lot of time on the internet. The way her computer was situated, I got a decent view of her web tour. I was struck with familiarity when I saw her staring at a screen...that I knew I knew....but couldn't place. I later realized it was the create post screen of blogger!
A fellow blogger.com-er! I didn't get a good enough view to see what her blog was though. I was so amused with the fact that a fellow blogger was temping at my office that I tried to secrety take her picture while she wasn't looking. I was hoping to get the blogger on screen when I did it, but as we already know, I suck at secret agent stuff.
When she had her back to me, I took my camera and lined up for a shot. This was tricky, since other people could see me and I had to time it perfectly. Turns out I forgot to turn off the flash, so when the camera went off, she immediately turned around. I put on my best "Hm, I'm looking down at my desk...looking for something that isn't there, it's important and I'm not paying attention to you at all...WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME?" act. I even talked to myself out loud "NO, no......that pencil isn't right here where I thought I put it......hmmmm".
I suck at acting too.
I tried again to take her picture since the one I had just snapped might have been fuzy. I turned off the flash, but this time the little *tink* noise the shutter makes caught her attention and she immediately turned around again. Which lead to me fake looking for my pencil again.
I haven't seen her since.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Not Very Holiday Spiritish - Granted.
Dear Resume Writing People,
Quit putting your hobbies or personal interests on your resume. You might as well send us to your myspace page where we can see what you really do enjoy, and learn even more reasons why we shouldn't hire you.
"I enjoy reading, water sports and camping in the summer." I CARE NOT. Do you also enjoy researching how to put together a decent resume? If the job you are looking at actually requires such information, you can put it in your cover letter. Provided you even know what that is.
And chances are, should your personal interests factor into the job you are seeking, they will need to go on the top of the page, not waving pathetically as an afterthought at the bottom.
I don't know. We might hire Betty because she likes to put together jigsaw puzzles while kittens romp at her feet instead of Jane, since she likes to run through sprinklers balancing a Mai Tai and a volleyball. While Jane might be a lot more fun in the office, Betty isn't likely to call in the next day with a hangover or a broken leg.
I don't work in any position that screens resumes. I don't have an ounce of influence in this corporation as to whether a resume is chosen for the next step. The person I work for does see resumes though, and the ones with personal information on them make me want to seek out the author during his/her interview and 3 Stooges poke them in the eyeballs for including such things. AND GETTING AN INTERVIEW DESPITE OBVIOUS OVERQUALIFICATION IN NITWITDOM.
Quit putting your hobbies or personal interests on your resume. You might as well send us to your myspace page where we can see what you really do enjoy, and learn even more reasons why we shouldn't hire you.
"I enjoy reading, water sports and camping in the summer." I CARE NOT. Do you also enjoy researching how to put together a decent resume? If the job you are looking at actually requires such information, you can put it in your cover letter. Provided you even know what that is.
And chances are, should your personal interests factor into the job you are seeking, they will need to go on the top of the page, not waving pathetically as an afterthought at the bottom.
I don't know. We might hire Betty because she likes to put together jigsaw puzzles while kittens romp at her feet instead of Jane, since she likes to run through sprinklers balancing a Mai Tai and a volleyball. While Jane might be a lot more fun in the office, Betty isn't likely to call in the next day with a hangover or a broken leg.
I don't work in any position that screens resumes. I don't have an ounce of influence in this corporation as to whether a resume is chosen for the next step. The person I work for does see resumes though, and the ones with personal information on them make me want to seek out the author during his/her interview and 3 Stooges poke them in the eyeballs for including such things. AND GETTING AN INTERVIEW DESPITE OBVIOUS OVERQUALIFICATION IN NITWITDOM.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
When the Broken is Nobody's Fault But Yours
There was about a 45 minute block of time today wherein I was convinced that the Superior Court had lost its telephone service. I would have bet anyone around me this was true. I spent that 45 minutes attempting to make successful calls to that court, only to get a recording every time that said "I'm sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again."
I tried every department telephone number I could find on the internet. There are at least 50 of them. NONE of them worked.
I reasoned "Hm. I'm new. Chances are I'm not dialing the phone correctly. I'll try calling a number I know is working and see if I get through." I tried my home, and I got the answering machine. OK, then I can't be doing anything wrong, right?
So in flustration, I called the associate attorney that assigned this to me. I said "Yeah. You aren't going to believe this when I tell you - and I'd like you to try the same numbers I did - but I can't get one single number to the Superior Court to work correctly. They are broken. BROKEN I TELL YOU. I get an "unable to connect" message every time. And I tried local numbers I know, and got through on those so I have to be dialing correctly."
He good naturedly conference called me in on his attempt to get through to our court department - AND GOT THROUGH ON THE VERY FIRST TRY. When the clerk picked up, I honestly thought it was a joke. After the call was completed, I asked him to come up to my phone so I could try again. Because I kept getting the same result.
While he watched, I started to dial the number. And then the laughter. THE LAUGHTER began. "The problem is you aren't daling 1 - xxx - xxx-xxxx. Because you do know we are in the yyy area code??....which means xxx numbers need a 1 before you dial...."
Turns out that I was dialing as if I was in the area code FOR MY OLD JOB (xxx), not the new area code (yyy) I'm dialing from now. Not the area code I've typed onto at least 300 some documents in the last month.
I laughed. He laughed. I'll bet you a gillion dollars I'll do it again. Wish I had that 45 minutes back - but whatcha gonna do.
Besides, I've got a much more disturbing worry to worry about. The air is so dry lately that the inside of my nose now feels as if I've coke whore sniffed an entire pan of baklava up into there. Like I'm storing for the winter or something. I can't breathe without making whistle noises. And every once in a while I get the sensation that I've got a dangler. But nothing is ever there. At least not when I look. And trust me, blowing my nose only makes all of this much worse.
If I can't even dial a telephone correctly, how am I supposed to trust myself to keep my nose dangle free?
I tried every department telephone number I could find on the internet. There are at least 50 of them. NONE of them worked.
I reasoned "Hm. I'm new. Chances are I'm not dialing the phone correctly. I'll try calling a number I know is working and see if I get through." I tried my home, and I got the answering machine. OK, then I can't be doing anything wrong, right?
So in flustration, I called the associate attorney that assigned this to me. I said "Yeah. You aren't going to believe this when I tell you - and I'd like you to try the same numbers I did - but I can't get one single number to the Superior Court to work correctly. They are broken. BROKEN I TELL YOU. I get an "unable to connect" message every time. And I tried local numbers I know, and got through on those so I have to be dialing correctly."
He good naturedly conference called me in on his attempt to get through to our court department - AND GOT THROUGH ON THE VERY FIRST TRY. When the clerk picked up, I honestly thought it was a joke. After the call was completed, I asked him to come up to my phone so I could try again. Because I kept getting the same result.
While he watched, I started to dial the number. And then the laughter. THE LAUGHTER began. "The problem is you aren't daling 1 - xxx - xxx-xxxx. Because you do know we are in the yyy area code??....which means xxx numbers need a 1 before you dial...."
Turns out that I was dialing as if I was in the area code FOR MY OLD JOB (xxx), not the new area code (yyy) I'm dialing from now. Not the area code I've typed onto at least 300 some documents in the last month.
I laughed. He laughed. I'll bet you a gillion dollars I'll do it again. Wish I had that 45 minutes back - but whatcha gonna do.
Besides, I've got a much more disturbing worry to worry about. The air is so dry lately that the inside of my nose now feels as if I've coke whore sniffed an entire pan of baklava up into there. Like I'm storing for the winter or something. I can't breathe without making whistle noises. And every once in a while I get the sensation that I've got a dangler. But nothing is ever there. At least not when I look. And trust me, blowing my nose only makes all of this much worse.
If I can't even dial a telephone correctly, how am I supposed to trust myself to keep my nose dangle free?
Sunday, December 03, 2006
My Heart Swells with Cable Provider Love
There is little I adore more than being on the couch in my jammies with a blanket, watching all the t.v. I can absorb. I realize this is not a healthy, admirable or inspiring habit. I do not care. It makes me oh so happy, and life is too short not to find what makes you happy and do it.
Wittgenstein can totally bite me and then wear it.
I spend a LOT of time in the On Demand. That is the channel that our cable company provides where you can buy movies to watch. Some are good, some are absolute trash. I love them all. I like to pick some indie film and then go to IMDB after I watch it to see what other people thought. One recent pleasant surprise was "Brothers of the Head". Wonderfully dark, twisted mocumentary that won't leave you easily.
Today I was browsing categories when Christmas came early to the Zoom household. Cleverly disguised as "Special Interests", which to me usually means documentaries...
Behold my next false story to strangers about how I met my husband: Dating On Demand.
I can still hardly believe this exists.
Wittgenstein can totally bite me and then wear it.
I spend a LOT of time in the On Demand. That is the channel that our cable company provides where you can buy movies to watch. Some are good, some are absolute trash. I love them all. I like to pick some indie film and then go to IMDB after I watch it to see what other people thought. One recent pleasant surprise was "Brothers of the Head". Wonderfully dark, twisted mocumentary that won't leave you easily.
Today I was browsing categories when Christmas came early to the Zoom household. Cleverly disguised as "Special Interests", which to me usually means documentaries...
Behold my next false story to strangers about how I met my husband: Dating On Demand.
I can still hardly believe this exists.
So of course I had to find out what the man of my dreams was like. After all, I've spent all this time believing he snores me out of bed every night and laughs when I trucker burp, without following up with divorce papers.
The anticipation nearly killed me.
Turns out I don't dream like other people?
But to prove I wasn't just thinking about myself, I decided to see what kind of replacement wife Mr. Zoom could have if .. say.. trucker burping becomes unamusing to him. I picked from the girl next door category.
I previewed the reason she's a good catch. "You should date her because you'd be loved and treasured. Now if that's not a good reason, we don't know what is!"
Mr. Zoom definitely deserves to be loved and treasured.
Although not by a pirate.
You may have noticed under "Dating on Demand", there is a submenu called "Something Weird". GLEE washed over me AGAIN!
I haven't had time to see all the weird goodness in here, but I was immediately drawn to SCHOOL SCARE FILMS!!
LSD Insanity. YEEEEES! Although it's not very cool - since the film itself asks "LSD, Insight or Insanity", and the title in On Demand gives you the answer straight away. Because I was leaning towards insight at first...
You get pure, uncut, retro educational filmage without the homework!
This poor woman mistook a flame from her gas stove for a carnation. Flower. Flame. Easy mistake.
And it's all in the Free Zone! I haven't been this happy since I found the submenu from the IFC channel that plays indie films for free that are in theaters now!
Friday, December 01, 2006
The Tagging, by Poly. The Answers, by Zoom.
6 Weird Things About Me.
1. I can not seem to stand still long enough to fill the gas tank in my truck. I will start, and by the time $35 or so dollars has rung up on the pump, I'm bored and feel the need to drive away. I usually try to make the amount of gas cost some uneven amount - like $33.21. I only do that because Mr. Zoom checks the accounts almost daily, and he adores even amounts. When we go out to eat, he will figure a tip so that the total bill is an even amount. And quite honestly, the uneven debit game is the only thing that keeps me at the gas pump for a few seconds more. Mr. Zoom will get into my truck, see the 3/4 gas tank and say "I thought you went to the gas station today?!"
2. I have a toothbrush bristle phobia. I am fine with my own toothbrush, but if I see one on t.v. - especially if someone runs their fingers over the bristles, it makes me squirm. If someone is holding a toothbrush and mindlessly flicks the bristles, it also drives me crazy. I have no idea where this came from.
3. I take medication every day to function "normally". Antidepressants. I once lived a life of panic attacks and never being able to step foot ouside my own home. Medication, sometimes deservedly, gets a bad rap.
4. When I'm out in public, even if I've just rolled out of bed, I have to have earrings on. I think I know where this obsession came from. When I was little, my fine, thin hair (almost impossible to grow long), along with my "tall" size had many people assuming I was a "boy". I was crushed every time I got mistaken for a boy. Granted, I was I huge tomboy and my friends were mostly other boys (2 older brothers' influence), which didn't help. Also, my girls didn't become anywhere near their "D" size until I was about 33 years old. So having a "B" or less rack under there wasn't much of a giveaway either. How I figured earrings would be the shield from mistaken gender? Dunno. But to this day I need to have earrings on if I'm out in public.
5. When I was young, I never seemed to believe I'd live beyond 20 years of age. And it wasn't always 20 that I focused on, just what at that time felt like "older" to me. I don't know why I thought I wasn't going to be alive much past my teens. It wasn't like anyone abused me, threatened me - anything like that. I had absolutely NO basis for any kind of crazy thoughts like those. But I can remember them being a prominent theme in my daily thought rotation until I turned at least 18.
6. When I was little, I thought UPS trucks were chocolate milk trucks. I was actually young in the days of milk delivery. And milk always came out of white trucks. I figured the UPS trucks never came to our house because chocolate milk wasn't allowed.
Now, I'm supposed to tag people. But I'm never very good with that. So I always take the wussy way out and say "ok, here you go. If you want to be tagged, then.... shazaam! You are."
1. I can not seem to stand still long enough to fill the gas tank in my truck. I will start, and by the time $35 or so dollars has rung up on the pump, I'm bored and feel the need to drive away. I usually try to make the amount of gas cost some uneven amount - like $33.21. I only do that because Mr. Zoom checks the accounts almost daily, and he adores even amounts. When we go out to eat, he will figure a tip so that the total bill is an even amount. And quite honestly, the uneven debit game is the only thing that keeps me at the gas pump for a few seconds more. Mr. Zoom will get into my truck, see the 3/4 gas tank and say "I thought you went to the gas station today?!"
2. I have a toothbrush bristle phobia. I am fine with my own toothbrush, but if I see one on t.v. - especially if someone runs their fingers over the bristles, it makes me squirm. If someone is holding a toothbrush and mindlessly flicks the bristles, it also drives me crazy. I have no idea where this came from.
3. I take medication every day to function "normally". Antidepressants. I once lived a life of panic attacks and never being able to step foot ouside my own home. Medication, sometimes deservedly, gets a bad rap.
4. When I'm out in public, even if I've just rolled out of bed, I have to have earrings on. I think I know where this obsession came from. When I was little, my fine, thin hair (almost impossible to grow long), along with my "tall" size had many people assuming I was a "boy". I was crushed every time I got mistaken for a boy. Granted, I was I huge tomboy and my friends were mostly other boys (2 older brothers' influence), which didn't help. Also, my girls didn't become anywhere near their "D" size until I was about 33 years old. So having a "B" or less rack under there wasn't much of a giveaway either. How I figured earrings would be the shield from mistaken gender? Dunno. But to this day I need to have earrings on if I'm out in public.
5. When I was young, I never seemed to believe I'd live beyond 20 years of age. And it wasn't always 20 that I focused on, just what at that time felt like "older" to me. I don't know why I thought I wasn't going to be alive much past my teens. It wasn't like anyone abused me, threatened me - anything like that. I had absolutely NO basis for any kind of crazy thoughts like those. But I can remember them being a prominent theme in my daily thought rotation until I turned at least 18.
6. When I was little, I thought UPS trucks were chocolate milk trucks. I was actually young in the days of milk delivery. And milk always came out of white trucks. I figured the UPS trucks never came to our house because chocolate milk wasn't allowed.
Now, I'm supposed to tag people. But I'm never very good with that. So I always take the wussy way out and say "ok, here you go. If you want to be tagged, then.... shazaam! You are."
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