Ok. Fine. I Don't Need to be Told THREE Times.

Hello blogger account. You bombard me with "UPDATE YOUR BLOGGER to the NEW AND IMPROVED BLOGGER", in beta. And I don't want to do that. It took me long enough to work this one. And I don't even know all the features here yet. So until you tell me I have to upgrade, I think I'll stick with the old version.

This here recent Thanksgiving arrived with a few unexpected adventures. We normally don't do much for this holiday, but were given the opportunity to visit family so we took it. I won't be back to work until Thursday. This is the only time off I'm going to get for about a year, so we figured we'd make the best of it.

And by best of it, I mean going out into the public world and apparently provoking the suspicion of one heavily accented grandma with a baby stroller.

You know how some brain disorders are associated with hypergraphia? Or at least I think I read that somewhere... Well, whatever disorder I have comes with a mean case of hyperphotographia. As long as I can remember, I've had a love of photography. My father had his own darkroom before I was even born, and one of my great aunts was so very good at it. There's even a photo club in Washington that has a memorial award in her name issued every year. I suppose it's run in my family - although the being good at it part took a left turn and never arrived at ME. Which is why I can't understand why I'm so fascinated with something I'm clearly not able to do in a way that justifies putting myself in the cross-hairs of public ire.

Today I went down to Balboa Island. It's a huge tourist attraction in the summer. This now being winter, and a week day - I could hardly get the camera charged up fast enough to get down there and wander around. I figured the Fun Zone would give off an interesting vacant carnival type vibe since it is winter.

There were other people there, but nothing like the jam packed streets of summer. I purposely stayed out of the residential areas on the island. There were some great photo opportunities, but I had to let them go. I didn't want to freak anyone out by taking pictures of their house.

I began taking pictures almost immediately upon feeding a parking meeter at the Fun Zone. I noticed an older lady with a baby stroller behind me. Feeling like I was in her path, I turned around and headed the other direction on the street. I crossed and started to enter the Fun Zone from a different angle. Whenever possible, especially when children are involved, I try to stay out of someone's way. That's all I was doing.

I noticed that baby stroller lady was about 30 feet behind me. I thought "That's weird, I totally would have thought she was going in on the other entrance....ooooh, look, carousel!" I found the Ferris Wheel, the car ferry, etc. Every time I looked behind me, there was baby stroller lady. I started to think to myself "I swear she's following me. WHY?", but decided she was probably NOT doing that - since who would follow me in the first place, and who would follow me with an infant in tow? It just didn't make any sense.

(Blogger isn't letting me upload pictures, so I guess I try to make links)





As I stopped to change a lens, she was off to the side of me. I looked up and smiled at her. She grabbed her baby stroller and began to finally roll past me. She paused, looked right at me and half said half angry voice addressed me "Yoh lllruhn alllround taking LOOOTS of pictures. Ihhheets reallly rehallly WEEEIRD! Boot, I shuphose....whutevah...." and she waved her hands around at me. All I could reply in that moment was "I'm just practicing with my camera." I was stunned that she was actually following me, and that she was irritated with me. "OOOOH, I DOOH NOOOT CHINK SO!" she yelled back at me and finally went on her way.



As she continued down the path away from me, I tried to take a picture of her. Both to annoy her, and to prove to me that I had actually been followed and accused of .... something... by some crazy lady with a stroller. I, unfortunately, had the fisheye lense on and my white balance was set for sunny, not shade. So her picture isn't all that clear. And it's only the back of her.

And what kills me is that I understand people asking me what I'm doing. I get that in today's world, one has to question people and what they are doing if it concerns them. I don't mind if they politely ask, because I'll politely respond. When attacked like this, I just sit in my truck afterwards and say things to nobody like "Oh yeah? Well if I bother you so much, why don't you call the police? What's that? Oh yeah, because what I'm doing is NOT ILLEGAL."

There was a group of 3 college age looking kids down there doing the exact same thing I was. They had cameras and lenses galore. Baby stroller lady didn't seem to have a problem with them in the least.

I was wandering behind some of the businesses, and in the alley I saw this:



The instant I took that, a car pulled up behind me and a man rolled down his window. He asked "Are you a spy?" I said "No, I'm just practicing with my camera." He said "OH, I thought you were the FBI or something" and then he drove away. I'm positive he was just being cautious - trying to find out what the hell I thought I was doing. But if I'm a spy, I don't know it. And I'm the worst one ever. Who can resist photgraphing a bright yellowgreen house in an alleyway? I'm pretty sure spies are trained to resist.

It's Only Been Two Weeks?

You are all very kind with your comments in the last post. Thank you.

Ok, so here's where I get to tell on myself. Run down all the ways I was feeling a little like a square peg destined for a round hole. I can say that after completing 2 weeks, I feel a thousand times better than I did on day one.

On day one, I was completely tazered. I had been given reference materials for the 6 hours of training my head decided to block completely due to terror, but they were 3 inches thick. You would think the occupation of law would allow for searching through reference material - but you would be wrong. Secretaries are expected to just KNOW. No attorney wants to see you raise your hand in that "wait a second please?" gesture while they are busy machine gun assigning things for you to do TODAY.

I have to admit that nobody at my new place really expected me to know firm policy inside and out on even my 6th day there - but that is me. Always taking a nugget of doom and making it my own asteroid. I also have this wonderful ability to absorb my prior surroundings and take it with me. Like these examples:

At my old job, we were encouraged to send every copy job to "staff services" (the copy room), no matter how small it was. That's all well and good when your office only takes up two floors. This week when I sent a series of small copy jobs down to staff services, I got a personal visit from one of the people in the department. "Here are your copy jobs. Um, these jobs are REALLY simple. Didn't anyone show you how to use the copier up here?" OOOOOOOH! I'm actually encouraged to make my own copies!! "Yes" I said "but I'm new. Please don't poison me." There you have an example of nervous utterance from me. How this person could poison me? Makes no sense but hey - I suppose they will have to learn about me sooner or later?

At my old job, when printing a document we had to sortof guess when other people were printing and then stick letterhead or labels in the printer at the right time. Hoping we guessed right. At the new job, apparently the printers are programmed to pick your paper for you out of 4 possible bins. So when I sent a letter to the printer and then walked over to get it - I was upset to see that a letter was already laying in the printer. It was mine, but it was on letterhead and I had just wanted a draft. I immediately assumed I had printed on someone else's letterhead. So I said out loud "whoops, I just printed on someone's letterhead....sorry." Yeah, everyone just gave me the "what ARE you talking about" face.

The loos. The loos at my old job had automated EVERYTHING. Flusing, sinks and soap dispensers. The ones at the new place? NO AUTO ANYTHING. Ok, that's fine. After a lot of "ohmygosh...did I flush?" and running back to make sure, I'm getting that habit back again. But the worst part of the new loos? They have hand lotion dispensers. Guess who thought they were the soap dispensers? Guess who thought that until one lady who works on her floor said "ahem, that is the lotion dispenser and it's been empty all day." because I was frantically trying to get something out of it - needing soap to wash my hands.

Mr. Zoom had told me all about the super stocked kitchens on every floor. He mentioned that every pain releiver, every cold remedy, every antacid was available for use while on the job. One day I had a headache and went in the kitchen in search of rumored mediciney goodness. I could NOT find anything like that. So I sent an e-mail to Mr. Zoom asking about where I could find it. He brought up (from 7 floors away) some aspirin for me and then wandered into our floor's kitchen (which just happens to be two cubes away from where I sit.) I then heard "ZOOM, your first aid box is RIGHT HERE!" I got up and said "where?" He pointed to the GIGANTIC first aid box nailed to the wall, at eyeball level, right as you enter the kitchen. "OOOOOOH" I said. "I didn't know we were allowed to open and use that?! I thought that was for ... fires, or earthquakes and stuff."

And my best performance the first week - I interoffice mailed a document to someone just 2 cubes away from me. At least she sits around the corner from me, and it's not like I have to look at her akk day and realize I made myself look like an incredibly lazy princess to her and a few other people. But I do have to pass her on the way in and out every day. And she's ALWAYS at her desk.

So there it is. 2 weeks down and I'm not fired yet. I really do feel pretty comfortable there now all things considered. And next week is short due to Thanksgiving. Which scares me a little bit because I keep having those high school, can't remember my locker combination dreams - only it involves passwords to the computer programs. At least I'm not to the "at work nekkid" ones yet.

The Tired

I started my new job on Monday. It's only Tuesday, but I'm telling you right now it feels like I've lived about a week and a half already.

I had completely forgotten how difficult it is to learn a new job. It's basically the exact same job I just left as far as tasks. The exhausting part is learning how this particular firm accomplishes those tasks. The amount of information - the passcodes alone - that I have to now remember is astounding (to me.) I've got stickie notes in places they were never meant to be.

Mr. Zoom is there, thank goodness. I don't get to see him during the day since he's on a different floor. At some point there will probably be something his department will handle for mine, but what he does daily is so far removed from what I do daily, that it will be easy to maintain our distance at the office.

It forces me to reach out a little bit to co-workers [strangers] that I'd normally avoid while hoping I could "figure it out" on my own. I still do try and figure things out on my own, but I'm not as hesitant to seek someone's assistance if I've got the one person who loves me no matter what just 6 floors away if I need him. Im sure that makes zero sense to normal people.

I won't be able to check in on you guys or even update until I feel like I'm starting to "get it" at the office. Even after work I've been able to do little more than hoover some dinner down and then fall into bed. Apparently I can not be made so tired that I can not eat.

Everyone keep writing and have a good November.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MR. ZOOM!

We Zooms are never ones for celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, Valentines day... I can't possibly keep everyone's dates straight, even with modern technology. I'm too flaky to stick to one technological device - so there's endless incomplete information in about 30 places at one time.

That translates to me forgetting just about everyone's day. I like to give anything I find for someone right away instead of waiting for a special day anyway. Part of that is because I simply can't hold on to something I've found for someone for very long. I feel like I will explode if I don't get it to them right away.

Today is our official first wedding anniversary. And I guarantee you that I wouldn't even have known to write happy anniversary to Mr. Zoom in any kind of big deal way - except for my parents. Those who birthed me are quite insane. I've already apologized to Mr. Zoom.

He came home one night while I was at the gym and this is what I heard on my cell phone: "Um...there are large....LARGE packages here at the house. Only they aren't packages... really. They are trash bags. But it doesn't appear to be trash. I think it might be something from your parents."

Indeed, it was.

It came with a card explaining that this is our one year anniversary, which means paper.

And we will be using all of it. Although both of us are a tad disturbed at the Nesting Boxes. They are Christmas themed, and for some reason scare us as a clown doll would if it were sitting in our house staring at us.

"Are we a household or an institution? My guess is both."

My FAMom also provide me with a bag of leftover Halloween candy. I was amused and afraid for her when I got it home and realized she had made individual baggies of candy for her visitors:

Witness two bags she prepared. Each has exactly the identical contents. She's not about to let any little greedy child try and fool her into thinking they deserve a second helping - since all of her offerings are full of thought and fairness. Fairness you CAN.NOT.ARGUE. I love my mom, but she's always looking at a situation as having a potential problem attached to it. And she loves nothing more than beating you to the solution to it. Whether a real problem exists or not.

When I came home with these I told Mr. Zoom "Uh, you want to take this to the office with you? Warning though, my mom individually baggieized the candy."

Now, where am I going to store 30 rolls of toilet paper?

Ah, Now I Get It.

It being where I learned to maintain my love of a stupid joke well past the age that most people claim I should have let it go.

I went to visit my parents tonight. The first thing my Dad said to my FAMom was "Let's show her the canned pudding!" I know my Dad well enough to freeze upon hearing this set up and say "Why, whatever do you mean?" And I was just a litte curious as to what they had "discovered" this week. They are getting to that age where I have to act like discoveries they make are extraordinary. Act like that e-mail warning hoax they have forwarded isn't all bullshit, but an incredibly helpful - no - lifesaving document. Stuff like that.

He eagerly went to his office and returned with a can of Spotted Dick. I made the requisite "Aww geeze, that's silly" talk and handed the can back to him. All the while thinking "Gad, I've read up on that dish, and can't understand why anyone would eat it, much less can it. I wonder how canning it goes over with people who actually eat that stuff?"

He explained the history of Spotted Dick and how a friend had bought it for him at a British store out here somewhere. FAMom and Dad could not get over themselves. They kept giggling and passing the can around.

I would have taken pictures, but I had left my purse in the car since this was to be a short visit.

When I got up to leave, my Dad said "Mom of Zoom....shall we have some Spotted Dick now?" That sent them on a giggle fest that I'm not sure isn't continuing even now. 3 hours later. I love that they still laugh at potty humor.

After all, I managed to break out into uncontrollable laughter today when I told the managing partner "Your package is large and organized." This is an example of how I talk, but not all of the important information is out loud. Listening to me is literally like trying to listen to the speaking version of one of those bots or programs that spews that jibber jabber in spam e-mails.

What I was trying to say to him was "Your documents for the hearing tomorrow are organized by motion, opposition and reply - And there are 4 motions being heard tomorrow instead of just one."

Thank goodness he either knew what I meant by the crazy speak, or he simply wanted away from me as soon as possible. Because he just kept on walking after my statement. It is really going to be difficult to train a whole new office in Zoomspeak. Without my getting fired first.

Why, That's Below the Standard of CARE!

Our office makes coffee available to its employees. FREE. We have one of those cup at a time machines, with about 6 different kinds of coffee to chose from.

It wouldn't matter if there were 100 kinds to chose from, someone would be unhappy with the FREE coffee. Just like there's always someone unhappy with the FREE bagels and muffins provided on Fridays.

Everyone knows there are people who would rather complain and still take advantage of the free, rather than quietly go fulfill their needs elsewhere at their own cost. I tend to think of it as misplaced entitlement, and it amuses me that people waste so much energy complaining about the free.

This morning I was treated to a new level of misplaced entitlement. It was frosted with the painfully obvious "someone learned a new phrase and isn't using it correctly."

A particular employee of this firm is what is known as a table pounder. He/she constantly uses the f bomb and emphasizes his/her verbal communications with clenched fists hammering on whatever surface is in front of him/her.

Attorney Smash was at the coffee machine when I came in to the kitchen.

"THERE'S NO DECENT COFFEE HERE! It's all this flavored and decaf crap." <------- (lets all take a moment to notice of the use of the word crap, shall we? In my head I said "poo, you should call it poo - or you will be written up.")

"THERE'S NOTHING LEFT BUT THIS LOSS LEADER COFFEE AND THEY ARE FORCING IT ON US!"

Now, the last time I discussed the term Loss Leader with someone, I was told it was a desirable item that a business sold at a loss in order to tempt customers to look around and buy other items. A way to get people through the door. I'm pretty sure it's not the stuff that's left over that nobody wants.

I pretended to look through the cabinets in an attempt to find Attorney Smash some "good" coffee. I kept saying "Nope, all that is here is that....what did you call it?"

"LOSS LEADER! LOSS LEADER FLAVORS, THEY ARE FORCING THEM ON US. I can't stand this. UGH."

Attorney Smash repeated this loss leader theory to at least 2 more people who came in the room. Every one of them glazed over with a mental block building look. They seem to like the loss leader coffee just fine. As do I. In fact, it's rare that those flavors are so plentiful.

I hid my giggles by pretending to search yet another cabinet. At least one other person listening to his rant caught on to what I was doing and before long we both had to leave the kitchen.

It must be hard to go through life believing all acts are a covert attack on one's happiness. I wonder if I can get some rumors going around the office confirming that fact before my last day arrives.

Welcome to Pooville

Last night I was taking some time after work to gather a bit of my personal stuff out of my work area. Every evening I've hauled a box out to the truck so that on the last day I'm not tempting the fall over gods with my wide load.

My telephone rang, and it was the office manager. I was informed that I am not permitted to use the term "crap" in the office. Even after hours. Here's what I heard "bla bla bla I challenge you to be creative in your off color language bla bla bla."

I'm certainly not going the way of a certain co-worker who uses the term "Puppy Trax" (yes, she has it spelled out on a sign in her cube) whenever she feels the need to creatively curse. Whenever she lobs this annoying phrase into the atmosphere, the wave of cringing can be seen circling the office - sometimes twice - depending on the number of Trax delivered. If I were going to be working here longer, I would blame the next round of heart attacks on the additional stress created by resisting the smackdown of this phrase and its overwhelming hurl factor.

I know call the crap POO. While not exactly creative, it is amusing. To me. "Aw Poo. I just dropped my pen in my lap for the 3rd time today. Another 2 or 3 rounds and I'll be forced to wear yet another unintentional smilie face on my britches - in an unfortunate location."

My Sale Price Scans at the Register.

Ages ago, someone told me about the Hollow Earth theory. I saw a picture and went "neato!". I didn't absorb any science concerning it. All I remembered was the water, the islands and the little theoretical sun. And then I promptly forgot all about it.

Which is why (I think) while watching Lost during the last three weeks, my head clicked to "Maybe it's a Hollow Earth theory with other science fiction twists?" It was when the woman said something about sailing around in circles keeping the ... uh... survivors busy. Somehow that made me think Hollow Earth. I googled Hollow Earth and Lost, and see that someone took a lot of time to explain the possibilities and non-possibilities of this being the case. I didn't read it though.

I'm willing to buy it without understanding it and call it a show. I'm growing tired of the cranial blue balls every week.

I was also disturbed, recently, by something I saw in my hair salon the other day. This particular shop displays art by local artists for sale. The name, title and price of the piece is displayed. Totally normal stuff, right?

Yes. But. One particular artist spelled her name "Nansea". And it took me a good 20 seconds to realize it wasn't pronounced "Nanseeeeah", but "Nancy". And then I became annoyed.

It's not that I think unique spellings are bad - in general. I understand the benefit of making one's name stand out. Especially if you are an artist or someone that needs to make sure when you are googled, there's a good chance YOU are on the first page of the results. I'm annoyed because my thinks too much about things that probably don't matter consciousness will now be terrified to assume things that were traditionally sorta ok to assume.

There's already plenty of wiggle room on the spelling of someone's name. I can get into a never ending trough of hot water just by mis-spelling a client's name on accident. I don't need to be aware that there are now about 3 gagillion other ways to spell names that were considered pretty stable (at least by me) until now. Sure, you have your traditional ending in "y" names ending in "i" - and the owners of those names are pretty used to me saying "Judy with a Y or an I?"

Now what am I supposed to do? "Betty? Is that with a Y, an I or a TEA?" "Betsy with a Y, an I or a SEA?"

I'm sure you can see sea that the possibilities are endless.

This is not good for someone who just today, after being at work for 5 hours, realized what that scratchy thing poking her in the lower back was. Yes, I accessorized today's work outfit with the original price tag that came with the skirt. Not just one of those "inspected by ____" stickers that usually hides inside of an article of clothing, but a full sized, anchored with a plastic tether, price tag.

Roulette

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

And I got one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why is this person giving me LIP?"

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

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

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

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

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

Bake for 8 Hours at 350 Degrees

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OCD Humor Husbandry

Poor Mr. Zoom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Check this out:

towelfoolery - Custom videocodes by MyWynk

Right. Ok.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BRILLIANT!

Continuous Loop of Duh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Like He Loves Me Anyway

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Like Having Your Dreams Become Reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Like We Heard a Noise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Like Morning Conversation with the Zooms

Mr. Zoom and I were having our typical

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do.?!"

"SEE! You just asked for it again!"

It's Like Trying To Read Alien

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Like Scrubs is in Syndication

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

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

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

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

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

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

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