Everyone Pees.

I've had a cold/flu/misery for a few days now. This always leads to weird sleeping patterns and restless body-ness, especially as I start to recover. Last night I couldn't sleep, no matter what I tried.

I was lying in bed, listening to Mr. Zoom snore. Suddenly I remembered a happy hour I attended in 2001, where I managed to chase a grown man from our table using the word Pee. And it hadn't been on purpose. But it was damn funny - now.

Back then I was about a year away from meeting Mr. Zoom. I was spending a lot of time with various friends, and I lived on my own. We were all in our 30s at the time. One of my closest friends happens to work with many of her very own closest friends at the same company. They were all meeting for a happy hour one Thursday night, and she had asked me to meet them there. This would not be the first time I'd met up with this particular group of people, but I didn't know them all that well yet.

I always worked late, so I drove myself over. Because I was driving, I didn't have any alcohol. I was and still am a Half Can Sam and knew I'd never be able to drive even on one drink. I routinely ordered a diet coke or pepsi, and was happy with that. I got a lot of grief about this. Mostly from people who were just trying to make small talk or didn't know that I really couldn't handle my booze at all.

At this particular happy hour was a guy who knew my close friend and her friends very well. We had met once before at a previous happy hour. We'll call him Mr. Fitful Disguised as Mr. Sense of Humor. Mr. Fitful for short.

I finished my harmless beverage and Mr. Fitful offered to buy me a beer. I politely declined, and told him I was driving, so no booze for me. Then he offered to get me another soda. Again, I politely declined because I was honestly not going to have any more. The caffeine would have kept me up all night and of course I said to him "besides, if I have too many of those, I'll have to keep getting up to pee."

Because when I feel like I'm being cornered, I start to talk. And it's never good. This, by comparison to other situations, felt like a 1 on the awkwardness Richter scale. Mr. Fitful looks me dead in the eyes and says "Please, do not ever speak of pee in front of me again."

I mistook this for a very dry sense of humor and a bit of a gauntlet at my feet. So I spent the next 10 minutes referencing pee as often as I could. Not just to him, but the whole table. Like most groups of fairly close friends, there's not a lot you can't say in front of them. And while I didn't know everyone - by the standards of my pal that was there and previous outings, we were all being VERY mild.

Mr. Fitful pounded his fists on the table, looked at me and said "I TOLD YOU never to say that word in front of me!!" With that, he got up and walked away from the table. Leaving his jacket behind.

Being the spectacular judge of character that I am, I STILL thought this was a joke - although at this point I felt it had gone into uncomfortable territory. The table was quiet for about 3 seconds before laughing and talking resumed. About a half hour later, Mr. Fitful had not returned to the table. His friends and co-workers started asking questions and they started searching for him in the bar. Finally, someone reached him on his cell phone. They reported that he had LEFT left, and gone home. Angry. At me.

Because I said Pee. Too many times.

I was dumbfounded. And then I was embarrassed. I had just chased a grown man from a happy hour table in a bar, who worked with and spent time with a close friend of mine. What was WRONG with me?? People kept trying to tell me not to worry about Mr. Fitful, that he was a little "odd" and they had all become accustomed to it.

I had read Mr. Fitful so well, I was sure that these people were simply doing what I was incapable of doing - being polite. I made up a very flimsy excuse to leave and drove home immediately. I'm pretty sure I ate an entire quart of ice cream that night. Even though I'm lactose intolerant.

Months and months later, my pal eventually convinced me that Mr. Fitful was known for erratic behavior like that, and nobody at that table thought I'd been rude or done anything wrong. In fact, I think I recall my friend reporting that he left the company they all worked at under less than gentle circumstances.

Years later, those people at that table are probably as close to me as my own family. I can say pee in front of them as many times as I want, and nobody will go home angry. That's not to say I won't say the wrong thing most of the time, but the difference now is that they all know me well enough to know that I'm just a harmless nervous talker.

And that I shouldn't be taken out to important corporate events.

I'm Employed and Slow To Respond

To those who follow me on Twitter. And even to those who may read this blog.

Hi. I can't believe people follow me on purpose.

You'll need to know that during the work week, I sometimes just pop in long enough to run my text hole a few times and then I have to pop back out. I've got one of those jobs where I'm out in the open, in a cubicle with low barriers. Even before being employed was not something you took for granted, I could not always spend a lot of time reading twitter. I'm lucky, I love my job. Not saying I wouldn't welcome being able to cease working, but as long as I have to work, I'd like to keep the job that I love.

The result is that I sometimes have to put off catching up with your posts until the weekends. Some week nights I'm able to do a little catching up too - but mostly it is the weekends. Replies, Follow Friday, stuff like that? I end up missing it/them and I feel terrible when someone has taken the time to say something to me and it looks like I'm ignoring them.

Comments on this blog are the same way, although to be completely honest, Twitter has stolen my attention because it fits so well into the short burst of consciousness I thrive on. And pancakes. Twitter is very pancakes. I appreciate anyone commenting, replying, DMing, etc. and apologize for not getting back to you.

I don't keep track of who follows/unfollows/throws spit-balls at me. I'm on Twitter for fun and that's it. I don't have anything to sell. I used to add as a return follow every person who followed me. I can't really do that anymore, because as the numbers increase, I find that I can't do anyone justice by following so many. I've found some very talented and just plain awesome people to read. I know there are probably thousands more out there and it saddens me that I'll have to miss out on them for now.

So if you are a relatively new follower, and I haven't return followed you - please know it is nothing personal. It's just that I don't have the time to give you the proper attention you deserve. As people drop off/out of my stream, I'm going to try and add new people. I am currently trying to figure out a "good" number of people to do this with.

That is all. Carry on.

Time Machine Needed. Unironically.

I can't thank the inventors of DVR enough. When your husband has this ability to recognize faces he's seen for merely a second, even 20 + years ago (famous and civilian), watching anything becomes more of a test of patience than a free flowing experience.

The fact that I can pause everything while he blurts out "Do you know who that is?" has saved us both. It's like knock knock jokes between us. "Do you know who that is?" "No, who is it. What T.V., Movie, commercial, street corner did you see that person on?" And then he answers.

We were watching Scrubs a few weeks ago and the familiar rumblings began. Apparently some kid in a movie called Little Giants is now grown up and acting on Scrubs. Which triggered my husban's OCD. He even rememberd one of the lines. I haven't looked the movie up on IMDB, but we think it was about 20 years ago that it came out.

I paused the show, let him do his thing and then sat there with my mouth haninging open when he knew an actual line from the movie THAT HE SAID HE NEVER EVEN SAW THE WHOLE WAY THROUGH. Because I sometimes feel competitive, I squealed "Nanerpuss!"

"Would you stop it with the Nanerpuss?" "Oh, I see. You can quote a random line from a film from 20 years ago, but I can't sing a song from a Superbowl Commercial. From LAST WEEK?"

He does this with the Cosby show too. I'll skim past Nickelodeon or something and Cosby will be running. He'll start saying the lines before the t.v. does and I start trying to figure out how I can sell him to a reality show.

So here's what I need. I need someone to create a time machine and go back to the 80s. I need them to incorporate a message to Mr. Zoom that I love him, so very much. And that I'm allergic to dairy products. And please, if I provide a list of movies we have seen together, maybe he will stop confusing me with his ex girlfriends and/or telling me about films/events we saw together?

I'd settle for just the I Love Him part. Because he might not be able to tell when I'm rolling my eyes and screaming "You are Monkey Throwing Shit Crazy" at him here in the 2000s.

Please Don't Eat My Face Off

It's a butt cold Tuesday morning. Mr. Zoom and I are going through our morning routines trying to get ready for work. I'm in the bathroom and casually glance out of the teeny vent window that now has a perfect view of our neighbor's second story. They just added it in the last year or so, and as you will see, the house is still under a bit of construction.


So I look out and expect to see the usual. Plaster, wood, a tree branch or two, and sometimes a construction crew that we've been dodging for a lot of the time since now anyone on the neighbor's roof has a perfect line of sight into our bathroom. The room known as Where the Bad Naked Happens.


This is what I see:

DUDE. The Mothman just landed on our neighbor's roof and he brought his entire family.




That right there is a flock of Turkey Vultures, and they have this charming Horror Movie dance they do - where they stand up with their wings fully spread for many many minutes - absorbing the sun. I am convinced that this is also their satellite dish for collecting the souls of the naked and innocent people TRYING TO GET READY FOR WORK ON TIME FOR ONCE.


These pictures aren't going to give you any idea just how huge these things are. About the only scale for size you will have is the fact that the window seen on the house they are sitting on, that's a full size window. It's not a little bathroom one.


I saw one do this only one other time. And he was far on top of a telephone pole. When I saw him standing up there with his wings spread and holding it - I nearly drove off the road because all I knew of huge creepy birds with giant claws is what I've seen in scary movies.


I can't even begin to tell you how very creepy this scene is, especially when their bubbly red turkey heads are turning toward you and then angling with their giant eyeballs with every scream you make. I am positive they could carry off a poodle or wandering kitty cat. Probably both at the same time.

I ran for the camera after demanding that Mr. Zoom drop everything and "come here and look at this we are going down it's the apocalypse they are going to fly in here and eat my face off."

In my defense, the birds at the coffee shop attack me so often that I have to carry a stick with me when I go in there. If I don't have the stick, they fly at my head, sometimes land, and actually peck at my poor little helmet-less head while I scream and flail like a cartoon character. Those are just magpies. At most the size of a foot long subway sammich wing span.

Turkey Vultures are novelty 100 foot long party sandwiches with giant claws and wings that block out the sun when they fly at your head.

So then I did the only thing I could do. I went outside to try and get some better shots.

I came back inside and kept telling Mr. Zoom he should save himself. I could throw myself out there and while they attacked my head, he could get to the garage, his car, and drive away safely to work. He was watching the Nanerpuss Denny's commercial so he didn't hear anything I said.

About 5 minutes later the Mothman and his family flew back to West Virginia and we Zooms were able to get to the car.

Mr. Zoom, Magician. Almost.

Normally I would not watch the Superbowl. I'm not a football fan, even a little bit. But watching Mr. Zoom scream like a little girl is fantastic. So I parked on the couch to watch him watch the game.

You know, for a sport that is by all definitions "tackle", there's a hell of a lot of game stoppage for touching. But whatever.

At one point Mr. Zoom parked himself directly in front of me and I couldn't see the t.v. He sat right on the 3 inches of couch I wasn't occupying with his back to me. He has never done this. Ever. And it made no sense to me. I asked him "What in the frigging world are you doing?" He said "Just came over to tell you I love you." I replied "I thought you were coming over to fart on me." Because I'm the best wife in the world, I repay kindness like that.

He jumped up and said "WHAT?? I'd never do that to you. When was the last time I farted on you?" He seemed so genuinely hurt, I didn't have the heart to say "Oh, ok. So we have to count the times you were actually awake - which would be zero. But asleep...well, that's a whole different number system."

We decided that at half time he'd run out and grab some dinner for us. Because I didn't want him to lug drinks back with food, I looked over at my diet coke and decided to re-cap it and put it back in the fridge for later. And that's when I noticed something odd.

My diet coke was even more full after I had taken a few tugs on it than it would have been had I opened a brand new one. I got up and went to the fridge to compare to an unopened bottle just to be sure. AHA. Someone in the house was up to something, and it was Mr. Zoom. Caught diet cola handed.

I have a thing. Well, several things. One of them is that once I've abandoned a drink, I can't finish it. I don't have a strict rule or timeline or anything I can point to that lets even me know that I will be abandoning a drink, but it happens quite a bit. I'm not proud of it, but I figure there are worse habits out there. Mr. Zoom is the complete opposite. He can finish a soda he started days ago, simply re-capping it and storing it in the fridge.

Apparently Mr. Zoom had taken one of my abandoned drinks and kept it in the fridge. I had seen it, and giggled to myself because I think it's so cute that he thinks I'll ever finish an abandoned drink. Generally after 3 days or so I empty and toss it.

What he'd done was pour the abandoned diet coke into my new diet coke so that after I'd finished it, he could say "AHA! See? You didn't know the difference." And it might have worked, if I hadn't bothered to try and save that very drink for consumption later.

"Did you pour that old diet coke into the one on the table?" He raised his eyebrows and looked away. Guilty! "When did you do that? When? I didn't even notice!" He said he'd done it when he sat in front of me so that I couldn't see what he was doing. And it had worked. I laughed. I laughed some more and then said "SO, you wouldn't fart on me (consciously), but you'll try to trick me into drinking an abandoned diet coke?" "Yes" he said. What could I do but laugh some more.

And this is how I know I've married the right person. I already knew it, but things like this remind me again. I love that he won't let me have my crazy without a playful fight. I love that when I get him back, he will laugh at that too.

I Am Where MeMes Go To Die

Seven Things You May Not Know About Me.

I got the tagging by @EntropyAS, who also has a blog http://entropyas.blogspot.com/ My life lately has been such that anything I could write here would have to do with work and I'm not comfortable throwing things going on in that area out in the public at the moment.

We Zooms are fine for now. It's not really our lives being directly affected. But we're feeling it, all the same.

Way to turn something fun into a downer, eh?

1. In elementary school, I signed up for and played both the violin and trumpet. First it was violin, then it was trumpet. Not entirely sure how either of those happened, but they did. They both lasted approximately one year. Both instruments were rented. Sure, I loved and still love music - but I do not have the urge to play any musical instrument, besides my husband.

2. I was a "death rocker" in the 80s. Today it may still be called "goth". I fell in love with dark, moody, punky gothy music in high school. I desperately wanted a mohawk, but my parents wouldn't let me do it. And I was actually afraid of authority, so I sucked at both punk and death rock life. I did manage to shave the sides of my head one summer and dodged my parents for about a week before they finally saw it and grounded me for the rest of that summer. Through college I wanted pink and purple hair so bad. But I had a job and couldn't get away with it. All that remains now of this time of my life is a huge iTunes collection that makes my husband laugh and a bunch of vinyl records I can't bear to part with. Even though I own no turntable. Oh, and my Doc Martins with skeleton laces. LOVE THOSE. Still wear them.

3. I dread the day the printed book no longer gets made. I love technology, but I love actual books even more. I suppose I collect books, but that is only because I purchase them, read them, and want to keep all of them. But I don't keep them all pristine. I drag books with me everywhere, so they get a tad beat up in the process. So my "collection" isn't what I'd consider a collector's collection. I dog ear pages with quotes I love. References to other books or movies I might want to follow up on. Recently, I discovered post-it flags and now my books have rainbows of colored post it flags waving from their pages. Seriously, if anything happened to our home, [and as long as people I love were alive and safe], I'd probably miss my books the most. Mr. Zoom would immediately dance in all the extra space.

4. I am unreasonably defiant in the face of white chocolate. I don't understand it, I don't like it, and I can't shut up about that when in the presence of it.

5. I can't keep from giving gifts early. This is a serious impulse control problem. I can't buy things before birthdays or Christmas without giving them to the person right away. It honestly makes me squeak if I have to hold it for more than 5 minutes after I next see the intended gift recipient. My friends and family think this is hilarious.

6. I love scary movies, but if a particularly disturbing one gets to me, I have to sleep with a light on that night, sometimes more. Mr. Zoom will wake up and find me in the guest room zonked out with the hall light on. I've found the best way to watch them is at home on a very sunny day. And even then I have to have a blanket to cover my head and create a peep hole. No watching those suckers at night or in a movie theater.

7. I have this weird reverence for expiration dates. I know that a thing does not have a tiny little clock inside of it that ticks down and goes boom when the expiration date arrives. I know that. But I can't seem to use certain things after that date. I can use certain medications a few months after the date, but it gets really hinky after that. With food I can't even let it go for like a week. I just can't. This drives Mr. Zoom crazy. er. He can use an item that expired in 1987. I point, shriek and run away.

Those are my things. I believe I'm supposed to tag people. 7 of them. I'm going to do that annoying "tag yourself if you'd like to participate" thing. Think of it like a hidden track on a cd. The 8th thing you may not know about me is that I can't bring myself to tag people.

Glitter Isn't Always the Answer

We got our tree late this year. We always get a small, lonely tree - a Charlie Brown tree. It is Mr. Zoom's favorite thing about Christmas. We were so late this year that we had only one tree to choose from in our size and price range. Only problem was, it was flocked. I hate flocking. Why would you cover a real tree in fake snow?

And it was flocked with gray sparklie stuff. GRAY. It looked like this tree had been rolled around in some one's attic, and then they threw glitter on it for laughs.

We asked if they could hose it off. They laughed at us. We asked if there was any way to de-flock it. There was. But we'd have to pull it off ourselves.

And that's exactly what we did. We pulled up a trash can and went to work on the little insulation strangled tree. Mr. Zoom had negotiated a price reduction and the guy working the counter was apparently so amused at our de-flocking ritual that he gave us a stand for free. We didn't get all of it off, but enough that you wouldn't know it was previously flocked unless you got real close to it.

As is customary, Mr. Zoom did all of the setting up, decorating and placement of the tree. I worked hard at watching t.v. and napping.

By the way, everyone who gave us candy/cookies/toffe/nom nom nom for Christmas totally owes me new pants 2 sizes bigger than before Christmas. Thanks.

That Time I Thought I Was Helping.

These last few weeks at work have been the kind that serve as plot lines for dramatic movies and books. I've been self medicating with sugar, no gym, and a very understanding husband.

Yesterday at work I got a call from one of my coworkers. She said "please come here." and that was all. When I arrived at her desk, she was in full tears and uncontrollable sobs. Turns out that working in our department is enough to bring someone new to tears within 2 weeks. I did what I could to assure her that she's doing great, and like a trooper she fought through it.

Later that same afternoon she came to my desk. From the other direction came yet another coworker who knows both of us. He is a notorious Frat Boy Party Party Party type guy. He usually emits so much booze vapor, that we all get a contact hangover just by walking by his office. So Crying Coworker and Frat Guy Coworker begin discussing drinking after work. Crying Coworker is starting to cry again, so I immediately look for a way to lighten the mood. Frat Guy Coworker says "Oh, I'm sorry. I can't go drinking for at least a few more weeks. I am still pretty messed up. I mean REALLY messed up."

AHA! A moment to seize! I looked at him and confidently asked "Oh, what in the world did you do to yourself this time?" Nothing like a frat boy story resulting in drinking abstinence to lighten a mood, am I right?

He turned to me and said "Well, I sat vigil at my father's bedside for 4 days and slept in a folding chair next to his bed as he lay dying and finally passed away on Saturday."

He didn't stop there. He proceeds to deliver a gut wrenching story about his vigil, almost as a pastor would to a congregation. Hand flourishes, *magical* moments and I kid you not, this brought at least one other person listening in to full tears.

Fighting my own tears I apologized. Offered condolences. Of course he said "Oh, it's ok. Don't be sorry. I'm ok."

Sure. I felt even worse, as if that were even possible at that moment.

It's times like these when I can confidently say that life doesn't just happen to me. It throws me down, has its way with me and then kicks sand in my face as it zips up and walks out the door.

Proverbial Poo Has Been Distributed by Fan

This past week, our firm conducted a huge cut in staff. For the time being, I am still employed. I am not taking this for granted though. And the flip flops my stomach is doing are fantastic for dieting.

I've never been this close to people loosing their employment in such numbers before. And I've never been this worried about my own and Mr. Zoom's job security. The hardest part of this situation is that there appears to be no obvious reason(s) for many of the choices in who gets cut. Anyone could go at any time.

Mr. Zoom and I are trying to realize there's not a lot we can do that we aren't already doing to make this any easier on our nerves. We both still have jobs. He's doing better than I am. Probably because he knows he's a much better prostitute and pole dancer than I am. I hope he makes enough money for me to continue my On Demand movie habit.

Coinage.

I went to my Mom's house to pick up all of her left over Halloween candy. She called me to say "Your dad and I are about to burst our britches." The older she gets, the more often she lets gems like this fly out into the open.

She said she also had something for me that should have gone in my baby book. Well, that's always a good time.

When I got there, she handed me this envelope of crazy.

I don't know if it was just something you did in the 70s, but for some reason my mom has a collection of coins that were given to me as a kid from people. Random people. These aren't relatives or close family friends.

In fact, the one from "Mr. Crow"? Yeah. Mom doesn't know who that is. Neither do I.

The non restrained coins are: 1971 Silver dollar; bicentennial 1976 half dollar; and two bicentennial quarters. You know what childhood memory the bicentennial coins brings up for me? The fact that the family was sitting at a diner and someone at the table said "I am SO sick of this bicentennial crap. When will it be over?" I don't know who it was that said it, but I know that memory is a perfect snapshot of our overall joy to be with-ness.

The coins taped down and annotated: 1967 half dollar and a 1970 nickel. Awesome.

Best Day Ever.

Around our house, there's an understanding. If I'm hungry and the food item is in any kind of packaging, said box/bag will end up looking like wolves drug it into the house. I just don't have the patience or talent to open things so that they can be re-closed. I'm hungry, dammit.

Mr. Zoom will often sprint towards anything I've indicated an interest in so that he can open it like a civilized person would. I'm not allowed to open chip bags when we are having people over.

That's why when I opened our trash bin and saw this:

I took it out and photographed the evidence. I don't eat ice cream (not because I don't want to), so that left only one other person in our house.

I ran into the room where Mr. Zoom was. "PLEASE tell me that the cut in two strawberry ice cream container in the trash is your work, that you did that so you could get to it faster?"

"Yes."

I ran away squealing with what he now calls "happy feet."

In other news, we Zooms have now discovered that is it actually possible to be locked inside one's car without the ability to override the auto-locks.

Every night when we leave the office, Mr. Zoom and I put our work stuff in the trunk of the car. I usually put my purse back there too. The ride home is usually about 10 minutes at the most, and it saves me stepping all over it because I've put it on the car floor.

This particular evening we stopped at the store on the way home. I didn't need anything and decided to wait in the car. He got out, got his wallet out of the trunk, walked away and clicked his fob to lock the car. I didn't thin a thing about it.

About 10 minutes later I wanted a little air. Since there was no key, I knew the window would not work. So I tried the door. Nothing. Tried to unlock the door. Nothing. Tried to unlock the driver's side door. Nothing. Looked for a kid safe lock master override or ANYTHING. Nothing.

No cell phone, no purse, no nothing. Holy shit, I'm LOCKED IN A CAR AND CAN'T GET OUT. I'm claustrophobic and unreasonable, too.

I began hitting the horn, trying to get any one's attention. Sure, I got plenty of attention but not one person would approach the car. You know the term window licker? Yeah, I had hands and face pressed up against the window in what I can only imagine was an Oscar winning performance of lunatic face. I wanted to see if I could get someone to go find Mr. Zoom and let him know I was trapped. Turns out I looked more like I wanted to eat brains.

I spent a while with the window, feeling the panic. Shortly after that, Mr. Zoom did emerge from the store. We were both just kind of standing there wondering what just happened.

All is well and now I laugh at it. And hey, now I know how NOT to obtain help in the future, right?

Life. I guess I'll Never Ride Bareback Again.

What's that you say?

I'm medicated. I take pills every day in order to function. They say it's depression. My body either doesn't create enough serotonin or dopamine or fruit loops on it's own - or it makes too much, so I have to give it some encouragement to settle the hell down.

I'll be taking this stuff for the rest of my life. And while I knew that going in, I was never ready to fully accept the fact that I need help. For without the meds, I see and hear things. Things that aren't there.

I've managed my meds in excess of 10 years. I've only ever missed a med on accident one time. The withdrawal symptoms that followed were terrifying and confusing until I remembered "Oh, yeah. Forgot to take my pill." My senses had gone mad hatter on me, but it was easily fixed.

Right about now, you should be backing away from me with your eyebrows raised and your hands in a defensive position. It's ok. I would too, if I didn't know me like I do.

I know that my life is good and I pass for normal. At least as long as you don't look too closely, or expect particularly lady-like actions from me. I work hard at the office, I play hard whenever I can, sometimes when I'm at the office. My husband is my best friend and ALWAYS he's so good to me that there are times I think I've accidentally skipped a med and he's merely an illusion.

But there are bad times too. Little surprises that reinforce the fact that control is never to be taken for granted. Without getting too graphic, I recently missed a med without missing it. My body, uh.... evacuated some food I ate. And along with it was apparently a sizeable chunk of my time release med.

A night or so later, I awoke in the familiar cold sweat with my heart racing. Wild thoughts and the rubbery feelings all over. I knew this was a symptom of a missed med, but couldn't figure out how that was possible. I also knew I had a little time until things got real bad. The electrical zaps in my head hadn't arrived yet. And this wasn't a run of the mill panic attack.

I went through my days and concluded finally that I must have unwillingly given up too much of my med to the City's sewers. It made sense. I had taken it right before the snack of FAIL.

I took half a dose of my regular med as a replacement and within 24 hours I was right as rain.

And as I'm wont to do, I became a little introspective about my mental health. Why me? Why do I need to go through this? How can I fight something that throws me a curve every once in a while? What if I can't handle the next one? How can Mr. Zoom possibly stand so solidly beside me and accept everything that is me? If I'm crazy, and these meds are the only thing keeping me sane - holy shit.

I am literally, figuratively, clinically - mad.

And for about 3 minutes, I was actually happy being insane. I know it sounds strange, or at least I would think it does, but there was a weird kind of freedom that came with finally accepting that I am a full tilt nut-bar. Because for 3 minutes I didn't care that I need help, that I can't do this on my own, that I have to take medicine to participate in this world. I was what I am and I have a way to deal with it.

I haven't been able to maintain that acceptance, but it was a start. And I'm pretty sure I owe it to that half a cheesecake that I ate.

Just When I Thought I Hated Hollywood....

ZOMFG! Did I just use internet slang?

How To Lose Friends and Alienate People + Simon Pegg = Zoom Girl Boner.

Read the book by Toby Young a couple of years ago and loved it. I also read another of Young's books where he laid out the uphill battle of getting Lose & Alienate made into a movie. It didn't go well. And honestly, I had thought the project was dead.

...until I just saw a trailer for it on my t.v. in the middle of my Family Guy re-run. ALMOST needed a change of undies.

I suppose this is what I get for not keeping up on IMDB and, you know, the information that can be had in less than a second these days. As long as one isn't a complete knob. I feel a little shame, but mostly I'm looking for a cigarette after my massive moviegasm.

Exiting the Passenger Side, Even Though You Drove

I went to the grocery store on Sunday. That was dumb. Apparently everyone else in California needed to go to the store at exactly the same time. I had never been gridlocked in the bread aisle before, and it was quite a strange sensation. I had to override my claustrophobic driven urge to ram everyone with my cart.

Screaming children were EVERYWHERE. I heard, well, we all heard one parent yelling "Is it because you don't want to go to the birthday party? IS THAT IT? IS THAT WHY YOU ARE DOING THIS TO ME??" It was like watching synchronized swimming as we all decided whether we would be the people to act like the ruckus wasn't there, or we would be the people to stare directly into it.

At one point I found myself in an aisle alone. I was grateful for the space. And then the world decided to punch me in the face with a situation that happened far too fast for photo documentation. My own photos. As I'm positive security cameras caught it.

I was about to wheel my cart further down the aisle when an elderly man carrying something began walking towards me. My head began to calculate where he would be going, as we all do when there's another person in a space we need to navigate. I hadn't started moving yet because I felt like he was heading right for me. I remember thinking that was not possible, but then he came up to my cart and dropped the item he was carrying in it. He then looked up at me and I know all he saw was a strange lady staring back at him with her jaw riding in that built in kid seat shopping carts have. I wasn't sure WHAT to do. But then he literally clicked into the realization that my cart was not the cart he was looking for. He grabbed his items, practically yelled "I'm sorry" at me and then literally RAN AWAY.

I didn't see him the rest of the time I was in the store. I really wanted to. I wanted to see that he was with someone that perhaps looked like me and he just mistook my cart/me as that person. That maybe he had left her there while he retrieved something and that is why he thought I was her. What gave me the punched in the face sensation was that I was afraid he was having elderly dementia issues and I had witnessed an episode. And acted oh so gracefully as to stand there with a look of shock on my face. I really really wanted that not to be the case.

Just like I really really wanted the spider that was on my truck to be gone by the time I got out of the grocery store. Mr. Spider had built a web on my side view mirror, driver's side. I had driven on the freeway in order to blow him and his web off the truck, but it didn't work. And when I got off the freeway, Mr. Spider would come out of the center of the web to crawl up the driver's side window at stop lights. It's really not safe to drive a vehicle around while fighting the wibblies and saying "ew ew ew ew ew ew ew". When I arrived at the grocery store I exited my truck through the passenger side. I made some guy who parked 2 spaces away from me raise his eyebrows when he saw me climb over the center console to get out on the passenger side. I had to do all my business that day out of the passenger side. For all I know, the spider and his web are still there. Mr. Zoom drove us to work today.

I really hope the elderly man from the store had a spider like reason for placing his item in my cart.

Insecurity Needs a Workout Too

Usually the rule around the house is that once I go outside alone, Mr. Zoom knows to expect a story when I come back. To lessen the chances that I get myself beat up, arrested, or made to cry - Mr. Zoom will actually accompany me many places. This seems to keep the weirdness away.

And this is one of the main reasons I carry a camera with me at all times. If I didn't have actual proof of some of the things that happen to me, I'd think I'd gone "Beautiful Mind", without the brilliant part. Just the seeing things part.

Monday Mr. Zoom went with me to the gym. It was less of a protection thing for me and more of a want to get exercise for him. I was elated to have him with me. For all kinds of reasons, the most obvious being that I would be story free for the evening.

After I kicked the ass of a treadmill*, I went to the little lobby area to wait for Mr. Zoom. This area is directly in line with the "Kidz Klub" and often parents are streaming in and out with their minis. I was checking my e-mail with my phone and I looked up to see a little red headed kid, probably no more than 5 years old standing right in front of me. I exaggerate not, her face was inches away from my face. She asked me very loud and VERY directly, "Are you someone's mom?"

I went immobile in the head and body for a moment before I squeaked "No...no, I'm not." Her Mom raced back towards us to grab her, said "I'm so sorry!" to me and then drug the little depression machine off and out the door. I felt worse than I do when I'm forced to take a treadmill in front of the t.v. playing Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune. SMART. What is FAIL? THIN? fail. And now, YOUNG? fail.

It was already feeling a little unhip girl logic that told me this stranger's little girl thought I was a mom because I was old. It could have been because I was in the lobby area. It could have been because I had a cell phone and was using it. It could have been ANYTHING, but Mr. Zoom got to ride out the wave of self critical jibber jabber that followed. And I am quite surprised that he didn't sit me on the couch and tell me to shut my hole, life is pretty damn good - what some strange kid innocently asks me should not bring my whole world to a halt. Especially since I didn't know where the question was coming from.

But he didn't. He let river jump to conclusion run itself dry.

I like to think I don't have any illusions about being 39, and looking 39 - whatever that means. But you know that idea you have in your head of what an age looks like to you? But I suppose the truth is, that just like I believe the dryer shrinks my jeans, I love to believe that maybe I look pretty good for 39. And that nobody would ever mistake me as someone's mom. But just like the phrase "looks 39" is ambiguous, so is "looking like someone's mom". Because there are a lot of moms out there who are fantastic looking, as well as genuinely wonderful people I'd be honored to be compared to/mistaken for.

So what have I learned? That the dryer really DOES shrink my jeans. That's what.

*Not really, as everyone knows only Chuck Norris can kick treadmill ass.

Underrated Creepiness: The Ice Cream Truck

Mr. Zoom and I came round the corner on our way home from work and stopped mid-smack talk to gawk at the ice cream truck parked in the middle of our street. I began to flail, because my camera wasn't handy and my cell phone couldn't boot up in time to get a shot of it. And the weird thing, it wasn't parked because there were kids there. It was just parked. With the ill-tuned music gushing from it.


Mr. Zoom - funny enough - zoomed into our garage and got his camera out so he could video the rarely seen ice cream truck as it passed our house.




I had previously used the last of my phone battery to amuse myself at the office while waiting for Mr. Zoom to meet me in the lobby to drive home. I spotted a large fly on the window, booted up my phone and giggled to myself as I internally repeated "super fly!" to myself. I took some pictures which I intended to upload to TwitPic. Then I realized that nobody was going to be able to see the fly and the moment vanished.



But not before Mr. Zoom came down and saw me giggling to myself and chasing a fly around with my cell phone camera. The work week hadn't ended fast enough.


Just that morning I had gotten in the shower and all too late noticed a cricket in there. I had the wibblies, but figured I was already soaked in water so as long as he stayed in the corner I could finish my shower. With one eye open at all times. At that very moment, clown cricket took massive leaps into the water on the shower floor and began hop swimming towards me. I yelped and flew out of the shower, squealing for Mr. Zoom in the patented bug-in-my-space-come-fix-it-noise.


"BIG CRICKET IN THE SHOWER!!" I pointed while I struggled with a towel. "I was going to be fine, but then he came out of his corner and started chasing me across the shower! Apparently it was ON."


Mr. Zoom, barely hiding his amused disbelief "Came after you. Right." Then he opened the door. "Oh. He's a big boy." Mr. Zoom had to go find some cardboard so that he could air lift clown cricket out of the shower while I hid under a towel. That is not an exaggeration. I can't stand watching Mr. Zoom deal with the bugs.


You know how getting back in the shower after you've pre-completion exited just doesn't feel the same as getting your whole shower done in one session? Threw off my whole day.

Proving that I'm Always the Last to Discover Anything

It was last weekend that I entered the Bed Bath and Beyond for what seemed like the first time ever. I've been to that store before, but just like I didn't appreciate San Francisco when I was 9, I didn't understand the love capacity I had for Bed Bath and Beyond until this past weekend.

I can't stop thinking about the magical aisles with bric-a-brac that nobody needs but desperately wants. The "as seen on t.v." items are my favorite. And I bought some of them, too. The jury's still out on the actual effectiveness of those products as compared to their claimed effectiveness. But no matter. I was high on potential and I LIKED IT.


Do all BB&B's have just that one teeny little door to enter and exit through? Is it a theft deterrent kind of thing? I'm not sure how they get away with that as far as fire safety codes, but maybe they are so awesome that they are exempt. I am claustrophobic, but for some reason the super high ceilings and walls, covered with absolutely anything you could ever imagine isn't a threat to that part of me. Like, if there was a fire, I'd probably just run to the travel section, lie down and say "yeah, this is as good a place as any to have it all end."

HAVE YOU SEEN THEIR TRAVEL SECTION? Everything you've ever needed is in miniature travel size and in stock in that store. Most stores have that sissy one side of the aisle filled with a few bins of marginally exciting travel sizes. Not BB&B. They dedicate an entire SECTION to that. Their sections are about the size of a room in a house, with extra high ceilings. And all the wall space plus shelving aisles in between is stocked full.

Let's put it this way. Mr. Zoom used to shudder when I told him I'd be going to Target. I can still spend way too much time and money there - but there's a brand new (to me) whore in town and she gives me exactly what I want and exactly what I didn't even know I wanted. In several sizes, colors and brands. It makes me feel like I could have a clean, organized, hip home without the enormous energy I waste already if I could just fugue out the magical combination of items to buy and use. It's like they have some secret gas in there that induces domestic euphoria.

Awesome.

All the World's My Helmet

Mr. Zoom came home from the store with salsa. And thank goodness he got the non-poisonous one.

I suppose in the wake of the tomato scare, I get it. But here's an example of caution gone too far:

Really?

Because if you come back from the fair with anything less than 3 layers of dust, straw, beer, animal hairs, drool, chocolate, sweat, a set of ShamWows and a sense of having sold your soul for something deep fried, well - ur doin it wrong.

Tweet. Chirp. Caw.

Blame twitter. Not that I think anyone is checking here for new content - but due to twitter and it's amazing ability to let me drain my noggin's chatter-pan more regularly, I find myself posting "big posts, official ones" to the blog much less often.

And even if it didn't exist or I weren't using it? There wouldn't be much here lately anyway. Bout all I have is a new found hatred for the sound a plastic spoon makes when it scrapes the bottom of a yogurt cup. For some reason this JUST started bothering me. One of my co-workers eats yogurt daily at her desk, has been for as long as I can remember. Yet, this audio event has just started to bother me.

We Zooms recently got to play a game called Apples to Apples with some friends of ours. Despite the fact that it isn't a drinking or eating game, I liked it!! The brief description of the game is that you have to pick a word you are given and match it to a word the "judge" gives you. Something you think will be seen by the judge as a match. As someone who can create a link between two or more events/things/etc., this game felt like it was made for me. Although I didn't come close to winning but once, and only then after I started shutting down my special kind of logic.

Zoom: "What do you mean toasters aren't shocking?"

Judge: "Well I'm not taking it into the bath with me!"

Zoom: *pout*

The after effect on Mr. Zoom is that when he says things to me now, I like to latch onto a word and fling "matching" words at it. Only nobody really knows what word will trigger me, or what I'm even talking about until deep resentment has set in.

Mr. Zoom: "I'm going to the market today."

Zoom: "ORANGES! glassware. MITTENS! Cake. Nooooo. Cash. WHY?!"

Mr. Zoom: *sigh*

Awesome.

Wax On... Why Are You Crying?

Recently I discovered the certificate I was issued when I obtained a yellow belt in some flim flammy karate class. When I was 10, the year 1979. YIKES!


I can totally remember when my Dad and two older brothers decided to take karate classes for the exact same reason that everyone else at the time wanted them. They all wanted to be Bruce Lee. And I wanted to be and do whatever my brothers were doing - the fact that I was a girl and they were boys didn't mean a thing to me. I should have known from the lack of hesitation [upon my joining the class] on their part that it was an incredibly bad idea. For me.


We were 3 latch key kids. When my brothers weren't spending time locking me out of the house, they were using me as a target for home made darts or just beating me up in the way that only brothers can do. Enrolling all of us in a class where they were not only allowed, but encouraged to beat on their sister was the ultimate get out of jail free card.

When the teacher informed us that karate was only to be used to protect oneself, and that it was downright improper to use it solely to show off or whack your sister in the head, I had hope. Hope that my brothers wouldn't roundhouse my ass just for fun. It is one of the clearest memories I have of complete and utter dismay at the difference of life "on paper" and "in reality". It was the down payment on my helmet for life. Because what do 12 and 14 year old boys care about improper? Only that the forbidden nature of it was the exact fuel they needed to put operation pummel-your-sister into action.

My Dad was in the class with us. That slightly cut down on the number of "sparring" sessions I had to endure. That - and the fact that I learned to cry sooner rather than later, which I believe got on their nerves more than anything.

Memories of those individual lessons are lost to me at this point. A blurry image here and there, mostly of my trying to remember my Forms. Or Form. Or whatever that maniacal dance routine was that they assigned to us at each level and that we were expected to memorize and perform on demand. One particular lesson I remember the class being introduced to a room - not unlike one of those super bounce things at kid parties - but it was an actual room in the building where the lights were turned out, we were placed inside, and the idea was for us to use our spidey senses to spar with our classmates. That might have been considered a great teaching technique if I didn't immediately curl up in a ball in the corner and just hope that nobody tripped over me. Much more turtle than spider.

I remember testing for the yellow belt, and quitting the classes the very night I got it. I was NOT going to stick around for nunchucks and throwing stars. Those items might not have been on the teacher's agenda, but that wouldn't have mattered to my brothers. There was already a pond in our courtyard filled with plastic army men who had been tied to bottle rockets and shot into the pond from the roof of our two story home - and cleaned out again before our parents got home. I didn't need much encouragement to believe that I would soon be forced to "hold this for a second, I want to see if I can make a throwing star stick in the wood while I run through the yard like a ninja."

I'll tell you what though. I was the best crier in the class.