"Make Sure You Watch Out for the Children!"

I was on the phone with my mom yesterday. She suddenly halted the conversation "oooh hold on a minute. THE STREET CLEANER IS HERE!"

Back in the day, I can remember my mother taking glee that can't be classified any less than seismic when she would remind every single member of our family that "Tomorrow is street cleaner day. You will want to get your car out of the circle before they come or you get a ticket!!"

It wasn't just our family that she lectured. Visitors, even if they were not staying for very long would be treated to this warning as well. I know her heart was in the right place, but unfortunately that jabbed me in the wrong place every time. It was like a commercial you can't stand - and the show you are watching is live. Even going for a sandwich, you can still hear it and it still makes the hair on your neck stand on end.

There's a companion "warning" that is issued to everyone who dares park anywhere near their home on NON street cleaner day too. It's the "Make sure you don't back over any children when you leave, we have a lot of kids play in the circle and you can't see them in your mirror!" speech. This one really gets me going, so much that when I hear it now, I say "Yes mom, but I was really looking forward to getting me some street urchin this time."

Not having lived there for over 10 years, I was shocked at how fast my muscles contracted in defense of an anticipated street cleaner warning. After all, how could she warn me if I didn't live there anymore? And by the way, when I moved into a house with Mr. Zoom, she did ask me if we had street cleaner day. TRUE STORY!! Alas, we do. But we don't get tickets for parking there on those days. WHOOO AAAAH!

Mom continued "...I have to get to the window to see who got a ticket this week." .... pause... ...pause.... "Oh well, nobody's in the street this time. No tickets. What were we talking about?"

I wish I could have seen the look on my own face. Even more than 24 hours later, I'm still dumbfounded that my very independent, stubborn, never bored mom has taken to looking out the window for victims of parking tickets - as entertainment. She's got hobbies. She's got movies to see. Friends to hang out with. It just feels so ... odd.

Maybe my dad installed something in the house all by himself again and the electrical/radio/microwaves are silently turning them both into stereotypical retired folks with passive aggressive parking ticket vindictiveness? Now I'm going to have to ask Mr. Zoom to check things out. Make sure there's no oven in the closet now or something.

It Was Only a Matter of Time

Lessee. I've been on medication* since at least 1994. I take at least 3 pills a day to maintain the thin THIN veil of normalcy I wear.

After lunch today I collected my afternoon tablets and grabbed a diet coke. One of my pills began to fizz on it's way down the hatch - and that's when I realized what I'd done. I just took a tranquilizer. On accident.

Months ago my Dr. had given me a new form of Xanax that could be taken without water. It dissolves in your mouth. Very handy, since weirdo's like me are often taken by anxiety in situations non-conducive to obtaining a glass of water.

Handy, unless of course you didn't mean to take a TRANQUILIZER at this moment and time. The dissolveable pills are nearly identical in color, shape and even have a score in the middle of them just like my afternoon antidepressant.

FRICK.

Not only that, but I only take half a Xanax when I DO need one. I suppose that considering the span of time that I've been juggling daily medications, this was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

FRICKITY FRICK.

At least Mr. Zoom is guaranteed a peaceful evening tonight. If you are reading this honey, you might want to scope out a t.v. schedule of things YOU want to watch without your wife's incessant commentary. When this thing kicks in, I'll be willing to watch GOLF and Soccer (oh, excuse me....football) without complaining.



*antidepressants and one antihistamine daily, heavily monitored by prescribing physicians and not taken lightly, I assure you. I abhor relying on medication in order to function normally.


Update: I just sent an e-mail to our office copier, and couldn't understand why I kept getting a bounce back. Undeliverable?! Puuullleeeeeze. Not possible.

I spent 5 minutes trying to get a quote within a quote to show up on the screen properly when someone saw me struggling and told me to stop using the comma key.

Squirrel Elvis Collecting Ur Nutz

Our regular squirrel Elvis has finally been caught on tape.

WTF with the Licorice Flavor?

Has anyone else noticed that all brands of generic ibuprofen seem to have added a ghastly black licorice taste to the tablets?

Not only that, but it has a hint of mintyness to it.

QUIT IT WITH THE MINTY BLACK LICORICE TASTE! It's awful and I'm taking these tablets because I'm already miserable!!

I feel like I'm ingesting hardened dollops of some failed licorice flavored kid toothpaste.

Why I fear Wedding/Baby Shower Games

I was at a shower for a bride whom I will be a part of the wedding party. The announcement was made that there is a game called "Guess the Bride's Age".

I immediately think "Whoa. I totally should not play that one. I mean, I'm in the wedding party and she was in my own wedding. I totally know how old she is. Besides, how retarded is that for a game? Don't people get upset if you guess way too old? And come to think of it, most of these people are close friends and family. So ... how is this even a game?"

So I leaned over to another bridesmaid and I said "Are you playing this game? I mean...wouldn't it be totally unfair to everyone else?" She said "Oh, I'm totally playing. Besides, I didn't know her when she was 4."

...and that last statement SHOULD HAVE been the clue that I had the entire concept of the game WRONG. But sadly, it did not.

When it came time to go over the answer, I was shocked to learn there were actually several answers. I had completely missed the gigantic board with all of the bride's kid through young adulthood pictures WITH NUMBERS on them. And the answer sheet with the numbers and a space for one to guess the age of the bride AT THE TIME THE PICTURES WERE TAKEN.

Yeah. That is EXACTLY why I fear shower games.

One Minute Project: The Mr. Zoom What's Wrong With You

There is a site I love to visit, even though I have never performed any of their projects for myself, nor do I understand some of their techy talk. But it is tons of fun anyway:

www.evilmadscientist.com (I still can't link properly)

They often have a segment they call "One Minute Project".


Here is my own One Minute Project: The Mr. Zoom What's Wrong With You Silent Head Tilt Retort.





Scenario 1: Mr. Zoom realizes I've removed my shoes on the short ride home from work. While I struggle to put them back on, he asks "Why did you take off your shoes? Do they hurt you?"

Response: "No. I needed to be free."


Scenario 2: Start referring to the yard, house, home as "land". i.e., "ARRRRRGH, stupid skunks! They've just sniffed up our land with their skunk smell. CAN'T YOU SMELL THAT?? Stoopid skunks."


Scenario 3: Offer completely random, baseless theories to questions not even asked. i.e., upon noticing smoke from what might be a forrest fire, say "...hmmm, maybe all the rich people got tired of all the heat from the sun so they are trying to make their own clouds."


Scenario 4: Watch Soilent Green on TCM and then proclaim "RAISINS ARE REALLY SKUNK SPHINCTERS!"

Those Who Live in Stone Houses...

Mr. Zoom and I met up with his Mom for dinner last night. Not just his Mom, but my Mom-In-Law.

Because I'm really comfortable around her, I didn't let up on the sass attack I had started on Mr. Zoom earlier that day. The recent heat wave has given me a new obsession: convincing Mr. Zoom that we need to build a stone house. Apparently stone remains cooler so much longer than regular houses. And that, I have decided, I WANT.

On the way to dinner I sprang the news on Mr. Zoom: "I heard or read somewhere that some guy had a stone house, and he said he didn't suffer during the heat wave because stone is so great at staying cooler longer! We need a stone house."

His reply was quite honest: "I don't even know what to say to you right now. Are you asking me to raze the house and re-build it in stone?"

"no?.......yes?....... I.WANT.STONE.HOUSE." I continued to talk like a crazy person while he tried not to laugh directly in my face. "You'll see. I'll find all the great information on the internet and I'll show you how we should have a stone house."

Shortly thereafter I was distracted by.... probably air.

When we got to the restaurant, magically the stone house situation came up again. Mr. Zoom rolled his eyes and tried to explain to his Mom. "Welcome to my wife. Mrs. 'I have no idea how a house is built, but I want one in stone.'"

Ooooh. I totally sniffed a challenge there. "OH YEAH? WHO'S FAULT IS THAT? Mr. Spoil Me Completely Rotten!! Never lets me do anything for myself, always being all good to me. That's the problem here."

"Oh, sure" he said. "That's the problem. I've totally shielded you from the world of construction and how it works."

His Mom, being familiar with our sass talk said "OH, don't worry. I'll take you over to Home Depot after dinner and we can tour the construction aisles."

"GREAT!" I said. "I can totally pick the stone for my new house!!"

And then I flung sticky rice directly at my Mom in Law. OH YES I DID. Accidentally, of course. It flew from my chop sticks as I was literally pointing out Mr. Zoom's guilt in my lack of home construction knowledge. A single grain of rice Cirque de Soleid through the air and locked itself RIGHT ON HER BARE ARM.

Mr. Zoom immediately spat out so much laughter that the tables around us were trying to figure out what happened, what was so darn funny. We all got the giggles and I kept trying to apologize through my clenched jaws. I still had some rice in there and was afraid of making an already borderline bad, bad situation that much worse.

And I still want a stone house. Easy to clean meals off of the walls!

Lonely Cart Cum Foliage - It's For the Fish

That title alone ought to show up in many porn searches. Sorry pornseekers.

THE LONELY CART IS BACK!! Well, it's not the same cart, but it was left in the exact same location as the previous cart.



And, like a negligent mom trying to figure out which twin child on the floor is which, I immediately noticed something different about this cart. It had an empty pack of cigarettes in it! Again, not unlike a neglected child.



Mr. Zoom was not with me to witness my glee this time. He had to do something after work and we had driven separate cars to the office. There was no one to stop me! I rolled the cart into our courtyard.



AND PUT PLANTS IN IT!! Just like I had threatened I would if the other cart didn't go away.



Then I sat on the couch and waited for Mr. Zoom to come home. He didn't even say hello when he came in, just "Is there a story behind the cart in the yard?" When I told him what happened, he asked if I called the return if found number. I laughed, and said no, why would I? "Of course not" he sighed.

The next day I spent a good chunk of his valuable time trying to convince him that the fish in the pond had recruited me to tell Mr. Zoom that they [the fish] liked the cart. And didn't want it to leave. "OH.COME.ON. Mobile yard foilage*. How can you resist that?" *foliage, yes - I know.

His response was swift, although mostly ignored by me: "Duly noted. VETO. Next."

I tried various tactics. None of which were effective in releasing Mr. Zoom's grip on good taste. I might have to give up my new planter, but something tells me I won't have to wait long for another one.

Lonely Cart Club Meeting In My Yard

Mr. Zoom loves his yard. It's not finished yet, but he still loves it. He gets very annoyed when people mess with his yard.

Last week we drove up and I heard him groan "oh that's just terrific." Being the ever observant person I am, I said "WHAT??!!...OH. oh. OMG!" and I literally clapped my hands in glee when I saw what had him so upset:



"IT'S A LONELY CART, AND IT'S IN OUR YARD!!"

I've got this rather annoying habit of spying single, lost/abandoned carts and squealing "Lonely Cart!" at Mr. Zoom. And when he tries to play along - showing me a cart before I spot it, I usually shoot him down: "Oh, that one doesn't qualify. In order to be a lonely cart, the cart has to be a certain distance away from any store it might belong to. Otherwise it's just a CART. Not a Lonely Cart."

And the distance, although certain, is not ever known to anyone but me and changes all the time. Apparently.

I've actually intended to collect pictures of lonely carts. I have a few, but as with most of my grand ideas, they rarely materialize in any way other than my shrieking nonsense while in the car with Mr. Zoom. He makes the "I'm tired" noise when I do that.

I leaped out of the car and started taking pictures. Mr. Zoom just went to the mail box like he does every day and probably prayed that none of the neighbors were watching this scene.

That's when I saw:



Drat. My idea of loading up the neighborhood shorties and sending them down the road in my new pet cart was denied before I even had it!

Amusingly, this cart had an "if found, please call ____" sticker on it.



And I actually called the number. The first person I got a hold of had no idea what I was talking about. "Um, yes. See, someone left a shopping cart in our yard and it belongs to your store. There is a sticker on it that says "if found, please call _____. And so I did and here we are!" As if I just handed her the meaning of life on a platter.

I was transferred. To a manager. Who at first was just as mystified as to what I was trying to tell him. But then a switch was flipped and he seemed very grateful that I called. He took my address and thanked me at least 3 times.

When we went to work the next morning? Cart still there and still lonely.

When we got home that night? Yup. Still there. Still very lonely. I told Mr. Zoom that if it stayed one more day I was going to wheel it into our yard and use it as a planter.

The very next morning it was gone. Stolen? Returned? Rolled away on it's own? Who knows. Mr. Zoom is really glad it's gone. I kindof miss it.

Boil Boil, Toil and Trouble

Mr. Zoom asked me one day "How do you know how much water to add?" [to my bowl of instant oatmeal.]

I told him "I don't know, really. I pretty much just guess. There's a formula (directions) on the box, but I don't like being told what to do. Even if it's by a box of oatmeal."

Honk If You Heart Your Pimp

Last night on the way home from work, we zooms encountered a traffic jam. Not the same kind that is expected at 6pm rush hour, but real honest to goodness - there's a reason - traffic has been halted type thing.

I kept yapping at Mr. Zoom to "go around". Despite not knowing where the road leading away would go, I convinced him to take it. As usual, this was a fantastically stupid idea. We went up a hill, around a bunch of buildings, and landed exactly IN THE MIDDLE of the situation that was blocking traffic. Not only that, but I now had us on a road that wasn't considered a main artery so when traffic was finally being waved through again, we had to wait extra long.

HOORAY!

The police were busy trying to clear things up. Our road, though not a main artery, had about four lanes. We were about the third car back in our lane. We knew we weren't going anywhere for a while, so he patiently let me do that jibber jabber thing I do when I'm unwinding after work.

Then it started. The honking. People behind us were honking their horns. Annoyed that they weren't moving. I kept saying to Mr. Zoom "But don't they see the police man? We can't just run him over? Want me to get out and go talk to them?" There was a large suv behind us who was particularly busy with her horn. I should have, at this time, taken out my camera and recorded the situation. But of course I did not. Yet another stellar decision by me.

I turned around when the car behind us kept going on and on with the horn. It was a lady, with what I assume was her daughter in the seat next to her. Mom was having arm flailing sessions in between honks. I also saw her encourage her daughter to lean on the horn too.

I don't know anything about parenting. But teaching a kid to join in on futile displays of aggravation due to perceived entitlements not being instantly fulfilled just seems like you are buying her a condo in the adult town of BEATENBYMYPIMP - which she will eventually sell at far below market value for all the chemical life lessons and self esteem she can find to fill her empty soul. Ok, that's probably a bit dramatic, but honestly - look at the kind of world we live in these days. If the police are out there coordinating a situation that spans 5 blocks - something serious is probably going on. I think we can wait 5 minutes longer than normal.

The honking continued, and cars behind those previous cars joined in the racket. Eventually the police man at our intersection stopped traffic to allow our street to go through.

Only....

he let us though and HALTED all the cars behind us! He was going to make them wait some more, to which Mr. Zoom and I immediately started high-fiving each other.

It almost felt as good as the day I married Mr. Zoom. Almost.

Oatmeal. Lowers Cholesterol but Raises Chest Awarness

I am not graceful. I never will be. This goes double for eating. Mr. Zoom is painfully familiar with the flying shards of food I produce when I'm busy trying to consume something AND be sure nobody steals any part of it. Because he's so damn good to me and only gently teases me "OMG, this might be a record! Only 3 Cheerios under the coffee table", I've forgotten how horrifying this spectacle can be for the uninitiated.

This morning I was at my desk when a co-worker came by asking for my boss. The boss wasn't in yet, so I dutifly took down the person's name and told them I'd send them an e-mail alert when the boss got in. This person suddenly grew very uncomfortable and nearly ran away from my cube.

This is not unusal. Not at all. Although this time I knew for a fact I couldn't have said something to cause this person to flee. What's even more disturbing, is that I'm notorious for NOT noticing when someone is uncomfortable. This time I noticed, and I noticed big.

I continued to work.

Until I noticed something on my sweater. On my sweater, right in the center of my left girl! It was was a little blob of instant otameal. Part of my breakfast. Let me bring the picture further into focus for you all. I'm wearing a pink sweater today. And the oatmeal that had apparently been flung from my morning feeding had landed so perfectly and was of a color that it honest to goodness looked like an exposed BOOBIE!

No wonder my male co-worker ran away from me! At that moment I wanted to run away from me. When panicked, my brain chants unhelpful, shorthand thoughts at me ""GIANT KNOB!! GIANT KNOB!!" [you are a]."

I removed the breakfast from my sweater. Whatever forces have been sassing me lately must have decided to give me a break. Because the oatmeal came off and left no trace of where it had been. As I tossed it away, I kept looking around. Almost as if I wanted every single person who had noticed my breakfast boobie to come by again so they could see that I had removed it - and that I really don't live that way.

At least not AFTER I notice.

Life Lesson Category: Loo

I have acrylic fingernails. It's one of the few girly type things that I consistently miss when I have given them up in the past. So I am forced to go to a salon at least every other week for maintenance on them.

I went yesterday. During these appointments I generally consume 1 diet coke (in the summer) and/or one coffee (in the winter.) Predictably, I must pee after the appointment. Most of the time, I wait until I've gotten home. Yesterday, I coldn't wait.

This particular loo is more like one in your own home. It is a single occupancy type deal. No stalls - just one door between toilet and outside world. I entered, closed the door, flipped the lock and went about my business.

I know from observation that this particular loo is a busy one. When I heard a voice outside the door and saw the jiggle of the knob - I did not think anything of it. After all, I had locked the door. But as it turns out, taking a pee in public was about to become a lot more public than anyone ever intended.

I sat, with my pants and undies completely at rest around my ankles and watched in horror as the door appeared to be opening despite my knowledge of having fully locked it. Slow motion panic cam was activated, and all I could say was "whoa whoa WHOA wait a minute JUST A MINUTE" as the door came open even more. Before long the door was completely open and the sunlight was pouring in. There were shrieks from both the door lady and me.

I had instinctively taken the hand with a wad of yet unused toilet paper and placed it over my coolie area. Which wasn't even viewable because my legs were so firmly clamped together that it probably looked worse than it would have if I had just sat there nice and relaxed. I also took my other hand/arm and covered my girls. As if my shirt was going to magically fly off at any second. It need not be pointed out that I might have been able to reach down with both hands and at least partially retrieve my britches from the floor. I might not have been in a position to fully cover things, but by trying I would have had the added benefit of possibly obscuring my face from all who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time that day. Looking down for even a moment probably would have been enough.

Normally this kind of situation is tempered by things like "Oh, who cares. You will probably never see any of these people ever again." Not even close to true in this situation. I see the exact same people every other Saurday at this exact time - for months, if not years at a time.

There was a lot of squeaking and apologizing - both by myself and the woman who had unintentionally exposed me. When I finally got it together and came out of the loo, she was still standing there. I told her to be really careful, as the lock on the door doesn't seem to work very well.

Really?!

Turns out that indeed, I had locked the door. But, I had not been able to fully SHUT the door. It, I was now told, has a habit of not fully engaging in the frame. The little latchy thing doesn't always come to rest inside the hole that would have kept it shut. At least that's what I was told by my nail lady as I tried to flee the scene.

There are ladies in there that will now forever recognize me as that person who was seen by the whole room when someone opened the door on her while she was taking a pee. Those that didn't witness the event will be able to recognize me by the extensive testing I am now forced to give to any loo door that doesn't lead into the redundant fail safe that is a bathroom with stalls.

Notes on a Tan White Guy and a Dead Clown

I am over at my parents' house fairly regularly. Whenever I'm going over there, Mr. Zoom knows a story will be returning with me. That, and a few or more bags of ... stuff ... my FAM has decided to donate to me.

My parents shop at Costco. Only they don't just shop there, they practice XTREME shopping all in the name of getting a bargain on things they use anyway. Which is fine, great, wonderful. Unless they change brands/can't use it/forgot they already had 47 of them at home. Because when there's a shift in the shopping list of the parents of Zoom, there is a Mr. Zoom trying to figure out "What are we supposed/going to do with 10 bottles of soap? And 5 synthetic loofas?"

See for yourself:



I do not know what caused the soapy falling out of favor at the parents of Zoom household. I was too busy trying to figure out the contents of the other bag:



Yes, that's a lot of microwave popcorn, a box with a pair of shoes in it - and a bag of Trader Joes Sesamie Crackers. And a bundle of Avon lipsticks.

And you just don't say things like "Aw gee, that's neat and all, but we can't possibly use that. Do you have someone else you could give it to?" Because while it was intended to be a polite decline, it will be regarded as complete and utter thanklessness. The retribution will be hearing the story of how Zoom didn't want to take the 4 boxes of instant jello pudding, 5 bags of dried snow peas and a loaf of bread home with her. And by the way, the bread looked more like a bunch of pine nuts, gravel and some branches held together by nothing more than the sheer ridiculousness of the combination - God's laughter is a fantastic fusing agent. They will tell this story until it morphs into 3 or more stories. And so on, and so on.

But all of that is simply a side note to the events that prompted this post.

I walked into their house on this last visit and barely recognized my own Dad. Sitting in his chair reading a book was a very tan human. Who kinda looked like the Dad I remember from last week. My dad is currently so tan, that when the skin on his arms and hands gathers in creases, he looks just like the burned parts on burnt toast. Burnt toast made of white bread, mind you.

This man was so white that I think tooth whitening companies used his image as an example of "white" that could be reached by using their product. "After 3 weeks of using our product, your teeth will be *this* white - or your money back."

After asking a few times (he's hard of hearing - or hard of nagging - jury's still out on which), I discovered that he's taken up bike riding. Which was a relief. Because if I had to put down money before I asked - it would have been on him finding out about spray on tanning. Thankfully, that was not the case.

"How did you get so tan?"

"Oh, riding my bike. It doesn't bother my back and do you know that today I did 12 miles on it?"

"You know it's hot out there, right?"

"Yes, but only when you stop."

"Stopped is what I'd be most, if not ALL of the time. And I'd be hotter than when I just went about my day without biking. So biking seems rather silly to me. But you go ahead and tell me more. Are you using ANY sunscreen?"

"No, but I am wearing a hat!"

But I already knew that. His head is pre-bike riding white, and he's only got about a Homer Simpson head of hair left. It's pretty obvious that something is on his head when he's riding. He showed me the hat he has been wearing. And it wasn't a ball cap or a biking hat, but a newsie hat. How he gets that to stay on his head, I didn't ask.

After that, Dad did shift the subject from tan/bike/hat to his new grandfather clock. He wanted to show me how it should be shut off - say, if a pallate were to crush the two of them at Costco and someone needed to wind down the household for them.

Playing along, I dutifully followed Dad into the living room while he explained everything ever said or written in regards to grandfather clocks. He sprinted to the hall closet and came out with a brass key. A brass key with a gold rope dongle on it! You know those curtain decor thingies that hung on the tie backs? All I could think was "ELTON JOHN! ELTON JOHN!".

Dad was working on getting the key to work in the clock, which is apparently quite a feat. By this time my FAM had come into see what we were up to.

"NEVER EVER touch the brass workings inside. The oil from your hands will smear up the pieces."

"Doesn't appear to be a problem since the key doesn't even open the almighty door giving one access to the brass workings - unless you are about to pull some magic out of that curtain decoration you've hitched onto the key?"

While Dad struggled with the key, we all got the giggles. This is not uncommon for us. What is uncommon is that at that moment, my FAM killed one of the loudest, WHOOSHIEST clowns I've ever heard! Serious clown murder, and by my own mother. She instantly squealed "OH MY! WHOOPS!" as she fanned away the clown corpse. My Dad, having endured many years of her chastising him whenever he audibly killed a clown - whether it was just them or anyone else in the room - immediately began to give her a bit of good natured grief. She bantered with him for a while - but I knew better than to join in the teasing.

You think declining a parental household donation is bad...just try teasing my mother about killing a clown.

With that I was forced to withhold the laughter that was clawing it's way through my body - and resume trying to open a grandfather clock. And all I could think of was "DEBACLE! DEBACLE!"

I really hope they aren't teaching me about that clock because they plan on sending it home with me some week. But if they do, at least they'll never have to worry about me touching the inner workings of it. I'll never be able to get that key in the hole - I'll be laughing way too hard.

Totally UnFair

I got a funnel cake at the fair. They put two forks in it when they handed it to me.

As if I am expectd to share? How presumptuous. And chances are, I'll use the second fork to fight off anyone coming near my deep fried treasure.

Granted, the thing was larger than the full size paper plate it came on, but Zoom doesn't share food. Unless I'm full. I didn't even take a picture of it, because I was too busy stuffing it in my face. Afraid someone would see the extra fork and help themselves.

I didn't finish it. I couldn't. But Mr. Zoom didn't want any after all. Turns out the Balboa bar he scored right before my funnell cake purchase was enough to keep him busy. But all the same, I didn't offer until I was done.



Poor Mr. Zoom gets the unhappy face whenever he tries to get a slice/bite/drink of whatever I've brought back to the cave. And I reallly wish I didn't have this particular quirk. Consciously, I know it's silly. I know that I'm not 5 years old anymore and my brothers aren't stealing my "share" of anything. But I just can't help it.

It turns out that I'm even more possessive of my liquid refreshments than I am my food. Actually, it's more situational. The more difficult the drink is to obtain in the first place - the more of a 5 year old I become. If we are at a restaurant, I don't care. But if we are walking around say - the Fair - and I've got a bottle of water, you best go get your own before asking for some of mine. I've been known to encourage people as in "Would you like me to pick one up for you?" to avoid sharing. It's not the money. I'm happy to pay anyone's way to keeping the hell away from my prize.

And here's the other thing. If I were out and saw someone in desparate need of food or water - if I had any I'd give it. All without the eye roll and growl that accompanies my handing over of my food/water at any other time.

I'm like some kind of retarded food ninja. And Mr. Zoom gets to deal with it for the rest of his life.



I don't even know who this girl is. I just liked her "look" through the camera. I finally broke out the telephoto lens. I don't know why it took me so long to do that - except that I'm the last person to figure out ANYTHING.

It took me nearly 2 years of going to the gym before I realized having an ipod of some sort might make the experience a little more enjoyable. 2 years!!

The Writing's on the Palm

I had a rare, slow day at the office today. I can still hardly believe it. I even got to eat lunch with Mr. Zoom. This never happens here. To me.

At our old firm, we ate together way more often than we didn't. When the check would come, Mr. Zoom would hand over his debit card so that we could get out and get back to the office on time. I regularly tried to thwart [yes, I said thwart] his writing in of the tip and the signing of the debit slip. That only meant we were going back to the office and I didn't want that.

Frustrated, he would sit opposite me and try to figure out if feigning disinterest was best or if threatening me with no cookies would get me to behave. "Zoom, come on. It's 2:15. We need to get back to work." "Zoom, give me the pen." "Zoom, stop jiggling the pen so I can't write." "Knock it off, monkey/knucklehead/wife."

Today when the bill came, I snatched the pen away. He went through the faces and noises. I started to get full of myself and would put the pen where he could grab it and then I'd yank it back. Laughing. Then I got the idea to try and mark him a little on his hand with the pen.

I knew he'd hate it, but I didn't know it was a fuse leading directly to an OCD bomb. I got him good on the palm of his hand. When he realized it, he used my full name. "ZOOMITY ZOOM ZOOM! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

He should totally know the answer to that already. But he keeps asking.

"Why?" he said as he tried to get the ink off of his palm. "WHY?" I was shocked by his reaction - as I anticipated something more along the lines of "That's it, I'll just go get another pen and deal with you later." I was sensitive though, and I started to laugh. A lot. And every time he'd grab his soda glass to use the condensation to get more ink off of his hand, I'd laugh even harder.

"you KNOW about me and the washing of the hands and such!"

"Yes, I do. But honest, I didn't know it would get you THAT bad. Wish I had. I'd have used that one earlier." More laughing.

Lucky for me, he started laughing too. And when I thought we were over it, he'd start going after the palm tattoo I'd given him again. Which would make me laugh even harder, and that would make him get the giggles.

There were tables stuffed with children that had to be more than half our age, and none of them caused the kind of scene we did.

As we walked back to the office, I said "I haven't been out of the office for lunch in so long, I don't know what to do with myself!"

He replied "Well, you can cross sketch book husband off the list."

Deconstructing Your Cookies

Look here at what kept me busy at work for a good solid minute before I realized why it wasn't "working"

I was assembling a motion with 10 copies. I had a system down where I would just reach in my bin of binder clips and grab one, apply, and move on to the next copy.

This clip kept spinning around in my hands. I kept muttering "FRICK". I couldn't find the other handle to make it open. I had to stop everything, just like that commercial where a customer pays with cash or a check, and reset myself because of this one sided binder clip.

Look at what I do to Mr. Zoom's Oreos

This is one of my favorite things, because it drives Mr. Zoom mad and I don't have to work at it. Mr. Zoom loves double stuft Oreos. I like them too, but I can only eat one to two of them before I decide there is too much sugary white filling inside.

I must break them apart, and usually one side is free of almost all filling. For the side with filling attached, I remove the white stuf by using my teeth to chip it off. Then I deposit it onto the paper plate. Mr. Zoom finds this to be an abomination. "What's wrong, why do you do that?" "Too much filling." "You need the regular Oreos?" "No, even with those I do this."

One day he came home with a tub of graham like chocolate crackery type cookies. It was so cute when he handed it to me he said "And now you don't have to deconstruct Oreos." which is code for please stop using the cookies in a way they were not intended.

It didn't work. It's just not the same unless the chocolate cookie has been carelessly excavated from the Oreo package and its insides have been removed.

Another food habit we don't share is his ability to eat lunch really late in the day. Mr. Zoom and I were talking about how he can eat lunch as late as 2 and 3 pm on one of our drives around town. He defended his acts by saying he woke up at 11 (this was while he was on vacation), and maybe he wasn't ready for lunch as early as 12, 12:30 or even 1. Before I knew what I was thinking, I gave in one sentence, evidence to the world that PMS does indeed exist. "How can you NOT be ready for food when you first wake up? I AM."

Theories Begin in my Pants.

So many times I hear myself speak, and I can't understand why I can't keep my crazy to myself. I was able to do this just fine, save for a few unguarded moments, before Mr. Zoom came into my life.

He convinced me that he might actually like being around, that I can't scare him with mere words; nonsensical gems that I manufacture spontaneously.

That might have changed the other day. For some reason, I can NOT simply observe life silently. And it's not that I have to describe what I'm seeing. No, I apparently have to find a cause and effect - I must create a theory and declare it as fact. Or at least a fact to be later proven or refuted.

And it's not possible to know what item will be captured in my theory net.

As we drove about the city the other day, Mr. Zoom said "Did you notice that the grass in the common areas is like a foot tall? Is the gardening staff on strike or something? We have enough old grumpy nothing better to do residents that I've got to believe they're all over the association about that."

"Oh, I DID notice that on my way to work the other day. But you know what I thought? You know how when grass gets really long it gets those shoots with seed looking things on the top? Well, I thought that ... maybe... maybe they were letting the grass get to that point so that it would re-seed itself."

And then I laughed like I was reading Defective Yeti, for a good five minutes.

"How far into that story were you when you realized how silly it sounds?"

"Actually, I carried it with me for about a day and it wasn't until I told it to you just now that it hit me as odd."

Some time ago I convinced myself that rain in Southern California is almost always followed by a round of Santa Ana winds.

Mr. Zoom commented one day on something, something probably not even close to weather, wind or rain related. But, I had to share my theory: "You know, I've noticed that after a rain, there always wind. Like big wind."

"WHAT? So you are saying that every time it rains, there's wind afterward? How could that possibly be?"

Sarcasm is the glue that keeps our marriage together.

"...well, no..yes? I mean, it's like always a day later after it rains. Sometimes a couple of days. Not so far out as a month, that would be silly." [yes, indeed THAT would be silly.]

"So are you saying that after it rains, any time there's wind after that - they are connected?"

I decided to pull out my closing argument:

"Rain brings wind, but wind can happen without rain happening first!"

"youuuuuuuuuuuuuu betcha. Here, have a cookie."

I will sometimes ask Mr. Zoom to provide a missing element to my story. We drove down a street that has been under construction since what feels like 1985. Mr. Zoom noticed that some of the cones had been removed and he was getting excited at the possibility of being able to drive to work without a sea of Cal Trans Orange. The cones that were left were the kind that - to me - look fairly solid in the ground. I asked Mr. Zoom how they get the cones to stick to the road.

"They have a glue that they come by and use to stick them into the road."

"Oh yeah? How do they get them removed later? Wait, I know. They wait for a really hot day and then they send prison labor out to pull on them when the ground is the most pliable!"

"Yes Zoom, that's it. It is prison labor." He sounded kindof tired.

Elvis Lives. In My Yard.

There is this squirrel who has been visiting our yard quite a bit. I've been hoping to capture him on video or even just a picture - but no luck.

We've named him Elvis - after I had thrown some squirrel friendly food out into the yard:

"Look honey, the squirrel!"

"Yeah, he doesn't appear to be too afraid of us. I think he's like Elvis. I bet he plays all the yards . . . for all the nuts he can get."

This morning as we Zooms were getting ready for work, our telephone rang. Our neighbors, who have started a huge construction project, wanted to talk to us about the common wall. Although they wanted to talk NOW.

When we didn't call back within 60 seconds, they called AGAIN and even knocked on our door.

Mr. Zoom was not pleased. I tried to create a solution:

"Tell them we've adopted Elvis. That we've converted to his nut church and are donating all of our money to trees."

I Didn't Really Want You To Do What I Asked You To Do. Everyone Knows That.

When I started here, I didn't find the Rosetta Stone to my fellow co-workers' e-mails among my welcome package contents. Know why? THERE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO BE ONE.

I have failed to properly de-code just about every e-mail sent to me in the last 6 months. Silly me. When my name is in the "TO" spot, I usually think I am supposed to respond/act. Not the case, it turns out.

Several times I've responded to be notified that "I wasn't talking to you, that was so that ______ would do it..that..whatever."

I am now paralyzed with indecision when any one of the 150 daily e-mails arrives. I bet you can actually see me freeze when the notify screen shoots out that teeny, almost transparent preview of the message in the corner.

I've actually had telephone and face to face conversations like this:

Person: "Did you get my e-mail?"

Zoom: "Yes. But I'm not sure who needs to do what."

Person: "But it's right there in the e-mail"

Zoom: "Is it.?. Because I never know what is straight forward instruction and what is heavily veiled attempts to do...what ....I'm not really sure - hence the hesitation."

Person: "OH, you are so funny. Yeah, I can see your eyes moving back and forth, trying to connect the dots when I tell you stuff.

Zoom: "So that's what it looks like on the outside. Ok. But still... I'm not any clearer on what I'm supposed to do..."

Person: "I know. Ok bye!"

FANTASTIC!!

I am just not cut out for, nor am I willing to learn, art of subtle hint reading. If you want something out of me, I need in-your-face straightforward notification. If you want to be mysterious, just re-name something in the sentence like my mom does.

My FAM called last night to say she needed help with her digital pictures. I was short on time, so I specifically told her "Look, what I'm about to do? Don't try and follow it. Don't try and learn it. I'm going to apply a quick fix to this situation and we can go over it some time next week when we both have some time."

So what's the first thing to shoot out of her mouth after I start working? "WAIT! Don't you have to hit the CURTELL key for that?"

CURTELL?!? What the? - my entire body seized when just a second later I knew she was talking about the CONTROL key [CTRL]. I had to keep from outright laughing - she uses this term with such determination, as if Bill Gates himself whispered it in her ear. She's got a good sense of humor, but not when she's so frustrated at the computer that she's called me for help. My life depended on holding on to this little re-naming gem she's got going until a later date.

She might be formerly Amish, but that doesn't prevent her from handing out the pain when one "wrongs" her.

I waved her off, saying something about that key not working in the program I was currently using. So I fibbed a little to get her off my back? I was running out of time and she won't remember that "instruction" at a later date anymore than she'll figure out that the Curtell key is actually Control.

If only my co-workers were so easy to figure out.

Fear and Loathing in my Frankenstein Uterus

My uterus has the ability to cramp with alarming strength. Like, it is Frankenstein and I am a much larger little girl he(it) squeezes to death.

I take medicine for that so I can get through my work days and fun days with minimal down time. Lately though, I've needed more drugs than usual. My doctor decided to give me a new medicine to try - something stronger and unfortunately, something that would knock my sh*t out.

I'll try anything, and I figure that once I know how I respond to medicine, I just work around the instantaneous sleep side effect. That's terrific...unless the medicine is making me see and hear things that cause me to run around the room .... AS IF I AM ON FIRE.

Mr. Zoom was sleeping soundly at 2 am when I came charging into the room, snapped on the light and shook him awake. "heeeeelp meeee. I'm having an attack." He shook the sleep off and tried so hard to calm me down. "HEEEEELP MEEEEE THE MEDICINE IS MIXING!!!" "CALL 911! I need crackers!!"


Now, what he DIDN'T know was that I was freaking out because I was seeing and hearing things that weren't really what they seemed. All he knew is that I was flipping out, randomly eating Ritz crackers and begging him to call 911. In my head, if I ate crackers I could get the medicine to stop "attacking" my senses - soaking it up I suppose.

This hallucination thing happened to me once before when I was in my 20s and I had some Nyquil to help me sleep during a bad flu. I woke up to purple spiders, dinosaurs and other random stuff. And all of it was purple for some reason. I haven't had Nyquil since.

This most recent event started out just like any other middle of the night wake up and have to pee experience. The problem though? When I pulled a new tampon out of the cupboard and saw the wrapper, the texture in the wrapper attacked my head. You read that right. The teeny little dimples in the plastic around the tampon suddenly grew huge - I'd guess about 20x their original size, and appeared to float up around my head. The texture literally undulated as it kept growing and seemed to be drawn to my head like a bird from the coffee shop protecting it's nest!

ALTHOUGH, the yellow swirls that are the decor on the plastic - and the ones that you'd think would be the trigger - stayed right where they were supposed to be. Sober examination of the box a day later revealed this text: Discreet purse resistant [their bold, not mine] wrapper with easy-to-open tabs. I think if Tampax interviewed Mr. Zoom, there'd be a whole new paragraph on the box.

To make the situation worse, I also had a line to a song running in my head. We've all had that, and generally no big deal. Only, it wasn't my voice or even the singer's voice saying/singing the line. And I couldn't get it to shut off no matter what I did - and for some reason the fact that I couldn't identify the "voice" was upsetting me. Ok wait, it wasn't running in my head while I was being attacked by my tampon wrapper...but the minutes (felt like hours) before that event it was.

And this is the weirder part. I'll try and explain it... the line of the song running in my head was from "Bleed it Out" by Linkin Park. Truly appropriate, yes. BUT, I only knew the second half of the line until just now when I googled it to get the first part:

"I bleed it out, digging deeper just to throw it away."

THIS IS WHAT I HEARD: "La la la la la la ...just to throw it away." over and over and over and over again. I know we had heard the song on the morning radio show we listen to on our ride to work Friday morning. I did NOT know it would half stick in my consciousness and come out later as a sanity repellent.

Mr. Zoom did everything he could to keep me from calling 911. He is supposed to do this. I don't know for sure, but I think at one point we had somewhat of a stand off where he stood between me and the bedroom phone - trying to get me to calm down before I made a call I was going to regret. I think I might have had crackers in one hand while making a few attempts at the telephone. It had to have been like fighting off a giant toddler holding soggy finger foods.

Horribly embarrassing. Although in the days that followed, I've been able to laugh at it. I realize, again, how lucky I am to have Mr. Zoom. I don't know of many people who would allow themselves to be jolted awake at 2am by unreasonable - ney - lunatic behavior - and through everything thrown at them, hold on to both their wits and their spouse without one single condescending, judgmental or patronizing word. All without a 911 dispatcher on their side.

But I Don't Want To Share My Entree!

I am the biggest sucker in the whole world. No, really. I know better than to watch a Linklater film, yet in the last year I've done it twice.

In fact, I truly need to IMDB that guy. In addition to Slackers, A Scanner Darkly and Fast Food Nation, I bet he's also linked (bah!) with other films I hate. FFN was the last steaming meanderfest I picked from our cable provider's Movies-to-Rent-from-Couch service. I know he's trying to say something poignant by overstating the blasé. I get that. Or at least that's the best explanation I can come up with on my own, without googling him and his movies. BUT OH MY GAWD there has to be a better way. I've seen it with my own eyeballs in other films, I know it can be done.

Linklater film is like a road trip where you drive for 90 minutes to 3 hours, and nothing happens. Literally nothing. The road is straight and free of everything - even scenery. There are no fellow vehicles to look at. There is nothing on the left, right or behind you to look at. Only you can't speed. You are forced to drive the same speed the entire trip - and it's old people speed. Like 50mph. you reach your destination and the car quietly and almost imperceptibly dies. And that's the ONLY way you know you've reached "your destination."

What just happened? Is that the end? Did I just spend money on that experience? Did I even care about any of the characters? Because if I did, I missed both the story and the being interested part. Yes - yes you did, my friend. You just watched a Linklater film.

There is only one thing more disturbing to me than Linklater. That would be television specials on String Theory or M Theory. It's not that I'm annoyed that I got nothing out of the experience. Quite the opposite. I was very happy to have 3 dimensions. Unfortunately, there are these people that say there are actually 11.

I recently tivod and stupidly watched a special on parallel universes. I came away from that show with the following knowledge: M Theory means that our universe is nothing more than a zit on the ass of membranes that collided. And we aren't sure, but it just might be prom night. It's only a matter of time before we get squeezed out of existence.

AND, there are possibly worlds just like ours (in the membranes or out, I don't know), but physics might be totally different there. Like when eating at a Chinese restaurant I won't be expected to share my entrée? Do you know how annoyed I'd be if there was a world like that and I couldn't live in it? Because a feature of these parallel places is that "you" might not exist there. Or something.

That's a Knowledge Wedgie - right there...is what that is.

And Mr. Zoom is always gone when I cue up this kind of show. Or he'd (rightly) block me from doing this to myself.

"What's wrong? You look wonky."

"I watched a show about String Theory."

"Why do you do that?"

"...I thought it would be interesting...."

"Are you ever going to sleep again?"

"Apparently not in this universe, I'm not."

You did .... whatnow?

I made myself laugh. Again.

I made an LOL Husband.

Got no idea why super horrific English might be considered funny? Even by the low standards you've come to expect from a simpleton like me?

Check out the pros at: http://icanhascheezburger.com/

More Like Me Than I Want to Admit

I had to go to the Dr.'s office this week. I always carve out a 4 hour chunk of time for this. Appointment Smappointment. You will sit in the cold room for 2.5 hours - that way we can be sure you really REALLY want to see the Dr.

And then we will just tease you by asking questions, and telling you the Dr. will be in soon. 30 minutes to an hour later.

That's just the way the medical office, funded by insurance dollars works these days.

I've noticed that in the 4 or something years I've been seeing this Dr. that the office nursing assistants are never the same ones every time I go. This time, there was yet another new lady who, when calling for me, magled my very VERY simple white girl name. For example, let's say my last name is Jones. She pronounced it like this: "Jayyyyeeeoooonnneeeesssss?"

This woman was very kind. For some strange reason I felt very at ease with her. It would soon become apparent that - this was/is because she's a whack-a-doo. (I got that term from a blog I can't remember, or I'd credit it. I adore that word, and really wish I knew who to give the credit to.)

She sat me down for the blood pressure test and said in very broken English "OOOO, I Leeeooooveeeee you sweater! The coooolaaair is mine favorite!" I said "thank you" in the teeniest of voices. The one most strangers get when I am forced to say something back.

She put the BP cuff on my arm and struggled with the stethascope. After a minute of this, she looked me directly in the crazy eye and said "Eeeef shoo ever gheeeet tire of that sweeeter, insteead of gooo will (good will), you keeen seeend it to me!"

Look, just insert LOL cat language wherever she's talking and you will get the idea.

And for a second I actually thought to myself "Gee, she seems to love it. I could probably send it to her if she wanted it?! WAIT, what's wrong with me? She's not even going to be here in 3 months when you have to come back. Stop being retarded and focus on where you will go for lunch today."

She took my BP and declared "Shoo know wha? I tell soooo many people to seeend me their sheeerts, that in 20 year I'm gonna has sooo many sheeerts I won't know what to do!!" She started to laugh at herself - just like I always do. I politely giggled along and secretly wished I'd have asked Mr. Zoom to come to this appointment with me. He HAD to see and hear this for himself.

And then she turned to me and said "DO YOU WANT YOUR TEMPERATURE TAKEN?" in nearly perfect English! NO LOLcat. I said "erm...no? I don't have a fever? Did my blood pressure result indicate I should take my temperature?" She said "No, it's totally up to you".

And then she tore one of those disposable thermometers out of its little package. Before I could go back to thinking about what I'd be having for lunch, she had it in my mouth. Didn't she just say I could decide and I had decided NO??

My temperature was 97.8. Right where it always is. She stuck me in a room to wait.

About 2 hours later, another nurse came by and asked me all of the same questions that the thermometer wizard had asked.

I'm actually kindof sad that whack-a-doo nurse probably won't be there the next time I go in.

From the BS Food Group

"Why what do you have there?"

"....veg....etables."

Response to Mr. Zoom after he found me hunched over half a sleeve of Chips A Hoy cookies. Looking a lot like Gollum after stealing the Ring from Frodo.

Bread of Shame. I Make Toast.

Mr. Zoom is my bread of shame.

Now, I don't know that I'm even using that phrase correctly. I recently read a terrific book and the author, I thought, had learned that the Bread of Shame was when someone gave you something you didn't earn. But it wasn't a gift. More of a ... well, shameful possessing of a gift one never should have gotten?

And because I love lobbing crazy phrases at Mr. Zoom when we are talking, I immediately took a hold of Bread of Shame and made it my shorthand for "I don't deserve you." For at least a day, everything he said - I high volume said "BREAD OF SHAME!!" back.

"That can't be you're get out of jail free card, you know."

"BREAD OF SHAME."

To prove just how pathetic my attention span is, I failed to find out the true and correct meaning of bread of shame...because I didn't immediately find a hotlink to it in Wikipedia. It was in there as regular text, but who has time to read all of that?

One day last week after getting home from work, I heard Mr. Zoom saying hello to me from the computer room. I got very happy and ran in to greet him. We had conflicting working hours that day, so we didn't carpool. We then decided we were starving, so we were going to get dinner.

I went to get my keys and....could not figure out where they were. This is not abnormal for me. I lose my keys on average of 619 times a month. I generally find them within 30 seconds of realizing they are lost. Generally. This time even Mr. Zoom had to get in on the search, because I was becoming frantic.

We retraced my paths/steps over and over. We went through my purse individually, and a couple of times together. It got so bad I was checking in the refrigerator and cabinets, just in case I had put the keys in there. I then heard "Zoom, come here." I went to the doorway out of the bedroom and poked my head around the corner. Mr. Zoom said "Come over here and pick up your purse." I thought he found the keys inside, so I went over and looked inside. "No...PICK UP YOUR PURSE." I then figured he was tired of looking and we'd use his car instead.

I picked up my purse and my keys were UNDER it, where they had been when I put them on the table and put my purse on top of them not more than a half hour before. I laughed so hard I snorted. I said "BREAD OF SHAME!!"

And now every time something is lost, Mr. Zoom says "Have you checked under your purse? No, I'm serious."

The very next day I was at the office and went to buy my lunch from the lunch lady. I had left my wallet in the car. The reason my wallet isn't always in my purse in the mornings is because I take it out to buy coffee before we leave the house. And I'm constantly forgetting to put it back in my purse.

I e-mailed Mr. Zoom "BREAD OF SHAME! Your wife needs money for lunch. Why? Because she left her wallet in the car again." He kindly brought me a $20 and didn't even give me a lecture about how if I'd put my wallet where it belongs, it'd be with me when I needed it.

Mr. Zoom surprised me with some books he had bought me on his lunch hour one day. I screamed "BREAD OF SHAME!! You know that once I open these books and look at the pages inside they can't go back, right? Are you sure you want to give these to me? BREAD OF SHAME!!"

He's sooooo bread of shame that he should wear a cellophane wrapper, a best by date and a twisty tie thingie to protect his freshness.

With Apologies to Spider Girl...

Mr. Zoom is at work, I am not. Mr. Zoom might want to stop by the hardware store on the way home for a shield, a long reaching broom, a tranquilizer gun and a bag of Trader Joes Peanut Butter Filled Chocolate Covered Pretzles.

I'm not at the office for typical illness reasons. Those reasons usually require rest, do they not? Well we can totally forget that ever happening again. As I was fighting consciousness with my last gulp of medicine, I noticed a spot on the wall by the t.v. It came from behind a picture on the wall that I used to love.

I've never quite experienced this before. This limp noodle injected with adrenaline feeling. It's not fun. I feel like I chased a bottle of my "calm plane ride" pills with a case of red bull.

You can't tell here, but I've named that picture youvegottobekiddingme.jpg That spider is effing HUGE. I sure hope Mr. Spider and his friends like dvds and what we've done with the place. And his hairy, giant claws in the front can work the remote. Of that, I am sure.

He is not a black widow. He's got a large white spot on his butt. And his legs have red bands on them, although you can't see that here. And way too much fuzz on his GIGANTIC CLAWS. Everything on the web says he's some kind of jumping Philiieeejeebleeedoodah. Doesn't have a web, but prefers to hunt his prey, and he's got FANTASTIC eyesight.

I will now blame Mr. Zoom for earning a living while I had to run away from this thing in our living room. I got pictures by hiding behind our giant t.v. Which is now really Mr. Spider's t.v.

Mr. Zoom will need the shield because I will make him find the spider. Even if it's moved on to another house, I'll make him hunt it down. Did I mention that IT JUMPS! And don't tell me it won't jump on, near or at me. We've all seen the recent story of the little boy with a spider living IN HIS EAR. I might be unreasonable, but even I won't send Mr. Zoom out after a jumping, colorful, hairy christmas tree of a spider without a shield.

The broom he's going to need, because as we've seen before, I will be running in circles an screaming the whole time. I won't keep more than one foot on the ground the entire time, as if that's a guarantee of non-spider interraction. I won't be able to hand him anything. And I'll want to burn the broom after the deed.

The tranq gun can be used on both Me and the Spider. Although I do ask that I get my dart before Mr. Spider gets his. Mr. Zoom can lure me back into range with the Peanut Butter Chocolate Covered Pretzels. He can dart me, the spider and then enjoy his house and t.v. in peace for the first time EVER.

If I Wore a SubTitle

I know how to cook only two things:

1. Oreos
2. Drive Thru

Hairbrain. Band in a Van and Wife with a Cam.

A little while back, Mr. Zoom and I headed out to Vegas for some ice hockey. On the way there, I spied out of my passenger window:



Turns out that The Hairbrain! is a band and they were on their way to tour in Vegas. You can see their myspace page -


http://www.myspace.com/thehairbrain


which is how I figured out what the heck this was all about. I'm not their target audience, but because I grew up on a heaping dose of Dead Kennedys, GBH, Social D, Crass and the Vandals - I can appreciate their tunes a bit.


At first I was sad that it wasn't some family of gypsies that had some strange need to give their inner voices outer voices via masking tape. But I got over it. With the price of gas these days, it should have been simple math - even for a zoom: Anyone with a legit crazy van probably can't afford gas AND several rolls of masking tape. That combination definititely needs record company backing.


Speaking of getting in a car ...


Mr. Zoom does this thing every time he gets in a car. I can't really explain it well. He wiggles his pants, shirt and jacket just so. Then he reaches for the seatbelt, belts in, and re-adjusts everything. And it's not to make comfortable his unit, either. IT IS TO MINIMIZE WRINKLES!


This kills me every stinking time. To me, this is a hell of a lot of energy to put into getting the least amount of wrinkle out of my ride to ....wherever. I figure that if people can't imagine my outfit without the wrinkles I obtained by riding in the car, then to heck with em.


For a while now, I've been thinking about how I can sneak the camera in the car on video so that I could show the world this car seat dance he does. And tonight, I succeeded.


Sortof.


The first part of video I took, I was holding the camera so that he couldn't see I had it out and activated. The video therefore only caught his "...how long has that been running?" and an extreme close up of his jacket.


I turned it off, and then I thought "No, he's going to have to do his dance, and if the camera is on...he'll still do it. You know he can't NOT do it, so turn it back on!"


And I did. Although we ended up giggling more than we did show you his crazy. And the more I try to not talk on video (because I hate my voice), the worse it sounds when I squeak something out.


Oh, and you are going to hear Mr. Zoom reference the boob hurt a few times. Turns out that when ramping up for girlie time, I am a non-stop too much information giver when it comes to the status of my girls and their hormonal side effect symptoms. I think I've unintentionally de-sensitized him to the words/phrase "OH MY GAWD MY BOOBIES HURT...stupid uterus."

He knows this means careful time.

Captain And Passenger of the Ship of Fool

Apparently pumping my own gas and minimal skills of observation mutually exclusive activities. For me.

I went to our friendly neighborhood gas station. It was on the way home. I've been there before. For doughnuts.




Normal, right?

First of all, there are these screens that jibber jabber news and weather at you. I failed to capture this screen in the picture, but I'm sure you all know what I am referring to. I was watching the weather guy and I became fascinated with the way his voice would go before his lips moved. The audio was outrunning the video. This caused me to mistakenly punch my work zip code on the key pad. I was rewarded with the notification "PUMP LOCKED." Ah crap. So I had to do the debit card route and put in my pin.

After getting a screen telling me I managed to release funds from my account, I grabbed the big green nozzle. I tried to get it into my gas tank. It did not fit. I kept trying. Because in my world, if it doesn't fit - I probably did it incorrectly and need to keep trying. After a few more failed attempts and a close inspection of the nozzle - I decided that I'd push the little button on the machine where you pick the grade of gas you want.

Because by doing that, the nozzle would magically fit in my gas tank. Seriously. I half believed that.

I saw that the big GIANT green button indicating DEISEL was lit up and BLINKING at me. And I thought "hm. That's odd. Don't want that." So I spent a good twenty seconds trying all three buttons to the right of the green one, color coded grey, white and red. And could NOT figure out why I could not get any of them to realease the go-go liquid. "What's the problem? YOU HAVE ACCESS TO MY MONEY, GIVE ME GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSS!"

After giving up on the buttons, I then turned my attention back to the nozzle tried to AGAIN put it into my gas tank. If there was an award for retardation marinated in determination, I would have won it. Probaly two of them. Like, they would have had to give me next year's too - so I could walk home with one in each hand to avoid falling over.

I finally turned around and realized "Oh, I get it. Diesel Fuel Only." I was annoyed that this pump was not labled better. "Why wouldn't they let us know this is a Diesel Only pump? How annoying."

So I replaced the green nozzle, got in my truck, drove around the island and parked in front of a pump on the other side. And do you know what I saw?

Yesirreee. It was the exact same set pump set up. Know why? Because normal people realize there's also a big black nozzle on the right that dispenses non diesel fuel!!

And I'd be lying if I said that upon seeing the exact same pump set up I had just rejected, I didn't think "Woah, did this station become only diesel fuel at some point and I just didn't notice?"

Quit It With the Food Poisoning

Look, you don't have food poisoning. What you have, if you MUST tell me about it, is THE FOOD FLU.

I get it. You are uncomfortable, you feel like crap and you don't have control of bodily functions. I've been there too. BUT, if you aren't at work for only one day because of this - or you are feeling somehow obligated to give an excuse - don't use the word poisoning.

Poisoning, to me, implies someone purposely tried to get you. Intentionally and with clever planning. Not the kind of discomfort you got when YOU chose to eat food from some hinky place that serves a combo plate of tummy rumbler and clown agitator. This meal which you adore because sometimes, piss poor quality food just tastes good.

Just like rain is not a storm. Don't be the evening news. Don't go on storm watch just because someone here in California was reported to have used their windshield wipers. For a full sweep and a half.

Granted, you might not always knowingly eat dodgy entrees, but unless you are now in communication with the CDC, realize you are the victim of the FOOD FLU.

Not poisoning.

I Don't See Why Not

On the way to the office today, Mr. Zoom and I were in a rare moment of silence. We were stopped at a light with one car ahead of us. Mr. Zoom began to speak for the driver of the car "Oh yay, I bought a car in Hawaii....oh darn, I'm moving to California."

This amazed me. Because I could not figure out how he knew this particular car was purchased in Hawaii. There was a little "Hawaiian" flower type decal on the rear window, but I've seen those on lots of cars. If he had said to me "I know because I'm magic", I probably would have believed him.

"How in the world do you know that car came from Hawaii?"

Apparently the plate frame covered up the word Hawaii on the plate, and all that was visible was a rainbow background and the text of the plate itself. I did not know this was a standard Hawaii plate.

"...the licence plate? It's a Hawaii plate."

"Oh. Oh? Really? It's not a customizable plate for gay?"

"You are a miracle. NO Zoom, that is not a customized gay plate. California has come a long way with the acceptance of gay, but there is no rainbow gay pride plate you can buy from the DMV."

"Oh."

I did check, by the way. And there is no gay pride plate available from the DMV. But I do think there should be. They could make them with rainbow triangles.

Turn off the Camera, Monkey.

Mr. Zoom is not impressed with slightly open drawers and cabinets. I am indifferent to them - at least I was. Now that I know how much it pushes Mr. Zoom's impulsive correction activity button, well, you know I must play with that.

So one night while he was out at an early hockey game, I set up the kitchen in total slightly open drawer/cabinet.ness.



He's totally on to me though. I had set this up so I'd be on the couch with the camera and could get a little video of him fixing everything. Instead, he walked in and said "Turn off the camera, monkey. No, really. Turn it off."

He knew right away that I was filming. My camera's batteries have been failing lately, and I had mistakenly adjusted the volume to be non-existent, so the video I did get isn't even a good souvinier.

We've been super busy lately. I know that word gets thrown around a lot. I used to use it every day. "I'm so busy." I now need a new word. Because what I've been up to in the last two months blows "busy" right out the window of my car and throws it under a couple of semi-trucks passing by.

Yesterday we got invited to a Kings Hockey game. It's the end of the season, and the game meant absolutely nothing as far as games go. I think the person who had the tickets had them given to her by the season ticket holder. The seats were amazing. The game may have meant nothing as far as the season goes, but I sure had a fantastic time watching at least 3 fights that broke out (on the ice). Helmets flew off, so did gloves.

Anyone out there listen to Tom Leykis? He showed up at the game. I had heard him say he had season tickets to the Kings, and goes to every game. He came in about the second period of the game and was sitting at the end of the row. Or at least I believe it was him. I tried to get a few shots of him to compare later at home with his website, but I super suck at it. I would make the suckiest paparratzi ever. All the shots I attempted came out blurry, or someone moved at the last second and blocked him.

The best I could do was upon returning from the loo, taking this shot from above where we were all sitting. All you can see is the back of his head.

Mr. Zoom said to me at one point in my photo evidence quest "He totally knows you are trying to take a picture of him." I, with 1/2 a beer in me said "AH so? He's in public. He can totally wear it."

As if I run into the famous every day or something. I like to think I would just let them be, unless it was someone from Scrubs. I'd have to tell any cast member from Scrubs that I LOVE the show. I know it's cliche and lame and they are so sick of it - but I can't control myself in regular life. Faced with a scentient being from a show I adore? Yeah, I'd gush.

For example, on our way to dinner after the game, we got lost on the streets of LA. As we were turning around in one very nice neighborhood (proof that we were so in the wrong place), Mr. Zoom said "HEY, THERE'S JASON STATHAM!". And we looked to our right and I'll be damned if it wasn't him on the sidewalk talking to someone. As much as we love Statham and his movies, we didn't leap out of the car and run up to him. I didn't even attempt to get the camera out. He didn't even have "people" around him.



And the KOPITAR jerseys were everywhere! We always sing the Der Kommisar song when we see the name. Ok, only I do that. Mr. Zoom has more class than I do.

Not a Pretty Post

This post is going to scream all kinds of innuendo and wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Welcome to my life.

Tide to Go Pen. My favorite office supply. Wait, no. I lied. It's my second favorite office supply. Mr. Zoom is first, then the TTGPen. I've used one of these at least a hundred times to get coffee off of the front of my shirt. The pen, not the Mr. Zoom. He just says things like "Maybe you shouldn't drink coffee in the car."

Yeah, that's a viable solution alright. How about you just not point that out to me. Ramping up for girlie time or no, simple logic like that pushes my squirrelly button and makes me give you angry crazy eyeball. It's still going to be your fault - no matter what. You should probably just say "awww" and let it go at that.

About two weeks ago, I was in Mr. Zoom's office and we were discussing general not work stuff with one of the people in his department. This co-worker happens to be gay. The reason you might need to know that will become obvious in a moment.

Mr. Zoom had told JSHTBGG (Just So Happens To Be Gay Guy) that I was a kindred spirit of his. The reason? JSHTBGG had spilled something on his shirt that day, and apparently does this with the same frequency that I do. I immediately asked him if he's ever used the TTGpen in order to help himself with those situations. Before Mr. Zoom or I could continue that I use and LOVE the TTGpen, JSHTBGG offered:

"Oh my God - those things smell like ass. Know how I know? I used one once. A while later, I was at the fax machine and some other guy was there too. I thought 'gee, this guy smells like ass. That's awful.'. Later, I realized it was my own shirt that made that awful smell and it was the Tide to Go Pen that specifically made that smell. Those things are awful - I threw it away and never used it again."

Now here I am. I'm listening to an openly gay man talk about what he claims is the smell of ass. Am I about to question him? No. What kind of evidence could I possibly have that he can't literally rebut with "yeah, but I know what ass smells like." I said rebut.

What I do is keep all kinds of quiet about my own use of the TTGpen and how I like it. And how I might not have the level of experience with ass smell that other people might - I have never had the TTGpen ever give off any scent that I could ever distinguish as belonging to IT or ASS or anything else, for that matter.

Today I'm at the office and my shirt is still coffee-less. Until about 3 minutes after I arrived. I predictably shot coffee onto my shirt - in one of those unfortunate places. It looked like Big Rightie had decided to lactate coffee. I got my TTGpen out of my drawer - and paused. Did it really make shirts smell like ass? I took the cap off and gave it a snif. I smelled nothing at all. So I thought "Aw hell. I never run into Mr. Zoom or his department guys during the day. We are all so busy, we are all on different floors...and I've never run into JSHTBGG...I'm going to use it because Big Rightie can't look like a target all day long."

About 30 minutes later, JSHTBGG walked right up to my desk. First time in 6 months he's ever done this. He was asking me some questions about locating a co-worker on my floor. All I could think of was "DO I SMELL LIKE ASS?" After I clumsily directed him on where he needed to go, I sat down and continued to wonder if he knew I'd used the devil pen.

I sent an e-mail to Mr. Zoom to check (read from bottom up):
_________________________________

On your floor? No.

Our floor is supposed to be the floor of ass smell. What happened on your floor?



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Zoom, Mrs.
Sent: Monday, March 26, 2007 4:41 PM
To: Zoom, Mr.
Subject: Question:


Did JSHTBGG say anything about the smell of ass on my floor today?

________________________________________________________________

I suppose I'm safe for today. Although I know there's a lot more coffee wearing in my future, and I desperately want JSHTBGG to say "No, I was wrong. TTGpen doesn't smell like ass. Turns out it was the result of an accident involving a defective container of laundry detergent and some peas." I need to be able to use the pen without fearing I smell like ass.

Just ask Mr. Zoom. I have been known to overreact when I'm convinced my deodorant has ceased working. He doesn't need this too.

And This is How I Thank Him

So this morning on our way to get my coffee, Mr. Zoom and I had a vent fight. Well, not so much a fight, as it was a battle of wills in positioning the vents in the car.

Mr. Zoom runs at about 3,259 degrees. I run at 70. There is a constant fussing with the vents in the car because Mr. Zoom always has the a/c on and I sometimes forget to bring a jacket into the car with me. Even when I remember the jacket, I try to shut the little vents off because I'm cold. The vents in the middle of the dash do not have fully-close-off-ability like the ones on the side.

So normally I point both center vents at Mr. Zoom. This morning he pointed one of the vents back in my general direction and I flipped it back to him. "No, no - see? See it's not reaching you - the cold. When you push it all the way towards me, it doesn't hit me."

I answered by flipping the vent back at him. "Look" he said, "I've tested it and your zone doesn't get any of the cold air." He was demonstrating by drawing an invisible verticle line up and down near my zone.

"FINE." I pouted. And I sat there in silence with my hands in my lap. I did not believe that air vents pointed anywhere near my zone actually hit him and not me, but I had given up the struggle for vent control and decided to wallow in my own fumage.

When we got to the coffee shop I exited the car and bought my coffee. By the time I'd returned to the car, I had totally forgotten I was even "annoyed at him". This is my biggest failing as a wife. I can't remember to stay annoyed for more than two minutes. I'm like a commercial break of childishness.

During the last part of the drive to work, I had to sneeze. I turned away from him and covered my mouth and nose. Or so I thought. Looking out of the passenger window of Mr. Zooms recently washed vehicle, I saw what COULD HAVE been passed off as little rain drops or splash from a puddle. There was no viscosity there, it was clear, watery spit and not the other variety, thank goodness.

I was mortified, and decided to use the arm of my sweater to get rid of the evidence. I casually lifted my left arm to the window and made a series of wiping motions. Mr. Zoom caught on immediately, and when he saw what I was up to he started laughing so hard I started to get the giggles too.

Later at the office I was presented with two boxes from one of the mail guys. Mr. Zoom had ordered and had delivered to the office, tulips for me. He does that all the time. He will randomly order flowers for me and have them delivered to the office for no particular reason. It's so very sweet of him. And I very much appreciate it.

Except for the fact that all my co-workers feel like they've missed my birthday or some flower worthy event in my life. And I almost feel bad telling them no, it's just because. So this round when they ask "special occasion?", I'm going to say "Yeah, I sneezed on his car."

My Luminiferous Ether - Excellent Conductor of Lunacy

I've been eating a lot of oatmeal for breakfast. I love oatmeal. It's (instant) easy and tends to keep me from totally loosing it before lunch time. I like cinnamon and brown sugar. Unfortunately, the last box I bought was some flavor they call cinnamon and spice. Sure, if spice = pot pourri. It smells like Christmas and tastes like a scented candle. I honestly expect the box to list perfume as the first and most abundant ingredient.

I ended up with this flavor because I have a bad habit of seeing what I want to see. Or reading the first couple of letters of something and assuming it's what I want it to be. Cinnamon Sugar looks a lot like Cinnamon Spice to me because of this. DRAT.

And I'm not having much luck with artichoke hearts, either. Every single time I'm faced with an artichoke heart (cut up and in my food), I wonder how to eat it. I literally do the exact same thought process every time - and I never seem to find the answer. Do I just take the whole thing and eat it in its entirety? Or do I cut off the "heart heart" part and dispose of the leafy parts?

The leaves aren't super tough - since they are the smaller ones that are obviously closest to the heart. But I still can't figure out if it's ok to eat the whole thing.

I keep thinking, if it wasn't intended to be eaten entirely, then why is it buried in my food? Wouldn't that be dangerous if one was expected to pull the leaves off? Yet, every time I find myself dissecting the piece and leaving the leafy bits off to the side. I wonder if I'm making it harder than it needs to be. But then I remember; artichokes are giant thistles. Not a ton of room for experimentation.

The other evening Mr. Zoom and I were at one of our favorite super markets buying dinner out of the deli. He's always so cute when we order, because he asks me what I want and then says to the person helping us "the lady will have...." What he should be saying is "My wife doesn't cook. So please sell us food so we don't starve." After he ordered a couple of chicken strips for me, I decided that I'd also like a bbq rib. When he went to order for me "And the lady would also like..." I stopped him. I said "SHHHHHH! NO! Don't tell him it's for me." (the counter guy wasn't hearing Mr. Zoom when he first started this line, so when I shuushed him, the counter guy wasn't even paying attention to us.)

WHY CAN'T HE TELL HIM I WANT THE RIB? Because I'm a fool. Seriously.

I'm sure it's the same feature that caused me to wrestle with my closet of clothing the other day and say to Mr. Zoom - as if he were to blame - "UUUUUUUUUUUUGH. Stupid......clothes......not......look....like.....supermodel." pout.

I said I'd Post It if He Caught It

Mr. Zoom finally captured my snoring on video.

This starts out fairly quiet, but soon enough my "shhroooonk" takes over. I even drown out the t.v. noise in the background. No wonder my mother was convinced I'd never find a husband.



Just about the only thing scarier than that - is the fact that my FAM has now started using e-mail with a terrifying frequency. Back before she would even consider using the computer, all forwarded e-mail jokes and special news bulletins [by special I mean the spider under the toilet seat kind] would be transmitted to me via telephone. If it was really good, she'd make a copy with a xerox copier and make me take it home the next time I came by for a visit.

Just last week, my FAM wanted my "personal" e-mail address. She has my work address, but she had/has some things she'd like me to have that aren't work appropriate. The fact that she understands one address is my account at work and one is for personal use is startling enough. What I'm guessing is headed down the internet pipe for me now is a load of photoshopped puppy and kitten pictures, as well as all those forwarded jokes/chain e-mails/ what have you that everyone YOU know has already stopped forwarding to you.

FWD: CUTE!!
FWD: Warning for you and all of your women friends. NOT A HOAX!!
FWD: ...I normally don't send these but....
FWD: This is an actual picture of...

FAM has a gagillion slides from the 60s or maybe even before that time. She bought a machine that takes the slides and converts them into jpegs on the computer. Of course she asked me to come over and help her understand how to use it. Even sparing most of the details, I think you can sense the monkey fucking a football absurdity of what I should have known was going to happen.

I thought I was over there to show her how to work her slide converter/scanner....but half way through that she insisted that I show her how to archive internet forwards. She had received a power point slide show about ice in her e-mail. With music. She was so excited about it, she insisted I watch it. THEN, she wanted to know how she could put it on a CD so that she'd have it forever.

Yes. Forever.

And keeping them in a folder was out of the question.

I tried to escape by telling her "I don't know how to make a video (pointing at the screen) go to that (pointing to the drive with a cd in it.) Normally she'd have given up, but instead she tried on her own.

I tried to explain that cds aren't like floppies, that you can't put something on them, and then keep adding later. She heard "feel free to keep trying to add anything you want to that cd."

I tried to explain why Windows tries to "help" by providing a default files to be copied to CD feature, and how we don't need that program because we are using another one. The one I just spent 20 minutes tutoring her on. She heard "Go ahead and click wildly all around the screen and then please fume at me when you become totally confused."

When she finally went back to converting her slides, the default Windows screen came up saying "you have files ready to be copied to cd". The wild clicking willy nilly continued and *Shazaaam*, her video landed on a cd.

It is the ONLY thing on that CD.

And I can guarantee you that the next time I go over there, she will have about a thousand cds, all containing ONE internet joke.

Forever.