The Wise One; Ninja G

Upon learning of a blog by a mutual friend - He who is known as Ninja G authored the best one line e-mail responses I've ever seen:

_____________________________

From: Ninja G [mailto:xxx@xxxx.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 06, 2007 1:37 PM
To: All The Monkeys

"How do you people have time for blogs? I barely have time to fart out-loud for all to enjoy."

What Just Happened?

Southern California decided to become a Giant Ring of Fire the week before I was to be in an outdoor wedding. Friends, family - people I didn't know but was feeling extreme sadness for were displaced and scared - everywhere.

I couldn't concentrate on anything but the news for nearly a week.

I'm relieved to say everyone I personally know and all family got through the fires very well. Damages were limited to stress over the situation, but physical and structural damage was nil. Except for the ash and smoke which we are ALL still dealing with.

I hope everyone who lays eyes here got through it safely - family and friends of yours as well.

The Friday before the fires broke I was at work when an e-mail flashed on my screen with the title: "Monday is Jesus' birthday." Because I'm a nitwit, I said "What? Monday isn't Christmas."

And since we are discussing Zoom Christmas retardation - it is time to reveal that when I was a kid I could never understand how it was OK for us ... people... to give Christmas gifts to each other. I knew the story went that three wise men gave gifts to Jesus when he showed up all those years ago. So when people started exchanging gifts all these years later because of that - I thought it would be seen as the gift giver saying to the recipient "You are now Jesus and I am a wise person. I am giving you a gift because of that."

And I knew enough to know that wasn't an ok thing to think, much less act on.

And I couldn't understand why we did it year after year after year. Further, when someone said "She/He is playing God", I thought they meant someone got caught accepting gifts as if they were "Jesus".

Apparently I had a little trouble separating God from Jesus - as well as symbolic gestures of gift giving. And thinking a little too much while not thinking enough.

I wish I could say I've grown out of that.

"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.