Unfortunately for him, Mr. Zoom let it be known that leaving a drawer open a little bit drives him compulsive. The great thing for me is that I now have a new sass weapon that I don't even have to think about. My daily routine automatically leaves all drawers I open unclosed just about 1/2 an inch. I'm convinced it's the counter top that hangs over just a teeny bit - which gets in my closing way.
I've even started sending him e-mail at the office to let him know that the cabinet drawers in my cube are open a teeny bit. And I want to know if he's going to be ok.
I heart effortless sass.
I've also learned that he has a certain telephone ... um... practice. One evening I offered to call my parents and let them know we wouldn't make a weekend event with them. I thought I was going to do Mr. Zoom a favor by doing this while he changed clothes. Thank goodness I asked before I picked up the phone and started dialing, because it turns out that Mr. Zoom does NOT do telephone when he's ... er... nekkid or nearly nekkid.
And it wasn't like he'd have even been on the phone with them, or they would have really even known he was in the house. Much less sorta in an underwear and socks only state.
"So even though you won't be on the phone with them, and you know they can't see you ... you do know that right...you have a thing where the phone can't be in use because you are changing clothes?"
"Yes."
"BAHHHAHAHAH AHAHAHHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HAHHHHH AHHAHAHHHAHAHAHHA BAHHHA HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHHA!! ...no, really. Be serious."
"I am."
"Snort Giggle....hoookay."
"Don't apply logic to it. It just is."
"You know this is going on the web, right?"
A few minutes later he told me to go ahead and call in our dinner order so we could pick it up. I protested "But...you aren't fully dressed yet."
"That's ok, because I don't know the people at _______ restaurant."
"Sooo, if you know the people on the other end of the phone, whether they even know you are in the room, ney - just the general vicinity of the phone and you might not be fully clothed, you can't have the phone in use. But total strangers, who you will be seeing in 10 to 20 minutes from which we will pick up our sustenance, THAT'S PERFECTLY OK?"
"Yes."
"This is totally going on the web."
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Friday, January 26, 2007
Hay's Wife is Dancing
I don't know crap about recognizing a brilliant lyricist, singer, band...bla bla bla. Most acts that I have been told are perfection incarnate - don't usually do much for me. Sometimes stuff grabs me, and it's absolute trash. Sometimes it's recognized brilliance. I'm not claiming to know the difference.
Last night Mr. Zoom took me to see Colin Hay co headline with Howard Jones at the Cerritos Performing Arts Center. I wasn't overly ecstatic to go to this show on a week night, but I am ever so glad tht I did. I owe Mr. Zoom a great big "You Were Right". Colin Hay rocks any and all parties so hard that Brad and Angelina wish he was a deprived orphan child so they could adopt him. And I bet he could blow the combover right off of Donald Trump's head.
I'm generally not a fan of the once huge, not quite one hit wonder, yet not occupying a ton of space in my music database, back from what feels like 10 years of gone missing band. I find it painful to see people holding on to what made them huge all those years ago when it just isn't appealing anymore. And I realize this is a very individual thing. For some fans, it might be the best thing ever to see a once huge band in a little location all those years later.
I'm not immune to cling myself. I'm positive I've held on to many things far past their expiration date - clothes, hairstyles and other things - yet people were kind enough not to point it out. But I'm not charging admission.
Mr. Zoom has followed Hay all these years, has all the albums. Aside from seeing Hay on Scrubs, I wasn't incredibly familiar with his music. Last night's show was Hay on a stage with probably 3 acoustic guitars. He spoke in between songs. Normally that talking too much thing drives me mad, but he was downright hysterical. A somewhat stand up type performance without the Laff Factory type atmosphere - mixed with stunning music. He's sarcastic, self depricating, funny, subtle, and genuine. His songs have all of those qualities too. I found myself really excited to hear the next "bit", song or talk - it didn't matter. The venue was so small it felt like being at a dinner party where a very charismatic guest steals the attention of everyone at the table without trying.
And his wife performed with him too. Now, when I say performed - I'm not sure that's the proper word. She does this thing where about halfway through his set she seems to sneak on stage and combine all forms of dance into this interpretive type accompanyment. It's so very hard to describe. And it's hard not to giggle at. You can tell she's literally compelled to do what she's doing - as if she's channeling. A mix of line dance, belly dance, rain dance and the worm, with some sign language and yodeling mixed in. As friends who also went described, she's impossible not to watch. I have to give it to Hay and his wife. They are obviously having a really great time doing what they are doing up there, and despite the giggle factor, they pull it off wonderfully.
It was nice to see someone who was so big in the past out performing, doing what he obviously loves, and doing it well without the aid of "Shooting Seizmore Flavor of Love Breaking Bonaduce" type exposure. Don't get me wrong. I adore the crazy of those shows. I am usually left horrified and amused at the documentation of all too real and disturbing difficulties in life. Hay's lack of "in your face my hard life" style of entertaining left me respecting him quite a bit.
Last night Mr. Zoom took me to see Colin Hay co headline with Howard Jones at the Cerritos Performing Arts Center. I wasn't overly ecstatic to go to this show on a week night, but I am ever so glad tht I did. I owe Mr. Zoom a great big "You Were Right". Colin Hay rocks any and all parties so hard that Brad and Angelina wish he was a deprived orphan child so they could adopt him. And I bet he could blow the combover right off of Donald Trump's head.
I'm generally not a fan of the once huge, not quite one hit wonder, yet not occupying a ton of space in my music database, back from what feels like 10 years of gone missing band. I find it painful to see people holding on to what made them huge all those years ago when it just isn't appealing anymore. And I realize this is a very individual thing. For some fans, it might be the best thing ever to see a once huge band in a little location all those years later.
I'm not immune to cling myself. I'm positive I've held on to many things far past their expiration date - clothes, hairstyles and other things - yet people were kind enough not to point it out. But I'm not charging admission.
Mr. Zoom has followed Hay all these years, has all the albums. Aside from seeing Hay on Scrubs, I wasn't incredibly familiar with his music. Last night's show was Hay on a stage with probably 3 acoustic guitars. He spoke in between songs. Normally that talking too much thing drives me mad, but he was downright hysterical. A somewhat stand up type performance without the Laff Factory type atmosphere - mixed with stunning music. He's sarcastic, self depricating, funny, subtle, and genuine. His songs have all of those qualities too. I found myself really excited to hear the next "bit", song or talk - it didn't matter. The venue was so small it felt like being at a dinner party where a very charismatic guest steals the attention of everyone at the table without trying.
And his wife performed with him too. Now, when I say performed - I'm not sure that's the proper word. She does this thing where about halfway through his set she seems to sneak on stage and combine all forms of dance into this interpretive type accompanyment. It's so very hard to describe. And it's hard not to giggle at. You can tell she's literally compelled to do what she's doing - as if she's channeling. A mix of line dance, belly dance, rain dance and the worm, with some sign language and yodeling mixed in. As friends who also went described, she's impossible not to watch. I have to give it to Hay and his wife. They are obviously having a really great time doing what they are doing up there, and despite the giggle factor, they pull it off wonderfully.
It was nice to see someone who was so big in the past out performing, doing what he obviously loves, and doing it well without the aid of "Shooting Seizmore Flavor of Love Breaking Bonaduce" type exposure. Don't get me wrong. I adore the crazy of those shows. I am usually left horrified and amused at the documentation of all too real and disturbing difficulties in life. Hay's lack of "in your face my hard life" style of entertaining left me respecting him quite a bit.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
My Point of Reference Went Home Early
It's strange how life slowly curves out from under you sometimes. It's like falling asleep at the wheel, only when you wake up you haven't crashed. You are just in a little bit of a different place than you were, and you aren't sure when, exactly, things changed.
I just haven't had the time to read and comment on my favorite blogs like I used to. You might say "But, you post, so you must have some free time in there?" I expel my current crazy at the office on a blank document, and then can only access blogger in a way where I can post, but can't read. Or comment. So while it might look like I'm spending some time in blog land, I'm not really. And if they have pictures, I've done them at home and fought long and hard with the computer.
And when I do get to read my favorites, I'm not even finding time to jot a comment. Partly because I'm not in the new account, so the commenting function all but tells me to F Off and refuses to acknowledge me or my jibber jabber in the comment section - and partly because what little time I do spend here, I want to read as many people as I can. Which leaves less time to comment.
So to any and all of you that are accustomed to seeing my nonsensical jibber jabber in your comments, it's probably not going to be that way any more. I might get a rare block of time, and if I do I will make sure I say hi.
In other words, you might not see evidence of my visits, but when I can I do. Or something.
In retardation news, I'm not having a lot of luck with the security at the new firm. The keypad that lets us into the office in the mornings looks exactly like an ATM pad. My firm now has a complete, repetitive record of my ATM card pin number - if they check my failed entry attempts. Turns out my pin number doesn't let me in the door - the assigned code does. But I can't seem to get the urge to put my pin number in the key pad out of my system. And the angry lights that blink at me when I put the wrong code in are starting to get a little old. Sometimes I'll wait for someone else to come by and act like I just got "there" too. I let them do the code thing so I can just follow them in.
There is currently a new sign on one of the doors indicating it would be really nice if people didn't attempt to enter the doors until the "click" of the lock release is heard. Apparently people inside and next to the doors are not as amused at my full speed crash into locked doors outside thing as I am.
Today after spraying my pants with Static Guard, I forgot to turn them right side out again. I even got the top hooks clasped before I tried to zip them up and couldn't figure out why the zipper wasn't "right".
Which incidentally, brings up another fact of life I've learned and am much amused with. There are a number of websites out there that gather all blog postings/web jibber jabber related to their particular product, and they link them - a compiler type thing - on their page. The pages are generally very weak attempts at - I'm not sure what. I think the idea is to sell advertising, but I'm still not sure. What makes me laugh is that at one point I wrote about how I don't like Dave Matthews. It was the story of how Mr. Zoom killed a clown while we discussed Dave Matthews and the fact that I noted: bad smell - Dave Matthews = Must.be.Related. At some point that entry was compiler linked to some Dave Matthews page.
So let me get this straight. I can compare Dave Matthews to a fetid smell that comes out of my husband's ass - and it gets linked to a site trying to convince you they are the authority on the subject?
AWESOME.
How did we get from inside out pants to Dave Matthews? Static Guard! Maybe that product has a compiler web page or 100 as well. Maybe I can convince someone that Static Guard turned my pants inside out. I don't know. I just see an opportunity to semi-mess with what is obviously not so much quality/relevance screening in that web linking process.
I just haven't had the time to read and comment on my favorite blogs like I used to. You might say "But, you post, so you must have some free time in there?" I expel my current crazy at the office on a blank document, and then can only access blogger in a way where I can post, but can't read. Or comment. So while it might look like I'm spending some time in blog land, I'm not really. And if they have pictures, I've done them at home and fought long and hard with the computer.
And when I do get to read my favorites, I'm not even finding time to jot a comment. Partly because I'm not in the new account, so the commenting function all but tells me to F Off and refuses to acknowledge me or my jibber jabber in the comment section - and partly because what little time I do spend here, I want to read as many people as I can. Which leaves less time to comment.
So to any and all of you that are accustomed to seeing my nonsensical jibber jabber in your comments, it's probably not going to be that way any more. I might get a rare block of time, and if I do I will make sure I say hi.
In other words, you might not see evidence of my visits, but when I can I do. Or something.
In retardation news, I'm not having a lot of luck with the security at the new firm. The keypad that lets us into the office in the mornings looks exactly like an ATM pad. My firm now has a complete, repetitive record of my ATM card pin number - if they check my failed entry attempts. Turns out my pin number doesn't let me in the door - the assigned code does. But I can't seem to get the urge to put my pin number in the key pad out of my system. And the angry lights that blink at me when I put the wrong code in are starting to get a little old. Sometimes I'll wait for someone else to come by and act like I just got "there" too. I let them do the code thing so I can just follow them in.
There is currently a new sign on one of the doors indicating it would be really nice if people didn't attempt to enter the doors until the "click" of the lock release is heard. Apparently people inside and next to the doors are not as amused at my full speed crash into locked doors outside thing as I am.
Today after spraying my pants with Static Guard, I forgot to turn them right side out again. I even got the top hooks clasped before I tried to zip them up and couldn't figure out why the zipper wasn't "right".
Which incidentally, brings up another fact of life I've learned and am much amused with. There are a number of websites out there that gather all blog postings/web jibber jabber related to their particular product, and they link them - a compiler type thing - on their page. The pages are generally very weak attempts at - I'm not sure what. I think the idea is to sell advertising, but I'm still not sure. What makes me laugh is that at one point I wrote about how I don't like Dave Matthews. It was the story of how Mr. Zoom killed a clown while we discussed Dave Matthews and the fact that I noted: bad smell - Dave Matthews = Must.be.Related. At some point that entry was compiler linked to some Dave Matthews page.
So let me get this straight. I can compare Dave Matthews to a fetid smell that comes out of my husband's ass - and it gets linked to a site trying to convince you they are the authority on the subject?
AWESOME.
How did we get from inside out pants to Dave Matthews? Static Guard! Maybe that product has a compiler web page or 100 as well. Maybe I can convince someone that Static Guard turned my pants inside out. I don't know. I just see an opportunity to semi-mess with what is obviously not so much quality/relevance screening in that web linking process.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Vacation Without Your Wife. How's That Working For You?
Mr. Zoom has the week off all to himself. I most recently changed jobs, which means I have no vacation time. Mr. Zoom gets a good chunk annually and since he's been at this "new" job a whole year, he found himself with the ability to take a whole week in January.
With all the advice flung at us pre wedding, nobody offered up the "Here's how you deal with you snoozing spouse when you have to wake up in record cold temperatures and drive away to work." advice.
The Sunday before his week started, I found myself amazingly bitter. I literally pouted on the couch over the fact that I would be working, he would not. Which was what I can only call the Crazy Woman No Logic Here Disease. I didn't want to be that girl, but I was. In fact, I was giving award winning performances. I even went to bed early.
I'm not sure you realize how much that says. I hate going to bed. I love sleeping, but I detest getting up and going into the bed place. I especially hate it when someone suggests that maybe I need to go there. I will fight Mr. Zoom so hard on this. I've been known to stand my ground on the couch, cuddled with my blanket and pillow, claiming "I can't go to bed now, I've got too much left to do." - and then 4 seconds later I'm unconscious.
Poor Mr. Zoom. I think I really hurt his feelings when I went to bed early. I want him to take vacation time without me. If he waited for me, he'd max out the vacation accrual and no doubt have finally told someone that they are a krunty old douchebag - and that's why their e-mail doesn't work. Then he'd be fired and he'd really have a lot of free time without me.
He's made me a crazy sissy girl. YES. This is all Mr. Zoom's fault. He loves me no matter how stinking retarded I act. I'd have told me to stop being ridiculous a long time ago. And then poked me in the eyes 3 stooges style if I still acted like a jackass.
No, instead he actually turned off the alarm I set to get myself up in the morning without him so that HE could be the one to get me up and into the shower this week. HE got up when he didn't have to, to do that for me.
And what did I do? How did I thank him? Here's how the conversation went:
"wha? Why didn't my cell phone alarm go off?"
"I turned it off..."
"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! Come back in 10 minutes." You need to be able to hear the shrillness with which I said "Why would you do that? in order to appreciate how much of an ass I was really being.
"Because I wanted to wake you up, I thought it would be easier for you."
"Come back at 7. I can't wake up on the first waking."
"I know."
So he came back and I stumbled into the shower. When I got out I realized he'd gone back to sleep. And my bitter crazy lady left the building. See, I know how much he HATES getting up out of bed when he doesn't have to. Especially if he's going to try and sleep through some more. So the fact that he got up just to wake ME up when he didn't have to - AND played snooze alarm with me - I mean, can anyone have a better husband than that?
I doubt it. And even if you think you have one, I'm ignoring you. Crazy Ladydom works on all kinds of levels. Let's hope it doesn't have to testify in divorce court.
With all the advice flung at us pre wedding, nobody offered up the "Here's how you deal with you snoozing spouse when you have to wake up in record cold temperatures and drive away to work." advice.
The Sunday before his week started, I found myself amazingly bitter. I literally pouted on the couch over the fact that I would be working, he would not. Which was what I can only call the Crazy Woman No Logic Here Disease. I didn't want to be that girl, but I was. In fact, I was giving award winning performances. I even went to bed early.
I'm not sure you realize how much that says. I hate going to bed. I love sleeping, but I detest getting up and going into the bed place. I especially hate it when someone suggests that maybe I need to go there. I will fight Mr. Zoom so hard on this. I've been known to stand my ground on the couch, cuddled with my blanket and pillow, claiming "I can't go to bed now, I've got too much left to do." - and then 4 seconds later I'm unconscious.
Poor Mr. Zoom. I think I really hurt his feelings when I went to bed early. I want him to take vacation time without me. If he waited for me, he'd max out the vacation accrual and no doubt have finally told someone that they are a krunty old douchebag - and that's why their e-mail doesn't work. Then he'd be fired and he'd really have a lot of free time without me.
He's made me a crazy sissy girl. YES. This is all Mr. Zoom's fault. He loves me no matter how stinking retarded I act. I'd have told me to stop being ridiculous a long time ago. And then poked me in the eyes 3 stooges style if I still acted like a jackass.
No, instead he actually turned off the alarm I set to get myself up in the morning without him so that HE could be the one to get me up and into the shower this week. HE got up when he didn't have to, to do that for me.
And what did I do? How did I thank him? Here's how the conversation went:
"wha? Why didn't my cell phone alarm go off?"
"I turned it off..."
"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! Come back in 10 minutes." You need to be able to hear the shrillness with which I said "Why would you do that? in order to appreciate how much of an ass I was really being.
"Because I wanted to wake you up, I thought it would be easier for you."
"Come back at 7. I can't wake up on the first waking."
"I know."
So he came back and I stumbled into the shower. When I got out I realized he'd gone back to sleep. And my bitter crazy lady left the building. See, I know how much he HATES getting up out of bed when he doesn't have to. Especially if he's going to try and sleep through some more. So the fact that he got up just to wake ME up when he didn't have to - AND played snooze alarm with me - I mean, can anyone have a better husband than that?
I doubt it. And even if you think you have one, I'm ignoring you. Crazy Ladydom works on all kinds of levels. Let's hope it doesn't have to testify in divorce court.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Scared of Falling Apart Wearing Elastic Pants
Wii time machine travel aside, I've just not been in the mood to come home and browse the internet lately. That means I haven't visited my favorite bloggers, either. Sorry guys.
There will be no awards for conversation clarity on my mantle. The post below encompasses something I tried to communicate to Mr. Zoom when I - out of the blue - said:
"I feel like I'm ready for elastic mom pants and a sweatshirt with a picture of a kitten embroidered on it."
Remember how I was allergic or becoming allergic to just about every food substance known to be not only edible, but fun? That problem, for the moment, seems to be solved.
Why am I not super excited about this? Why am I not rolling around in Trader Joes chocolate covered peanut butter pretzles?
Because it means taking another drug daily - for the rest of my life - to fix it.
Back when I was not taking any kind of medication, my life was a mess. Anxiety attacks had me housebound and hopeless. For over 10 years now, I've been taking something that prevents that. Makes me "normal" and productive - if not a lot weird and higly distractable. Although that isn't all due to the medication. Most of that was there long before meds. The point is, it took me a long time to get to a place where I'd take the medicine and not feel like a complete loser because I needed it to function.
I said "Ok, getting there sucked, but now I've got a chance for one damn near normal life. I should totally wear it." And I did.
After recently visiting the Dr. who fixed my anxiety problem for me, and discussing the various and multiple allergies I was beginning to collect, he lept out of his chair and started going through some charts in a book. He wrote me a prescription for - Hydroxyzine. Told me to take that, I should be able to eat anything I was previously having reactions to. I scoffed at him. Not only did I just not believe it possible, but I was afraid of it working.
I kept the prescription filled and unused for two whole months. I was afraid that taking it would interfere with the balance I've been able to keep for the past 10+ years. I was afraid that this new factor would throw something off and before I knew it, I'd be back to anxiety attacks I could not control.
Over New Year weekend, I sucked it up and took one of the pills. We didn't have any major plans and if my body mutinied on me, I would have time to recover. That night I had some shredded wheat. That ALWAYS makes me flare up within 4 hours and I'm usually miserable for a week over it. And I was FINE! Not one itch. Not one smidgen of discomfort!
The rest of that week I kept taking the pills and I ate everything I could think of that used to make me break out with the kind of itching where I would literally scratch some of the skin off in an attempt to get some relief. AND I DIDN'T HAVE ANY REACTIONS!
Here's what DID happen. Remember when you were a kid and you were being lectured by your parents? Remember how sometimes you thought it was over and you tried to walk away - just to hear "COME BACK HERE, I'm not finished with you yet."? You know that feeling you got when that happened? I feel like authority just called me back into the room after I made the mistake of thinking things were already taken care of. Only my body, my medication are my authority now. And how many more of these surprises will I face, and will they all be fixable?
I feel a little bit like I'm living on cheater time. Like my body was created in a way that I was never biologically meant to live a "normal" life - and how dare I try to defy it. Like I am now the monster created by the mad scientist - playing with biology and existence. All those things I used to consider medicine did for people when they got much older than I am now, as an attempt to squeeze out a few more good years for them before they ended up a crumpled blob - the cautionary moral of the story - in the corner of their room at the rest home.
But I'm not that old, and I guess I'm a little afraid I'm using up my medical advances a little too early. And I've watched far too many episodes of the Twilight Zone, where getting something you want artificially always seemed to make things worse than when they started.
I know it's futile to worry about what might happen. Really, I do. And I don't want to be all drama queen and claim that my "losing it" is any more devastating than any one else's on this planet. Because it's not. After all, any of us at any time could wake up and face a life changing situation concering our health. But it's difficult to enjoy the peanut butter now when you realize that at any moment you could be called right back into the room..."I'm not finsihed with you yet, put on this kitten sweatshirt."
There will be no awards for conversation clarity on my mantle. The post below encompasses something I tried to communicate to Mr. Zoom when I - out of the blue - said:
"I feel like I'm ready for elastic mom pants and a sweatshirt with a picture of a kitten embroidered on it."
Remember how I was allergic or becoming allergic to just about every food substance known to be not only edible, but fun? That problem, for the moment, seems to be solved.
Why am I not super excited about this? Why am I not rolling around in Trader Joes chocolate covered peanut butter pretzles?
Because it means taking another drug daily - for the rest of my life - to fix it.
Back when I was not taking any kind of medication, my life was a mess. Anxiety attacks had me housebound and hopeless. For over 10 years now, I've been taking something that prevents that. Makes me "normal" and productive - if not a lot weird and higly distractable. Although that isn't all due to the medication. Most of that was there long before meds. The point is, it took me a long time to get to a place where I'd take the medicine and not feel like a complete loser because I needed it to function.
I said "Ok, getting there sucked, but now I've got a chance for one damn near normal life. I should totally wear it." And I did.
After recently visiting the Dr. who fixed my anxiety problem for me, and discussing the various and multiple allergies I was beginning to collect, he lept out of his chair and started going through some charts in a book. He wrote me a prescription for - Hydroxyzine. Told me to take that, I should be able to eat anything I was previously having reactions to. I scoffed at him. Not only did I just not believe it possible, but I was afraid of it working.
I kept the prescription filled and unused for two whole months. I was afraid that taking it would interfere with the balance I've been able to keep for the past 10+ years. I was afraid that this new factor would throw something off and before I knew it, I'd be back to anxiety attacks I could not control.
Over New Year weekend, I sucked it up and took one of the pills. We didn't have any major plans and if my body mutinied on me, I would have time to recover. That night I had some shredded wheat. That ALWAYS makes me flare up within 4 hours and I'm usually miserable for a week over it. And I was FINE! Not one itch. Not one smidgen of discomfort!
The rest of that week I kept taking the pills and I ate everything I could think of that used to make me break out with the kind of itching where I would literally scratch some of the skin off in an attempt to get some relief. AND I DIDN'T HAVE ANY REACTIONS!
Here's what DID happen. Remember when you were a kid and you were being lectured by your parents? Remember how sometimes you thought it was over and you tried to walk away - just to hear "COME BACK HERE, I'm not finished with you yet."? You know that feeling you got when that happened? I feel like authority just called me back into the room after I made the mistake of thinking things were already taken care of. Only my body, my medication are my authority now. And how many more of these surprises will I face, and will they all be fixable?
I feel a little bit like I'm living on cheater time. Like my body was created in a way that I was never biologically meant to live a "normal" life - and how dare I try to defy it. Like I am now the monster created by the mad scientist - playing with biology and existence. All those things I used to consider medicine did for people when they got much older than I am now, as an attempt to squeeze out a few more good years for them before they ended up a crumpled blob - the cautionary moral of the story - in the corner of their room at the rest home.
But I'm not that old, and I guess I'm a little afraid I'm using up my medical advances a little too early. And I've watched far too many episodes of the Twilight Zone, where getting something you want artificially always seemed to make things worse than when they started.
I know it's futile to worry about what might happen. Really, I do. And I don't want to be all drama queen and claim that my "losing it" is any more devastating than any one else's on this planet. Because it's not. After all, any of us at any time could wake up and face a life changing situation concering our health. But it's difficult to enjoy the peanut butter now when you realize that at any moment you could be called right back into the room..."I'm not finsihed with you yet, put on this kitten sweatshirt."
Sunday, January 07, 2007
God Wants You To Vote Bikini
I love this God Truck I saw down in San Clemente. I don't know if those are bananas he's selling (on the back, towards the top?)
The text on the truck says "America's most beautiful women say our bush in the white house is better than no bush at all." "Go Good" (note Good, not God). And "Buy 2 and Save."
"Vote for God".
He had pretty much just started ... setting up when I came by. I should have stayed longer to see what other gems he had in there and for sale, no less. But I got a little spooked. When I'm in one place too long with the camera, accusations fly and grandmas get mean.
The text on the truck says "America's most beautiful women say our bush in the white house is better than no bush at all." "Go Good" (note Good, not God). And "Buy 2 and Save."
"Vote for God".
He had pretty much just started ... setting up when I came by. I should have stayed longer to see what other gems he had in there and for sale, no less. But I got a little spooked. When I'm in one place too long with the camera, accusations fly and grandmas get mean.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
2007. So Far So Wrong.
There is a lot wrong with 2007 already. Actually, it started in December 2006. But whatever, I choose to blame it on the 7.
Mr. Zoom and I are not those people. We don't hear about some item that isn't readily available from store or internet and go on some quest to have one. We've always just figured we'd get one later if we still wanted it. Life was predictable and good.
And then one day Mr. Zoom went to work and played with the Wii that a co-worker brought in. I am not technical and I am too lazy to google it, but Wii described in my own terms is an unfortunately named game platform, like a PS2 or something. It has wireless game controllers that one uses to play the games - interactively - different from "normal". The name Wii - actually now comes and goes in conversation without the giggles. I honestly thought that would never happen.
Mr. Zoom had to have one after playing with it. I snooted at him about how I just don't play video games that much. How I've managed to leave the Guitar Hero alone - therefore I am immune to video game lure. Because standing in front of the t.v. with a controller in my hand and wiggling around as if I'm doing the actual thing on the t.v. is NOT fun, how could it be? One would have to be drunk to subject themselves to that kind of game playing... I mean, haven't you tried to get a group of people to play Cranium before? The charades part is ALWAYS painful for everyone.
He still had to have one. So he got up at 3am and stood in line, in the rain, at a store he knew would have them. This was prior to Christmas, probably about a week. I supportingly rolled over in bed as he left and said "Ifsh you getsh one...put my name on it "To Mr. Zoom from Zoom", Merrshy Chrishmas." zzzzzzzzz. Emphasized with a diagonal bed take over by me.
So my husband became one of those people. He stood in line for hours, and he got the second to last Wii they had.
He brought it home and I flitted around him as he set it up, mostly so I could do my wife duty and say "You might want to read the instruction manual for that?." I superiorly watched from the sidelines as he began to play. The thing comes standard with Sports, which I even further tutted as "so not for me."
Now who's afraid of losing her pro bowling status and sparkly argyle patterned ball in Wii bowling? Yes, I have become one of those people. Dammit, I don't want to bowl with the plain ball.
Stupid Wii.
And here's the even better part. I've started yelling things out loud in response to strikes and spares. "UBANGI!"
...U. BANG. I. ... I don't know why, or where it came from, but that's my cheer now while we play.
Mr. Zoom talks to the golfing a lot. "Be the ball." "Be the 100" [when he's trying to play the version where you hit the ball onto a bulls eye type target] and "That might have a chance...might have a chance...." I told him that perhaps Wii isn't a fan of "Caddy Shack" and that might be the problem.
My favorite one from him so far is "Oh, THANK YOU for totally ignoring the laws of physics" when pins don't fall or balls don't land where he thinks they should.
We are now those people. And we are Pro.
Mr. Zoom and I are not those people. We don't hear about some item that isn't readily available from store or internet and go on some quest to have one. We've always just figured we'd get one later if we still wanted it. Life was predictable and good.
And then one day Mr. Zoom went to work and played with the Wii that a co-worker brought in. I am not technical and I am too lazy to google it, but Wii described in my own terms is an unfortunately named game platform, like a PS2 or something. It has wireless game controllers that one uses to play the games - interactively - different from "normal". The name Wii - actually now comes and goes in conversation without the giggles. I honestly thought that would never happen.
Mr. Zoom had to have one after playing with it. I snooted at him about how I just don't play video games that much. How I've managed to leave the Guitar Hero alone - therefore I am immune to video game lure. Because standing in front of the t.v. with a controller in my hand and wiggling around as if I'm doing the actual thing on the t.v. is NOT fun, how could it be? One would have to be drunk to subject themselves to that kind of game playing... I mean, haven't you tried to get a group of people to play Cranium before? The charades part is ALWAYS painful for everyone.
He still had to have one. So he got up at 3am and stood in line, in the rain, at a store he knew would have them. This was prior to Christmas, probably about a week. I supportingly rolled over in bed as he left and said "Ifsh you getsh one...put my name on it "To Mr. Zoom from Zoom", Merrshy Chrishmas." zzzzzzzzz. Emphasized with a diagonal bed take over by me.
So my husband became one of those people. He stood in line for hours, and he got the second to last Wii they had.
He brought it home and I flitted around him as he set it up, mostly so I could do my wife duty and say "You might want to read the instruction manual for that?." I superiorly watched from the sidelines as he began to play. The thing comes standard with Sports, which I even further tutted as "so not for me."
Now who's afraid of losing her pro bowling status and sparkly argyle patterned ball in Wii bowling? Yes, I have become one of those people. Dammit, I don't want to bowl with the plain ball.
Stupid Wii.
And here's the even better part. I've started yelling things out loud in response to strikes and spares. "UBANGI!"
...U. BANG. I. ... I don't know why, or where it came from, but that's my cheer now while we play.
Mr. Zoom talks to the golfing a lot. "Be the ball." "Be the 100" [when he's trying to play the version where you hit the ball onto a bulls eye type target] and "That might have a chance...might have a chance...." I told him that perhaps Wii isn't a fan of "Caddy Shack" and that might be the problem.
My favorite one from him so far is "Oh, THANK YOU for totally ignoring the laws of physics" when pins don't fall or balls don't land where he thinks they should.
We are now those people. And we are Pro.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
The Holidays. Kicking My Arse in the Free Time
Lack of posting due to whatever excuse I feel like using. And for now that would be the holidays. Which aren't officially over until after New Years.
Being one of the last hires this year, I am doomed to work every stinking working minute that isn't an official day off. This makes me sad. It's not like I didn't know that was going to happen, but sad nonetheless.
There is one thing that was pure unexpected joy for me this season though. It is Gay themed Christmas Cards. I've never gotten any before, and now that I have, I adore them. The jokes, the puns, the picture fun with once never dared make fun of subject matter. Pure glee in an envelope.
I got one the same day I got a card with some heavy Catholic content. I giggled as I put the two cards in the same bag facing each other for the ride home. When I got home there was no holy war, there was no name calling and nobody burst into flames.
It's too bad that people in general can't be more like their holiday cards. There's a spot for your message that people can take or leave, you wish everyone well and you don't mind when a different belief shows up for the ride home.
Being one of the last hires this year, I am doomed to work every stinking working minute that isn't an official day off. This makes me sad. It's not like I didn't know that was going to happen, but sad nonetheless.
There is one thing that was pure unexpected joy for me this season though. It is Gay themed Christmas Cards. I've never gotten any before, and now that I have, I adore them. The jokes, the puns, the picture fun with once never dared make fun of subject matter. Pure glee in an envelope.
I got one the same day I got a card with some heavy Catholic content. I giggled as I put the two cards in the same bag facing each other for the ride home. When I got home there was no holy war, there was no name calling and nobody burst into flames.
It's too bad that people in general can't be more like their holiday cards. There's a spot for your message that people can take or leave, you wish everyone well and you don't mind when a different belief shows up for the ride home.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
I've Been Thrown a Lit Stick of Dynamite
So at the new job, I learn the new boss has a sad event happen in his life. His mother in law has passed away after a battle with some kind of illness.
For normal people, this is a deal with able event. For me, it is a time to make sure I keep my trap shut the hell up so I don't offend the man. I smartly sent Mr. Zoom out for a card for me. And all I did to that card was sign my name.
"Ok, what kind of card should I get for you for him?"
"Something that won't offend a highly religious man who happens to be my boss of less than a month, who's mother in law just passed away? Is there a section at Hallmark for that?
It turns out my new boss is not only very religious, but so are several other co-workers. So much so that it's openly spoken about in passing among themselves. Which is fine with me. They don't try to convert me, ask me what I believe, or otherwise know I'm there. I'm all for any beliefs people want to have, as long as they respect my right to do the same.
But there will come a time when all of that changes. As Olympic Champion of snacking on my feet, both at once even, I can only hope I stay below the radar as long as possible.
I've already mispronounced the name of a key co-worker in such a way that people who witnessed it actually rolled on the floor laughing. I'd tell you what it was, but it's unique enough that it would instantly identify me to anyone happening along this here spot on the net - who happened to be connected with my job. I can tell you that I called him/her the name of a car manufacturer. An American one, at that. It made Mr. Zoom make that forceful "HAH" then silent laugh thing he does when he's really stricken with the funny.
About a week after I started the new job, a temp was assigned to the desk two desks away from me. She didn't have a lot to do there. She spent a lot of time on the internet. The way her computer was situated, I got a decent view of her web tour. I was struck with familiarity when I saw her staring at a screen...that I knew I knew....but couldn't place. I later realized it was the create post screen of blogger!
A fellow blogger.com-er! I didn't get a good enough view to see what her blog was though. I was so amused with the fact that a fellow blogger was temping at my office that I tried to secrety take her picture while she wasn't looking. I was hoping to get the blogger on screen when I did it, but as we already know, I suck at secret agent stuff.
When she had her back to me, I took my camera and lined up for a shot. This was tricky, since other people could see me and I had to time it perfectly. Turns out I forgot to turn off the flash, so when the camera went off, she immediately turned around. I put on my best "Hm, I'm looking down at my desk...looking for something that isn't there, it's important and I'm not paying attention to you at all...WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME?" act. I even talked to myself out loud "NO, no......that pencil isn't right here where I thought I put it......hmmmm".
I suck at acting too.
I tried again to take her picture since the one I had just snapped might have been fuzy. I turned off the flash, but this time the little *tink* noise the shutter makes caught her attention and she immediately turned around again. Which lead to me fake looking for my pencil again.
I haven't seen her since.
For normal people, this is a deal with able event. For me, it is a time to make sure I keep my trap shut the hell up so I don't offend the man. I smartly sent Mr. Zoom out for a card for me. And all I did to that card was sign my name.
"Ok, what kind of card should I get for you for him?"
"Something that won't offend a highly religious man who happens to be my boss of less than a month, who's mother in law just passed away? Is there a section at Hallmark for that?
It turns out my new boss is not only very religious, but so are several other co-workers. So much so that it's openly spoken about in passing among themselves. Which is fine with me. They don't try to convert me, ask me what I believe, or otherwise know I'm there. I'm all for any beliefs people want to have, as long as they respect my right to do the same.
But there will come a time when all of that changes. As Olympic Champion of snacking on my feet, both at once even, I can only hope I stay below the radar as long as possible.
I've already mispronounced the name of a key co-worker in such a way that people who witnessed it actually rolled on the floor laughing. I'd tell you what it was, but it's unique enough that it would instantly identify me to anyone happening along this here spot on the net - who happened to be connected with my job. I can tell you that I called him/her the name of a car manufacturer. An American one, at that. It made Mr. Zoom make that forceful "HAH" then silent laugh thing he does when he's really stricken with the funny.
About a week after I started the new job, a temp was assigned to the desk two desks away from me. She didn't have a lot to do there. She spent a lot of time on the internet. The way her computer was situated, I got a decent view of her web tour. I was struck with familiarity when I saw her staring at a screen...that I knew I knew....but couldn't place. I later realized it was the create post screen of blogger!
A fellow blogger.com-er! I didn't get a good enough view to see what her blog was though. I was so amused with the fact that a fellow blogger was temping at my office that I tried to secrety take her picture while she wasn't looking. I was hoping to get the blogger on screen when I did it, but as we already know, I suck at secret agent stuff.
When she had her back to me, I took my camera and lined up for a shot. This was tricky, since other people could see me and I had to time it perfectly. Turns out I forgot to turn off the flash, so when the camera went off, she immediately turned around. I put on my best "Hm, I'm looking down at my desk...looking for something that isn't there, it's important and I'm not paying attention to you at all...WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME?" act. I even talked to myself out loud "NO, no......that pencil isn't right here where I thought I put it......hmmmm".
I suck at acting too.
I tried again to take her picture since the one I had just snapped might have been fuzy. I turned off the flash, but this time the little *tink* noise the shutter makes caught her attention and she immediately turned around again. Which lead to me fake looking for my pencil again.
I haven't seen her since.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Not Very Holiday Spiritish - Granted.
Dear Resume Writing People,
Quit putting your hobbies or personal interests on your resume. You might as well send us to your myspace page where we can see what you really do enjoy, and learn even more reasons why we shouldn't hire you.
"I enjoy reading, water sports and camping in the summer." I CARE NOT. Do you also enjoy researching how to put together a decent resume? If the job you are looking at actually requires such information, you can put it in your cover letter. Provided you even know what that is.
And chances are, should your personal interests factor into the job you are seeking, they will need to go on the top of the page, not waving pathetically as an afterthought at the bottom.
I don't know. We might hire Betty because she likes to put together jigsaw puzzles while kittens romp at her feet instead of Jane, since she likes to run through sprinklers balancing a Mai Tai and a volleyball. While Jane might be a lot more fun in the office, Betty isn't likely to call in the next day with a hangover or a broken leg.
I don't work in any position that screens resumes. I don't have an ounce of influence in this corporation as to whether a resume is chosen for the next step. The person I work for does see resumes though, and the ones with personal information on them make me want to seek out the author during his/her interview and 3 Stooges poke them in the eyeballs for including such things. AND GETTING AN INTERVIEW DESPITE OBVIOUS OVERQUALIFICATION IN NITWITDOM.
Quit putting your hobbies or personal interests on your resume. You might as well send us to your myspace page where we can see what you really do enjoy, and learn even more reasons why we shouldn't hire you.
"I enjoy reading, water sports and camping in the summer." I CARE NOT. Do you also enjoy researching how to put together a decent resume? If the job you are looking at actually requires such information, you can put it in your cover letter. Provided you even know what that is.
And chances are, should your personal interests factor into the job you are seeking, they will need to go on the top of the page, not waving pathetically as an afterthought at the bottom.
I don't know. We might hire Betty because she likes to put together jigsaw puzzles while kittens romp at her feet instead of Jane, since she likes to run through sprinklers balancing a Mai Tai and a volleyball. While Jane might be a lot more fun in the office, Betty isn't likely to call in the next day with a hangover or a broken leg.
I don't work in any position that screens resumes. I don't have an ounce of influence in this corporation as to whether a resume is chosen for the next step. The person I work for does see resumes though, and the ones with personal information on them make me want to seek out the author during his/her interview and 3 Stooges poke them in the eyeballs for including such things. AND GETTING AN INTERVIEW DESPITE OBVIOUS OVERQUALIFICATION IN NITWITDOM.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
When the Broken is Nobody's Fault But Yours
There was about a 45 minute block of time today wherein I was convinced that the Superior Court had lost its telephone service. I would have bet anyone around me this was true. I spent that 45 minutes attempting to make successful calls to that court, only to get a recording every time that said "I'm sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again."
I tried every department telephone number I could find on the internet. There are at least 50 of them. NONE of them worked.
I reasoned "Hm. I'm new. Chances are I'm not dialing the phone correctly. I'll try calling a number I know is working and see if I get through." I tried my home, and I got the answering machine. OK, then I can't be doing anything wrong, right?
So in flustration, I called the associate attorney that assigned this to me. I said "Yeah. You aren't going to believe this when I tell you - and I'd like you to try the same numbers I did - but I can't get one single number to the Superior Court to work correctly. They are broken. BROKEN I TELL YOU. I get an "unable to connect" message every time. And I tried local numbers I know, and got through on those so I have to be dialing correctly."
He good naturedly conference called me in on his attempt to get through to our court department - AND GOT THROUGH ON THE VERY FIRST TRY. When the clerk picked up, I honestly thought it was a joke. After the call was completed, I asked him to come up to my phone so I could try again. Because I kept getting the same result.
While he watched, I started to dial the number. And then the laughter. THE LAUGHTER began. "The problem is you aren't daling 1 - xxx - xxx-xxxx. Because you do know we are in the yyy area code??....which means xxx numbers need a 1 before you dial...."
Turns out that I was dialing as if I was in the area code FOR MY OLD JOB (xxx), not the new area code (yyy) I'm dialing from now. Not the area code I've typed onto at least 300 some documents in the last month.
I laughed. He laughed. I'll bet you a gillion dollars I'll do it again. Wish I had that 45 minutes back - but whatcha gonna do.
Besides, I've got a much more disturbing worry to worry about. The air is so dry lately that the inside of my nose now feels as if I've coke whore sniffed an entire pan of baklava up into there. Like I'm storing for the winter or something. I can't breathe without making whistle noises. And every once in a while I get the sensation that I've got a dangler. But nothing is ever there. At least not when I look. And trust me, blowing my nose only makes all of this much worse.
If I can't even dial a telephone correctly, how am I supposed to trust myself to keep my nose dangle free?
I tried every department telephone number I could find on the internet. There are at least 50 of them. NONE of them worked.
I reasoned "Hm. I'm new. Chances are I'm not dialing the phone correctly. I'll try calling a number I know is working and see if I get through." I tried my home, and I got the answering machine. OK, then I can't be doing anything wrong, right?
So in flustration, I called the associate attorney that assigned this to me. I said "Yeah. You aren't going to believe this when I tell you - and I'd like you to try the same numbers I did - but I can't get one single number to the Superior Court to work correctly. They are broken. BROKEN I TELL YOU. I get an "unable to connect" message every time. And I tried local numbers I know, and got through on those so I have to be dialing correctly."
He good naturedly conference called me in on his attempt to get through to our court department - AND GOT THROUGH ON THE VERY FIRST TRY. When the clerk picked up, I honestly thought it was a joke. After the call was completed, I asked him to come up to my phone so I could try again. Because I kept getting the same result.
While he watched, I started to dial the number. And then the laughter. THE LAUGHTER began. "The problem is you aren't daling 1 - xxx - xxx-xxxx. Because you do know we are in the yyy area code??....which means xxx numbers need a 1 before you dial...."
Turns out that I was dialing as if I was in the area code FOR MY OLD JOB (xxx), not the new area code (yyy) I'm dialing from now. Not the area code I've typed onto at least 300 some documents in the last month.
I laughed. He laughed. I'll bet you a gillion dollars I'll do it again. Wish I had that 45 minutes back - but whatcha gonna do.
Besides, I've got a much more disturbing worry to worry about. The air is so dry lately that the inside of my nose now feels as if I've coke whore sniffed an entire pan of baklava up into there. Like I'm storing for the winter or something. I can't breathe without making whistle noises. And every once in a while I get the sensation that I've got a dangler. But nothing is ever there. At least not when I look. And trust me, blowing my nose only makes all of this much worse.
If I can't even dial a telephone correctly, how am I supposed to trust myself to keep my nose dangle free?
Sunday, December 03, 2006
My Heart Swells with Cable Provider Love
There is little I adore more than being on the couch in my jammies with a blanket, watching all the t.v. I can absorb. I realize this is not a healthy, admirable or inspiring habit. I do not care. It makes me oh so happy, and life is too short not to find what makes you happy and do it.
Wittgenstein can totally bite me and then wear it.
I spend a LOT of time in the On Demand. That is the channel that our cable company provides where you can buy movies to watch. Some are good, some are absolute trash. I love them all. I like to pick some indie film and then go to IMDB after I watch it to see what other people thought. One recent pleasant surprise was "Brothers of the Head". Wonderfully dark, twisted mocumentary that won't leave you easily.
Today I was browsing categories when Christmas came early to the Zoom household. Cleverly disguised as "Special Interests", which to me usually means documentaries...
Behold my next false story to strangers about how I met my husband: Dating On Demand.
I can still hardly believe this exists.
Wittgenstein can totally bite me and then wear it.
I spend a LOT of time in the On Demand. That is the channel that our cable company provides where you can buy movies to watch. Some are good, some are absolute trash. I love them all. I like to pick some indie film and then go to IMDB after I watch it to see what other people thought. One recent pleasant surprise was "Brothers of the Head". Wonderfully dark, twisted mocumentary that won't leave you easily.
Today I was browsing categories when Christmas came early to the Zoom household. Cleverly disguised as "Special Interests", which to me usually means documentaries...
Behold my next false story to strangers about how I met my husband: Dating On Demand.
I can still hardly believe this exists.
So of course I had to find out what the man of my dreams was like. After all, I've spent all this time believing he snores me out of bed every night and laughs when I trucker burp, without following up with divorce papers.
The anticipation nearly killed me.
Turns out I don't dream like other people?
But to prove I wasn't just thinking about myself, I decided to see what kind of replacement wife Mr. Zoom could have if .. say.. trucker burping becomes unamusing to him. I picked from the girl next door category.
I previewed the reason she's a good catch. "You should date her because you'd be loved and treasured. Now if that's not a good reason, we don't know what is!"
Mr. Zoom definitely deserves to be loved and treasured.
Although not by a pirate.
You may have noticed under "Dating on Demand", there is a submenu called "Something Weird". GLEE washed over me AGAIN!
I haven't had time to see all the weird goodness in here, but I was immediately drawn to SCHOOL SCARE FILMS!!
LSD Insanity. YEEEEES! Although it's not very cool - since the film itself asks "LSD, Insight or Insanity", and the title in On Demand gives you the answer straight away. Because I was leaning towards insight at first...
You get pure, uncut, retro educational filmage without the homework!
This poor woman mistook a flame from her gas stove for a carnation. Flower. Flame. Easy mistake.
And it's all in the Free Zone! I haven't been this happy since I found the submenu from the IFC channel that plays indie films for free that are in theaters now!
Friday, December 01, 2006
The Tagging, by Poly. The Answers, by Zoom.
6 Weird Things About Me.
1. I can not seem to stand still long enough to fill the gas tank in my truck. I will start, and by the time $35 or so dollars has rung up on the pump, I'm bored and feel the need to drive away. I usually try to make the amount of gas cost some uneven amount - like $33.21. I only do that because Mr. Zoom checks the accounts almost daily, and he adores even amounts. When we go out to eat, he will figure a tip so that the total bill is an even amount. And quite honestly, the uneven debit game is the only thing that keeps me at the gas pump for a few seconds more. Mr. Zoom will get into my truck, see the 3/4 gas tank and say "I thought you went to the gas station today?!"
2. I have a toothbrush bristle phobia. I am fine with my own toothbrush, but if I see one on t.v. - especially if someone runs their fingers over the bristles, it makes me squirm. If someone is holding a toothbrush and mindlessly flicks the bristles, it also drives me crazy. I have no idea where this came from.
3. I take medication every day to function "normally". Antidepressants. I once lived a life of panic attacks and never being able to step foot ouside my own home. Medication, sometimes deservedly, gets a bad rap.
4. When I'm out in public, even if I've just rolled out of bed, I have to have earrings on. I think I know where this obsession came from. When I was little, my fine, thin hair (almost impossible to grow long), along with my "tall" size had many people assuming I was a "boy". I was crushed every time I got mistaken for a boy. Granted, I was I huge tomboy and my friends were mostly other boys (2 older brothers' influence), which didn't help. Also, my girls didn't become anywhere near their "D" size until I was about 33 years old. So having a "B" or less rack under there wasn't much of a giveaway either. How I figured earrings would be the shield from mistaken gender? Dunno. But to this day I need to have earrings on if I'm out in public.
5. When I was young, I never seemed to believe I'd live beyond 20 years of age. And it wasn't always 20 that I focused on, just what at that time felt like "older" to me. I don't know why I thought I wasn't going to be alive much past my teens. It wasn't like anyone abused me, threatened me - anything like that. I had absolutely NO basis for any kind of crazy thoughts like those. But I can remember them being a prominent theme in my daily thought rotation until I turned at least 18.
6. When I was little, I thought UPS trucks were chocolate milk trucks. I was actually young in the days of milk delivery. And milk always came out of white trucks. I figured the UPS trucks never came to our house because chocolate milk wasn't allowed.
Now, I'm supposed to tag people. But I'm never very good with that. So I always take the wussy way out and say "ok, here you go. If you want to be tagged, then.... shazaam! You are."
1. I can not seem to stand still long enough to fill the gas tank in my truck. I will start, and by the time $35 or so dollars has rung up on the pump, I'm bored and feel the need to drive away. I usually try to make the amount of gas cost some uneven amount - like $33.21. I only do that because Mr. Zoom checks the accounts almost daily, and he adores even amounts. When we go out to eat, he will figure a tip so that the total bill is an even amount. And quite honestly, the uneven debit game is the only thing that keeps me at the gas pump for a few seconds more. Mr. Zoom will get into my truck, see the 3/4 gas tank and say "I thought you went to the gas station today?!"
2. I have a toothbrush bristle phobia. I am fine with my own toothbrush, but if I see one on t.v. - especially if someone runs their fingers over the bristles, it makes me squirm. If someone is holding a toothbrush and mindlessly flicks the bristles, it also drives me crazy. I have no idea where this came from.
3. I take medication every day to function "normally". Antidepressants. I once lived a life of panic attacks and never being able to step foot ouside my own home. Medication, sometimes deservedly, gets a bad rap.
4. When I'm out in public, even if I've just rolled out of bed, I have to have earrings on. I think I know where this obsession came from. When I was little, my fine, thin hair (almost impossible to grow long), along with my "tall" size had many people assuming I was a "boy". I was crushed every time I got mistaken for a boy. Granted, I was I huge tomboy and my friends were mostly other boys (2 older brothers' influence), which didn't help. Also, my girls didn't become anywhere near their "D" size until I was about 33 years old. So having a "B" or less rack under there wasn't much of a giveaway either. How I figured earrings would be the shield from mistaken gender? Dunno. But to this day I need to have earrings on if I'm out in public.
5. When I was young, I never seemed to believe I'd live beyond 20 years of age. And it wasn't always 20 that I focused on, just what at that time felt like "older" to me. I don't know why I thought I wasn't going to be alive much past my teens. It wasn't like anyone abused me, threatened me - anything like that. I had absolutely NO basis for any kind of crazy thoughts like those. But I can remember them being a prominent theme in my daily thought rotation until I turned at least 18.
6. When I was little, I thought UPS trucks were chocolate milk trucks. I was actually young in the days of milk delivery. And milk always came out of white trucks. I figured the UPS trucks never came to our house because chocolate milk wasn't allowed.
Now, I'm supposed to tag people. But I'm never very good with that. So I always take the wussy way out and say "ok, here you go. If you want to be tagged, then.... shazaam! You are."
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Ok. Fine. I Don't Need to be Told THREE Times.
Hello blogger account. You bombard me with "UPDATE YOUR BLOGGER to the NEW AND IMPROVED BLOGGER", in beta. And I don't want to do that. It took me long enough to work this one. And I don't even know all the features here yet. So until you tell me I have to upgrade, I think I'll stick with the old version.
This here recent Thanksgiving arrived with a few unexpected adventures. We normally don't do much for this holiday, but were given the opportunity to visit family so we took it. I won't be back to work until Thursday. This is the only time off I'm going to get for about a year, so we figured we'd make the best of it.
And by best of it, I mean going out into the public world and apparently provoking the suspicion of one heavily accented grandma with a baby stroller.
You know how some brain disorders are associated with hypergraphia? Or at least I think I read that somewhere... Well, whatever disorder I have comes with a mean case of hyperphotographia. As long as I can remember, I've had a love of photography. My father had his own darkroom before I was even born, and one of my great aunts was so very good at it. There's even a photo club in Washington that has a memorial award in her name issued every year. I suppose it's run in my family - although the being good at it part took a left turn and never arrived at ME. Which is why I can't understand why I'm so fascinated with something I'm clearly not able to do in a way that justifies putting myself in the cross-hairs of public ire.
Today I went down to Balboa Island. It's a huge tourist attraction in the summer. This now being winter, and a week day - I could hardly get the camera charged up fast enough to get down there and wander around. I figured the Fun Zone would give off an interesting vacant carnival type vibe since it is winter.
There were other people there, but nothing like the jam packed streets of summer. I purposely stayed out of the residential areas on the island. There were some great photo opportunities, but I had to let them go. I didn't want to freak anyone out by taking pictures of their house.
I began taking pictures almost immediately upon feeding a parking meeter at the Fun Zone. I noticed an older lady with a baby stroller behind me. Feeling like I was in her path, I turned around and headed the other direction on the street. I crossed and started to enter the Fun Zone from a different angle. Whenever possible, especially when children are involved, I try to stay out of someone's way. That's all I was doing.
I noticed that baby stroller lady was about 30 feet behind me. I thought "That's weird, I totally would have thought she was going in on the other entrance....ooooh, look, carousel!" I found the Ferris Wheel, the car ferry, etc. Every time I looked behind me, there was baby stroller lady. I started to think to myself "I swear she's following me. WHY?", but decided she was probably NOT doing that - since who would follow me in the first place, and who would follow me with an infant in tow? It just didn't make any sense.
(Blogger isn't letting me upload pictures, so I guess I try to make links)
As I stopped to change a lens, she was off to the side of me. I looked up and smiled at her. She grabbed her baby stroller and began to finally roll past me. She paused, looked right at me and half said half angry voice addressed me "Yoh lllruhn alllround taking LOOOTS of pictures. Ihhheets reallly rehallly WEEEIRD! Boot, I shuphose....whutevah...." and she waved her hands around at me. All I could reply in that moment was "I'm just practicing with my camera." I was stunned that she was actually following me, and that she was irritated with me. "OOOOH, I DOOH NOOOT CHINK SO!" she yelled back at me and finally went on her way.
As she continued down the path away from me, I tried to take a picture of her. Both to annoy her, and to prove to me that I had actually been followed and accused of .... something... by some crazy lady with a stroller. I, unfortunately, had the fisheye lense on and my white balance was set for sunny, not shade. So her picture isn't all that clear. And it's only the back of her.
And what kills me is that I understand people asking me what I'm doing. I get that in today's world, one has to question people and what they are doing if it concerns them. I don't mind if they politely ask, because I'll politely respond. When attacked like this, I just sit in my truck afterwards and say things to nobody like "Oh yeah? Well if I bother you so much, why don't you call the police? What's that? Oh yeah, because what I'm doing is NOT ILLEGAL."
There was a group of 3 college age looking kids down there doing the exact same thing I was. They had cameras and lenses galore. Baby stroller lady didn't seem to have a problem with them in the least.
I was wandering behind some of the businesses, and in the alley I saw this:
The instant I took that, a car pulled up behind me and a man rolled down his window. He asked "Are you a spy?" I said "No, I'm just practicing with my camera." He said "OH, I thought you were the FBI or something" and then he drove away. I'm positive he was just being cautious - trying to find out what the hell I thought I was doing. But if I'm a spy, I don't know it. And I'm the worst one ever. Who can resist photgraphing a bright yellowgreen house in an alleyway? I'm pretty sure spies are trained to resist.
This here recent Thanksgiving arrived with a few unexpected adventures. We normally don't do much for this holiday, but were given the opportunity to visit family so we took it. I won't be back to work until Thursday. This is the only time off I'm going to get for about a year, so we figured we'd make the best of it.
And by best of it, I mean going out into the public world and apparently provoking the suspicion of one heavily accented grandma with a baby stroller.
You know how some brain disorders are associated with hypergraphia? Or at least I think I read that somewhere... Well, whatever disorder I have comes with a mean case of hyperphotographia. As long as I can remember, I've had a love of photography. My father had his own darkroom before I was even born, and one of my great aunts was so very good at it. There's even a photo club in Washington that has a memorial award in her name issued every year. I suppose it's run in my family - although the being good at it part took a left turn and never arrived at ME. Which is why I can't understand why I'm so fascinated with something I'm clearly not able to do in a way that justifies putting myself in the cross-hairs of public ire.
Today I went down to Balboa Island. It's a huge tourist attraction in the summer. This now being winter, and a week day - I could hardly get the camera charged up fast enough to get down there and wander around. I figured the Fun Zone would give off an interesting vacant carnival type vibe since it is winter.
There were other people there, but nothing like the jam packed streets of summer. I purposely stayed out of the residential areas on the island. There were some great photo opportunities, but I had to let them go. I didn't want to freak anyone out by taking pictures of their house.
I began taking pictures almost immediately upon feeding a parking meeter at the Fun Zone. I noticed an older lady with a baby stroller behind me. Feeling like I was in her path, I turned around and headed the other direction on the street. I crossed and started to enter the Fun Zone from a different angle. Whenever possible, especially when children are involved, I try to stay out of someone's way. That's all I was doing.
I noticed that baby stroller lady was about 30 feet behind me. I thought "That's weird, I totally would have thought she was going in on the other entrance....ooooh, look, carousel!" I found the Ferris Wheel, the car ferry, etc. Every time I looked behind me, there was baby stroller lady. I started to think to myself "I swear she's following me. WHY?", but decided she was probably NOT doing that - since who would follow me in the first place, and who would follow me with an infant in tow? It just didn't make any sense.
(Blogger isn't letting me upload pictures, so I guess I try to make links)
As I stopped to change a lens, she was off to the side of me. I looked up and smiled at her. She grabbed her baby stroller and began to finally roll past me. She paused, looked right at me and half said half angry voice addressed me "Yoh lllruhn alllround taking LOOOTS of pictures. Ihhheets reallly rehallly WEEEIRD! Boot, I shuphose....whutevah...." and she waved her hands around at me. All I could reply in that moment was "I'm just practicing with my camera." I was stunned that she was actually following me, and that she was irritated with me. "OOOOH, I DOOH NOOOT CHINK SO!" she yelled back at me and finally went on her way.
As she continued down the path away from me, I tried to take a picture of her. Both to annoy her, and to prove to me that I had actually been followed and accused of .... something... by some crazy lady with a stroller. I, unfortunately, had the fisheye lense on and my white balance was set for sunny, not shade. So her picture isn't all that clear. And it's only the back of her.
And what kills me is that I understand people asking me what I'm doing. I get that in today's world, one has to question people and what they are doing if it concerns them. I don't mind if they politely ask, because I'll politely respond. When attacked like this, I just sit in my truck afterwards and say things to nobody like "Oh yeah? Well if I bother you so much, why don't you call the police? What's that? Oh yeah, because what I'm doing is NOT ILLEGAL."
There was a group of 3 college age looking kids down there doing the exact same thing I was. They had cameras and lenses galore. Baby stroller lady didn't seem to have a problem with them in the least.
I was wandering behind some of the businesses, and in the alley I saw this:
The instant I took that, a car pulled up behind me and a man rolled down his window. He asked "Are you a spy?" I said "No, I'm just practicing with my camera." He said "OH, I thought you were the FBI or something" and then he drove away. I'm positive he was just being cautious - trying to find out what the hell I thought I was doing. But if I'm a spy, I don't know it. And I'm the worst one ever. Who can resist photgraphing a bright yellowgreen house in an alleyway? I'm pretty sure spies are trained to resist.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
It's Only Been Two Weeks?
You are all very kind with your comments in the last post. Thank you.
Ok, so here's where I get to tell on myself. Run down all the ways I was feeling a little like a square peg destined for a round hole. I can say that after completing 2 weeks, I feel a thousand times better than I did on day one.
On day one, I was completely tazered. I had been given reference materials for the 6 hours of training my head decided to block completely due to terror, but they were 3 inches thick. You would think the occupation of law would allow for searching through reference material - but you would be wrong. Secretaries are expected to just KNOW. No attorney wants to see you raise your hand in that "wait a second please?" gesture while they are busy machine gun assigning things for you to do TODAY.
I have to admit that nobody at my new place really expected me to know firm policy inside and out on even my 6th day there - but that is me. Always taking a nugget of doom and making it my own asteroid. I also have this wonderful ability to absorb my prior surroundings and take it with me. Like these examples:
At my old job, we were encouraged to send every copy job to "staff services" (the copy room), no matter how small it was. That's all well and good when your office only takes up two floors. This week when I sent a series of small copy jobs down to staff services, I got a personal visit from one of the people in the department. "Here are your copy jobs. Um, these jobs are REALLY simple. Didn't anyone show you how to use the copier up here?" OOOOOOOH! I'm actually encouraged to make my own copies!! "Yes" I said "but I'm new. Please don't poison me." There you have an example of nervous utterance from me. How this person could poison me? Makes no sense but hey - I suppose they will have to learn about me sooner or later?
At my old job, when printing a document we had to sortof guess when other people were printing and then stick letterhead or labels in the printer at the right time. Hoping we guessed right. At the new job, apparently the printers are programmed to pick your paper for you out of 4 possible bins. So when I sent a letter to the printer and then walked over to get it - I was upset to see that a letter was already laying in the printer. It was mine, but it was on letterhead and I had just wanted a draft. I immediately assumed I had printed on someone else's letterhead. So I said out loud "whoops, I just printed on someone's letterhead....sorry." Yeah, everyone just gave me the "what ARE you talking about" face.
The loos. The loos at my old job had automated EVERYTHING. Flusing, sinks and soap dispensers. The ones at the new place? NO AUTO ANYTHING. Ok, that's fine. After a lot of "ohmygosh...did I flush?" and running back to make sure, I'm getting that habit back again. But the worst part of the new loos? They have hand lotion dispensers. Guess who thought they were the soap dispensers? Guess who thought that until one lady who works on her floor said "ahem, that is the lotion dispenser and it's been empty all day." because I was frantically trying to get something out of it - needing soap to wash my hands.
Mr. Zoom had told me all about the super stocked kitchens on every floor. He mentioned that every pain releiver, every cold remedy, every antacid was available for use while on the job. One day I had a headache and went in the kitchen in search of rumored mediciney goodness. I could NOT find anything like that. So I sent an e-mail to Mr. Zoom asking about where I could find it. He brought up (from 7 floors away) some aspirin for me and then wandered into our floor's kitchen (which just happens to be two cubes away from where I sit.) I then heard "ZOOM, your first aid box is RIGHT HERE!" I got up and said "where?" He pointed to the GIGANTIC first aid box nailed to the wall, at eyeball level, right as you enter the kitchen. "OOOOOOH" I said. "I didn't know we were allowed to open and use that?! I thought that was for ... fires, or earthquakes and stuff."
And my best performance the first week - I interoffice mailed a document to someone just 2 cubes away from me. At least she sits around the corner from me, and it's not like I have to look at her akk day and realize I made myself look like an incredibly lazy princess to her and a few other people. But I do have to pass her on the way in and out every day. And she's ALWAYS at her desk.
So there it is. 2 weeks down and I'm not fired yet. I really do feel pretty comfortable there now all things considered. And next week is short due to Thanksgiving. Which scares me a little bit because I keep having those high school, can't remember my locker combination dreams - only it involves passwords to the computer programs. At least I'm not to the "at work nekkid" ones yet.
Ok, so here's where I get to tell on myself. Run down all the ways I was feeling a little like a square peg destined for a round hole. I can say that after completing 2 weeks, I feel a thousand times better than I did on day one.
On day one, I was completely tazered. I had been given reference materials for the 6 hours of training my head decided to block completely due to terror, but they were 3 inches thick. You would think the occupation of law would allow for searching through reference material - but you would be wrong. Secretaries are expected to just KNOW. No attorney wants to see you raise your hand in that "wait a second please?" gesture while they are busy machine gun assigning things for you to do TODAY.
I have to admit that nobody at my new place really expected me to know firm policy inside and out on even my 6th day there - but that is me. Always taking a nugget of doom and making it my own asteroid. I also have this wonderful ability to absorb my prior surroundings and take it with me. Like these examples:
At my old job, we were encouraged to send every copy job to "staff services" (the copy room), no matter how small it was. That's all well and good when your office only takes up two floors. This week when I sent a series of small copy jobs down to staff services, I got a personal visit from one of the people in the department. "Here are your copy jobs. Um, these jobs are REALLY simple. Didn't anyone show you how to use the copier up here?" OOOOOOOH! I'm actually encouraged to make my own copies!! "Yes" I said "but I'm new. Please don't poison me." There you have an example of nervous utterance from me. How this person could poison me? Makes no sense but hey - I suppose they will have to learn about me sooner or later?
At my old job, when printing a document we had to sortof guess when other people were printing and then stick letterhead or labels in the printer at the right time. Hoping we guessed right. At the new job, apparently the printers are programmed to pick your paper for you out of 4 possible bins. So when I sent a letter to the printer and then walked over to get it - I was upset to see that a letter was already laying in the printer. It was mine, but it was on letterhead and I had just wanted a draft. I immediately assumed I had printed on someone else's letterhead. So I said out loud "whoops, I just printed on someone's letterhead....sorry." Yeah, everyone just gave me the "what ARE you talking about" face.
The loos. The loos at my old job had automated EVERYTHING. Flusing, sinks and soap dispensers. The ones at the new place? NO AUTO ANYTHING. Ok, that's fine. After a lot of "ohmygosh...did I flush?" and running back to make sure, I'm getting that habit back again. But the worst part of the new loos? They have hand lotion dispensers. Guess who thought they were the soap dispensers? Guess who thought that until one lady who works on her floor said "ahem, that is the lotion dispenser and it's been empty all day." because I was frantically trying to get something out of it - needing soap to wash my hands.
Mr. Zoom had told me all about the super stocked kitchens on every floor. He mentioned that every pain releiver, every cold remedy, every antacid was available for use while on the job. One day I had a headache and went in the kitchen in search of rumored mediciney goodness. I could NOT find anything like that. So I sent an e-mail to Mr. Zoom asking about where I could find it. He brought up (from 7 floors away) some aspirin for me and then wandered into our floor's kitchen (which just happens to be two cubes away from where I sit.) I then heard "ZOOM, your first aid box is RIGHT HERE!" I got up and said "where?" He pointed to the GIGANTIC first aid box nailed to the wall, at eyeball level, right as you enter the kitchen. "OOOOOOH" I said. "I didn't know we were allowed to open and use that?! I thought that was for ... fires, or earthquakes and stuff."
And my best performance the first week - I interoffice mailed a document to someone just 2 cubes away from me. At least she sits around the corner from me, and it's not like I have to look at her akk day and realize I made myself look like an incredibly lazy princess to her and a few other people. But I do have to pass her on the way in and out every day. And she's ALWAYS at her desk.
So there it is. 2 weeks down and I'm not fired yet. I really do feel pretty comfortable there now all things considered. And next week is short due to Thanksgiving. Which scares me a little bit because I keep having those high school, can't remember my locker combination dreams - only it involves passwords to the computer programs. At least I'm not to the "at work nekkid" ones yet.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
The Tired
I started my new job on Monday. It's only Tuesday, but I'm telling you right now it feels like I've lived about a week and a half already.
I had completely forgotten how difficult it is to learn a new job. It's basically the exact same job I just left as far as tasks. The exhausting part is learning how this particular firm accomplishes those tasks. The amount of information - the passcodes alone - that I have to now remember is astounding (to me.) I've got stickie notes in places they were never meant to be.
Mr. Zoom is there, thank goodness. I don't get to see him during the day since he's on a different floor. At some point there will probably be something his department will handle for mine, but what he does daily is so far removed from what I do daily, that it will be easy to maintain our distance at the office.
It forces me to reach out a little bit to co-workers [strangers] that I'd normally avoid while hoping I could "figure it out" on my own. I still do try and figure things out on my own, but I'm not as hesitant to seek someone's assistance if I've got the one person who loves me no matter what just 6 floors away if I need him. Im sure that makes zero sense to normal people.
I won't be able to check in on you guys or even update until I feel like I'm starting to "get it" at the office. Even after work I've been able to do little more than hoover some dinner down and then fall into bed. Apparently I can not be made so tired that I can not eat.
Everyone keep writing and have a good November.
I had completely forgotten how difficult it is to learn a new job. It's basically the exact same job I just left as far as tasks. The exhausting part is learning how this particular firm accomplishes those tasks. The amount of information - the passcodes alone - that I have to now remember is astounding (to me.) I've got stickie notes in places they were never meant to be.
Mr. Zoom is there, thank goodness. I don't get to see him during the day since he's on a different floor. At some point there will probably be something his department will handle for mine, but what he does daily is so far removed from what I do daily, that it will be easy to maintain our distance at the office.
It forces me to reach out a little bit to co-workers [strangers] that I'd normally avoid while hoping I could "figure it out" on my own. I still do try and figure things out on my own, but I'm not as hesitant to seek someone's assistance if I've got the one person who loves me no matter what just 6 floors away if I need him. Im sure that makes zero sense to normal people.
I won't be able to check in on you guys or even update until I feel like I'm starting to "get it" at the office. Even after work I've been able to do little more than hoover some dinner down and then fall into bed. Apparently I can not be made so tired that I can not eat.
Everyone keep writing and have a good November.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MR. ZOOM!
We Zooms are never ones for celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, Valentines day... I can't possibly keep everyone's dates straight, even with modern technology. I'm too flaky to stick to one technological device - so there's endless incomplete information in about 30 places at one time.
That translates to me forgetting just about everyone's day. I like to give anything I find for someone right away instead of waiting for a special day anyway. Part of that is because I simply can't hold on to something I've found for someone for very long. I feel like I will explode if I don't get it to them right away.
Today is our official first wedding anniversary. And I guarantee you that I wouldn't even have known to write happy anniversary to Mr. Zoom in any kind of big deal way - except for my parents. Those who birthed me are quite insane. I've already apologized to Mr. Zoom.
He came home one night while I was at the gym and this is what I heard on my cell phone: "Um...there are large....LARGE packages here at the house. Only they aren't packages... really. They are trash bags. But it doesn't appear to be trash. I think it might be something from your parents."
Indeed, it was.
That translates to me forgetting just about everyone's day. I like to give anything I find for someone right away instead of waiting for a special day anyway. Part of that is because I simply can't hold on to something I've found for someone for very long. I feel like I will explode if I don't get it to them right away.
Today is our official first wedding anniversary. And I guarantee you that I wouldn't even have known to write happy anniversary to Mr. Zoom in any kind of big deal way - except for my parents. Those who birthed me are quite insane. I've already apologized to Mr. Zoom.
He came home one night while I was at the gym and this is what I heard on my cell phone: "Um...there are large....LARGE packages here at the house. Only they aren't packages... really. They are trash bags. But it doesn't appear to be trash. I think it might be something from your parents."
Indeed, it was.
It came with a card explaining that this is our one year anniversary, which means paper.
And we will be using all of it. Although both of us are a tad disturbed at the Nesting Boxes. They are Christmas themed, and for some reason scare us as a clown doll would if it were sitting in our house staring at us.
"Are we a household or an institution? My guess is both."
My FAMom also provide me with a bag of leftover Halloween candy. I was amused and afraid for her when I got it home and realized she had made individual baggies of candy for her visitors:
Witness two bags she prepared. Each has exactly the identical contents. She's not about to let any little greedy child try and fool her into thinking they deserve a second helping - since all of her offerings are full of thought and fairness. Fairness you CAN.NOT.ARGUE. I love my mom, but she's always looking at a situation as having a potential problem attached to it. And she loves nothing more than beating you to the solution to it. Whether a real problem exists or not.
When I came home with these I told Mr. Zoom "Uh, you want to take this to the office with you? Warning though, my mom individually baggieized the candy."
Now, where am I going to store 30 rolls of toilet paper?
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Ah, Now I Get It.
It being where I learned to maintain my love of a stupid joke well past the age that most people claim I should have let it go.
I went to visit my parents tonight. The first thing my Dad said to my FAMom was "Let's show her the canned pudding!" I know my Dad well enough to freeze upon hearing this set up and say "Why, whatever do you mean?" And I was just a litte curious as to what they had "discovered" this week. They are getting to that age where I have to act like discoveries they make are extraordinary. Act like that e-mail warning hoax they have forwarded isn't all bullshit, but an incredibly helpful - no - lifesaving document. Stuff like that.
He eagerly went to his office and returned with a can of Spotted Dick. I made the requisite "Aww geeze, that's silly" talk and handed the can back to him. All the while thinking "Gad, I've read up on that dish, and can't understand why anyone would eat it, much less can it. I wonder how canning it goes over with people who actually eat that stuff?"
He explained the history of Spotted Dick and how a friend had bought it for him at a British store out here somewhere. FAMom and Dad could not get over themselves. They kept giggling and passing the can around.
I would have taken pictures, but I had left my purse in the car since this was to be a short visit.
When I got up to leave, my Dad said "Mom of Zoom....shall we have some Spotted Dick now?" That sent them on a giggle fest that I'm not sure isn't continuing even now. 3 hours later. I love that they still laugh at potty humor.
After all, I managed to break out into uncontrollable laughter today when I told the managing partner "Your package is large and organized." This is an example of how I talk, but not all of the important information is out loud. Listening to me is literally like trying to listen to the speaking version of one of those bots or programs that spews that jibber jabber in spam e-mails.
What I was trying to say to him was "Your documents for the hearing tomorrow are organized by motion, opposition and reply - And there are 4 motions being heard tomorrow instead of just one."
Thank goodness he either knew what I meant by the crazy speak, or he simply wanted away from me as soon as possible. Because he just kept on walking after my statement. It is really going to be difficult to train a whole new office in Zoomspeak. Without my getting fired first.
I went to visit my parents tonight. The first thing my Dad said to my FAMom was "Let's show her the canned pudding!" I know my Dad well enough to freeze upon hearing this set up and say "Why, whatever do you mean?" And I was just a litte curious as to what they had "discovered" this week. They are getting to that age where I have to act like discoveries they make are extraordinary. Act like that e-mail warning hoax they have forwarded isn't all bullshit, but an incredibly helpful - no - lifesaving document. Stuff like that.
He eagerly went to his office and returned with a can of Spotted Dick. I made the requisite "Aww geeze, that's silly" talk and handed the can back to him. All the while thinking "Gad, I've read up on that dish, and can't understand why anyone would eat it, much less can it. I wonder how canning it goes over with people who actually eat that stuff?"
He explained the history of Spotted Dick and how a friend had bought it for him at a British store out here somewhere. FAMom and Dad could not get over themselves. They kept giggling and passing the can around.
I would have taken pictures, but I had left my purse in the car since this was to be a short visit.
When I got up to leave, my Dad said "Mom of Zoom....shall we have some Spotted Dick now?" That sent them on a giggle fest that I'm not sure isn't continuing even now. 3 hours later. I love that they still laugh at potty humor.
After all, I managed to break out into uncontrollable laughter today when I told the managing partner "Your package is large and organized." This is an example of how I talk, but not all of the important information is out loud. Listening to me is literally like trying to listen to the speaking version of one of those bots or programs that spews that jibber jabber in spam e-mails.
What I was trying to say to him was "Your documents for the hearing tomorrow are organized by motion, opposition and reply - And there are 4 motions being heard tomorrow instead of just one."
Thank goodness he either knew what I meant by the crazy speak, or he simply wanted away from me as soon as possible. Because he just kept on walking after my statement. It is really going to be difficult to train a whole new office in Zoomspeak. Without my getting fired first.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Why, That's Below the Standard of CARE!
Our office makes coffee available to its employees. FREE. We have one of those cup at a time machines, with about 6 different kinds of coffee to chose from.
It wouldn't matter if there were 100 kinds to chose from, someone would be unhappy with the FREE coffee. Just like there's always someone unhappy with the FREE bagels and muffins provided on Fridays.
Everyone knows there are people who would rather complain and still take advantage of the free, rather than quietly go fulfill their needs elsewhere at their own cost. I tend to think of it as misplaced entitlement, and it amuses me that people waste so much energy complaining about the free.
This morning I was treated to a new level of misplaced entitlement. It was frosted with the painfully obvious "someone learned a new phrase and isn't using it correctly."
A particular employee of this firm is what is known as a table pounder. He/she constantly uses the f bomb and emphasizes his/her verbal communications with clenched fists hammering on whatever surface is in front of him/her.
Attorney Smash was at the coffee machine when I came in to the kitchen.
"THERE'S NO DECENT COFFEE HERE! It's all this flavored and decaf crap." <------- (lets all take a moment to notice of the use of the word crap, shall we? In my head I said "poo, you should call it poo - or you will be written up.")
"THERE'S NOTHING LEFT BUT THIS LOSS LEADER COFFEE AND THEY ARE FORCING IT ON US!"
Now, the last time I discussed the term Loss Leader with someone, I was told it was a desirable item that a business sold at a loss in order to tempt customers to look around and buy other items. A way to get people through the door. I'm pretty sure it's not the stuff that's left over that nobody wants.
I pretended to look through the cabinets in an attempt to find Attorney Smash some "good" coffee. I kept saying "Nope, all that is here is that....what did you call it?"
"LOSS LEADER! LOSS LEADER FLAVORS, THEY ARE FORCING THEM ON US. I can't stand this. UGH."
Attorney Smash repeated this loss leader theory to at least 2 more people who came in the room. Every one of them glazed over with a mental block building look. They seem to like the loss leader coffee just fine. As do I. In fact, it's rare that those flavors are so plentiful.
I hid my giggles by pretending to search yet another cabinet. At least one other person listening to his rant caught on to what I was doing and before long we both had to leave the kitchen.
It must be hard to go through life believing all acts are a covert attack on one's happiness. I wonder if I can get some rumors going around the office confirming that fact before my last day arrives.
It wouldn't matter if there were 100 kinds to chose from, someone would be unhappy with the FREE coffee. Just like there's always someone unhappy with the FREE bagels and muffins provided on Fridays.
Everyone knows there are people who would rather complain and still take advantage of the free, rather than quietly go fulfill their needs elsewhere at their own cost. I tend to think of it as misplaced entitlement, and it amuses me that people waste so much energy complaining about the free.
This morning I was treated to a new level of misplaced entitlement. It was frosted with the painfully obvious "someone learned a new phrase and isn't using it correctly."
A particular employee of this firm is what is known as a table pounder. He/she constantly uses the f bomb and emphasizes his/her verbal communications with clenched fists hammering on whatever surface is in front of him/her.
Attorney Smash was at the coffee machine when I came in to the kitchen.
"THERE'S NO DECENT COFFEE HERE! It's all this flavored and decaf crap." <------- (lets all take a moment to notice of the use of the word crap, shall we? In my head I said "poo, you should call it poo - or you will be written up.")
"THERE'S NOTHING LEFT BUT THIS LOSS LEADER COFFEE AND THEY ARE FORCING IT ON US!"
Now, the last time I discussed the term Loss Leader with someone, I was told it was a desirable item that a business sold at a loss in order to tempt customers to look around and buy other items. A way to get people through the door. I'm pretty sure it's not the stuff that's left over that nobody wants.
I pretended to look through the cabinets in an attempt to find Attorney Smash some "good" coffee. I kept saying "Nope, all that is here is that....what did you call it?"
"LOSS LEADER! LOSS LEADER FLAVORS, THEY ARE FORCING THEM ON US. I can't stand this. UGH."
Attorney Smash repeated this loss leader theory to at least 2 more people who came in the room. Every one of them glazed over with a mental block building look. They seem to like the loss leader coffee just fine. As do I. In fact, it's rare that those flavors are so plentiful.
I hid my giggles by pretending to search yet another cabinet. At least one other person listening to his rant caught on to what I was doing and before long we both had to leave the kitchen.
It must be hard to go through life believing all acts are a covert attack on one's happiness. I wonder if I can get some rumors going around the office confirming that fact before my last day arrives.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Welcome to Pooville
Last night I was taking some time after work to gather a bit of my personal stuff out of my work area. Every evening I've hauled a box out to the truck so that on the last day I'm not tempting the fall over gods with my wide load.
My telephone rang, and it was the office manager. I was informed that I am not permitted to use the term "crap" in the office. Even after hours. Here's what I heard "bla bla bla I challenge you to be creative in your off color language bla bla bla."
I'm certainly not going the way of a certain co-worker who uses the term "Puppy Trax" (yes, she has it spelled out on a sign in her cube) whenever she feels the need to creatively curse. Whenever she lobs this annoying phrase into the atmosphere, the wave of cringing can be seen circling the office - sometimes twice - depending on the number of Trax delivered. If I were going to be working here longer, I would blame the next round of heart attacks on the additional stress created by resisting the smackdown of this phrase and its overwhelming hurl factor.
I know call the crap POO. While not exactly creative, it is amusing. To me. "Aw Poo. I just dropped my pen in my lap for the 3rd time today. Another 2 or 3 rounds and I'll be forced to wear yet another unintentional smilie face on my britches - in an unfortunate location."
My telephone rang, and it was the office manager. I was informed that I am not permitted to use the term "crap" in the office. Even after hours. Here's what I heard "bla bla bla I challenge you to be creative in your off color language bla bla bla."
I'm certainly not going the way of a certain co-worker who uses the term "Puppy Trax" (yes, she has it spelled out on a sign in her cube) whenever she feels the need to creatively curse. Whenever she lobs this annoying phrase into the atmosphere, the wave of cringing can be seen circling the office - sometimes twice - depending on the number of Trax delivered. If I were going to be working here longer, I would blame the next round of heart attacks on the additional stress created by resisting the smackdown of this phrase and its overwhelming hurl factor.
I know call the crap POO. While not exactly creative, it is amusing. To me. "Aw Poo. I just dropped my pen in my lap for the 3rd time today. Another 2 or 3 rounds and I'll be forced to wear yet another unintentional smilie face on my britches - in an unfortunate location."
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