There is this squirrel who has been visiting our yard quite a bit. I've been hoping to capture him on video or even just a picture - but no luck.
We've named him Elvis - after I had thrown some squirrel friendly food out into the yard:
"Look honey, the squirrel!"
"Yeah, he doesn't appear to be too afraid of us. I think he's like Elvis. I bet he plays all the yards . . . for all the nuts he can get."
This morning as we Zooms were getting ready for work, our telephone rang. Our neighbors, who have started a huge construction project, wanted to talk to us about the common wall. Although they wanted to talk NOW.
When we didn't call back within 60 seconds, they called AGAIN and even knocked on our door.
Mr. Zoom was not pleased. I tried to create a solution:
"Tell them we've adopted Elvis. That we've converted to his nut church and are donating all of our money to trees."
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
I Didn't Really Want You To Do What I Asked You To Do. Everyone Knows That.
When I started here, I didn't find the Rosetta Stone to my fellow co-workers' e-mails among my welcome package contents. Know why? THERE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO BE ONE.
I have failed to properly de-code just about every e-mail sent to me in the last 6 months. Silly me. When my name is in the "TO" spot, I usually think I am supposed to respond/act. Not the case, it turns out.
Several times I've responded to be notified that "I wasn't talking to you, that was so that ______ would do it..that..whatever."
I am now paralyzed with indecision when any one of the 150 daily e-mails arrives. I bet you can actually see me freeze when the notify screen shoots out that teeny, almost transparent preview of the message in the corner.
I've actually had telephone and face to face conversations like this:
Person: "Did you get my e-mail?"
Zoom: "Yes. But I'm not sure who needs to do what."
Person: "But it's right there in the e-mail"
Zoom: "Is it.?. Because I never know what is straight forward instruction and what is heavily veiled attempts to do...what ....I'm not really sure - hence the hesitation."
Person: "OH, you are so funny. Yeah, I can see your eyes moving back and forth, trying to connect the dots when I tell you stuff.
Zoom: "So that's what it looks like on the outside. Ok. But still... I'm not any clearer on what I'm supposed to do..."
Person: "I know. Ok bye!"
FANTASTIC!!
I am just not cut out for, nor am I willing to learn, art of subtle hint reading. If you want something out of me, I need in-your-face straightforward notification. If you want to be mysterious, just re-name something in the sentence like my mom does.
My FAM called last night to say she needed help with her digital pictures. I was short on time, so I specifically told her "Look, what I'm about to do? Don't try and follow it. Don't try and learn it. I'm going to apply a quick fix to this situation and we can go over it some time next week when we both have some time."
So what's the first thing to shoot out of her mouth after I start working? "WAIT! Don't you have to hit the CURTELL key for that?"
CURTELL?!? What the? - my entire body seized when just a second later I knew she was talking about the CONTROL key [CTRL]. I had to keep from outright laughing - she uses this term with such determination, as if Bill Gates himself whispered it in her ear. She's got a good sense of humor, but not when she's so frustrated at the computer that she's called me for help. My life depended on holding on to this little re-naming gem she's got going until a later date.
She might be formerly Amish, but that doesn't prevent her from handing out the pain when one "wrongs" her.
I waved her off, saying something about that key not working in the program I was currently using. So I fibbed a little to get her off my back? I was running out of time and she won't remember that "instruction" at a later date anymore than she'll figure out that the Curtell key is actually Control.
If only my co-workers were so easy to figure out.
I have failed to properly de-code just about every e-mail sent to me in the last 6 months. Silly me. When my name is in the "TO" spot, I usually think I am supposed to respond/act. Not the case, it turns out.
Several times I've responded to be notified that "I wasn't talking to you, that was so that ______ would do it..that..whatever."
I am now paralyzed with indecision when any one of the 150 daily e-mails arrives. I bet you can actually see me freeze when the notify screen shoots out that teeny, almost transparent preview of the message in the corner.
I've actually had telephone and face to face conversations like this:
Person: "Did you get my e-mail?"
Zoom: "Yes. But I'm not sure who needs to do what."
Person: "But it's right there in the e-mail"
Zoom: "Is it.?. Because I never know what is straight forward instruction and what is heavily veiled attempts to do...what ....I'm not really sure - hence the hesitation."
Person: "OH, you are so funny. Yeah, I can see your eyes moving back and forth, trying to connect the dots when I tell you stuff.
Zoom: "So that's what it looks like on the outside. Ok. But still... I'm not any clearer on what I'm supposed to do..."
Person: "I know. Ok bye!"
FANTASTIC!!
I am just not cut out for, nor am I willing to learn, art of subtle hint reading. If you want something out of me, I need in-your-face straightforward notification. If you want to be mysterious, just re-name something in the sentence like my mom does.
My FAM called last night to say she needed help with her digital pictures. I was short on time, so I specifically told her "Look, what I'm about to do? Don't try and follow it. Don't try and learn it. I'm going to apply a quick fix to this situation and we can go over it some time next week when we both have some time."
So what's the first thing to shoot out of her mouth after I start working? "WAIT! Don't you have to hit the CURTELL key for that?"
CURTELL?!? What the? - my entire body seized when just a second later I knew she was talking about the CONTROL key [CTRL]. I had to keep from outright laughing - she uses this term with such determination, as if Bill Gates himself whispered it in her ear. She's got a good sense of humor, but not when she's so frustrated at the computer that she's called me for help. My life depended on holding on to this little re-naming gem she's got going until a later date.
She might be formerly Amish, but that doesn't prevent her from handing out the pain when one "wrongs" her.
I waved her off, saying something about that key not working in the program I was currently using. So I fibbed a little to get her off my back? I was running out of time and she won't remember that "instruction" at a later date anymore than she'll figure out that the Curtell key is actually Control.
If only my co-workers were so easy to figure out.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Fear and Loathing in my Frankenstein Uterus
My uterus has the ability to cramp with alarming strength. Like, it is Frankenstein and I am a much larger little girl he(it) squeezes to death.
I take medicine for that so I can get through my work days and fun days with minimal down time. Lately though, I've needed more drugs than usual. My doctor decided to give me a new medicine to try - something stronger and unfortunately, something that would knock my sh*t out.
I'll try anything, and I figure that once I know how I respond to medicine, I just work around the instantaneous sleep side effect. That's terrific...unless the medicine is making me see and hear things that cause me to run around the room .... AS IF I AM ON FIRE.
Mr. Zoom was sleeping soundly at 2 am when I came charging into the room, snapped on the light and shook him awake. "heeeeelp meeee. I'm having an attack." He shook the sleep off and tried so hard to calm me down. "HEEEEELP MEEEEE THE MEDICINE IS MIXING!!!" "CALL 911! I need crackers!!"
Now, what he DIDN'T know was that I was freaking out because I was seeing and hearing things that weren't really what they seemed. All he knew is that I was flipping out, randomly eating Ritz crackers and begging him to call 911. In my head, if I ate crackers I could get the medicine to stop "attacking" my senses - soaking it up I suppose.
This hallucination thing happened to me once before when I was in my 20s and I had some Nyquil to help me sleep during a bad flu. I woke up to purple spiders, dinosaurs and other random stuff. And all of it was purple for some reason. I haven't had Nyquil since.
This most recent event started out just like any other middle of the night wake up and have to pee experience. The problem though? When I pulled a new tampon out of the cupboard and saw the wrapper, the texture in the wrapper attacked my head. You read that right. The teeny little dimples in the plastic around the tampon suddenly grew huge - I'd guess about 20x their original size, and appeared to float up around my head. The texture literally undulated as it kept growing and seemed to be drawn to my head like a bird from the coffee shop protecting it's nest!
ALTHOUGH, the yellow swirls that are the decor on the plastic - and the ones that you'd think would be the trigger - stayed right where they were supposed to be. Sober examination of the box a day later revealed this text: Discreet purse resistant [their bold, not mine] wrapper with easy-to-open tabs. I think if Tampax interviewed Mr. Zoom, there'd be a whole new paragraph on the box.
To make the situation worse, I also had a line to a song running in my head. We've all had that, and generally no big deal. Only, it wasn't my voice or even the singer's voice saying/singing the line. And I couldn't get it to shut off no matter what I did - and for some reason the fact that I couldn't identify the "voice" was upsetting me. Ok wait, it wasn't running in my head while I was being attacked by my tampon wrapper...but the minutes (felt like hours) before that event it was.
And this is the weirder part. I'll try and explain it... the line of the song running in my head was from "Bleed it Out" by Linkin Park. Truly appropriate, yes. BUT, I only knew the second half of the line until just now when I googled it to get the first part:
"I bleed it out, digging deeper just to throw it away."
THIS IS WHAT I HEARD: "La la la la la la ...just to throw it away." over and over and over and over again. I know we had heard the song on the morning radio show we listen to on our ride to work Friday morning. I did NOT know it would half stick in my consciousness and come out later as a sanity repellent.
Mr. Zoom did everything he could to keep me from calling 911. He is supposed to do this. I don't know for sure, but I think at one point we had somewhat of a stand off where he stood between me and the bedroom phone - trying to get me to calm down before I made a call I was going to regret. I think I might have had crackers in one hand while making a few attempts at the telephone. It had to have been like fighting off a giant toddler holding soggy finger foods.
Horribly embarrassing. Although in the days that followed, I've been able to laugh at it. I realize, again, how lucky I am to have Mr. Zoom. I don't know of many people who would allow themselves to be jolted awake at 2am by unreasonable - ney - lunatic behavior - and through everything thrown at them, hold on to both their wits and their spouse without one single condescending, judgmental or patronizing word. All without a 911 dispatcher on their side.
I take medicine for that so I can get through my work days and fun days with minimal down time. Lately though, I've needed more drugs than usual. My doctor decided to give me a new medicine to try - something stronger and unfortunately, something that would knock my sh*t out.
I'll try anything, and I figure that once I know how I respond to medicine, I just work around the instantaneous sleep side effect. That's terrific...unless the medicine is making me see and hear things that cause me to run around the room .... AS IF I AM ON FIRE.
Mr. Zoom was sleeping soundly at 2 am when I came charging into the room, snapped on the light and shook him awake. "heeeeelp meeee. I'm having an attack." He shook the sleep off and tried so hard to calm me down. "HEEEEELP MEEEEE THE MEDICINE IS MIXING!!!" "CALL 911! I need crackers!!"
Now, what he DIDN'T know was that I was freaking out because I was seeing and hearing things that weren't really what they seemed. All he knew is that I was flipping out, randomly eating Ritz crackers and begging him to call 911. In my head, if I ate crackers I could get the medicine to stop "attacking" my senses - soaking it up I suppose.
This hallucination thing happened to me once before when I was in my 20s and I had some Nyquil to help me sleep during a bad flu. I woke up to purple spiders, dinosaurs and other random stuff. And all of it was purple for some reason. I haven't had Nyquil since.
This most recent event started out just like any other middle of the night wake up and have to pee experience. The problem though? When I pulled a new tampon out of the cupboard and saw the wrapper, the texture in the wrapper attacked my head. You read that right. The teeny little dimples in the plastic around the tampon suddenly grew huge - I'd guess about 20x their original size, and appeared to float up around my head. The texture literally undulated as it kept growing and seemed to be drawn to my head like a bird from the coffee shop protecting it's nest!
ALTHOUGH, the yellow swirls that are the decor on the plastic - and the ones that you'd think would be the trigger - stayed right where they were supposed to be. Sober examination of the box a day later revealed this text: Discreet purse resistant [their bold, not mine] wrapper with easy-to-open tabs. I think if Tampax interviewed Mr. Zoom, there'd be a whole new paragraph on the box.
To make the situation worse, I also had a line to a song running in my head. We've all had that, and generally no big deal. Only, it wasn't my voice or even the singer's voice saying/singing the line. And I couldn't get it to shut off no matter what I did - and for some reason the fact that I couldn't identify the "voice" was upsetting me. Ok wait, it wasn't running in my head while I was being attacked by my tampon wrapper...but the minutes (felt like hours) before that event it was.
And this is the weirder part. I'll try and explain it... the line of the song running in my head was from "Bleed it Out" by Linkin Park. Truly appropriate, yes. BUT, I only knew the second half of the line until just now when I googled it to get the first part:
"I bleed it out, digging deeper just to throw it away."
THIS IS WHAT I HEARD: "La la la la la la ...just to throw it away." over and over and over and over again. I know we had heard the song on the morning radio show we listen to on our ride to work Friday morning. I did NOT know it would half stick in my consciousness and come out later as a sanity repellent.
Mr. Zoom did everything he could to keep me from calling 911. He is supposed to do this. I don't know for sure, but I think at one point we had somewhat of a stand off where he stood between me and the bedroom phone - trying to get me to calm down before I made a call I was going to regret. I think I might have had crackers in one hand while making a few attempts at the telephone. It had to have been like fighting off a giant toddler holding soggy finger foods.
Horribly embarrassing. Although in the days that followed, I've been able to laugh at it. I realize, again, how lucky I am to have Mr. Zoom. I don't know of many people who would allow themselves to be jolted awake at 2am by unreasonable - ney - lunatic behavior - and through everything thrown at them, hold on to both their wits and their spouse without one single condescending, judgmental or patronizing word. All without a 911 dispatcher on their side.
Monday, June 04, 2007
But I Don't Want To Share My Entree!
I am the biggest sucker in the whole world. No, really. I know better than to watch a Linklater film, yet in the last year I've done it twice.
In fact, I truly need to IMDB that guy. In addition to Slackers, A Scanner Darkly and Fast Food Nation, I bet he's also linked (bah!) with other films I hate. FFN was the last steaming meanderfest I picked from our cable provider's Movies-to-Rent-from-Couch service. I know he's trying to say something poignant by overstating the blasé. I get that. Or at least that's the best explanation I can come up with on my own, without googling him and his movies. BUT OH MY GAWD there has to be a better way. I've seen it with my own eyeballs in other films, I know it can be done.
Linklater film is like a road trip where you drive for 90 minutes to 3 hours, and nothing happens. Literally nothing. The road is straight and free of everything - even scenery. There are no fellow vehicles to look at. There is nothing on the left, right or behind you to look at. Only you can't speed. You are forced to drive the same speed the entire trip - and it's old people speed. Like 50mph. you reach your destination and the car quietly and almost imperceptibly dies. And that's the ONLY way you know you've reached "your destination."
What just happened? Is that the end? Did I just spend money on that experience? Did I even care about any of the characters? Because if I did, I missed both the story and the being interested part. Yes - yes you did, my friend. You just watched a Linklater film.
There is only one thing more disturbing to me than Linklater. That would be television specials on String Theory or M Theory. It's not that I'm annoyed that I got nothing out of the experience. Quite the opposite. I was very happy to have 3 dimensions. Unfortunately, there are these people that say there are actually 11.
I recently tivod and stupidly watched a special on parallel universes. I came away from that show with the following knowledge: M Theory means that our universe is nothing more than a zit on the ass of membranes that collided. And we aren't sure, but it just might be prom night. It's only a matter of time before we get squeezed out of existence.
AND, there are possibly worlds just like ours (in the membranes or out, I don't know), but physics might be totally different there. Like when eating at a Chinese restaurant I won't be expected to share my entrée? Do you know how annoyed I'd be if there was a world like that and I couldn't live in it? Because a feature of these parallel places is that "you" might not exist there. Or something.
That's a Knowledge Wedgie - right there...is what that is.
And Mr. Zoom is always gone when I cue up this kind of show. Or he'd (rightly) block me from doing this to myself.
"What's wrong? You look wonky."
"I watched a show about String Theory."
"Why do you do that?"
"...I thought it would be interesting...."
"Are you ever going to sleep again?"
"Apparently not in this universe, I'm not."
In fact, I truly need to IMDB that guy. In addition to Slackers, A Scanner Darkly and Fast Food Nation, I bet he's also linked (bah!) with other films I hate. FFN was the last steaming meanderfest I picked from our cable provider's Movies-to-Rent-from-Couch service. I know he's trying to say something poignant by overstating the blasé. I get that. Or at least that's the best explanation I can come up with on my own, without googling him and his movies. BUT OH MY GAWD there has to be a better way. I've seen it with my own eyeballs in other films, I know it can be done.
Linklater film is like a road trip where you drive for 90 minutes to 3 hours, and nothing happens. Literally nothing. The road is straight and free of everything - even scenery. There are no fellow vehicles to look at. There is nothing on the left, right or behind you to look at. Only you can't speed. You are forced to drive the same speed the entire trip - and it's old people speed. Like 50mph. you reach your destination and the car quietly and almost imperceptibly dies. And that's the ONLY way you know you've reached "your destination."
What just happened? Is that the end? Did I just spend money on that experience? Did I even care about any of the characters? Because if I did, I missed both the story and the being interested part. Yes - yes you did, my friend. You just watched a Linklater film.
There is only one thing more disturbing to me than Linklater. That would be television specials on String Theory or M Theory. It's not that I'm annoyed that I got nothing out of the experience. Quite the opposite. I was very happy to have 3 dimensions. Unfortunately, there are these people that say there are actually 11.
I recently tivod and stupidly watched a special on parallel universes. I came away from that show with the following knowledge: M Theory means that our universe is nothing more than a zit on the ass of membranes that collided. And we aren't sure, but it just might be prom night. It's only a matter of time before we get squeezed out of existence.
AND, there are possibly worlds just like ours (in the membranes or out, I don't know), but physics might be totally different there. Like when eating at a Chinese restaurant I won't be expected to share my entrée? Do you know how annoyed I'd be if there was a world like that and I couldn't live in it? Because a feature of these parallel places is that "you" might not exist there. Or something.
That's a Knowledge Wedgie - right there...is what that is.
And Mr. Zoom is always gone when I cue up this kind of show. Or he'd (rightly) block me from doing this to myself.
"What's wrong? You look wonky."
"I watched a show about String Theory."
"Why do you do that?"
"...I thought it would be interesting...."
"Are you ever going to sleep again?"
"Apparently not in this universe, I'm not."
Thursday, May 31, 2007
You did .... whatnow?
I made myself laugh. Again.
I made an LOL Husband.
I made an LOL Husband.
Got no idea why super horrific English might be considered funny? Even by the low standards you've come to expect from a simpleton like me?
Check out the pros at: http://icanhascheezburger.com/
Friday, May 25, 2007
More Like Me Than I Want to Admit
I had to go to the Dr.'s office this week. I always carve out a 4 hour chunk of time for this. Appointment Smappointment. You will sit in the cold room for 2.5 hours - that way we can be sure you really REALLY want to see the Dr.
And then we will just tease you by asking questions, and telling you the Dr. will be in soon. 30 minutes to an hour later.
That's just the way the medical office, funded by insurance dollars works these days.
I've noticed that in the 4 or something years I've been seeing this Dr. that the office nursing assistants are never the same ones every time I go. This time, there was yet another new lady who, when calling for me, magled my very VERY simple white girl name. For example, let's say my last name is Jones. She pronounced it like this: "Jayyyyeeeoooonnneeeesssss?"
This woman was very kind. For some strange reason I felt very at ease with her. It would soon become apparent that - this was/is because she's a whack-a-doo. (I got that term from a blog I can't remember, or I'd credit it. I adore that word, and really wish I knew who to give the credit to.)
She sat me down for the blood pressure test and said in very broken English "OOOO, I Leeeooooveeeee you sweater! The coooolaaair is mine favorite!" I said "thank you" in the teeniest of voices. The one most strangers get when I am forced to say something back.
She put the BP cuff on my arm and struggled with the stethascope. After a minute of this, she looked me directly in the crazy eye and said "Eeeef shoo ever gheeeet tire of that sweeeter, insteead of gooo will (good will), you keeen seeend it to me!"
Look, just insert LOL cat language wherever she's talking and you will get the idea.
And for a second I actually thought to myself "Gee, she seems to love it. I could probably send it to her if she wanted it?! WAIT, what's wrong with me? She's not even going to be here in 3 months when you have to come back. Stop being retarded and focus on where you will go for lunch today."
She took my BP and declared "Shoo know wha? I tell soooo many people to seeend me their sheeerts, that in 20 year I'm gonna has sooo many sheeerts I won't know what to do!!" She started to laugh at herself - just like I always do. I politely giggled along and secretly wished I'd have asked Mr. Zoom to come to this appointment with me. He HAD to see and hear this for himself.
And then she turned to me and said "DO YOU WANT YOUR TEMPERATURE TAKEN?" in nearly perfect English! NO LOLcat. I said "erm...no? I don't have a fever? Did my blood pressure result indicate I should take my temperature?" She said "No, it's totally up to you".
And then she tore one of those disposable thermometers out of its little package. Before I could go back to thinking about what I'd be having for lunch, she had it in my mouth. Didn't she just say I could decide and I had decided NO??
My temperature was 97.8. Right where it always is. She stuck me in a room to wait.
About 2 hours later, another nurse came by and asked me all of the same questions that the thermometer wizard had asked.
I'm actually kindof sad that whack-a-doo nurse probably won't be there the next time I go in.
And then we will just tease you by asking questions, and telling you the Dr. will be in soon. 30 minutes to an hour later.
That's just the way the medical office, funded by insurance dollars works these days.
I've noticed that in the 4 or something years I've been seeing this Dr. that the office nursing assistants are never the same ones every time I go. This time, there was yet another new lady who, when calling for me, magled my very VERY simple white girl name. For example, let's say my last name is Jones. She pronounced it like this: "Jayyyyeeeoooonnneeeesssss?"
This woman was very kind. For some strange reason I felt very at ease with her. It would soon become apparent that - this was/is because she's a whack-a-doo. (I got that term from a blog I can't remember, or I'd credit it. I adore that word, and really wish I knew who to give the credit to.)
She sat me down for the blood pressure test and said in very broken English "OOOO, I Leeeooooveeeee you sweater! The coooolaaair is mine favorite!" I said "thank you" in the teeniest of voices. The one most strangers get when I am forced to say something back.
She put the BP cuff on my arm and struggled with the stethascope. After a minute of this, she looked me directly in the crazy eye and said "Eeeef shoo ever gheeeet tire of that sweeeter, insteead of gooo will (good will), you keeen seeend it to me!"
Look, just insert LOL cat language wherever she's talking and you will get the idea.
And for a second I actually thought to myself "Gee, she seems to love it. I could probably send it to her if she wanted it?! WAIT, what's wrong with me? She's not even going to be here in 3 months when you have to come back. Stop being retarded and focus on where you will go for lunch today."
She took my BP and declared "Shoo know wha? I tell soooo many people to seeend me their sheeerts, that in 20 year I'm gonna has sooo many sheeerts I won't know what to do!!" She started to laugh at herself - just like I always do. I politely giggled along and secretly wished I'd have asked Mr. Zoom to come to this appointment with me. He HAD to see and hear this for himself.
And then she turned to me and said "DO YOU WANT YOUR TEMPERATURE TAKEN?" in nearly perfect English! NO LOLcat. I said "erm...no? I don't have a fever? Did my blood pressure result indicate I should take my temperature?" She said "No, it's totally up to you".
And then she tore one of those disposable thermometers out of its little package. Before I could go back to thinking about what I'd be having for lunch, she had it in my mouth. Didn't she just say I could decide and I had decided NO??
My temperature was 97.8. Right where it always is. She stuck me in a room to wait.
About 2 hours later, another nurse came by and asked me all of the same questions that the thermometer wizard had asked.
I'm actually kindof sad that whack-a-doo nurse probably won't be there the next time I go in.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
From the BS Food Group
"Why what do you have there?"
"....veg....etables."
Response to Mr. Zoom after he found me hunched over half a sleeve of Chips A Hoy cookies. Looking a lot like Gollum after stealing the Ring from Frodo.
"....veg....etables."
Response to Mr. Zoom after he found me hunched over half a sleeve of Chips A Hoy cookies. Looking a lot like Gollum after stealing the Ring from Frodo.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Bread of Shame. I Make Toast.
Mr. Zoom is my bread of shame.
Now, I don't know that I'm even using that phrase correctly. I recently read a terrific book and the author, I thought, had learned that the Bread of Shame was when someone gave you something you didn't earn. But it wasn't a gift. More of a ... well, shameful possessing of a gift one never should have gotten?
And because I love lobbing crazy phrases at Mr. Zoom when we are talking, I immediately took a hold of Bread of Shame and made it my shorthand for "I don't deserve you." For at least a day, everything he said - I high volume said "BREAD OF SHAME!!" back.
"That can't be you're get out of jail free card, you know."
"BREAD OF SHAME."
To prove just how pathetic my attention span is, I failed to find out the true and correct meaning of bread of shame...because I didn't immediately find a hotlink to it in Wikipedia. It was in there as regular text, but who has time to read all of that?
One day last week after getting home from work, I heard Mr. Zoom saying hello to me from the computer room. I got very happy and ran in to greet him. We had conflicting working hours that day, so we didn't carpool. We then decided we were starving, so we were going to get dinner.
I went to get my keys and....could not figure out where they were. This is not abnormal for me. I lose my keys on average of 619 times a month. I generally find them within 30 seconds of realizing they are lost. Generally. This time even Mr. Zoom had to get in on the search, because I was becoming frantic.
We retraced my paths/steps over and over. We went through my purse individually, and a couple of times together. It got so bad I was checking in the refrigerator and cabinets, just in case I had put the keys in there. I then heard "Zoom, come here." I went to the doorway out of the bedroom and poked my head around the corner. Mr. Zoom said "Come over here and pick up your purse." I thought he found the keys inside, so I went over and looked inside. "No...PICK UP YOUR PURSE." I then figured he was tired of looking and we'd use his car instead.
I picked up my purse and my keys were UNDER it, where they had been when I put them on the table and put my purse on top of them not more than a half hour before. I laughed so hard I snorted. I said "BREAD OF SHAME!!"
And now every time something is lost, Mr. Zoom says "Have you checked under your purse? No, I'm serious."
The very next day I was at the office and went to buy my lunch from the lunch lady. I had left my wallet in the car. The reason my wallet isn't always in my purse in the mornings is because I take it out to buy coffee before we leave the house. And I'm constantly forgetting to put it back in my purse.
I e-mailed Mr. Zoom "BREAD OF SHAME! Your wife needs money for lunch. Why? Because she left her wallet in the car again." He kindly brought me a $20 and didn't even give me a lecture about how if I'd put my wallet where it belongs, it'd be with me when I needed it.
Mr. Zoom surprised me with some books he had bought me on his lunch hour one day. I screamed "BREAD OF SHAME!! You know that once I open these books and look at the pages inside they can't go back, right? Are you sure you want to give these to me? BREAD OF SHAME!!"
He's sooooo bread of shame that he should wear a cellophane wrapper, a best by date and a twisty tie thingie to protect his freshness.
Now, I don't know that I'm even using that phrase correctly. I recently read a terrific book and the author, I thought, had learned that the Bread of Shame was when someone gave you something you didn't earn. But it wasn't a gift. More of a ... well, shameful possessing of a gift one never should have gotten?
And because I love lobbing crazy phrases at Mr. Zoom when we are talking, I immediately took a hold of Bread of Shame and made it my shorthand for "I don't deserve you." For at least a day, everything he said - I high volume said "BREAD OF SHAME!!" back.
"That can't be you're get out of jail free card, you know."
"BREAD OF SHAME."
To prove just how pathetic my attention span is, I failed to find out the true and correct meaning of bread of shame...because I didn't immediately find a hotlink to it in Wikipedia. It was in there as regular text, but who has time to read all of that?
One day last week after getting home from work, I heard Mr. Zoom saying hello to me from the computer room. I got very happy and ran in to greet him. We had conflicting working hours that day, so we didn't carpool. We then decided we were starving, so we were going to get dinner.
I went to get my keys and....could not figure out where they were. This is not abnormal for me. I lose my keys on average of 619 times a month. I generally find them within 30 seconds of realizing they are lost. Generally. This time even Mr. Zoom had to get in on the search, because I was becoming frantic.
We retraced my paths/steps over and over. We went through my purse individually, and a couple of times together. It got so bad I was checking in the refrigerator and cabinets, just in case I had put the keys in there. I then heard "Zoom, come here." I went to the doorway out of the bedroom and poked my head around the corner. Mr. Zoom said "Come over here and pick up your purse." I thought he found the keys inside, so I went over and looked inside. "No...PICK UP YOUR PURSE." I then figured he was tired of looking and we'd use his car instead.
I picked up my purse and my keys were UNDER it, where they had been when I put them on the table and put my purse on top of them not more than a half hour before. I laughed so hard I snorted. I said "BREAD OF SHAME!!"
And now every time something is lost, Mr. Zoom says "Have you checked under your purse? No, I'm serious."
The very next day I was at the office and went to buy my lunch from the lunch lady. I had left my wallet in the car. The reason my wallet isn't always in my purse in the mornings is because I take it out to buy coffee before we leave the house. And I'm constantly forgetting to put it back in my purse.
I e-mailed Mr. Zoom "BREAD OF SHAME! Your wife needs money for lunch. Why? Because she left her wallet in the car again." He kindly brought me a $20 and didn't even give me a lecture about how if I'd put my wallet where it belongs, it'd be with me when I needed it.
Mr. Zoom surprised me with some books he had bought me on his lunch hour one day. I screamed "BREAD OF SHAME!! You know that once I open these books and look at the pages inside they can't go back, right? Are you sure you want to give these to me? BREAD OF SHAME!!"
He's sooooo bread of shame that he should wear a cellophane wrapper, a best by date and a twisty tie thingie to protect his freshness.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
With Apologies to Spider Girl...
Mr. Zoom is at work, I am not. Mr. Zoom might want to stop by the hardware store on the way home for a shield, a long reaching broom, a tranquilizer gun and a bag of Trader Joes Peanut Butter Filled Chocolate Covered Pretzles.
I'm not at the office for typical illness reasons. Those reasons usually require rest, do they not? Well we can totally forget that ever happening again. As I was fighting consciousness with my last gulp of medicine, I noticed a spot on the wall by the t.v. It came from behind a picture on the wall that I used to love.
I'm not at the office for typical illness reasons. Those reasons usually require rest, do they not? Well we can totally forget that ever happening again. As I was fighting consciousness with my last gulp of medicine, I noticed a spot on the wall by the t.v. It came from behind a picture on the wall that I used to love.
I've never quite experienced this before. This limp noodle injected with adrenaline feeling. It's not fun. I feel like I chased a bottle of my "calm plane ride" pills with a case of red bull.
You can't tell here, but I've named that picture youvegottobekiddingme.jpg That spider is effing HUGE. I sure hope Mr. Spider and his friends like dvds and what we've done with the place. And his hairy, giant claws in the front can work the remote. Of that, I am sure.
He is not a black widow. He's got a large white spot on his butt. And his legs have red bands on them, although you can't see that here. And way too much fuzz on his GIGANTIC CLAWS. Everything on the web says he's some kind of jumping Philiieeejeebleeedoodah. Doesn't have a web, but prefers to hunt his prey, and he's got FANTASTIC eyesight.
I will now blame Mr. Zoom for earning a living while I had to run away from this thing in our living room. I got pictures by hiding behind our giant t.v. Which is now really Mr. Spider's t.v.
Mr. Zoom will need the shield because I will make him find the spider. Even if it's moved on to another house, I'll make him hunt it down. Did I mention that IT JUMPS! And don't tell me it won't jump on, near or at me. We've all seen the recent story of the little boy with a spider living IN HIS EAR. I might be unreasonable, but even I won't send Mr. Zoom out after a jumping, colorful, hairy christmas tree of a spider without a shield.
The broom he's going to need, because as we've seen before, I will be running in circles an screaming the whole time. I won't keep more than one foot on the ground the entire time, as if that's a guarantee of non-spider interraction. I won't be able to hand him anything. And I'll want to burn the broom after the deed.
The tranq gun can be used on both Me and the Spider. Although I do ask that I get my dart before Mr. Spider gets his. Mr. Zoom can lure me back into range with the Peanut Butter Chocolate Covered Pretzels. He can dart me, the spider and then enjoy his house and t.v. in peace for the first time EVER.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Monday, April 30, 2007
Hairbrain. Band in a Van and Wife with a Cam.
A little while back, Mr. Zoom and I headed out to Vegas for some ice hockey. On the way there, I spied out of my passenger window:
Turns out that The Hairbrain! is a band and they were on their way to tour in Vegas. You can see their myspace page -
http://www.myspace.com/thehairbrain
which is how I figured out what the heck this was all about. I'm not their target audience, but because I grew up on a heaping dose of Dead Kennedys, GBH, Social D, Crass and the Vandals - I can appreciate their tunes a bit.
At first I was sad that it wasn't some family of gypsies that had some strange need to give their inner voices outer voices via masking tape. But I got over it. With the price of gas these days, it should have been simple math - even for a zoom: Anyone with a legit crazy van probably can't afford gas AND several rolls of masking tape. That combination definititely needs record company backing.
Speaking of getting in a car ...
Mr. Zoom does this thing every time he gets in a car. I can't really explain it well. He wiggles his pants, shirt and jacket just so. Then he reaches for the seatbelt, belts in, and re-adjusts everything. And it's not to make comfortable his unit, either. IT IS TO MINIMIZE WRINKLES!
This kills me every stinking time. To me, this is a hell of a lot of energy to put into getting the least amount of wrinkle out of my ride to ....wherever. I figure that if people can't imagine my outfit without the wrinkles I obtained by riding in the car, then to heck with em.
For a while now, I've been thinking about how I can sneak the camera in the car on video so that I could show the world this car seat dance he does. And tonight, I succeeded.
Sortof.
The first part of video I took, I was holding the camera so that he couldn't see I had it out and activated. The video therefore only caught his "...how long has that been running?" and an extreme close up of his jacket.
I turned it off, and then I thought "No, he's going to have to do his dance, and if the camera is on...he'll still do it. You know he can't NOT do it, so turn it back on!"
And I did. Although we ended up giggling more than we did show you his crazy. And the more I try to not talk on video (because I hate my voice), the worse it sounds when I squeak something out.
Oh, and you are going to hear Mr. Zoom reference the boob hurt a few times. Turns out that when ramping up for girlie time, I am a non-stop too much information giver when it comes to the status of my girls and their hormonal side effect symptoms. I think I've unintentionally de-sensitized him to the words/phrase "OH MY GAWD MY BOOBIES HURT...stupid uterus."
He knows this means careful time.
Turns out that The Hairbrain! is a band and they were on their way to tour in Vegas. You can see their myspace page -
http://www.myspace.com/thehairbrain
which is how I figured out what the heck this was all about. I'm not their target audience, but because I grew up on a heaping dose of Dead Kennedys, GBH, Social D, Crass and the Vandals - I can appreciate their tunes a bit.
At first I was sad that it wasn't some family of gypsies that had some strange need to give their inner voices outer voices via masking tape. But I got over it. With the price of gas these days, it should have been simple math - even for a zoom: Anyone with a legit crazy van probably can't afford gas AND several rolls of masking tape. That combination definititely needs record company backing.
Speaking of getting in a car ...
Mr. Zoom does this thing every time he gets in a car. I can't really explain it well. He wiggles his pants, shirt and jacket just so. Then he reaches for the seatbelt, belts in, and re-adjusts everything. And it's not to make comfortable his unit, either. IT IS TO MINIMIZE WRINKLES!
This kills me every stinking time. To me, this is a hell of a lot of energy to put into getting the least amount of wrinkle out of my ride to ....wherever. I figure that if people can't imagine my outfit without the wrinkles I obtained by riding in the car, then to heck with em.
For a while now, I've been thinking about how I can sneak the camera in the car on video so that I could show the world this car seat dance he does. And tonight, I succeeded.
Sortof.
The first part of video I took, I was holding the camera so that he couldn't see I had it out and activated. The video therefore only caught his "...how long has that been running?" and an extreme close up of his jacket.
I turned it off, and then I thought "No, he's going to have to do his dance, and if the camera is on...he'll still do it. You know he can't NOT do it, so turn it back on!"
And I did. Although we ended up giggling more than we did show you his crazy. And the more I try to not talk on video (because I hate my voice), the worse it sounds when I squeak something out.
Oh, and you are going to hear Mr. Zoom reference the boob hurt a few times. Turns out that when ramping up for girlie time, I am a non-stop too much information giver when it comes to the status of my girls and their hormonal side effect symptoms. I think I've unintentionally de-sensitized him to the words/phrase "OH MY GAWD MY BOOBIES HURT...stupid uterus."
He knows this means careful time.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Captain And Passenger of the Ship of Fool
Apparently pumping my own gas and minimal skills of observation mutually exclusive activities. For me.
I went to our friendly neighborhood gas station. It was on the way home. I've been there before. For doughnuts.
Normal, right?
I went to our friendly neighborhood gas station. It was on the way home. I've been there before. For doughnuts.
Normal, right?
First of all, there are these screens that jibber jabber news and weather at you. I failed to capture this screen in the picture, but I'm sure you all know what I am referring to. I was watching the weather guy and I became fascinated with the way his voice would go before his lips moved. The audio was outrunning the video. This caused me to mistakenly punch my work zip code on the key pad. I was rewarded with the notification "PUMP LOCKED." Ah crap. So I had to do the debit card route and put in my pin.
After getting a screen telling me I managed to release funds from my account, I grabbed the big green nozzle. I tried to get it into my gas tank. It did not fit. I kept trying. Because in my world, if it doesn't fit - I probably did it incorrectly and need to keep trying. After a few more failed attempts and a close inspection of the nozzle - I decided that I'd push the little button on the machine where you pick the grade of gas you want.
Because by doing that, the nozzle would magically fit in my gas tank. Seriously. I half believed that.
I saw that the big GIANT green button indicating DEISEL was lit up and BLINKING at me. And I thought "hm. That's odd. Don't want that." So I spent a good twenty seconds trying all three buttons to the right of the green one, color coded grey, white and red. And could NOT figure out why I could not get any of them to realease the go-go liquid. "What's the problem? YOU HAVE ACCESS TO MY MONEY, GIVE ME GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSS!"
After giving up on the buttons, I then turned my attention back to the nozzle tried to AGAIN put it into my gas tank. If there was an award for retardation marinated in determination, I would have won it. Probaly two of them. Like, they would have had to give me next year's too - so I could walk home with one in each hand to avoid falling over.
I finally turned around and realized "Oh, I get it. Diesel Fuel Only." I was annoyed that this pump was not labled better. "Why wouldn't they let us know this is a Diesel Only pump? How annoying."
So I replaced the green nozzle, got in my truck, drove around the island and parked in front of a pump on the other side. And do you know what I saw?
Yesirreee. It was the exact same set pump set up. Know why? Because normal people realize there's also a big black nozzle on the right that dispenses non diesel fuel!!
And I'd be lying if I said that upon seeing the exact same pump set up I had just rejected, I didn't think "Woah, did this station become only diesel fuel at some point and I just didn't notice?"
Friday, April 20, 2007
Quit It With the Food Poisoning
Look, you don't have food poisoning. What you have, if you MUST tell me about it, is THE FOOD FLU.
I get it. You are uncomfortable, you feel like crap and you don't have control of bodily functions. I've been there too. BUT, if you aren't at work for only one day because of this - or you are feeling somehow obligated to give an excuse - don't use the word poisoning.
Poisoning, to me, implies someone purposely tried to get you. Intentionally and with clever planning. Not the kind of discomfort you got when YOU chose to eat food from some hinky place that serves a combo plate of tummy rumbler and clown agitator. This meal which you adore because sometimes, piss poor quality food just tastes good.
Just like rain is not a storm. Don't be the evening news. Don't go on storm watch just because someone here in California was reported to have used their windshield wipers. For a full sweep and a half.
Granted, you might not always knowingly eat dodgy entrees, but unless you are now in communication with the CDC, realize you are the victim of the FOOD FLU.
Not poisoning.
I get it. You are uncomfortable, you feel like crap and you don't have control of bodily functions. I've been there too. BUT, if you aren't at work for only one day because of this - or you are feeling somehow obligated to give an excuse - don't use the word poisoning.
Poisoning, to me, implies someone purposely tried to get you. Intentionally and with clever planning. Not the kind of discomfort you got when YOU chose to eat food from some hinky place that serves a combo plate of tummy rumbler and clown agitator. This meal which you adore because sometimes, piss poor quality food just tastes good.
Just like rain is not a storm. Don't be the evening news. Don't go on storm watch just because someone here in California was reported to have used their windshield wipers. For a full sweep and a half.
Granted, you might not always knowingly eat dodgy entrees, but unless you are now in communication with the CDC, realize you are the victim of the FOOD FLU.
Not poisoning.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
I Don't See Why Not
On the way to the office today, Mr. Zoom and I were in a rare moment of silence. We were stopped at a light with one car ahead of us. Mr. Zoom began to speak for the driver of the car "Oh yay, I bought a car in Hawaii....oh darn, I'm moving to California."
This amazed me. Because I could not figure out how he knew this particular car was purchased in Hawaii. There was a little "Hawaiian" flower type decal on the rear window, but I've seen those on lots of cars. If he had said to me "I know because I'm magic", I probably would have believed him.
"How in the world do you know that car came from Hawaii?"
Apparently the plate frame covered up the word Hawaii on the plate, and all that was visible was a rainbow background and the text of the plate itself. I did not know this was a standard Hawaii plate.
"...the licence plate? It's a Hawaii plate."
"Oh. Oh? Really? It's not a customizable plate for gay?"
"You are a miracle. NO Zoom, that is not a customized gay plate. California has come a long way with the acceptance of gay, but there is no rainbow gay pride plate you can buy from the DMV."
"Oh."
I did check, by the way. And there is no gay pride plate available from the DMV. But I do think there should be. They could make them with rainbow triangles.
This amazed me. Because I could not figure out how he knew this particular car was purchased in Hawaii. There was a little "Hawaiian" flower type decal on the rear window, but I've seen those on lots of cars. If he had said to me "I know because I'm magic", I probably would have believed him.
"How in the world do you know that car came from Hawaii?"
Apparently the plate frame covered up the word Hawaii on the plate, and all that was visible was a rainbow background and the text of the plate itself. I did not know this was a standard Hawaii plate.
"...the licence plate? It's a Hawaii plate."
"Oh. Oh? Really? It's not a customizable plate for gay?"
"You are a miracle. NO Zoom, that is not a customized gay plate. California has come a long way with the acceptance of gay, but there is no rainbow gay pride plate you can buy from the DMV."
"Oh."
I did check, by the way. And there is no gay pride plate available from the DMV. But I do think there should be. They could make them with rainbow triangles.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Turn off the Camera, Monkey.
Mr. Zoom is not impressed with slightly open drawers and cabinets. I am indifferent to them - at least I was. Now that I know how much it pushes Mr. Zoom's impulsive correction activity button, well, you know I must play with that.
So one night while he was out at an early hockey game, I set up the kitchen in total slightly open drawer/cabinet.ness.
He's totally on to me though. I had set this up so I'd be on the couch with the camera and could get a little video of him fixing everything. Instead, he walked in and said "Turn off the camera, monkey. No, really. Turn it off."
He knew right away that I was filming. My camera's batteries have been failing lately, and I had mistakenly adjusted the volume to be non-existent, so the video I did get isn't even a good souvinier.
We've been super busy lately. I know that word gets thrown around a lot. I used to use it every day. "I'm so busy." I now need a new word. Because what I've been up to in the last two months blows "busy" right out the window of my car and throws it under a couple of semi-trucks passing by.
Yesterday we got invited to a Kings Hockey game. It's the end of the season, and the game meant absolutely nothing as far as games go. I think the person who had the tickets had them given to her by the season ticket holder. The seats were amazing. The game may have meant nothing as far as the season goes, but I sure had a fantastic time watching at least 3 fights that broke out (on the ice). Helmets flew off, so did gloves.
Anyone out there listen to Tom Leykis? He showed up at the game. I had heard him say he had season tickets to the Kings, and goes to every game. He came in about the second period of the game and was sitting at the end of the row. Or at least I believe it was him. I tried to get a few shots of him to compare later at home with his website, but I super suck at it. I would make the suckiest paparratzi ever. All the shots I attempted came out blurry, or someone moved at the last second and blocked him.
The best I could do was upon returning from the loo, taking this shot from above where we were all sitting. All you can see is the back of his head.
Mr. Zoom said to me at one point in my photo evidence quest "He totally knows you are trying to take a picture of him." I, with 1/2 a beer in me said "AH so? He's in public. He can totally wear it."
As if I run into the famous every day or something. I like to think I would just let them be, unless it was someone from Scrubs. I'd have to tell any cast member from Scrubs that I LOVE the show. I know it's cliche and lame and they are so sick of it - but I can't control myself in regular life. Faced with a scentient being from a show I adore? Yeah, I'd gush.
For example, on our way to dinner after the game, we got lost on the streets of LA. As we were turning around in one very nice neighborhood (proof that we were so in the wrong place), Mr. Zoom said "HEY, THERE'S JASON STATHAM!". And we looked to our right and I'll be damned if it wasn't him on the sidewalk talking to someone. As much as we love Statham and his movies, we didn't leap out of the car and run up to him. I didn't even attempt to get the camera out. He didn't even have "people" around him.
And the KOPITAR jerseys were everywhere! We always sing the Der Kommisar song when we see the name. Ok, only I do that. Mr. Zoom has more class than I do.
So one night while he was out at an early hockey game, I set up the kitchen in total slightly open drawer/cabinet.ness.
He's totally on to me though. I had set this up so I'd be on the couch with the camera and could get a little video of him fixing everything. Instead, he walked in and said "Turn off the camera, monkey. No, really. Turn it off."
He knew right away that I was filming. My camera's batteries have been failing lately, and I had mistakenly adjusted the volume to be non-existent, so the video I did get isn't even a good souvinier.
We've been super busy lately. I know that word gets thrown around a lot. I used to use it every day. "I'm so busy." I now need a new word. Because what I've been up to in the last two months blows "busy" right out the window of my car and throws it under a couple of semi-trucks passing by.
Yesterday we got invited to a Kings Hockey game. It's the end of the season, and the game meant absolutely nothing as far as games go. I think the person who had the tickets had them given to her by the season ticket holder. The seats were amazing. The game may have meant nothing as far as the season goes, but I sure had a fantastic time watching at least 3 fights that broke out (on the ice). Helmets flew off, so did gloves.
Anyone out there listen to Tom Leykis? He showed up at the game. I had heard him say he had season tickets to the Kings, and goes to every game. He came in about the second period of the game and was sitting at the end of the row. Or at least I believe it was him. I tried to get a few shots of him to compare later at home with his website, but I super suck at it. I would make the suckiest paparratzi ever. All the shots I attempted came out blurry, or someone moved at the last second and blocked him.
The best I could do was upon returning from the loo, taking this shot from above where we were all sitting. All you can see is the back of his head.
Mr. Zoom said to me at one point in my photo evidence quest "He totally knows you are trying to take a picture of him." I, with 1/2 a beer in me said "AH so? He's in public. He can totally wear it."
As if I run into the famous every day or something. I like to think I would just let them be, unless it was someone from Scrubs. I'd have to tell any cast member from Scrubs that I LOVE the show. I know it's cliche and lame and they are so sick of it - but I can't control myself in regular life. Faced with a scentient being from a show I adore? Yeah, I'd gush.
For example, on our way to dinner after the game, we got lost on the streets of LA. As we were turning around in one very nice neighborhood (proof that we were so in the wrong place), Mr. Zoom said "HEY, THERE'S JASON STATHAM!". And we looked to our right and I'll be damned if it wasn't him on the sidewalk talking to someone. As much as we love Statham and his movies, we didn't leap out of the car and run up to him. I didn't even attempt to get the camera out. He didn't even have "people" around him.
And the KOPITAR jerseys were everywhere! We always sing the Der Kommisar song when we see the name. Ok, only I do that. Mr. Zoom has more class than I do.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Not a Pretty Post
This post is going to scream all kinds of innuendo and wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Welcome to my life.
Tide to Go Pen. My favorite office supply. Wait, no. I lied. It's my second favorite office supply. Mr. Zoom is first, then the TTGPen. I've used one of these at least a hundred times to get coffee off of the front of my shirt. The pen, not the Mr. Zoom. He just says things like "Maybe you shouldn't drink coffee in the car."
Yeah, that's a viable solution alright. How about you just not point that out to me. Ramping up for girlie time or no, simple logic like that pushes my squirrelly button and makes me give you angry crazy eyeball. It's still going to be your fault - no matter what. You should probably just say "awww" and let it go at that.
About two weeks ago, I was in Mr. Zoom's office and we were discussing general not work stuff with one of the people in his department. This co-worker happens to be gay. The reason you might need to know that will become obvious in a moment.
Mr. Zoom had told JSHTBGG (Just So Happens To Be Gay Guy) that I was a kindred spirit of his. The reason? JSHTBGG had spilled something on his shirt that day, and apparently does this with the same frequency that I do. I immediately asked him if he's ever used the TTGpen in order to help himself with those situations. Before Mr. Zoom or I could continue that I use and LOVE the TTGpen, JSHTBGG offered:
"Oh my God - those things smell like ass. Know how I know? I used one once. A while later, I was at the fax machine and some other guy was there too. I thought 'gee, this guy smells like ass. That's awful.'. Later, I realized it was my own shirt that made that awful smell and it was the Tide to Go Pen that specifically made that smell. Those things are awful - I threw it away and never used it again."
Now here I am. I'm listening to an openly gay man talk about what he claims is the smell of ass. Am I about to question him? No. What kind of evidence could I possibly have that he can't literally rebut with "yeah, but I know what ass smells like." I said rebut.
What I do is keep all kinds of quiet about my own use of the TTGpen and how I like it. And how I might not have the level of experience with ass smell that other people might - I have never had the TTGpen ever give off any scent that I could ever distinguish as belonging to IT or ASS or anything else, for that matter.
Today I'm at the office and my shirt is still coffee-less. Until about 3 minutes after I arrived. I predictably shot coffee onto my shirt - in one of those unfortunate places. It looked like Big Rightie had decided to lactate coffee. I got my TTGpen out of my drawer - and paused. Did it really make shirts smell like ass? I took the cap off and gave it a snif. I smelled nothing at all. So I thought "Aw hell. I never run into Mr. Zoom or his department guys during the day. We are all so busy, we are all on different floors...and I've never run into JSHTBGG...I'm going to use it because Big Rightie can't look like a target all day long."
About 30 minutes later, JSHTBGG walked right up to my desk. First time in 6 months he's ever done this. He was asking me some questions about locating a co-worker on my floor. All I could think of was "DO I SMELL LIKE ASS?" After I clumsily directed him on where he needed to go, I sat down and continued to wonder if he knew I'd used the devil pen.
I sent an e-mail to Mr. Zoom to check (read from bottom up):
_________________________________
On your floor? No.
Our floor is supposed to be the floor of ass smell. What happened on your floor?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Zoom, Mrs.
Sent: Monday, March 26, 2007 4:41 PM
To: Zoom, Mr.
Subject: Question:
Did JSHTBGG say anything about the smell of ass on my floor today?
________________________________________________________________
I suppose I'm safe for today. Although I know there's a lot more coffee wearing in my future, and I desperately want JSHTBGG to say "No, I was wrong. TTGpen doesn't smell like ass. Turns out it was the result of an accident involving a defective container of laundry detergent and some peas." I need to be able to use the pen without fearing I smell like ass.
Just ask Mr. Zoom. I have been known to overreact when I'm convinced my deodorant has ceased working. He doesn't need this too.
Tide to Go Pen. My favorite office supply. Wait, no. I lied. It's my second favorite office supply. Mr. Zoom is first, then the TTGPen. I've used one of these at least a hundred times to get coffee off of the front of my shirt. The pen, not the Mr. Zoom. He just says things like "Maybe you shouldn't drink coffee in the car."
Yeah, that's a viable solution alright. How about you just not point that out to me. Ramping up for girlie time or no, simple logic like that pushes my squirrelly button and makes me give you angry crazy eyeball. It's still going to be your fault - no matter what. You should probably just say "awww" and let it go at that.
About two weeks ago, I was in Mr. Zoom's office and we were discussing general not work stuff with one of the people in his department. This co-worker happens to be gay. The reason you might need to know that will become obvious in a moment.
Mr. Zoom had told JSHTBGG (Just So Happens To Be Gay Guy) that I was a kindred spirit of his. The reason? JSHTBGG had spilled something on his shirt that day, and apparently does this with the same frequency that I do. I immediately asked him if he's ever used the TTGpen in order to help himself with those situations. Before Mr. Zoom or I could continue that I use and LOVE the TTGpen, JSHTBGG offered:
"Oh my God - those things smell like ass. Know how I know? I used one once. A while later, I was at the fax machine and some other guy was there too. I thought 'gee, this guy smells like ass. That's awful.'. Later, I realized it was my own shirt that made that awful smell and it was the Tide to Go Pen that specifically made that smell. Those things are awful - I threw it away and never used it again."
Now here I am. I'm listening to an openly gay man talk about what he claims is the smell of ass. Am I about to question him? No. What kind of evidence could I possibly have that he can't literally rebut with "yeah, but I know what ass smells like." I said rebut.
What I do is keep all kinds of quiet about my own use of the TTGpen and how I like it. And how I might not have the level of experience with ass smell that other people might - I have never had the TTGpen ever give off any scent that I could ever distinguish as belonging to IT or ASS or anything else, for that matter.
Today I'm at the office and my shirt is still coffee-less. Until about 3 minutes after I arrived. I predictably shot coffee onto my shirt - in one of those unfortunate places. It looked like Big Rightie had decided to lactate coffee. I got my TTGpen out of my drawer - and paused. Did it really make shirts smell like ass? I took the cap off and gave it a snif. I smelled nothing at all. So I thought "Aw hell. I never run into Mr. Zoom or his department guys during the day. We are all so busy, we are all on different floors...and I've never run into JSHTBGG...I'm going to use it because Big Rightie can't look like a target all day long."
About 30 minutes later, JSHTBGG walked right up to my desk. First time in 6 months he's ever done this. He was asking me some questions about locating a co-worker on my floor. All I could think of was "DO I SMELL LIKE ASS?" After I clumsily directed him on where he needed to go, I sat down and continued to wonder if he knew I'd used the devil pen.
I sent an e-mail to Mr. Zoom to check (read from bottom up):
_________________________________
On your floor? No.
Our floor is supposed to be the floor of ass smell. What happened on your floor?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Zoom, Mrs.
Sent: Monday, March 26, 2007 4:41 PM
To: Zoom, Mr.
Subject: Question:
Did JSHTBGG say anything about the smell of ass on my floor today?
________________________________________________________________
I suppose I'm safe for today. Although I know there's a lot more coffee wearing in my future, and I desperately want JSHTBGG to say "No, I was wrong. TTGpen doesn't smell like ass. Turns out it was the result of an accident involving a defective container of laundry detergent and some peas." I need to be able to use the pen without fearing I smell like ass.
Just ask Mr. Zoom. I have been known to overreact when I'm convinced my deodorant has ceased working. He doesn't need this too.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
And This is How I Thank Him
So this morning on our way to get my coffee, Mr. Zoom and I had a vent fight. Well, not so much a fight, as it was a battle of wills in positioning the vents in the car.
Mr. Zoom runs at about 3,259 degrees. I run at 70. There is a constant fussing with the vents in the car because Mr. Zoom always has the a/c on and I sometimes forget to bring a jacket into the car with me. Even when I remember the jacket, I try to shut the little vents off because I'm cold. The vents in the middle of the dash do not have fully-close-off-ability like the ones on the side.
So normally I point both center vents at Mr. Zoom. This morning he pointed one of the vents back in my general direction and I flipped it back to him. "No, no - see? See it's not reaching you - the cold. When you push it all the way towards me, it doesn't hit me."
I answered by flipping the vent back at him. "Look" he said, "I've tested it and your zone doesn't get any of the cold air." He was demonstrating by drawing an invisible verticle line up and down near my zone.
"FINE." I pouted. And I sat there in silence with my hands in my lap. I did not believe that air vents pointed anywhere near my zone actually hit him and not me, but I had given up the struggle for vent control and decided to wallow in my own fumage.
When we got to the coffee shop I exited the car and bought my coffee. By the time I'd returned to the car, I had totally forgotten I was even "annoyed at him". This is my biggest failing as a wife. I can't remember to stay annoyed for more than two minutes. I'm like a commercial break of childishness.
During the last part of the drive to work, I had to sneeze. I turned away from him and covered my mouth and nose. Or so I thought. Looking out of the passenger window of Mr. Zooms recently washed vehicle, I saw what COULD HAVE been passed off as little rain drops or splash from a puddle. There was no viscosity there, it was clear, watery spit and not the other variety, thank goodness.
I was mortified, and decided to use the arm of my sweater to get rid of the evidence. I casually lifted my left arm to the window and made a series of wiping motions. Mr. Zoom caught on immediately, and when he saw what I was up to he started laughing so hard I started to get the giggles too.
Later at the office I was presented with two boxes from one of the mail guys. Mr. Zoom had ordered and had delivered to the office, tulips for me. He does that all the time. He will randomly order flowers for me and have them delivered to the office for no particular reason. It's so very sweet of him. And I very much appreciate it.
Except for the fact that all my co-workers feel like they've missed my birthday or some flower worthy event in my life. And I almost feel bad telling them no, it's just because. So this round when they ask "special occasion?", I'm going to say "Yeah, I sneezed on his car."
Mr. Zoom runs at about 3,259 degrees. I run at 70. There is a constant fussing with the vents in the car because Mr. Zoom always has the a/c on and I sometimes forget to bring a jacket into the car with me. Even when I remember the jacket, I try to shut the little vents off because I'm cold. The vents in the middle of the dash do not have fully-close-off-ability like the ones on the side.
So normally I point both center vents at Mr. Zoom. This morning he pointed one of the vents back in my general direction and I flipped it back to him. "No, no - see? See it's not reaching you - the cold. When you push it all the way towards me, it doesn't hit me."
I answered by flipping the vent back at him. "Look" he said, "I've tested it and your zone doesn't get any of the cold air." He was demonstrating by drawing an invisible verticle line up and down near my zone.
"FINE." I pouted. And I sat there in silence with my hands in my lap. I did not believe that air vents pointed anywhere near my zone actually hit him and not me, but I had given up the struggle for vent control and decided to wallow in my own fumage.
When we got to the coffee shop I exited the car and bought my coffee. By the time I'd returned to the car, I had totally forgotten I was even "annoyed at him". This is my biggest failing as a wife. I can't remember to stay annoyed for more than two minutes. I'm like a commercial break of childishness.
During the last part of the drive to work, I had to sneeze. I turned away from him and covered my mouth and nose. Or so I thought. Looking out of the passenger window of Mr. Zooms recently washed vehicle, I saw what COULD HAVE been passed off as little rain drops or splash from a puddle. There was no viscosity there, it was clear, watery spit and not the other variety, thank goodness.
I was mortified, and decided to use the arm of my sweater to get rid of the evidence. I casually lifted my left arm to the window and made a series of wiping motions. Mr. Zoom caught on immediately, and when he saw what I was up to he started laughing so hard I started to get the giggles too.
Later at the office I was presented with two boxes from one of the mail guys. Mr. Zoom had ordered and had delivered to the office, tulips for me. He does that all the time. He will randomly order flowers for me and have them delivered to the office for no particular reason. It's so very sweet of him. And I very much appreciate it.
Except for the fact that all my co-workers feel like they've missed my birthday or some flower worthy event in my life. And I almost feel bad telling them no, it's just because. So this round when they ask "special occasion?", I'm going to say "Yeah, I sneezed on his car."
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
My Luminiferous Ether - Excellent Conductor of Lunacy
I've been eating a lot of oatmeal for breakfast. I love oatmeal. It's (instant) easy and tends to keep me from totally loosing it before lunch time. I like cinnamon and brown sugar. Unfortunately, the last box I bought was some flavor they call cinnamon and spice. Sure, if spice = pot pourri. It smells like Christmas and tastes like a scented candle. I honestly expect the box to list perfume as the first and most abundant ingredient.
I ended up with this flavor because I have a bad habit of seeing what I want to see. Or reading the first couple of letters of something and assuming it's what I want it to be. Cinnamon Sugar looks a lot like Cinnamon Spice to me because of this. DRAT.
And I'm not having much luck with artichoke hearts, either. Every single time I'm faced with an artichoke heart (cut up and in my food), I wonder how to eat it. I literally do the exact same thought process every time - and I never seem to find the answer. Do I just take the whole thing and eat it in its entirety? Or do I cut off the "heart heart" part and dispose of the leafy parts?
The leaves aren't super tough - since they are the smaller ones that are obviously closest to the heart. But I still can't figure out if it's ok to eat the whole thing.
I keep thinking, if it wasn't intended to be eaten entirely, then why is it buried in my food? Wouldn't that be dangerous if one was expected to pull the leaves off? Yet, every time I find myself dissecting the piece and leaving the leafy bits off to the side. I wonder if I'm making it harder than it needs to be. But then I remember; artichokes are giant thistles. Not a ton of room for experimentation.
The other evening Mr. Zoom and I were at one of our favorite super markets buying dinner out of the deli. He's always so cute when we order, because he asks me what I want and then says to the person helping us "the lady will have...." What he should be saying is "My wife doesn't cook. So please sell us food so we don't starve." After he ordered a couple of chicken strips for me, I decided that I'd also like a bbq rib. When he went to order for me "And the lady would also like..." I stopped him. I said "SHHHHHH! NO! Don't tell him it's for me." (the counter guy wasn't hearing Mr. Zoom when he first started this line, so when I shuushed him, the counter guy wasn't even paying attention to us.)
WHY CAN'T HE TELL HIM I WANT THE RIB? Because I'm a fool. Seriously.
I'm sure it's the same feature that caused me to wrestle with my closet of clothing the other day and say to Mr. Zoom - as if he were to blame - "UUUUUUUUUUUUGH. Stupid......clothes......not......look....like.....supermodel." pout.
I ended up with this flavor because I have a bad habit of seeing what I want to see. Or reading the first couple of letters of something and assuming it's what I want it to be. Cinnamon Sugar looks a lot like Cinnamon Spice to me because of this. DRAT.
And I'm not having much luck with artichoke hearts, either. Every single time I'm faced with an artichoke heart (cut up and in my food), I wonder how to eat it. I literally do the exact same thought process every time - and I never seem to find the answer. Do I just take the whole thing and eat it in its entirety? Or do I cut off the "heart heart" part and dispose of the leafy parts?
The leaves aren't super tough - since they are the smaller ones that are obviously closest to the heart. But I still can't figure out if it's ok to eat the whole thing.
I keep thinking, if it wasn't intended to be eaten entirely, then why is it buried in my food? Wouldn't that be dangerous if one was expected to pull the leaves off? Yet, every time I find myself dissecting the piece and leaving the leafy bits off to the side. I wonder if I'm making it harder than it needs to be. But then I remember; artichokes are giant thistles. Not a ton of room for experimentation.
The other evening Mr. Zoom and I were at one of our favorite super markets buying dinner out of the deli. He's always so cute when we order, because he asks me what I want and then says to the person helping us "the lady will have...." What he should be saying is "My wife doesn't cook. So please sell us food so we don't starve." After he ordered a couple of chicken strips for me, I decided that I'd also like a bbq rib. When he went to order for me "And the lady would also like..." I stopped him. I said "SHHHHHH! NO! Don't tell him it's for me." (the counter guy wasn't hearing Mr. Zoom when he first started this line, so when I shuushed him, the counter guy wasn't even paying attention to us.)
WHY CAN'T HE TELL HIM I WANT THE RIB? Because I'm a fool. Seriously.
I'm sure it's the same feature that caused me to wrestle with my closet of clothing the other day and say to Mr. Zoom - as if he were to blame - "UUUUUUUUUUUUGH. Stupid......clothes......not......look....like.....supermodel." pout.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
I said I'd Post It if He Caught It
Mr. Zoom finally captured my snoring on video.
This starts out fairly quiet, but soon enough my "shhroooonk" takes over. I even drown out the t.v. noise in the background. No wonder my mother was convinced I'd never find a husband.
Just about the only thing scarier than that - is the fact that my FAM has now started using e-mail with a terrifying frequency. Back before she would even consider using the computer, all forwarded e-mail jokes and special news bulletins [by special I mean the spider under the toilet seat kind] would be transmitted to me via telephone. If it was really good, she'd make a copy with a xerox copier and make me take it home the next time I came by for a visit.
Just last week, my FAM wanted my "personal" e-mail address. She has my work address, but she had/has some things she'd like me to have that aren't work appropriate. The fact that she understands one address is my account at work and one is for personal use is startling enough. What I'm guessing is headed down the internet pipe for me now is a load of photoshopped puppy and kitten pictures, as well as all those forwarded jokes/chain e-mails/ what have you that everyone YOU know has already stopped forwarding to you.
FWD: CUTE!!
FWD: Warning for you and all of your women friends. NOT A HOAX!!
FWD: ...I normally don't send these but....
FWD: This is an actual picture of...
FAM has a gagillion slides from the 60s or maybe even before that time. She bought a machine that takes the slides and converts them into jpegs on the computer. Of course she asked me to come over and help her understand how to use it. Even sparing most of the details, I think you can sense the monkey fucking a football absurdity of what I should have known was going to happen.
I thought I was over there to show her how to work her slide converter/scanner....but half way through that she insisted that I show her how to archive internet forwards. She had received a power point slide show about ice in her e-mail. With music. She was so excited about it, she insisted I watch it. THEN, she wanted to know how she could put it on a CD so that she'd have it forever.
Yes. Forever.
And keeping them in a folder was out of the question.
I tried to escape by telling her "I don't know how to make a video (pointing at the screen) go to that (pointing to the drive with a cd in it.) Normally she'd have given up, but instead she tried on her own.
I tried to explain that cds aren't like floppies, that you can't put something on them, and then keep adding later. She heard "feel free to keep trying to add anything you want to that cd."
I tried to explain why Windows tries to "help" by providing a default files to be copied to CD feature, and how we don't need that program because we are using another one. The one I just spent 20 minutes tutoring her on. She heard "Go ahead and click wildly all around the screen and then please fume at me when you become totally confused."
When she finally went back to converting her slides, the default Windows screen came up saying "you have files ready to be copied to cd". The wild clicking willy nilly continued and *Shazaaam*, her video landed on a cd.
It is the ONLY thing on that CD.
And I can guarantee you that the next time I go over there, she will have about a thousand cds, all containing ONE internet joke.
Forever.
This starts out fairly quiet, but soon enough my "shhroooonk" takes over. I even drown out the t.v. noise in the background. No wonder my mother was convinced I'd never find a husband.
Just about the only thing scarier than that - is the fact that my FAM has now started using e-mail with a terrifying frequency. Back before she would even consider using the computer, all forwarded e-mail jokes and special news bulletins [by special I mean the spider under the toilet seat kind] would be transmitted to me via telephone. If it was really good, she'd make a copy with a xerox copier and make me take it home the next time I came by for a visit.
Just last week, my FAM wanted my "personal" e-mail address. She has my work address, but she had/has some things she'd like me to have that aren't work appropriate. The fact that she understands one address is my account at work and one is for personal use is startling enough. What I'm guessing is headed down the internet pipe for me now is a load of photoshopped puppy and kitten pictures, as well as all those forwarded jokes/chain e-mails/ what have you that everyone YOU know has already stopped forwarding to you.
FWD: CUTE!!
FWD: Warning for you and all of your women friends. NOT A HOAX!!
FWD: ...I normally don't send these but....
FWD: This is an actual picture of...
FAM has a gagillion slides from the 60s or maybe even before that time. She bought a machine that takes the slides and converts them into jpegs on the computer. Of course she asked me to come over and help her understand how to use it. Even sparing most of the details, I think you can sense the monkey fucking a football absurdity of what I should have known was going to happen.
I thought I was over there to show her how to work her slide converter/scanner....but half way through that she insisted that I show her how to archive internet forwards. She had received a power point slide show about ice in her e-mail. With music. She was so excited about it, she insisted I watch it. THEN, she wanted to know how she could put it on a CD so that she'd have it forever.
Yes. Forever.
And keeping them in a folder was out of the question.
I tried to escape by telling her "I don't know how to make a video (pointing at the screen) go to that (pointing to the drive with a cd in it.) Normally she'd have given up, but instead she tried on her own.
I tried to explain that cds aren't like floppies, that you can't put something on them, and then keep adding later. She heard "feel free to keep trying to add anything you want to that cd."
I tried to explain why Windows tries to "help" by providing a default files to be copied to CD feature, and how we don't need that program because we are using another one. The one I just spent 20 minutes tutoring her on. She heard "Go ahead and click wildly all around the screen and then please fume at me when you become totally confused."
When she finally went back to converting her slides, the default Windows screen came up saying "you have files ready to be copied to cd". The wild clicking willy nilly continued and *Shazaaam*, her video landed on a cd.
It is the ONLY thing on that CD.
And I can guarantee you that the next time I go over there, she will have about a thousand cds, all containing ONE internet joke.
Forever.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Airborne Snacks and Understanding Husbands
Last night Mr. Zoom and I settled down to watch the tivo'd Lost, Office, Scrubs and would have gotten to Survivor but we ran out of time.
I've been in full ramp up mode for that which strikes women monthly. There is only one cure for the mood I'm in while running up the ramp and it's Trader Joes Chocolate Covered Peanut Butter Pretzels [TJCCPBP]. My pal Skillit introduced me to this product. I now have simultaneous competing emotions of (1) loving her for this; and (2) wanting to girl wrestler sneak attack pull her hair and clothesline her [it has to be sneak attack, because she could and would kick my ass].
They are that good.
They come in celophaney foil like bags. Anyone who's ever witnessed me open a bag of chips or a box/bag of cookies will know that packaging is, according to me, "In My Way". It is something to be torn through, as if I'm in a giant hurry and I haven't eaten for days. Sure, there are methods of opening these things without tearing a long, continuous and sometimes corkscrew tear in them, but I can't, won't and don't work that way. Mr. Zoom always giggles when he sees the hollowed out container I've destroyed like an octopus eating a crab and then leaving the shell behind.
So last night I had my bag of TJCCPBP. The bag had been torn so much that I had to place it in a zip lock bag so the contents would stay put long enough to be eaten. I ate far too many of them, and decided it was time to quit. Being that I'm lazy, I didn't want to get up to put them away. And I knew if they sat on the coffee table, I'd continually reach over and eat them until they were gone.
I sealed up the zip loc bag and hucked it across the room. It hit the wall and slid to the floor as I hoped it would. I did all of this from my reclining position on the couch. Mr. Zoom looked at me and said "What just happened?" Code for "I know you are crazy, I'm used to that. But what I just saw is a new one. I need an explanation or I make the call bringing in the professionals."
My explanation came as if everyone knows this. "I was afraid I'd eat them all and I wanted it away from me. If it's on the table, it's still too close. If I can't reach it, I can't eat it."
The Out of Reach Diet.
I've been in full ramp up mode for that which strikes women monthly. There is only one cure for the mood I'm in while running up the ramp and it's Trader Joes Chocolate Covered Peanut Butter Pretzels [TJCCPBP]. My pal Skillit introduced me to this product. I now have simultaneous competing emotions of (1) loving her for this; and (2) wanting to girl wrestler sneak attack pull her hair and clothesline her [it has to be sneak attack, because she could and would kick my ass].
They are that good.
They come in celophaney foil like bags. Anyone who's ever witnessed me open a bag of chips or a box/bag of cookies will know that packaging is, according to me, "In My Way". It is something to be torn through, as if I'm in a giant hurry and I haven't eaten for days. Sure, there are methods of opening these things without tearing a long, continuous and sometimes corkscrew tear in them, but I can't, won't and don't work that way. Mr. Zoom always giggles when he sees the hollowed out container I've destroyed like an octopus eating a crab and then leaving the shell behind.
So last night I had my bag of TJCCPBP. The bag had been torn so much that I had to place it in a zip lock bag so the contents would stay put long enough to be eaten. I ate far too many of them, and decided it was time to quit. Being that I'm lazy, I didn't want to get up to put them away. And I knew if they sat on the coffee table, I'd continually reach over and eat them until they were gone.
I sealed up the zip loc bag and hucked it across the room. It hit the wall and slid to the floor as I hoped it would. I did all of this from my reclining position on the couch. Mr. Zoom looked at me and said "What just happened?" Code for "I know you are crazy, I'm used to that. But what I just saw is a new one. I need an explanation or I make the call bringing in the professionals."
My explanation came as if everyone knows this. "I was afraid I'd eat them all and I wanted it away from me. If it's on the table, it's still too close. If I can't reach it, I can't eat it."
The Out of Reach Diet.
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