Restraining the Unrestrainable

Last night I found myself gathering some last minute holiday gifts. Mr. Zoom wasn't with me, as 75% of my reason for purposely placing myself in the middle of sticky retail holiday ooze was to get an item for him I had just that day thought of as a really good gift idea.

The particular store(s) I had to share personal space with strangers with was one that potentially carried a video game for Mr. Zoom's Wii that I knew he'd been looking for and it was not on his Christmas list. It is the Tiger Woods Golf that came out, and apparently has sold out just about everywhere. The only reason I knew Mr. Zoom wanted it was that he mentioned he couldn't find it. Let me tell you something. If he can't find it, it can't be found.

Knowing this, I checked each store and of course, they too were sold out. Until I got to Target. My beloved Target. But here's the thing. Wii games are locked in a glass case. And there was only 1 Tiger Woods game left in the case. It was shouting "I'M THE POPULAR GAME EVERYONE WANTS, I'M THE LAST ONE, YOU'LL NEVER GET ME." I've never purchased a game behind glass before, so I had no idea what to do, really. There were a lot of other people peering into the same case that I was looking in. I fought the urge to throw my body against the case and yell "BACK OFF."

Instead, I ran (literally, I ran) to the register where the only employee of Target in my eyesight was ringing up a customer's purchase. I stood in line behind the customer and kept searching out the visible floor for any other red shirts who I could pounce on and demand they unlock my game for me. I wasn't too wound up, because I was next in line - but then customer guy started writing a check for his purchase. A CHECK. Not only that, but his check was rejected and he then tried to pay for his item with credit cards, business cards, oolongs and probably some orange peels.

About that time an employee of Target crossed my path. And I did notice he had on a black shirt, but he still had a name tag on. I stopped him and blurted "Excusemecanyougetanitemoutofthecaseforme?????!!!" He put up his hands in that woah woah woah manner and said "Sorry, I work in the portrait studio. I can't help you out." Then he ran away, which was wise.

I was beginning to feel exactly like one of those crazed holiday shoppers I swore I'd never ever be - one of those shoppers I've been run over by in the past - only a LOT worse. I tried to gather myself, but the potential that I could be the person to bring home a game for Mr. Zoom that I knew he wanted and he could not find was far too much for me to handle. I started to twitch while waiting in line. TWITCHING!

Around that time, something somewhere magically cleared for the customer and he was free to go. And at that exact moment a second Target employee entered the area and I lept at him. "CANYOUGETAGAMEOUTOFTHECASEFORME???". Employee #2 looked just as rattled as portrait studio guy - but grabbed his keys and motioned to me. He said "I'm on my way over there now, so I can get all of them at the same time." Which freaked me out because now I was convinced someone else had claimed the game I needed before I could do so. I tried to corner him into telling me the rules for calling dibs on ... say ... the very last Tiger Woods Wii game that might be in the case. "Ok, say I've been in line - I SAW the game first, but couldn't find anyone to get it for me. Then someone else finds a wandering employee and asks for the game. WHO GETS IT??" He actually giggled at me - seeing my attempt to badger him into agreeing that I should get whatever I was asking for, and asked which one I needed. "TIGER WOODS!" "Oh, yeah. We have just one of those left. I'll get it for you." Ahhh. The promise of victory.

I finally got it paid for and into my purse. I had 3 more stops to make before I could go home, because I still wanted to get him the item I started out for.

Normal people can wait to give a Christmas or birthday gift on the actual day of the event. I.CAN.NOT. It physically drains me to have a gift for someone and not be able to give it to them. Mr. Zoom is very familiar with this. Now I had to decide if I was going to attempt to hold this item for Christmas, or if I was just going to give it to him right away.

I got home and when I got through the door I threw my arms up in the air (like a ref signaling a field goal) and ran a circle through the entire house. Then I stopped at a very very confused Mr. Zoom and said "I'm sorry, but this has to happen right now." Or at least that's what I was trying to say. What he probably heard was "huuunnn yieeee wehehhheeeee neeeee!" I handed him the bag and jumped up and down like a mental patient trying to catch invisible hoops with her head.

Yes, I had TOTALLY decided to hold it until Christmas.

I Am Jesus' Pinata.

This afternoon I was driving down the street gently embracing a nugget of nonsense my parents had handed to me over lunch. They had seen I Am Legend over the weekend and were not happy about it. Which is odd, because my parents love all film, craptacular and brilliant alike. So my senses perked up and I asked them what they disliked about IAL. Their answer?

And I'm not making this up ...."it was scary."

My FAM was adamant that Alvin and the Chipmunks would have been a much better choice.

I was simply struck silent. There was nothing I could or can (even now, 6 hours later) say that would make that conversation up there more beautiful than it already is.

As I rounded the corner to arrive home and convey this story to Mr. Zoom - I was greeted by something magical hanging off of a neighborhood mail box.

I think I know how the Wise Men felt when they saw the Star in the sky. I slammed on the brakes and maneuvered my truck to the side of the road. I grabbed my camera from my bag and recorded my very first, ever in my lifetime, never even knew they existed - Santa Pinata sighting. A SANTATA!

I simply cannot believe my parents did not find and purchase at least 4 of these before anyone else in California did. They are totally slipping.

No Eye Contact. Ever. Again.

Technology is such a wonderful thing. I can say I love it more than I hate it. BUT, when I do hate it - it's a burning, not healthy and totally unreasonable hate. Mostly because it is my fault it has bitten me in the britches and I could have prevented it.

Mr. Zoom embraces technology so fast and so flexibly - that he often can not understand what is wrong with the rest of us. If you are a retailer or utility that requires payments from the Zooms, you BETTER have an on line and preferably an automatic payment interface or Mr. Zoom might actually find your offices and demand you do so - in person.

Naturally then, at Holiday time we Zooms are going to coordinate gift purchases via e-mail. This week a rapid fire informational session was happening when it was brought to our attention that Mr. Zoom had accidentally sent an e-mail containing information about a gift already purchased - including the person who the gift was for. OOPS! He made repairs quickly, and all is forgiven.

When that happened, I thought to myself "Wow. That mistake was totally mine. I know for a fact I should have been the one to have done that. After all, I've totally shot my e-mail yapper off to the wrong parties in the past, and he's so careful and better at this kind of thing than I am."

Later in the week I shot off a customary at work - I'm thinking about you and love you - e-mail to Mr. Zoom. We work at the same company, but you'd be surprised how little we actually see of each other during the work day. I like to send afternoon reminders that we are married now, and regardless of any smartening up he's done since agreeing to marry me, he can't get away from me. I knew he'd been super busy this week with a tech roll out, but was still a little perplexed at having received no return e-mail almost an hour later.

About that time, I saw an e-mail arrive from my Boss. The preview box showed me the contents of his e-mail to me: "??" That's when I realized I had sent the following e-mail TO MY MALE, MARRIED BOSS - Subject: gosh I love you - Contents of e-mail: so very much.

At that moment, all of the oxygen on our green and blue planet was then sucked out of the atmosphere and transported directly into my head. And it hurt. A lot. Because apparently my brain no longer resides in there and nature hates a vacuum. I immediately shot off an explanatory e-mail to the Boss: OMG. I AM SOOOO SORRY. THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO GO TO MY HUSBAND!! And then I fought the urge to faint at my desk while sitting in my chair.

My Boss came out of his office and mercifully, had a good long laugh with me and the few other people around us who were let in on what happened. I was so terribly embarrassed by my error that others started to blush FOR ME. Then we all started laughing so hard we all cried. I continued to laugh cry while I deleted all the evidence of my brain taking leave of my head.

Later that evening Mr. Zoom and I were running errands. I began my story this way: "I'm going to tell you a story. It is horribly embarrassing for me. Literally. painfully. embarrassing. But I'm going to tell you anyway." I got my story out, and as expected he shook his head in that "only my wife" way. He said "And how come I'm only hearing about this now?" I replied "Because I literally just this second got over it enough to tell you without crying."

And we laughed. Because that's what we do. Although between fits of laughter I had pangs of tears - and in an attempt to justify the see/saw emotions I blubbered "Ok, so let's review. You ruin a teeny part of someone's Christmas by accidentally revealing one of their gifts to them. I wind up nearly breaking up two marriages and embarrassing myself beyond all .... all... get-it-backedness (was searching for the word redemption)!!"

It's time for me to set the e-mail program to "delay all sent messages for 5 minutes". Even if it wouldn't have saved me this time. Maybe it will manage to keep me married for just that much longer.

Touched in the Head by PDR

I was in the copy room one day and something caught my eye. The recycle bin had a HUGE, red, hardcover book resting on the top of the pile. Because I adore books, I ran over to it and yoinked it out of the recycle bin. It was a Pysicians Desk Reference, for the year 2004. I snuk the treasure home, where Mr. Zoom promptly caught me and called me out on my skulking through the house with it. "IT WAS ON THE TOP, IN THE RECYCLE BIN!! I HAD to bring it home. You know I did. It's a book, it's about drugs and it has color pictures of drugs in it. SCORE!!"




The fact is, I will probably never ever use it for anything other than pressing a flower (which I haven't done since high school) or as a doorstop. Even worse, it will probably end up in our bookshelf and it will collect dust. But I love it just the same. If I have to start calling it Vintage just to keep it in the house, I will.

But I don't have to do that. Because Mr. Zoom lets me - be me. No matter what. Even if our co-workers start calling me dumpster dive .

Do You KNow Who That Is? Is it Ethyl Merman?

Mr. Zoom is the most patient and understanding husband ever built. I was lucky to get him. Much like my Chevy Silverado 2001 - he's one of the best things to ever happen to me.

Mr. Zoom also comes with a very scary feature. Mr. Zoom can see a generic, no name person in a commercial just once, and he will recognize that person in everything from more commercials, to t.v. to movies if they get that far. While watching t.v. or, really anything, I get "OH LOOK! It's that guy/girl/ DOG who was in that ad for NAME BRAND WHATEVER that ran a while ago."

He tells me that people in ads often have a group of ads air all in a relatively short period of time. Somewhat like a commercial "it" person.

Sometimes he says "Do you know who that is?", which inevitably leads to me going "who? that person or the person who they just showed?" and then we have to wait until the "target" comes back on screen before continuing... "THAT person!" And I always say "no", just like responding to a knock knock joke with "who's there?" - which allows him to continue with the listing of ALL appearances the target has made in the past, and a list of their ingredients! - he is my personal IMDB. THANK GOD FOR DVR. Because while we are doing this retarded dance, we can pause the show, rewind or just plain go over it multiple times when I have to cranially catch up with what he's just told me.

I'm pretty sure that's the worst paragraph, structurally and informationally, that I've ever created. Oh well.

So far I have resisted trying to out recognize someone before he does. In other words, I continue to not pay attention as closely - because that requires concentration. If I can't remember to pout about something for more than 10 seconds, how am I going to learn to concentrate on commercials for more than the sparklie distractions that they are.

Until.

Until my Mr. Zoom pointed something out about a specific series of commercials that are running now. You know the ones with the people talking about how they need a phone service that works everywhere they do? How they show them in about 4 different places with each commercial? And they end with a name of a place like Phillawareapragakahn? Well, Mr. Zoom told me that each of the main "actors" in each of those commercials plays a different part in the other "actors" commercials.

AND IT'S DRIVING ME MAD(der than normal).

I was fine being the inattentive commercial drone. But now every time I see one of these commercials, even if I hear one going on somewhere, I have to stop what I'm doing and compare faces in the foreground AND BACKGROUND. HAVE TO. This is exhausting for someone who can't even stay focused long enough to fill her gas tank all the way to full.

In case any of you were like me, and are now cursed to seek out the similarities in those ads like one of those "spot the changes" games - all I can say is I'm sorry that you don't have a Mr. Zoom with you to make the madness hurt a little less.

Take this example. We were on the way to work this morning when a Serge Tankian song came on the radio. He's the singer from System of a Down. He has a very distinctive voice. Mr. Zoom said "OH, it's alternative music's own Ethyl Merman!" Which will make me laugh all day...until one of those stupid cell phone commercials comes on the t.v.

15 Minutes of ... Wait, Don't Tell Me... Is it Cheese?

Saturday was really quiet at the salon. I had to go get my bi-monthly fingernail tune up and was prepared to practically sleep through my appointment, as usual.

There was a woman there who I had never seen before. She was conversing with my manicurist, so I was able to hear that she was in on her "off" Saturday due to scheduling conflicts. And who cares, right? Least of all me, who as stated above, wants nothing more than to doze through the process and be shot back out into the world so I can go home and watch t.v. on my couch.

However, this particular Saturday having been the Thanksgiving Weekend, made it really really quiet in the salon. There was only one other manicurist in there, with her own sleepy client. My manicurist started up a conversation with the off Saturday lady ("OSL"). Before long, OSL offered that she had to go out of town next week to do some training in New Mexico. And that she was cooking a huge meal "tonight" and had to find an Italian supply shop to buy some key ingredients.

Because I'm as bright as the moon on a moonless night, I opened up my yap and offered that I knew of a local Italian supply store that might help her with what she needed. She responded to my nugget of advice by affixing the site of her Unwanted Verbal Fact Cannon on my heart. I was annoyed at myself, until OSL began to share with the entire room - her claim to fame. Although she does not call it fame.

What? I know. It doesn't quite make sense yet. Stay with me.

OSL is from Roswell, NM. She was born in April 1947. Without any of us asking, she informed us that was the site of the alien crash landing, and that it happened in 1947. And that the aliens came to her parents' house and switched out her mom's human baby for her. Which I thought was kinda decent for aliens, since they could have just taken the human baby and left nothing. Right? OSL, her friends and family have and do know all of the key people in the Roswell Crash Story, Myth, Parable - whatever. At this point my love of the Lunatic Fringe began to show and I was unable to keep my body from physically jerking when she'd proceed to another thread of the story. Baby coffins and secret this and that - she personally knows people. But until 20 years ago, she says she was never permitted to discuss the events outside of her home. When asked why (and not by me, because I was paralyzed with fear and glee while these things were being said), she said "Because they kept disappearing. All the nurses involved in the event, they all disappeared."

I've always felt like this conversation would be had in front of me or by me, but I always imagined it would involve a homeless person or an institution in the background.

OSL began to wind down her story by saying "I had my 15 minutes of ..." and she was searching for the word. She motioned to us in the room in that universal "help me fill in the blank" way that people do. When I offered up "fame", she said "NO!..that's not it" and waved the universal hand gesture for "idiot" at me. She decided to finish her sentence all on her own: "I had my 15 minutes of ...... but I was too young to enjoy it."

She didn't fill in the missing word. I MUST KNOW WHAT WORD SHE WANTED, but I cannot and will not ever know. Apparently it wasn't fame. Maybe alien babies are immune to our human fame. Perhaps she said the word, but like only dogs can hear certain pitches, we humans aren't equipped to know what her 15 minutes is called.

Like Caligula Unable to Conduct an Orgy

I've noticed a disturbing trend in broadcast television lately. It's that highly distracting, godawful blur out of people's faces and products. I HATE IT! Does anyone consider what happens to a mind like mine when blurr out shows up unexpectedly? My thoughts are sent spinning out of control like Darth Vader's stylie Tie Fighter at the end of Star Wars. Angry, evil and tons of time to sulk about it.

"Gee, I wonder why that person's face is blurred out. Did someone use a name, a face, an eyebrow that belongs to someone else? Who could possibly be upset about being on t.v. in some background, where I wouldn't even be looking EXCEPT FOR THAT BLURRING OUT THING THEY DO? Isn't this shot on a public street? Don't the people making this show realize that they are making their show look like my brother's prom picture from 1982? Back when people thought that fuzzy blur effect was kinda neat? Back when we all didn't know any better? Now I'm just annoyed and angry...and need to pick a fight with my husband."

WHY must I participate in this ocular rodeo?

AND, they are now blurring BACKGROUND ART. I could have sworn I was watching a re-run of Seinfeld the other night and a painting or picture in the background was blurred. WHO.IS.COMPLAINING? WHO? Because I demand the right to poke that person - all those people - right in the eye with my remote - left eye first, then the right if they don't agree to balls up and stop ruining one of the things I love most in life. TV shows.

THIS IS COMPLETE BLURRSHIT!

Where does the madness stop? Because apparently shows that were created and broadcast long before someone wadded up their undies, put them on and ran to their attorney with dollar sign pasties are not left alone. It's as bad an idea as Ted Turner colorizing classic films. BAD.

Let's just go ahead and castrate the entertainment industry using our court system. Who isn't excited to live in a world where all we are left with is memories of better times? That'd be neat.

Tagged by Pie

So Coconut Cream Pie (CCP) gave me a tag and the only prescription is more cowbell. Or, answers from me?

Four Jobs I Have Had In My Life:

1. Restaurant Research - telephone and in store surveys of fast food restaurants. This was before the internet changed marketing completely. I think they still have "mystery" shoppers though. I had NO life and I was in high school. I was a star employee, or so they said. As soon as I got a boyfriend I was outta there.

2. Mail Boxes Etc. - Pre-UPS/FEDEX/Kinko's mail merger store blobination. MBE was one of the only places licensed by the post office to sell stamps AND be a "post office box" location. We did HUGE business with UPS shipping. Christmas was fantastic for picking up more hours. I liked the job because I was on my feet a lot of the day and packing up packages for people. I was in college when I worked there.

3. Target. Cashier, planogram and for .5 seconds....receptionist. The sat me down at this huge board with blinkie lights and said "answer phones." There was no denying I sucked at that. So they sent me to planogram and part time cashier. I sucked at cashier too. Also, because of the employee discount - I never left with more than half of my paycheck. It wasn't a huge discount, but hey, anything off already low prices on crap you just don't need is reason enough to buy.

4. Secretary/Paralegal at a law firm. It's what I do now. I love what I do.

Four movies I can watch over and over and over:

This always changes around for me. But for now it is -

1. Billy Madison
2. Wizards
3. Dream with the Fishes
4. Monsters, Inc.

Four tv shows I like to watch:

1. The Soup on E
2. Scrubs
3. Family Guy - which I JUST found in syndication. Talk about missing the biggest funny boat ever!
4. The Office

Four places I have vacationed:

1. Ireland
2. Vegas
3. Thailand
4. Chicago

Four Of My Favorite Dishes:

1. Filet Mignon from Turner New Zealand
2. Flat iron steak from what used to be Rouge and is now French 75
3. Fish and Chips from The Olde Ship
4. Gringo Burrito from Rutabegoraz

and an illegal 5. Store bought chocolate cake directly out of the tin foil pan it came in.

Four websites I visit Daily:

1. Google
2. Court webpage with all the homepages of all CA courts linked
3. Dictionary/Thesaurus dot com
4. OMGkitty dot com [over in my links as "Pimphand!"]

Four Places I would rather be:

1. In a bookstore with unlimited, disposable income.
2. At home on the couch with Mr. Zoom and a Tivo full of new shows.
3. Photographing anything and everything.
4. Looking through my family's photo slides from the 60s and 70s.

Four bloggers I am tagging:

I'm still thinking about the cake. So tag yourself if you like.

"I don't even need to be here for this conversation, do I."

The time change. Oh, how I love falling back. Or what I consider returning to the REAL time. I don't know who thought robbing me of an hour of sleep for 6 months was a good idea. And then extending it? I continue to be bitter about that. My epitaph will probably read: "Here lies Zoom. Maybe now she will shut her yap about the injustices of Daylight Savings Time."

Mr. Zoom sometimes tries to go to bed before I'm good and ready for him to go to sleep. It is, quite literally where the "zoom" came from. My ability to verbally poke him when he's trying to start his slumber is not legendary yet. Although it will be when our story shows up on 48 hours because he decided to reclaim his God given right to go to bed whenever he feels like it - by taking me on a "camping" trip that goes tragically awry.

Last night was one of those nights. We were in bed and I kept filling the night air with my own voice. At times playful - others, trying and combative - and at ALL times annoying for poor Mr. Zoom.

In the middle of my one way rant, I felt Mr. Zoom's hands on my back. I said "Oh no you don't. Don't go trying to calm me with your kind, understanding, gentle hands." And that is when he ever so gracefully put me in my place. He replied "Oh, I'm just trying to make sure you stay over there [your side of the bed] ...

I like to call it ...

Crazytown."

And with that I laughed until little tears of joy sprang from my eyes. And he finally got to fall asleep.

Wrong Place Wrong Time Wrong Pen

I was trying to get a document served. I was working at the copy station, and I reached for a pen that was among probably 150 other pens - living in the Giant Bucket of Pens. These seem to be the community pens, the orphans, the abandoned and chewed upon. Normally I bring a pen with me from my desk. Not because I thought about it - it's just one of those habits.

Like when Mr. Zoom is driving us somewhere and I've got my own car keys in my hand. Even after I've gotten in the passenger side of his car.

I was busy putting together labels for the service when I noticed big blue fingerprints all over the proofs. The pen didn't even have the decency to stop gushing ink when I began looking for the source of the blue. I had grabbed the one pen in the Giant Bucket that had hemo-inka-philia .


I threw it away and then realized I should probably try and wash the ink off before it set in. All I could hear was my mother's voice scolding me for drawing on myself. Sure, not the same as taking a pen to your arms and legs when you are bored and 11 years old, but no matter. The same impulse that makes me hold my car keys even when I don't need them is the same one that is tuned into my mother's lecture frequency. Like satellite radio. She's in between the stations.

I went for the small kitchen on our floor that is close to the copy center. There's a sink and always soap in there.

Unfortunately there's also coffee in there. One of our Big Deal Partners was in there getting some coffee when I came barging in with my hands in the air like I'd been scrubbed up for surgery. I turned on the hot water and went right for the soap. I used lots of soap. I scrubbed long and hard. So much so that the hot water got very very hot and I hadn't been paying attention.

I mindlessly stuck my hands in the water to rinse. Before I knew what happened I realized I'd jerked them out of the water and shot HOT, SOAPY, INKY WATER all over one of our Big Deal Partners - and the room.

OMG.

I apologized and flailed. I Chevy Chase'd my way through the rinsing process and started handing out paper towels. Luckily whatever suit he was wearing was dark. He got away annoyed, but as far as I can tell, un-inked.

And it didn't budge the ink at all. It took two days of showering for it to finally disappear.

The Wise One; Ninja G

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

_____________________________

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

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

What Just Happened?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Make Sure You Watch Out for the Children!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It Was Only a Matter of Time

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

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

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

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

FRICK.

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

FRICKITY FRICK.

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



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


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

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

Squirrel Elvis Collecting Ur Nutz

Our regular squirrel Elvis has finally been caught on tape.

WTF with the Licorice Flavor?

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

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

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

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

Why I fear Wedding/Baby Shower Games

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. That is EXACTLY why I fear shower games.

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

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

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

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


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





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

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


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


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


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

Those Who Live in Stone Houses...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lonely Cart Cum Foliage - It's For the Fish

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

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



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



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



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



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

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

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

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