Zoom Colored Glasses

We are starting a new regular segment here at T.T.B.A.I., it is called "Zoom Colored Glasses. It will feature a collection of all the precious private moments of funny/non-segueway/creative hearing/creative vision I get to share with Zoom.

......and now I'm sharing them with you. Enjoy.

Me: You know, what's her name is out next week
Zoom: Whatever happened to her dad after his motorcycle accident?
Me: Oh, he lost a leg, but he made a full recovery
Zoom: There was no paralization?
Me: You mean, paralysis?
Zoom: Hmmmpfh....Yeah whatever

A.D.D. Shout Out

Text can be very tedious. You can have the funniest/scariest/wittiest bunch of words in front of you, but you have to invest something in them for them to mean or generate anything.

That is why I try to throw my beloved internet a bone now and again.

To all those who fall victim to the black magic of the blinkie box, day after day, this one's for you;

Here's a beautiful little something I stole from a blog written by a guy in Toronto. His whole blog is just pictures. He is my hero. If you listen really close you can hear The Fixx playing the background.



He continues to be my hero here. I am a sucker for winter photography. I loves me the cold. Rain. Cold. Good times. Why I live in California in the land of no weather is anyone's guess.



Oh yeah. This is one of the reasons I live in California. The Getty Museum. If you've never gone. Go. Seriously. It is truly amazing, both for it's architectural design and astounding collections. They have PB&J sandwiches there too. Which is nice.

Why It Is So Very Hard To Be Me

I am a vigorous nose blower and sneezer. I always have been. My theory has always been that if you can't feel or hear it, you aren't really blowing your nose or sneezing. Besides, these are two of the rare times in your life when you're allowed to get totally out of control and it is completely socially acceptable. Orgasms and tax audits being two of the other times. I actually loathe people who sneeze like cute little cartoon bunny rabbits. And the worst are the people that go through this huge pre-hurricane inhalation, only to end up not letting any of the sneeze out. AH AH AH AH AH......nothing. I swear that one of these days my buddy K is going to blow his own head clean off his shoulders. Kind of like if Scanners had a Persian character.

Anyway, I digress.

So I'm making with the thundering nose blow today and as a consequence of said nose blow, there is oft' much tissue residue on my shirt. Yes, I have to blow the foghorn that hard to make sure all the sinus critters have left the building. Because of the kleenex shrapnel, I am forced to dust myself post sneeze-fest. I always do this. Well, today as I'm making with the hanky decontamination, I am dusting myself off so veraciously, I dust one of the buttons of my shirt clean off. It's a little disconcerting to actually hear the post-sneeze residue hit the floor. It was then that I realized what I had done.

Either I need to consider cutting down on the Frappucinos or I may need counseling for my inner desire to flash my co-workers.

I Actually Heard Someone Say This Today

Where does the grrrr against people come from you ask?

I'll tell you. Plain and simply. It's all these self-absorbed monkeys walking around who have convinced themselves or fallen prey to the glad handing and back slapping of others that they are somehow "above" the petty duties/chores/worries of the "not above" masses

Monkey #1 - "I need a shipping slip"
Monkey #2 - "You can find them in the supply room"
Monkey #1 - "No, I need to send something out and my secretary is gone, so I need someone to get me a slip and fill it out for me"
Monkey #2 - "Oh, I see. I'll find someone for you"

FIND SOMEONE FOR YOU!? Yes I believe we have a one eyed armless tree sloth in the back that can handle this "chore" for you. Can you see or comprehend that in the time you worked up your whiny little soft shoe routine, you could have had the tedious task of filling out the form completed YOURSELF!

Sweet Christ people. If you get a degree, of any kind, remember this story. PH.D., D.R., J.D., coom bye ya, I don't care what it is or who you are. You still have eyes, ears, feet, hands and brains. Suck it up, take a gigantic step back, and get over yourself.

For The Gagillionth Time, WE ARE NOT HAVING KIDS!

This is most likely going to be a rambling and bitter stream of consciousness prattlefest. More so than normal. Try to keep up.

Here's the thing people, I love kids. I really do. They do great tricks. They don't have to follow the rules. They're adorable when they're puppies. They have superhuman powers. They make great faces when you feed them dill pickles for the first time. They are great excuses to get out of doing stuff.

But here's the other thing people, I would never want any of my own. As the saying goes, "Kids are great place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there". They can't talk to tell you what they need or what is wrong. They always need something and something is always wrong. They don't require the sleep that normal human beings require. They do not share and do not understand "No". They cannot be unplugged or deactivated. They are always covered in some type of viscous goo.

So all you baby machines out there, make with the offspring. Have 3. Have 4. Have an entire brood. Procreate like bunnies for all I care. The more you have, the less pressure I get as to why Zoom and I are not having any.

But, despite my lack of caring, here is one thing I CARE VERY MUCH ABOUT.

Pregnancy is a choice. Pure and simple. It is not an incurable disease. It is not a genetic abnormality. YOU CHOSE TO DO THIS TO YOURSELF. As such you do not get, nor are you entitled to special treatment. No, you cannot take 6 months off to chase little Sienna or Throckmorton around the house. No, you cannot come back and work ridiculous part time hours and expect the same salary. No, you cannot leave every Monday Wednesday and Friday at 2:15 because little Cassius or Ezmerelda has violin practice. No, you cannot waste hour upon hour talking baby talk over the phone to someone who can't even speak yet during business hours.

We hired you to work full time during regular business hours. Just because you decided to get jiggy with it sans-condom, does not exempt you from the conditions under which you procured employment in the first place.

Like I said before, have a baby. Have a million babies. Have all the babies. But making that choice for yourself, does not have anything to do with me. You choose to get knocked up, you also choose the consequences that come with it.

And before you get all riled up internet, the "having a baby of your own will change your opinion" argument is malarky. The only way that changes my opinion is to reinforce what I already know from experiencing the children my friends and family already have. That is, nothing puts me more at peace than when I get to take the rugrats back to their parents. Don't try using the "someone has to continue to populate the world" argument on me either. I completely disagree and disregard you totally.

They're are too damn many people on this spinning dirt clod as it is.

Why It Is So Very Hard To Be Me

So I'm hankering for a late day snack. Like I always am. My body is like a finely tuned watch. It needs food a very specific times, otherwise hostages start getting taken.

Anyway, I digress.

I'd forgotten my usual bring from home snack for this particular day, so I was forced to safari my way through the vending machine jungle. I gathered up $1 in change to make sure I could cover whatever bit of cleverly wrapped chocolate I might fancy. I started looking in the machine on our floor. Didn't feel moved by anything in it.

I went downstairs to the lobby to see what they had. They had Twix. Case closed. But now, a dilemma. If I had a Twix and it's corresponding chocolate, I'd have to have milk. Despite the lame commercials, it is true. If you have chocolate, you have to have milk. It's like guilt and communion.

So here's the problem, I have a buck, but a Twix is 55 cents and a milk is 60 cents. I needs more change, but I am too lazy to skulk back upstairs for the extra coinage. I check the change return thingies on all machines. Score! 10 extra centavos! I'm still short 5 cents. I then look around on the floor for any orphaned coins. No dice. I go outside to ask the kind guard for a Lincoln head, but before I can, a co-worker walks by and I ask him. He has no change, but offers me a dollar. Before I can take his loaner dollar the guard offers up the 5 cents. Score again! So I give back the dollar, give thanks to all and head back to the machine.

I start to load in all my change, but as I get to the last two frigging nickels, I drop two of them and one rolls underneath the machine. Lost forever in the same place all the socks from the dryer go. So, of course I am 5 cents short again.

So, I brave the possible case of tetanus and bend down to check for the lost coin. I don't find it, but I find a lost dime. I pop the dime in the machine and get the milk and have 5 new cents to pay the guard back with.

Ultimately, I waste about 30 minutes and break even. Well, I did come away with the Twix, the milk, dirty knees and a dirty hand. I guess that's not too bad.

The truly ironic thing is that I just got back from Vegas this weekend, yet had to wait until I got back to work to fight with money and a frigging machine to end up breaking even.

I should have stayed in bed.

How The United States Navy Almost Killed Me

So I'm driving down the 5 freeway south heading to San Diego. It's mid-morning so the traffic is mild. It is a clear day and visibility is very good. I have just passed the giant concrete nuclear breasts of San Onofre when it happens.

Something that really scared me more than I think it probably should have. But is scared the crap out of me nonetheless.

If you've ever driven this particular stretch of sometimes-freeway (everything they say about Southern California freeways is true - they are congested with cause-less traffic ALL THE LIVELONG DAY - the only time you can really drive anywhere on a freeway and not be driven to tears is the early morning hours - I cannot tell you how many times I have flailed about how mentally retarded the early developers/planners of Southern California must have been - "Why don't we make the freeways to all the big cities like LA only two lanes. Because any city or area that is constantly 70 degrees, never has rain and is close to the beach, will never be popular enough to warrant anything wider?" - nice job dipsticks - but anyway, I digress) you know that after you pass the fission reactor boobies, the 5 freeway bends along the coast and you get a great and unobstructed look at the ocean. This is also where all the Camp Pendleton jarheads go to practice making with the shooting and warring and stuff. There's almost always helicopters or tanks or battleships moving around and preparing the next batch of teenagers on how to make with the fighting.

What there has never been, until this day, was a nuclear submarine surfacing right off shore.

So me and a group of about 15 to 20 cars are driving along and we come to the photo spot bend in the freeway and this huge frigging Hunt For Red October submarine just pops up out of the water. I wish you could have seen the collective marshmallow in your grandma's jello jiggle affect it had on all of us. We all wigged out at the same time in the same amount. Just enough so you'd notice. It's just not something you EVER see.

After the "Sweet Christ, Nessie has found her way to Southern California!" shock wore off, it became very very cool. I'd never seen that before in real life. It was amazing how it went from being completely invisible to right there in front of you. It was very cool to witness.

Well, at least until a shirtless 300 pound Jabba The Hut with a body-hair sweater pulled up next to me. Then I just needed a shower.

This Is The Kind Of Baggage, I'd Like To Lose

We've all got it, but none of us will admit it. We are all living and breathing examples of what all the collective crap we have endured in our lives can and will do to a person. It's inescapable. We touch the iron and get burned, and we learn for a while. But the iron is just too enticing, and we put a finger on it once more.

At least that is the way it used to be. The way it was until Zoom happened.

My 20's were a complete disaster. I made a lot of really bad decisions and spent a lot of money I really never had. I almost drowned in a sea of credit cards. I had a myriad of self-esteem issues, most likely a product of being dumped by my first girlfriend. This was the girl that brought me out of my shell and taught me that girls would not kill you. She was my first love and my first time. I don't fault her at all for leaving me. I am thankful now for all the things she brought out of me and all the first times I got to experience with her. But hind sight does not change the loss and the hurt I felt when it finally ended. We were in love after all. How could you just walk away and forget love? That stung for a long long time. Bitterness and a lot of dark Depeche Mode songs followed.

This is how I staggered into my 20's. No self esteem and lonely. It seemed that any remotely pretty face that showed interest in me would be lambasted by my need to replace the love. I had a whole magazine stand full of issues and it only got worse as I went from girl to girl to girl. This is the period of my life where I developed a loathing of the name Jennifer. I had two bad Jennifer experiences. I will never have another Jennifer experience again as long as I live.

I am logical person. In fact, logic and reason are probably the closest things to religion I have. I believe that anything and everything has a cause and an explanation. It is with this mind-set that I sought to tackle love. What does it mean to be in love? What do you mean when you say you love someone? I remember sitting in the library for an entire 3 day weekend trying to reason my way around it.

What I finally cam up with is really simple. Love is thinking without thinking. It is driving home after a really horrible day and finding yourself stopping to get your love flowers. It is calling your love to tell them you're thinking of them at 10:12 in the morning. It is reading something or seeing something that reminds you of your love. It's your eye constantly being drawn to the things you know your love's eye would go to. Your love is always on your mind, but there's no effort to keep it there.

So I trudged along for 35 years and wallowed in relationship stupidity. I was close a couple of times, but ended up realizing how fortunate I was to side-step a landmine I thought was love. I knew I wanted someone to love, but their love had to be my love. That's where all the problems started and ended.

I had all these rules and conditions. Well, a man cannot live by dogma alone. I guess that is part of my new dogma. Subvert your dogma whenever you can. You'd be amazed at what can happen.

So I flailed for 35 years, but I finally found her. I know she's the one. I have never been more sure of anything in my life.

There's only one problem. I'm still carrying 35 years worth of baggage.

I am so terrified of losing her and so convinced I will, because of the past losses and mistakes. If she really knew what I would do for her and she in fact was evil, I'd have been in jail a long time ago. I try to tell her and show her I love her with every breath I take. I try not to smother her and listen when she tells me that everything is alright, but the baggage demons come calling. If I even sense that there is a problem, the logical and insecure side of me jumps at the chance to fix it. I am learning. It's been a lot harder than I ever imagined, but I am learning. I am trying to relax and enjoy this fantastic ride, instead of trying to anticipate when the car or how the car might go off the tracks.

The truth is she doesn't have anything that needs to be fixed. She doesn't have anything I need to tip toe around. She's good. She's good to me and for me.

I'm trying Zoom. I know it's hard dealing with me and my insecurities sometimes. Just know how I feel. Just know how much I care.

Maybe we need to go to Ireland again, and I'll finally lose the damn baggage there?

Can I Get An Amen?

Anyone else out there living with or kissing on anyone over the age of 30 who eats Cheerios right out of the box as though she were a teething toddler?

Anyone sleeping with anyone who sleep talks in vivid stories with elaborate plots and carefully crafted characters?

Anyone eat dinner with anyone who know's they are ordering a dish that is rife with something they don't like, but they don't ask for the dish to be made without it, because they find it more enjoyable to eat navigate around the bad?

Anyone seen anyone fight so violently with their clothes in the course of selecting an outfit, they are almost forced to re-shower to rinse off the clothes fight perspiration?

Anyone sleep with a blanket burglar who every night silently and precisely steals all the covers to perfectly cover only their half of the bed?

Anyone know anyone who can get so angry/frustrated/flustered they make up their own language?

.....or is it just me?

It Is Really Late

But I leave you with this, my beloved internet.

It is photographic proof that fairy tale love does exist. If a flailing frog like me can somehow end up with a beautiful princess like Zoom, there's hope for everyone.



Trip to the Aran Islands, engagement ring, digital camera, corny Notre Dame cap (what better item to wear in Ireland than a "Fighting Irish" cap, right?) and two weeks of beard growth sold separately.

The Madness And The Containers That Hold It

The brain and the thinking never stop. I've been in bed innumerable times and my mind is racing about this, that and the other. I tell you this, not because of a bloated intellectual ego, but because it helps you understand what I mean when I refer to the "madness". The thoughts and pre-occupations are not always deep and profound. If they were, I'd jot them all down, put them in a book and torture freshman philosophy majors with them. It's things like, worrying about property taxes, or whether or not we'll have a honeymoon, or whether any of the material I've written down over the years would make good stand-up comedy, or what color scheme we should use for the master bathroom, or what the pattern to all the numbers on LOST is. The simple point is that they are there. ALL THE TIME. A swirling Charybdis between my ears.

One of the earliest life lessons I ever got was from my mother. She sat my hyper-worrying sixth grade butt down and told my frankly, "You can't control what other people do". This little tet-a-tet came about because I was trying to grapple with the fact that not everyone did what they were "supposed to do" in school and I couldn't figure out why. Why would you know you had to do this or that, and yet not do it? It drove me crazy. How could you know you had homework and not do it? How could you know you had to cover your textbooks and not cover them? How could you know you had to go to school and yet not go?

Despite this early lesson, the control freak in me rages on. I try to lock it down, but it always escapes.

There are so many aspects of life and living that I do not have answers for and it drives my logical brain crazy. Yet, in the same respect I can let certain seemingly related things just slide. That is probably the thing that makes me the most nuts. Why do I fixate so intently on "A" when there is "B" right over here that is just as important?

Here's the big quandary I'm fumbling through right now.

I am in the most unbelievably amazing relationship I have ever experienced. It is quite literally perfect in all respects. I do not haveto concede or compromise on anything. As corny as it sounds, it is movie love. Her funny makes me laugh harder than I ever have. The joy she brings me makes me good cry harder than I ever have. She is the perfect woman. The love of my life. There is no work. There is no down side. There is nothing missing or lacking.

Herein lies the problem.

For whatever reason I've been cursed with this bizarre need to act as missionary to the world of the loveless. I want to go to anyone and everyone I can find that seems to be stuck in a less than blissful relationship and cure them of it. Having spent a good portion of my life in crappy relationships, I now have sort of a sixth sense for detecting those is pain. I want to fix it. I want them to have what I have. I want everyone to have what I have. I want them to know that they don't have to settle. I want them to know that a true and perfect love is out there. I want them to know that all the things they want and deserve are out there. I want them to not give up on love.

But, the madness takes over.

What kind of egomaniac am I to think I have the guide and the answers to anyone else? When has giving anyone love advice ever turned out well? Why do I care about the lives of awful people who treat people horribly just because their life's blow. It is plain and simply because of her. Everyone deserves a Zoom in their life. Because she's the only thing I've ever found to make all the voices of the madness melt away.

Her being in my life (as she puts it), ensures that most of the things that are dancing around in my head, stay neatly secured in their little sealed containers until I am ready to deal with them.

Me And My Idiot Friends

I always thought that any blog that had a good amount of pictures was way more interesting than your basic text blog.

Of course I find it impossible to function after the blinkie box comes on too.

A.D.D. monkeys of the world unite!

So, to that end, here you go internet. Here is the current crew aboard the ship of fools;

Supa C - The Idiot - Your host



Zoom - The Girl On My Arm



Skillit - The Other Girl On My Arm

The Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum

Hello again my beloved internet. It's magic time again. Time to share my inner most personal thoughts. My deepest and darkest thoughts and feelings. All those things that are so personal and so private.

......and yet I somehow feel compelled to scribble them out and make them accessible to the entire planet.

Here endeth our lesson on Irony.

Anyway, back to the days rambling, ranting and prattling on.

In order for this blog thing to work, I should probably fill you all in on a couple of things. Think of this part as the explanatory index at the back of the Lord Of The Rings books. Except it's a lot shorter and if you actual read it, it'll make the rest of the story significantly easier to follow.

The following is a comprehensive list of any terms, verbiage or sayings I may exploit during the course of any series of ramblings, rantings or prattlefests;

Killing A Clown - Flatulence. Plain and simple. It is a joke that Zoom started in so much as when I pass gas (as I frequently do), it sounds as though I have squashed a clown. And if you squashed and killed a clown, the last thing you would hear is the honking of it's joke nose. See what she did there?

Driving - Whenever a couple sits side by side at a restaurant. This makes no sense to either Zoom or myself, because it makes having a conversation very difficult. We know you're in love people, but you don't have to be fused at the hip to make your point. Talking face to face is SO much easier. Plus, it means you can't have all areas of the viewable spectrum covered to witness whatever freak show or fashion disaster might saunter by. Which is VERY VERY important.

Driving The 88 - Spending quality time onto he couch. We have a very particular family room the requires "things" of very certain sizes. We knew we had a certain size space for a couch to live. That size was 88 inches. Our couch is 88 inches wide. We get on it together and, well you get the point.

Zoom - This is actually a verb and a noun. It is actually something E said at some point to describe the inexplicable time when KK's cat just decided to freak out. He'd run around the place without provocation. He therefore dubbed this time of kitty koo-koo, as having the zooms. This concept was then applied directly to my darling KK when she in turn,and usually as inexplicably, started spazzing out and had energy oozing from her for no reason. She became Zoom.

The Crazy Chicken - It's El Pollo Loco. We eat there frequently.

Chicken Good - It house special chicken from Pick Up Stix. We eat here frequently too. And if you ever had house special chicken, you know what I am talking about.

CAKE! - A tension breaking or Zoom appexing random exclamation. Others in this category include; Torque Spackey!, My Sqiddely Spooge! and Ice Ceam Sammich!.

The Big Short Dance - It started when my brother and I were skateboard punks and wore nothing but baggy shorts. It is something that you do in mocking celebration. When your team wins. When someone speeds by you on the freeway and then gets pulled over. When a co-worker you loathe gets fired for being the lazy and pointless piece of stinking dung you always knew they were.

Supa C - That's me. Zoom and Skillit started calling me this. Also known as Movie Rain Man. If I've seen a movie or TV show and liked it, it's burned onto my brain.

Zoom - That's my girl (ivegotzooms.blogpsot.com). Also known as Special K, KK and Hot Girl. I am going to pay for that.

Skillit - That's our bestest bestest friend in the whole entire world. She's actually the third member of this here wedding party. Also known as Magic M and simply M. Don't get her mad, otherwise her voice will change, and that would be bad for you.

My Brain - My PDA. If I don't have it, it really is that simple, I don't have it. I put as much stuff as I can into it, so I don't need to remember it. There's not much room left twixt the ears because it's all clogged up with movie and TV lines.

The Blinkie Box - The stooooopid TV. I'm not going to get all preachy and tell you how bad TV is, BUT TV IS EVIL! If that damn thing is on, I'm toast. It literally hypnotizes me. It doesn't matter if it's "Law and Order" or "Intervention" or a "Friends" episode I've already seen 10 million times and I own on DVD, it incapacitates me. It is evil and needs to be stopped.

The Invisible Snow Plow - Have you ever been on the freeway, and there is traffic all of a sudden? You don't see an accident. You don't see construction. Then you finally sloth your way up to where the traffic is only to realize some half wit is driving 52 miles per hour. It's almost as though he's pushing an invisible snow plow through his imaginary drifts of stupidity.

The Car Trap/Keepers Of The Speed - Have you ever come across a phalanx of ignorance which spreads across all lanes of freeway that you cannot get around? These morons are the unknowing and completely unrelated Keepers Of The Speed who will never drive faster than 60. Their weapon of choice is the infuriating Car Trap which keeps all sane motorists in check and locked in behind them.

The Coffee Whistle - Every morning Zoom gets her coffee transfusion. Every morning she blows through the little whole on the lid thingy to cool it off. It makes the Popeye "toot-toot" sound. After Zamfir determines that the coffee has left Just Out Of The Volcano status, she commences with the drinkage.

Just Out Of The Volcano - Whenever anything is too hot to deal with. Usually the temperature of any foodstuff whenever I am ravenously hungry.

The Hot Water Time Machine - This was almost the name of my blog. It is where I do all of my thinking. You get in the shower in the morning, and the hot water feels so amazing, the next thing you know, you're 65 years old. I could stay in the shower all day. Thank God the hot water eventually runs out, or that's exactly what I'd do.


This is a good place to start. We'll take it slow and see how you do my beloved internet.

Everyone make sure you have a partner, and try to keep up.

Alright Already!

...........oh yeah

The internet commands that a blog divulge at least some little morsel of deeply personal information to the general reading public.

Alrighty then. To you, my beloved internet, I give you this.




The Fish I Loved. The Fish I Killed. The only kids me and the misses are ever going to have.

On a side note. To all of you with ponds out there. Never EVER replace all of your pond water at once. Even if your heart is in the right place and you want your fish to have clean and clear water. Trust me on this.

The only thing you're going to really clean is the life right out of your fish.

Fear Not The Tyranny Of The Blank Page

At least that is what I constantly told myself during all those long, late nights in college.

It got me through 6 uneven years then, so maybe it'll serve me again now.

The truth is, I've been meaning to do "this", for a long time. This itch to blog is the product of my muses. Whether it be Dooce's irreverent and candid humor (www.dooce.com), or the acerbic wit and brutal honesty of Maddox (maddox.xmission.com).

So how does it all start? How do all good and memorable blogs begin? Does that even matter? Do I need a hook? Do I need a gimmick? Does it even matter if anyone reads any of this?

Probably not. As long as I get it all out.

That is my purpose here. There is too "much" crap rattling around twixt my ears. Perhaps, if I jot it down, I can let it go to make space for "stuff" that actually matters.

You know, like my home phone number.

They say that a journey of a thousand miles always begins with a single step. So here you go my beloved Internet. I boldly go where a million melodramatic housewives and loved starved teenagers have ventured before me.

I am blogger. Hear me ramble/prattle on/whine/pontificate/flail/whimper/roar.