Friday, May 25, 2012

"Oh, that's going on the blog..."

A more apt title would be: There would be 50 more posts on here, if my memory didn't suck and/or I wasn't opposed to having blog posts temporarily tattooed to my body.

Once again, Lawyer Jim & I were having some discussion that started out perfectly normal and straight forward, only to have it make a severe left turn, followed by a complete 360, double somersault, and triple toe loop, and inevitably, doing the splits instead of sticking the landing. Invariably, one of us will say, that should definitely go on the blog. I make a mental note so I can write about it later--because we are usually in the car or about to pass out for a few hours sleep when this happens--and move on to what's for supper or snoring.

Then by the next day, I get on my computer and realize that once again I am suffering from temporal amnesia. Rarely do I remember what the serious conversation was about. Even when I do, I can no longer remember what happened to make it so hysterically funny that either of us thought it was blog worthy.

It's been happening so often lately, that I started wondering if I was just dreaming this stuff up.

You know when you have some dream about going to take your final exam in a class that was crucial to you graduating, only to find out the professor--who in real life was your 3rd grade teacher--has declared that the exam is only worth 10% of your grade and the rest is based on attendance. Which sucks because you haven't been to class all semester since you already knew how to color inside the lines, do basic addition/subtraction, and read above a first grade level--for those of you who can't follow my dream, this is what the syllabus you got on the first day said would be covered in your world history course--so you never went to class since you knew you would ace the final exam.  Also, you realize you're going to flunk the final exam, because apparently your World History professor covered differential equations, advanced spanish grammar, and geospatial imaging in order to properly teach the course.

Then you wake up in a cold sweat, looking around to see everyone's disapproving stares, only to realize it was just a silly dream, because you didn't sign up for World History this semester. Never mind the kindergarten level syllabus, the 3rd grade teacher that just happens to become your college professor, the random mix of upper level subjects thrown into a World History exam, or the fact that you haven't take a college course in over a decade that should indicate to you this was a dream.  It's the fact that you specifically remember choosing to take Latin American History instead of World History.

What? You only have dreams about unicorns pooping gold?  Well, screw you. Not all of us can have rich, fanciful dreams in this economy.

Anyway, the point is. I thought maybe I was dreaming up these blog worthy conversations and didn't realize they were dreams because the absurd parts of a dream obviously don't register in my brain as possible indicators of dream versus reality. Plus, since the real conversation part is factually correct, my brain wouldn't say: "That was obviously a dream, because you are actually filthy rich, so there's no reason for you to be having a conversation about whether you should A. go to the dentist or B. take one of the three pets, that are well overdue for vaccinations, to the vet this month.  You're swimming in money after all, so go get titanium dental implants and a new stupidly inbred toy poodle and donate your old pets and teeth to the poor."

Instead, my brain says: "Sorry, that dentist versus vet thing was total reality. You're so poor, that you should be glad they don't have debtor's prison anymore. However, I noted your anxiety disorder was kicking into overdrive again when you realized the answer was neither this month, again, since images of toothless Lawyer Jim in court and worm infested dogs and cats were coming in faster than I could delete them. So, for your own good, I created a brain distraction, so you didn't overload, and when you were sleeping I removed the whole conversation from the files. So, that's why you can't remember that conversation, but no it wasn't a dream.  You're welcome. Oh, and before you start thinking about the dentist versus vet thing too much again...a giant metal chicken, a weasel, and a monkey with a leprousy snout knock on Lawyer Jim's door and invite him to buy into their Tardis timeshare, which only costs four new sets of towels a year." (Ok, if you didn't get that joke, you obviously still haven't discovered The Bloggess. Shame on you, because that joke was fucking hilarious!)

However, I don't trust my brain to tell me the truth these days though, so I asked Lawyer Jim about it. He also remembers the words, "that is definitely going in the blog," being uttered. However, he also seems to be suffering from temporal amnesia. Probably, because when you've been married for almost 15 years you develop this wireless link between processors, I mean brains. It's good most of the time, because you often don't have to verbally communicate with each other, however, if one of you gets a malicious brain virus (most humans refer to it as a stress induced panic attack), then the other is in danger of getting it too.

I'm also realizing this whole posts is not going to make sense to anyone but me and possibly Lawyer Jim. If you do understand it, then be afraid. Be very afraid. Also, have you're brain scanned for malicious viruses, stress, anxiety, faulty wiring, old age, etc.

Oh, yeah. The temporary tattoo thing. As the Insanity Wrangler, I have a strict policy against ME having tattoos, especially ones that have more than one word. First, because it'd hurt like hell, and I'm a wimp when it comes to pain. Secondly, temporary or permanent tattoos of a blog nature would freak me out all the time, because I would forget that I had them. Then invariably I would get all self-conscious and freak out when people stared for extended lengths of time at specific parts of my body up close like they were examining some hideous mole with a long hair coming out of it, all because I forgot that I had to write in very fine print to fit the entire post on my left, bicep.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

I'm pretty sure Lawyer Jim is NOT going to let me forget this day for a long time.

I was anticipating today to be a pretty awesome day. After all, even though Lawyer Jim had all four wisdom teeth yanked out yesterday, he seemed to be recovering very well. So, I was anticipating being able to  go to the office for awhile to get some work done, and then going with my friend Lady Bird (more on her some other time) to the book signing for The Bloggess.

(What? Why did you just ask "What's a bloggess?" OMG, OMG, OMG! It's not a bloggess! It's THE BLOGGESS. There's only one. Stop, stop, stop! Go read here, then come back. I know it may seem like a random blog entry, but trust me, it's not. This is the place to start reading her blog. If you don't immediately think, "Wow, she is the most awesome person ever!", then you just don't get it and you never will.

You won't get me either, for that matter. I swear, The Bloggess and I are kindred spirits. I just have to figure out a way to let her know, without appearing like a total stalker. To sum it up, The Bloggess is awesome. I wish I was a tenth as awesome as her. Today was my chance to bask in her awesomeness.)

So, back to me.

Instead of the day going smoothly like I planned...God, Zeus, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or insert your own deity here, laughed so hard he pissed his pants. And, the day went like this. I unknowingly fed Jim poisoned yogurt as soon as he woke up, which made him wretch & vomit for the next SIX hours. During that time, I tried everything I could think of to be helpful and comforting. However, by the end of it we were both exhausted, and I was convinced that my breathing the same air as him was what was causing him to worship the trash can all day. So, between almost killing Jim and dealing with my ever increasing anxiety over finally getting to meet The Bloggess (or not, as it seemed at this point), I went into full melt down.

Yep. Jim can't keep anything down, including anti-nausea medication, and I'm bawling about being the worst wife ever, the worst friend ever (Lady Bird was having to make alternate plans for going to the book signing), and generally the worst human ever.

So, suddenly Jim tells me he's done vomiting, to get ready to go, and he's going to escort me to the book signing. In my defense, he really likes The Bloggess too, so he's not doing it completely for me. Okay, he so is, because he knows it's a big deal for me to meet her, even though I'm totally embarrassed at the same time that I actually idolize someone semi-famous.

That's right folks. Not only is Lawyer Jim the most awesome Pirate Karaoke Hunter ever, he's now Super Jim. Whose super power is the ability to stop vomiting at will. I hear snickering, but you'll change your mind one day when you have Norovirus, and are begging anyone within ear shot to put you out of your misery before you vomit for the 100th time.

So, we went to the book signing. Jenny was awesome! (We're not really on a first name basis, but I like to pretend we are.) I wanted to say awesome things to her, so she would realize we were kindred spirits, and she would invite me to travel with her on the rest of her tour. In actuality, I just mumbled a bunch of crap about almost killing Jim today with bad yogurt. Not surprisingly, I didn't get an immediate invite to travel with her. She's probably worried I'll try to poison her too.

We did get our books signed. And, even though, she'll probably never remember us, I know I'll never forget the day I got to meet her. I also know that Lawyer Jim will never, never let me forget either. Oh well, it's worth it...I think.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

UPDATE TO: TSA's refusal to full body scan me, or otherwise feel me up, is starting to affect my self esteem.

This will make a lot more sense, if you read the original post first. Well, maybe it will. Got it? Now, read on.

Upon my return flight home a couple of weeks ago, the old TSA agent guy sent me to get my full size nudie pic taken. They made me wait on the other side for a minute. I assumed it was to give me my copy, like at the photo booths at theme parks. However, they just let me go without explanation. I suspect the old guy is keeping it for himself. So, now I feel a little a creepy, only the old men want to see me kind of way. Yay me.

The old guy did NOT let Jim get his picture taken. I guess Jim's not his type. However, Jim had such a massive nest of electrical cords in his computer bag, the other guard suspected he had a bomb. So, the guy unpacked his bag and ran it through the scanner again. No one tried to grope him this time either. He looked a little exasperated. I reminded him that he had to go through 10 more times before he gets another complimentary "special massage".

Things NOT to do when a US Marshal is knocking on your front door at 6 AM.

1. DO NOT not answer. He can hear the tiny dog yapping, and then being quieted, and then yapping again the 2nd, 3rd, 4th...15th time he knocks on your door and rings the door bell. He's NOT going to go away. You ARE pissing him off.

2. DO NOT lift the paper covering the transom on your door to peep out, and STILL NOT answer.  We all just saw you and now US Marshal & Lawyer Jim are pissed off that you're wasting their time avoiding the inevitable.

3. DO NOT send your overnight guest out the side door, to see if the US Marshal & entourage have given up.  He just looks ridiculous, when he looks directly at our car down the street, starts texting "somebody" on his phone, and then pretends to go for a little morning stroll.

4. DO NOT try to sneak out in your mini van to go to work & not expect the Marshal & Lawyer Jim to do a classic police car interception to stop you & escort you on foot back to your house. Yes, we were blocking the street for several minutes. Yes, it was awesome.

5. DO NOT lie to the US Marshal & say you didn't hear him pounding on your door for 15 minutes, when he dresses you down for wasting his time. It's a ludicrous excuse--half of your neighbors clearly heard us, because I've never seen so many people walking their dogs, pushing out their trash cans, picking up their papers, etc., at 6 AM all with one eye on your house.

6. DO NOT interrupt the US Marshal to ask if you can call your work to tell them you're going to be late.  As pointed out by said US Marshal, you had the last 45 minutes when you were hiding out in your house to advise them of the possibility of your tardiness. Now you are on his time & you don't get to waste his time. (There's really no font that conveys the tone he said all of this in. Try to picture a parent dressing down their teenager for attempting to sneak into the house after curfew, but in total Drill Sargent mode.)

7. DO NOT lie to the US Marshal & Lawyer Jim about the number of counterfeit products you own that are to be seized & where they are all located. You were easily tripped up by a couple of simple questions about it, at which point you finally admit there's another set in one of your vehicles. So, now NO ONE is believing your personal sob story you told us a few minutes earlier or feeling sorry for you at all.

8. DO NOT suddenly decide that the best time to start a new honesty policy is when the US Marshal asks where your "friend" (the one that was doing counter-surveillance) is going to by replying, "I assume he's going back to his wife's house." You just forced the slightest facial reactions between US Marshal & Lawyer Jim (kind of a half eye roll/slight glance to each other of "Did she REALLY just say that?"), who magically otherwise keep a straight face.

I, of course, chose to turn around and giggle on the inside at her insanity, and hoped no one noticed my convulsing, as I tried to keep it together.

Still, I think US Marshal is now going to have to submit himself for a refresher course on "How to Keep a Straight Face in Absurd Situations". Good news! You probably will make it into the 2013 US Marshal's training manual on a new example of how to handle the absurd. That's something to be proud of...I...guess.

So, in summary, if the US Marshal knocks on your door, just open it right away & deal with it (Or, duh, stay away from your door & call in sick!). Never interrupt said Marshal. Finally, it's time to realize that if you're at the point where a US Marshal is pounding on your door with a seizure order, honesty is probably the best policy. Unless you're talking about your overnight guest. Then vagueness is appreciated.