Hearing the Auditory

"Hey," I ask Mark as we merge onto 100 southbound, "Is driving with headphones in illegal?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I think so. Maybe you can only do it with a permit."

What? I laugh.

"You know," he continues, "It's like being deaf. I think you need a permit to drive if you are deaf because you can't, you know, hear things like sirens and stuff. You can't hear auditory signals."

"That's redundant. Hearing auditory signals."

"What?"

"You don't need to say both hearing and auditory," we approach the carpool lane. "Of course I would hear auditory signals."

"Well," Mark says as we round the corner, "I was just being ridiculous."

"No," I say, thinking about how much I like our little debates, "you often DO say things just to be ridiculous, but I don't think this was one of those times."

A pause.

"Well," says Mark archly, "That's your opinion."

Shit. I got nothing.
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P.S. If I would have really been on my game, I would have pointed out that EVERYONE needs a permit for driving. It's called drivers license. But, at the time I was distracted with pondering the fact that I drove with my ipod earbuds in yesterday - hence the legal question.

A Hole of What?

So, I'm sitting in my office today waiting for my lunch to finish cooking in the microwave when Ali pops around the corner.

"So," Ali says, "I went to the ortho today." Ali means the orthodontist. We are in a similar orthodontic situation in that both of our mothers told us that they would pay for braces if we got them now. We decided that we could get our braces at the same time thereby lessening the stigma of having adult braces. Ali had an appointment with the ortho today. I have yet to schedule one.

Ali launched into an explanation of her visit. Apparently her ortho work may require three years of braces and jaw surgery. And she has four baby teeth with no adult teeth underneath them.

"So," Ali says in summary, "my mouth is just a... hole of... fun."

Of course, I started laughing IMMEDIATELY. I don't think Ali got what was so funny for a moment. Then she covered her hole of fun with one hand and bent over laughing.

I knew, even as I was fighting off tears, that I would have to blog about it. Hee hee.

______________________________

So, after I posted the above blog I sat in my office waiting to hear Ali start giggling. I always post my blogs on Facebook and I knew she had her computer open out in the office. Sure enough, after about 12 minutes I heard her start laughing. Then I heard her footsteps coming toward my office door.

"Yes," she said as she popped her head around the corner, "I'm laughing at the blog."

"I know," I said.

No One Blogs Like Gaston

Yes, I realize that many of my blogs have a car-conversation theme. This one is no different.

Last night Jared, Annie, Mark and I were on our way back to Goodyear, AZ after seeing the play "The Light in the Piazza" at Phoenix Theatre. As we were exiting the 10 Jared sees the sign that directs travelers to the town of Surprise, AZ. Jared says, "I wonder if anyone ever is confused when asking people from Surprise where they are from? You know:

'Where are you from?'

'Surprise.'

'No, where are you from?'

'SURPRISE.'

'NO! WHERE ARE YOU FROM?'"

(Kinda like the whole "Who's on First bit").

Then Mark says: "I wonder if there is a town out there called Guess Where. Like, Guess Where, Idaho. I should Google it."

Jared says: "You'd probably crash the interent."

I laugh, "Like, the entire internet?"

"Yeah," Jared says, laughing. "Then, Al Gore would pop up on your computer screen and scold you."

Mark, still on the funny-town-name kick, says: "Or Wouldn't You Like To Know."

"So," I say, "Someone asks where you're from and you say Wouldn't You Like To Know"?

"Yeah," Mark says, "Like Wouldn't You Like To Know, Virginia."

"Don't call me Virginia," says Jared. We are ALL laughing.

_____________________________________

A little while later (I'm not sure how this happened) Annie and I were singing "Bonjour" from Beauty and the Beast. Earlier, at the theater, Jared saw a picture of the cast of Les Mis in the program and said it was from Beauty and the Beast. Annie said, no, it's from Les Mis. Later, Annie and I proved conclusively that it was, in fact, from Les Mis. Anyway, we were singing a song from Beauty and the Beast when Jared breaks into the "Noooonnnnneeeeee fights like Gaston..."

"Or," Jared says, "Like Mark said earlier: 'No one blogs like Gaston. No one tweets like Gaston..."

I start laughing REALLY hard. "When did Mark say that?"

Jared says, "When we were standing outside the theater. After I saw the picture of what I thought was Beauty and the Beast."

"So Mark said 'No one blogs like Gaston'?"

"Yeah," says Jared. "And 'No one tweets like Gaston'."

I thought this was HILARIOUS. I said that I was going to blog about this whole conversation. Jared said "Yeah, you can call it No One Blogs Like Gaston." And so I have.

Murderer

For those of you who do not know this, my mom was an English teacher. My mom was MY English teacher in high school. Growing up, I was never allowed to say things like "ain't" or "orientated" or to end sentences with prepositions. My upbringing has made it very difficult for me to ignore any misuse of the English language. Oh, also because I read a lot (A LOT) I have a pretty extensive vocabulary.

We were on 100 southbound about to hit the carpool lane when Mark used the word "intrepidatious" in a sentence. I don't remember what he was talking about, that's not important. What is important (and funny) is the fact he used the word at all and the conversation that followed.

"Intrepidatious is not a word," I said. "Intrepid is a word. Trepidatious is a word. Intrepidatious is not a word."

Mark laughed. "Did I offend your English sensibilities?"

"Yes," I said. "You offended my English sensibilities."

Mark laughed some more. "I am a murderer," he said, "of the English language."

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

I may have just accidentally eaten an entire carton of Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby ice cream. DON'T JUDGE ME!!!

In my defense, my freezer was not keeping it frozen. It was melty, on it's way to being warm, dairy soup.

Because it was so melty, I was 3/4 through the carton before I even realized it. At that point it seemed foolish not to finish it off. I WILL be going to the gym tonight... for about five hours...

Liberating Ziggy

Ziggy is our cat. Mark named him after the David Bowie song Ziggy Stardust. Ziggy is hilarious for many reasons. He's a worrier, for one. You can always see the worried expression on his face... like he's constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop... onto his tail...

Anyway, last night I was laying in bed reading. Mark had already gone to sleep. I had the bedside lamp on, otherwise the room was dark. Quinn was sleeping at the foot of the bed. I could hear Ziggy walking around on the floor. His nails make little click-click sounds on the hardwood. Then, I heard Ziggy go into my closet. There are two closets in our bedroom. Mine is on the left. I always leave the doors open (actually, I always leave most doors of most things open, much to Mark's continued dismay). I heard Ziggy doing... something... in my closet. It sounded like he was attacking something. There were sounds as he tried to balance himself on my shoes. I heard his claws scritching on the wall of the closet. I tried to look down to see, but it was too dark. Ziggy is a dark gray cat and he blends well with shadows.

I go back to reading. More sounds from the closet. It sounds like a rhino is in there, not a small cat. I sit up in bed, trying to figure out what is going on. All of a sudden, Ziggy flops out of my closet onto his back. His right paw is stretched up above his head, one claw snagged on a garment hanging in my closet. He wriggles. Think fish on a hook. His back legs and butt flop from side to side, but he remains stuck to the garment. He turns his head to look at me and lets out a seriously piteous meow.

I start laughing. I can't help it. I get out of bed and go liberate Ziggy from the closet trap. I pick him up and transfer him to bed while laughing. Ziggy is indignant. He meows. He seems to be saying "Quit laughing at me." But I don't. I can't. Ziggy tries so hard to be a distinguished gentleman, then gets stuck in the closet.

Of course, Mark woke up because I was laughing so hard. He looks at me. Mark gets this look on his face when I'm laughing hysterically at something that he thinks is only mildly amusing. That's the look I get as I explain what happened.

"I had to liberate Ziggy," I said. "He got stuck in the closet."

Mark sort of grunts at me.

"It was really funny."

He rolls over.

"He was stuck in the closet," I say. One last attempt to get him to understand the hilarity.

I don't think he fully grasped the humor of the situation.