I Think You Misunderstood Me When I Said I'm Paranoid...

What do you think people misunderstand most about you?

I've been putting this one off because I couldn't think of an answer. As far as I'm concerned, I'm a pretty open book. There's the whole emoting thing. And, believe me, exaggerating expressions to make them more readable doesn't work. It just makes people think you're crazy:

I'm so happy to frost this cake!

But, I tend to do fine in general social situations and all my friends already know I don't emote well, so this really isn't news or really a problem. My friends just ask me upfront if I'm joking or what I meant by whatever. 

I took my problem to my friend Angela. She writes the blog where I got the list. I explained to her that I just don't feel misunderstood. (Who knew that would ever be a problem?) First, she suggested how I write how I'm tough on the outside but I like to wear girly bras. Unfortunately, though I have some cute bras, my favorite is a full coverage nude bra that is completely unsexy. And, if I had my way, I wouldn't wear a bra at all. They're terribly uncomfortable. So that was out. 

Then I suggested my dislike for puppies and this conversation happened:

Disclaimer: No puppies or babies were hurt in the making of this conversation and Angela happens to really like babies. 

Okay, maybe puppy hating wouldn't make me very popular and perhaps it's more of a misconception than a misunderstanding. Hm. I decided to ask my husband. 

Me: "Angela and I are doing this list thing on our blogs and one of the questions is, 'What do you think people misunderstand most about you?'"

Husband: "That's not something you ask your husband. That is a loaded question. No man would answer that question if he wanted to live!" Then he backed away and disappeared into the kitchen. 

Who you calling paranoid?

I think he misunderstood me. Maybe. I certainly felt more paranoid than when I started this quest to be misunderstood. What the Hell does he know about me that I don't know? 

For the sake of our marriage, I'll let that one go. Angela helped distract me from cornering my husband and twisting his arm until he confessed everything. She suggested that perhaps people think I'm tougher than I really am. That things bother me more than I let people know. Or, as she put it, "Julie-she has feelings." This followed with me calling her a liar and threatening to punch her. 

But, she's right. I have a TON of patience and most things don't seem to bother me. It's hard to know I'm mad unless I'm really, really mad. It's hard to tell I'm sad unless I'm really, really sad. I handled my mother's death with very little crying. Not because it didn't hurt, but because there were things to do, people to take care of, and just no time. I had nightmares about her trying to kill me instead. I was bullied as a kid and stood up to a lot of bullies in defense of my friends from my elementary life through high school. I faced off with anybody who wanted to cause me or my friends trouble no matter gender, race, size, grade or age. I discovered real quick not to let people know when I was hurt, physically or emotionally. Then, people started depending on me and they needed me to be strong. They needed me to be a rock. So I was. I was this unshakable, tough-as nails, chick that the seniors nicknamed "Vicious" when I was a freshman. Like I said, it didn't matter how much older or bigger you were than me, I didn't put up with crap. But, it has come at a price. I've been so busy showing the world how tough I am, how solid I am for people to lean on, how stoic I can be, that I actually let people run over my feelings all the time. I get taken advantage of all the time. "Julie doesn't care." "Nothing bothers Julie." "Julie doesn't have feelings to tread on." But I do. I hurt as much as anyone else. I have been betrayed, crushed, and devastated. I have cried so hard that I have thrown up. I have screamed from emotional agony. In fact, I take antidepressants. 

So there's the horrible truth. The thing that people most misunderstand about me. I'm human and it's not that hard to hurt me, it's just harder to see the wound. 

You Can't Ground Me! I'm in My Thirties!: My Relationship with my Parents

Describe your relationship with your parents.


My mom is dead. She died in May 2008 from complications from a stroke. She went into a coma the doctor said she would never come out of, so we took her off life support and then she died a week later. That's the short version. It was really a month long ordeal where she would start to get better and then get really bad, and then start to get better, and then get really bad until she finally died. I had nightmares for months that my mother was trying to kill me.

I still feel I have a relationship with my mom. I still see her in my dreams, but instead of trying to kill me, she is just my mom and she's usually wondering what the Hell I'm doing. She had a lot of health problems, so my dreams usually have us in her bed. Sometimes she's stroking my hair. Or I might be on her floor cleaning up various magazines and catalogs and matching up shoes.

I can't lie and say I had the best relationship ever with my mother. We fought. A lot. But, the last couple of years of her life, we had learned to get along and enjoy each other's company. I called her almost every day, usually on my drive from my house to pick up Corey from preschool, a 30 minute drive. She was on the phone with me when I went into preterm labor with Sammy. I was driving and having sharp pains and we were both so calm about it. What other way can you be about something like that?

When she was in the hospital, I spent every day there with her, even when she didn't know I was there. I brushed her hair, I washed her face, I read to her, I told her what crazy outfit Corey had chose to wear that day, I told her about Sammy's milestones. I told her that we are tough women from a long line of tough women and we have to fight.

Sammy goes to the preschool now and  I really miss my mom on those drives. I miss her when I go to Sonic to get a drink. I miss her when the seasons change or when I see a pasture of horses, cows or goats. I miss her when I drive the car she gave me with it's burnt orange interior. I like that so many things remind me of her. It keeps her here and makes me feel I still have a relationship with her.

My father is a pretty neat guy. I'm afraid I didn't know that growing up, and I wish I had. He's funny, witty, full of duty, and hard working. He has quirks that make me extremely happy. Quirks do that to me. They make me happy because they prove how human, real, and unique a person is. My father is a lot like other fathers in all the cliche ways, but he also collects plastic utensils, has a cupboard of Snicker bars and Almond Joys, and way too many pens and clocks. He has a shirt that is white with blue flowers on it and is way too thin because he wore it way too long. I worry that he's tossed it away by now, but I would do anything to have that shirt because it's "Daddy." Hearing my dad's voice is like having a bowl of home-cooked chicken noodle soup. It's familiar, warm, chunky, satisfying, and just a little country. I like to hear him laugh because I know there's real amusement there, not just polite laughter.

I have a stepmother now and I guess I can't really talk about parental relationships unless I also talk about her. It felt strange realizing I had a stepmother and stepbrothers and stepsisters when I was in my thirties. I felt too old for such things. But, as stepmothers go, she's a great one. She loves my dad and makes him happy and she's made the house look great. She's kind and opinionated and can't sit still. She fits in perfectly, really. Her transition into the family has been smooth. Sometimes my loyalty to my mother will make me think some not so nice things. Mostly, it concerns the house and how traces of my mother are being erased. Or, how my stepmother drives my mom's old car. Holidays are another one. I always host Easter at my house for my family and Steve's family. Last year, my dad and stepmom hosted Easter at their house for my stepmom's family. My brother went over there instead of coming to my house. I tried not to let that get to me, but it hurt. Those kind of things go through my head and probably always will, because I love my mom and I love our traditions and things have changed. I do NOT like change. But, my relationship and feelings about my stepmom are positive and pleasant all around. I don't worry so much about my dad because of her.

So, in short, I get along with my parents, living, dead and step and I can only hope my kids feel the same way about me when they're both grown.

Tables, Sunrises, and a Hot Pink Bag

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before that I have a lot of health problems. While my kids were out for Spring Break, Zombie Mom stayed in bed feeling like zombie hunters had given her head a good bashing. Ugh. I also got news that Gary the gallbladder will have to be removed. I wish Gary luck in his future endeavors as long as they don't take place in me. 

I was perusing the list, trying to figure out just want I want to talk about and decided to take a trip down memory lane.


Describe 3 significant memories from your childhood.

1. My sister left home when I was in 3rd grade. I remember my mom following her in the car, telling her to come home, but my sister wouldn't. She had this huge, puffy, hot pink bag filled with all her stuff. My mom gave up, went home and locked herself in her room. We were told not to tell anybody what was going on. We were told we no longer had a sister. My grades dropped. I stopped doing my homework. I was one of he last kids to learn my multiplication facts and missed recesses to study them. I also had to walk around school with a progress report pinned to my shirt so I wouldn't forget to take it home to get signed. I withdrew into myself. My mom yelled at lots of people. She cried a lot. My brother and I took over the chores around the house. My sister leaving shaped everything from then on out. If I got in trouble, I was compared to her or, worse, called by her name. I didn't blame my sister for leaving. I didn't blame my mom for my sister leaving. I missed and loved my sister and wanted to see her badly. But, still, I didn't want to be compared to her or called her name because I'm me, not her. Plain and simple. I know my mother was trying to shame me, but it really made me feel like my mother would never really see me because she was always thinking about my sister. I got depressed and was told I had no reason to be unhappy. I was told I was just trying to get attention. It was a dark time and I wasn't supposed to tell anybody.

2. I had a best friend named Brad. He meant the world to me and we were always planning to runaway and live off the land. There was a giant field a couple of blocks from our houses and we used to go out there whenever we could, though we weren't allowed to do so. There was a little pond out there where you could catch perch and piles of dumped rocks, gravel and dirt to climb and jump across. The grass was up to our waists and grasshoppers sprung up in all directions. We loved the red-winged blackbirds. Brad had a border collie and we used to chase rabbits with the border collie. We never caught one, but it was fun. I have lots of memories about that place, but one really sticks out in my mind.

It was Saturday morning and still dark outside. Brad and I sneaked out while everyone was still asleep. We had tied long scraps of cloth around our necks as capes. When we got to the field, we were cold and the sun still wasn't up. We pressed up against one of the piles of rocks to shield ourselves from the wind. Then we untied our capes, combined them and hid under them to stay warm, huddled close together. Completely innocent. Our teeth were chattering and we didn't talk, just waited to get warm. We noticed that it started to get lighter, so we peeked out from under the cloths. We were facing into the sun and it was just coming over the horizon, orange, big and bright. The sky was a swirl of pinks, yellows, oranges, purples and blues. It was the very first sunset I had ever watched from beginning to end. Neither of us moved until the sun had completely lifted off from the horizon. I treasure that memory. It makes me smile every time.

3. My mother was the youngest of ten kids, so we had lots of aunts, uncles, cousins and second cousins. I loved visiting all of them, but my favorite place to go was to my Uncle Pope's house. He lived in the country and had a small farm. I always felt I belonged more out there than anywhere else. I hung out with the cows and played with their thick ears. I explored the pastures with Stockyard, my uncle's Australian Cattle Dog. I chased chickens and kept the geese from biting me by carrying a stick with me. I knew every inch of that land and every hole in the chicken coop. It excited me to no end to be asked to put hay out for the cows or feed the chickens.

I loved the inside of the house too. It was small and the floors creaked and everything was old. They had a big table that smelled like maple syrup. Uncle Pope, Aunt Ruby and I were always the first ones up in the morning. I would sit at the table with Uncle Pope while Aunt Ruby made breakfast. We talked about all kinds of things. He showed me the Farmer's Almanac. He'd ask my opinion on what crops he should grow. He taught me what head of cattle meant and showed me how to incubate chicken eggs. He said that he and I needed a hound so we could listen to it bay at night. He was a man that understood me and I loved him a lot. He made me feel like a bit of that place was mine too.

Bonus Post: Why I Call Myself "The Zombie Mom"

"The Zombie Mom" is a vague nod to the opening credits of Shaun of the Dead. If you're not familiar with Shaun of the Dead, it's a 2004 zombie/comedy (Zom-Com?) starring my nerd-crush, Simon Pegg.(Holy cow, I just lost half an hour looking at Simon Pegg pictures on Google!) The opening credits leads the viewer on a tour of the neighborhood where Shaun lives. We see the places and the people as objects in Shaun's everyday environment. But, what the credits really tells us, is that we're already zombies. We're already shuffling through the day, not really noticing each other, going about our routine. Average is as average does. As we know in real life, people who are different than the mass majority are either assimilated, or chased off. Well, guess what? In a zombie society, those different (alive), are either assimilated (zombified) or chased off (ill-fated survivors). Another common motif is the idea that we are already monsters. This largely plays in the George A. Romero zombie films where the survivors are no safer with the living than they are with the dead. To that end, we are already zombies and the monsters are already here and I am "The Zombie Mom."

I have always loved horror movies, though, as a kid, they often kept me terrified to sleep. As a kid, I had a crush on Freddy Krueger. (Yet terrified of Gary Busey? It doesn't even make sense to me.) I watched The Blob, Friday the 13th, Halloween, Silence of the Lambs, and all those campy horror movies created for the preteen set: The Gate, Critters, Killer Klowns from Outer Space, and various others. But, it wasn't until I met my husband that I really began to appreciate horror movies and eventually became a zombie movie connoisseur. While I watched movies simply to watch them, my husband had a more in-depth knowledge of actors, directors and background information. It took awhile, but soon I could add to a conversation about a film (my husband taught me about music too) and grew hungry to learn more. I took a class, "Writing About Film." It was in that class that I REALLY learned about camera angles, director marks, what film says about the culture in which it was made, and all that other nifty stuff. I'm by no means an expert at all, but it really took my enjoyment of film to a whole new level. And as Steve and I dove into horror movie after horror movie (and nightmare after nightmare), I became fascinated with zombies. These days, that's pretty common, which is great for buying awesome zombie merchandise, but also makes you feel like you're following a fad even though you liked zombies long before the fad. Long Live...errr...Long Shuffle Zombies!

I also feel like a zombie. I shuffle about, creak, groan and pop every time I move, and go about my business with a sorta unawareness. I don't feel awake until I have a cup of coffee. And, my insomnia and pain at night  keep me so foggy-brained that I don't even feel like I have a brain. Also, as a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM), I don't socialize with adults much, especially if it doesn't include kids. That's why my tagline mentions the desire for brains and coffee. The coffee is to help me out of my brain-fog, and the brains means conversation with an adult without the presence of children.

So there you have it! The story of the title of this blog!

Rise and Shine, Zombie Mom, It's Another Day Like All the Others!

Describe a typical day in your current life. 


There's really no need for an alarm around here with two kids, five dogs and a cat. If the kids don't wake you up, the dogs wanting to go outside will. And if the dogs don't wake you up, the cat wanting to be fed will surely make you roll out of bed if only to throw yesterday's laundry at the whiny brat. I can count many a time that I have woken up with the sensation that someone was there, opened my eyes, and right by face is either a child's face or several dogs. It is not uncommon for a typical morning to start with the a startled, "Oh, dear god!"

Usually, my husband gets up before me. If I'm lucky and he closes the bedroom door, I will be able to avoid waking up to faces in mine. But the cat will still wail up and down the hall and the kids will be fighting, or Sammy, the youngest, will throw a fit because he can't get a game to work properly or Lady, the pit bull, has run off with his plastic sword.

My husband makes the coffee. I try to avoid making coffee if at all possible. I can do all the things my husband does and I still can't make the coffee right. I made it this morning and it sucks. Husband says he likes it, but I think he's just being nice. Half the time husband makes breakfast too, but, sometimes I just eat a bowl of shredded wheat (any brand) or a bowl of instant oatmeal. Here, lately, because of my gallbladder issues, my husband has taken to boiling eggs, taking out the yolks, cutting up the whites, adding sea salt, and serving the eggs with a bagel with Smart Balance spread and a bit of honey. This is a breakfast he created himself without prompting after researching my issues a bit. Extremely sweet, and actually not too bad!

If it's Tuesday or Thursday, when both kids are in school, we spend the morning and early afternoon either out running errands, or watching TV. We watch all kinds of things and The Man (as we like to think the animals think of him) usually controls what we view. It has always been this way in our 12 year marriage, and I don't mind. If I REALLY don't like something, I can tell him and he'll change it, or I'll go do something else so he can watch it. But, that doesn't happen that often. We watch horror movies, 30 Rock, Colbert Report, The Closer, Buffy, Haven, Dexter, Sons of Anarchy and Doctor Who. We just started Game of Thrones and a Midnight in Paris, but it's Spring Break for the kids, so it's slow going.

If it's Monday, Wednesday or Friday, we spend the morning/afternoon with My Little Pony or some super hero cartoon on for my four-year-old son. He loves My Little Pony and the Avengers is currently his favorite super hero cartoon. It is not uncommon for him to be Night Mare Moon, Captain America, Wonder Woman, The Hulk, and a puppy in the span of 15 minutes. Occasionally, he comes home from school and tells me he can't be Wonder Woman because Wonder Woman is a girl. I tell him that he can pretend to be whomever he wants. That's the great thing about pretending, you can be anything. One time, he was playing dragons with his sister and decided he wanted to be a boy dragon that just had an egg. Corey told him boy dragon's can't lay eggs and I told her to leave him alone. Who is she to limit his imagination? She agreed after I put it like that and they went on to play.

If my husband goes to work, he leaves around 1:30. So, M-W, I pick Corey up from school. Since you can't turn left into the school's parking lot and that's the most direct route to the school, I have to take a detour into a tiny "city" (1.8 square miles) that is notorious for it's ticket happy police officers. Plus, you have to drive right by the police station. I have only had one ticket in my driving life and I got it in this "city" (*cough* neighborhood). I usually get cut off a couple of times, usually by an aftercare shuttle. If I arrive too early (by 1-2 minutes), I will be asked to circle the block even if there's plenty of room in the parking lot. When I finally pull into the school, I must sit in a line, inching along ever so slowly, until I'm finally able to collect Corey. It is rare for me to honk at anyone, but I have gotten out of my car and yelled a couple of times at other parents. "I hope your kids don't grow up to be like you!" "I hope your kids take Driver's Ed and don't learn how to drive like you!" "Who the Hell do you think you are that you're so much more important than me!" I hang my head in shame for these outbursts, but sometimes enough is enough.

This is Kola. He is a wizard and occasionally an aviator.

I spend a lot of time on the computer. I play Sims 3, check facebook, research, write, and even play Webkinz. Corey got me my first Webkinz for my birthday. She thought she would give me this stuffed Koala and I would give her the code because she already had an account. Boy, was she surprised when I created my own account and named the koala Kola. She didn't mind, though, because now I could games with her online and it was fun. But, all too soon, I was playing more than the kids. And, I admit, I started collecting the darn things. I currently have 38. Fortunately, my daughter has more than me. So, it's not uncommon for me to spend an hour or so doing my dailies and tending my garden on Webkinz. Sad, I know, but they're just so cute.

Christof is a male badger fond of female clothes and mustaches.

I still play Webkinz with the kids. Corey's favorite thing for us to do is to go to the Runway Room so she can model her outfits and I can vote highly for them. But, there is a price to pay for having her mother go into public rooms with her on Webkinz:

After Corey gets home from school, she has a snack and we tackle homework. This often consists of her brother trying to steal her pencil, all her reasons why she can't do her homework, and me asking if she looked up whatever she's trying to get me to answer for her. By the time she's done with homework, it's dinner time and I don't cook. I hate cooking. When I'm hungry, I want to eat. I don't want to prepare something when I'm not hungry and I don't want to wait for something when I am hungry. This leads to a lot of microwaving. Microwaving is a bad habit. I know this. But it's just so darn convenient.

After dinner, the kids and I will play or watch some TV (Pokemon, My Little Pony, Avengers, X-Men and Harry Potter are all pretty common). Often, the kids fight as siblings do.

 Jennifer, a lady down the street with a border collie, often calls around 6 for our daily walk. It is just around the block. If Steve is home, Corey will come with me. If Steve isn't home, Corey and Sammy watch an episode of whatever show, and I take one of the dogs on a walk. One of my hobbies is dog training, so these walks are often half talking about whatever and half me teaching her dog psychology. When we first started, her dog was dog aggressive, intense, unaware of her owner, and didn't much care for petting. Now, her dog is playing with other dogs, comes over for pettings, and is way more relaxed. It's quite a joy to see.

Since we have 5 dogs (lab mix, pit bull, Australian Shepherd, min. schnauzer, and a cairn terrier), 1 cat, two rabbits, two guinea pigs, two snakes, and a fish aquarium, my day is also filled with animal antics, care and interaction.

I love working on the aquarium. It is mine and mine alone and feels like an ongoing science experiment. I've had it since July of 2000. I love going to the pet store for a water test and being asked if my aquarium is established. Established means the tank has had fish in it and has gone through the nitrogen cycle and built up a beneficial colony of bacteria. A nitrogen cycle generally takes a month, but it takes more than one to build up the right amount of bacteria so the tank is self-regulating. This means, when you add knew fish, the tanks is already an ideal environment. But, it also means your ammonia will spike a little or a lot, depending on how many fish you add. That's why they tell you to only get a few fish at a time. I feel very smug giving my answer. Most of the time, people are new to the hobby. I know this because I used to work in a pet store.

Currently, I have a beta named Inigo and five cory cats. Inigo actually killed off my other fish, not through an act of violence, but through Ick, a common fish tank disease. I nursed Inigo back to health in two little bowls next to my bed for two weeks. I had to change his water everyday in order to treat him with medication, that's why I had two bowls for him. Now, I can tap the water and Inigo swims wherever my finger is and then I feed him. He will also take food from my fingers.

The cat, Henry, is whiny, bossy, and comes when I call. He is completely my cat and everyone knows it, even the dogs. I will occasionally make the children tell him he's beautiful and wonderful. There is usually some banter between my husband and me over how glorious (me) or not glorious (husband) the cat is. I love these quips and they're a favorite part of my day.

The dogs, of course, require feeding, letting out, play and enrichment. This filters in throughout the day and often involves ball throwing, tail chasing, silly talk and comments such as, "Excuse your nose." My way of saying, quit sniffing and/or checking out whatever the dog has it's nose in at the moment. This is often the table or the drawer in the dresser right next to my side of the bed where I keep the stuff I like to do at night: nails, read, crossword puzzles, Sudoku, Nintendo DS, chocolate, and tiny dog treats for impromptu training sessions. This usually entails the Aussie balancing a dog treat on her nose.

Sammy goes to bed around 7:30. We read two books. Then he hides under the blanket, pretends to be somebody, and we have to find him by completing three tasks. Sometimes he assigns us characters such as Webkinz, My Little Ponies, or superheros. We usually go through a cave, have a party, watch a TV show, or collect apples/oranges/bananas or baby crocodiles.

After Sammy goes to bed, it's my favorite part of the day, my bedtime routine. I love organization, schedules and plans, but being a wife, mother, and pet owner does not allow for this bliss. I make up for it every night in my routine. I'm also an insomniac, so this helps my mind and body prepare for bed too. I let all the dogs out for their last pee until the husband gets home sometime after midnight. While they're outside, Corey feeds the cat and I pour myself a milk. I carry whatever it is I need for the night, into the bedroom. I change into my nightgown, go potty, let the dogs back in, check that all doors are locked, that all lights are off except the ones that I leave on for my husband, and head for the bedroom. Corey helps me straighten out the sheets and blankets for the night. I take my allergy medicine and any other pills I need to take, then she and I talk while either playing our Nintendos or reading. About 30 minutes before I plan to actually sleep, I take an Ambien. When it kicks in, Corey and I exchange hugs, kissies and goodnights, and she goes to bed and I fall asleep. Unless, of course, I have an Ambien episode. But that's a whole different post.

OMG! I Just Met My Hero! What in the World Am I Going to Eat?

Have you missed me?

I've had medical issues the past few days concerning my chicken fried steak organ, the gallbladder. It seems to be tired of Texas cuisine and unhappy with me. It organ-ized a protest. Get it? It's an organ? Organized? Okay, back to our list!

25. If you could have dinner with anyone in history, who would it be and what would you eat? 


Okay, this one bothered me. You're eating dinner with the one person you would like to dine with in history and you're worried about what you would eat. Really? Instead of being like, "Oh my god, I'm sitting in front of Ben Franklin! What do I say? I hope I don't fart. I wonder if he'll give me his autograph?" You're like, "Oh my god, it's Ben Franklin! I don't know whether to order the fish or the pork! Waiter! Waiter! Quick! What's the soup of the day?"

Now that I got my complaint off my chest, let me analyze this question like I analyze everything, so I have clear boundaries for this question. What does anyone in history mean? For our intents and purposes, we will assume that means a human being that made an important impact on the world and is currently dead. I say "currently" because, you know, zombie apocalypse any day now.

I would have to choose Steve Irwin. I considered Jesus, but, think about it. What would you eat at a dinner with Jesus? Jesus. His blood and his body, right? Okay, see? Now it's a bad and tacky joke.

"Hey, man, what do eat at a dinner with Jesus?"
"I don't know. What?"
"Jesus!"
"Ahahahaha! You're going to Hell."

Steve Irwin, known as the Crocodile Hunter, was a wildlife expert and conservationist. He ran the Australian  Zoo and starred in various nature shows that followed him on his adventures all over the world studying and teaching about animals. He died on September 4, 2006 from being pierced in the heart by a stingray. He saw the beauty in all creatures, had a great sense of humor, a happy disposition, and passion for his job. He discovered two news species of animals and bought huge tracts of land for conservation purposes. He was a celebrity ambassador for Australia, for wildlife, and for the environment. I cried for days after his death and it took a few years before I could watch anything with a Steve Irwin appearance without tearing up and clutching my chest. I would love to have dinner with him, even if the table was crowded and I never got to speak to him.

For my dinner with Steve Irwin, I would probably eat a bowl of vegetable soup and a turkey sandwich, light on the mustard, with cheddar cheese, sugarless wheat bread, tomato, and lettuce. I would have water to drink.  For dessert, I'd have a warm slice of banana bread. Mmm. This is not because I think this is the greatest meal ever, but because of the protesting gallbladder.

In the Eyes of a Zombie Virus Carrier

What is your favorite part of your body and why?

Those are mine. They can't see worth a darn and I have retina holes that cause a disc like image to go across my vision on occasion, much like a solar eclipse. So, if I ever yell out, "Solar eclipse!" don't look at the sun. 


I can't wear contacts either, my eyes are too dry. And, it doesn't really matter because they don't make a contact with a prescription strong enough, not to mention I'm allergic to most of the contact solutions. 


But these are my eyes and I really like them. Like the Mola mola, bat, jellyfish, and legless amphibians, they're different and beautiful and occasionally creepy. You should have seen the picture before I cropped it. I looked like a psycho. 


The interesting thing about this picture, is that it's the first time I have been able to see my eyes up close. I had no idea that the left eye had any brown in it at all. I am discovering all kinds of new things at the age of 32. I think it's my age of discovery.


Believe it or not, most people don't notice that my eyes are two different colors, even when I did wear contacts. Even my husband didn't know until we had been married for a couple of years. I'm not sure how the topic came up. I think it started as a joke. Anyway, one night, in bed, in the dark, I asked him, "What color are my eyes?" And he didn't know. Well, we didn't snuggle that night, let me tell you.


The next day, he checked my driver's license. My eye color is listed as blue. So, he came in, all pleased with himself, and announced that I had blue eyes. How in the world do you date someone and marry someone without being aware that they have sectoral heterochromia? That's a fancy way of saying I have blue eyes with sections of brown. He knows my eye color now. He also knows my favorite color, favorite chocolate, birthday, social security, and how I like my coffee. 


When people do notice that I have sectoral heterochromia, their initial reaction is to get right up in my face, almost nose to nose, and ask me if my eyes are two different colors. I have never punched anyone for this, but I won't deny the desire. Then, they tell me about how they saw/had/have a dog with eyes just like that and the dog's name is usually Psycho. 


Besides the fact sectoral heterochromia is rare and just looks awesome, according to the zombie flick 28 Weeks Later, if I should catch the zombie virus, I would be asymptomatic. That's a fancy way of saying I would be a carrier but would exhibit none of the symptoms of the disease. Heck, as far as you know, I could already be infected and that's why I call myself "The Zombie Mom."