mrtl

Tapping into My Inner Super Woman

As the story goes, I was a woman who underwent this incredulous transformation when her husband went away for extended periods of time. The circumstances that inspired the first emergence followed true "uphill both ways" fashion:

- It was winter
- In Alaska
- I was working full time
- With two kids
- Ages 4 and not-quite 2 

And (since we were moving the following spring):

- The house needed to be scrubbed
- To go on the market
- And always be ready for viewings
- On short notice. 

I'm still amazed that I look back on this time so fondly. I entertained usually twice a week, got out with friends plenty, and handled this. And since I've lost touch with "My Inner Super Woman" (MIS W as I've come to know her), she's become quite a legend in my mind.

Over the years I've looked forward to the emergence of MIS W when mr mrtl is away. It never has been quite the same, though. The energy isn't there.

This week I exuberantly began a sugar-free, low-carb month-long diet challenge a few days early. (I'll talk more about this in my next post, which this post is bumping.) With the exception of a margarita, I've avoided sugar and grains for four days. I realized today that there was no witching in my witching hour… 

::tangent to describe witching hour::
I love the ADHD medication I'm on, except for the time when it wears off. The drop is extreme; I suddenly feel such extreme exhaustion that I drag myself through the motions and turn into couch lump. Unfortunately the witching hour coincides with the kids and husband coming home to dinner and homework and many other things that require much more energy. Witching hour sucks for that. I'm usually a bit grumpy at that time.
::end tangent to describe witching hour::

…and that I felt like going for a run.

Looking back over my day… over my yesterday (seven hours outside doing yard work) and what my yesterday would typically have meant for my today (sore, grumpy, inert), it dawned on me that I've tapped into MIS W. And then it occurred to me that I was trying Atkins when she first emerged, and realized that I haven't just tapped into her, I have found the key to *BECOMING* MIS W.

This key? It's more precious than pie.

One Step Closer to Them Adoring George as Much as I

Tonight I reached a pinnacle of parenthood. On the way home from a theme park -- but wait, I suppose taking my children to a theme park by myself is a pinnacle itself, so yay me! -- we were listening to satellite radio. When we stopped for gas, the children took issue with my turning off the song playing before it was over.

The song: R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)."

They had heard the song once before, not long ago, but didn't express such a huge interest in it as they did when I had to turn it off. They were downright peeved with me for not letting the song end.

Their displeasure -- moreso their enjoyment of one of the bands that stands as a substantive icon of my college years -- could not be trivialized by being described as a "warm fuzzy" for me. Perhaps a new term shall be coined… "warm custardy" works. mmm… warm custard. Yeah, it felt good inside like that.

When I got back in the car, I set up a station on Pandora for R.E.M.

::tangent about rediscovering Pandora::
It was only recently that I discovered the point of Pandora, an application I had downloaded long ago but never used. One of the first stations I created was based on Flogging Molly, a band I first heard blasting from Midnight Sun's brewery during my recent visit to Anchorage. The kids enjoy this station with me, but mainly because they equate Irish rock with pirate music. I'll come back to this.
::end tangent about rediscovering Pandora::

Go figure, the first song that played on that station was the song they wanted to hear. The children were pleased.

It got better, since the song was followed by The Cure's "Just Like Heaven." The Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me album was a standard for road trips, including one where I drove a carload of friends in my '84 Tercel to the same theme park I was at today. They kept talking about how they've heard this one before, but with a different sound. I'm afraid to research which one of the Nickelodeon set has recorded it.

It got even better, since that was followed by U2's "Beautiful Day." When I told the girls that U2 is an Irish band, it started them on a hilarious debate on why U2 is NOT and Irish rock band because Irish rock bands sound like pirate music. This U2 song sounded nothing like pirate music, and wasn't talking about drinking or pillaging AT ALL.

Above all else, not one comment about this being "Mommy's music." mwahahhahahahaha

Now to go print out R.E.M. lyrics so our next singalong will be warmer custardy.

Faces of OCD: The Three-Day Skirt

The first episode of this new Lifetime series features a mother who, though severely challenged as a seamstress but fixated on making a skirt for her daughter, spends the better part of three days in front of the sewing machine. A moment of disturbing ironic foreshadowing occurs when the older daughter, impressed by her mother's progress in the early afternoon on the third day, says, "You're going to finish that before dinner, aren't you?!"

Memorable Scenes

While shopping for fabric and patterns in July for this spur-of-the-moment summer craft, the mother with the most relaxed demeanor allows the daughter to choose the pattern. Mother is heard saying she saw a tutorial online showing how to add shorts to skirts.

The mother answers an interview question about why she didn't buy a pattern that included the shorts by saying they planned to sew the day they bought materials. [Editor's note: Sewing began over a month after the shopping trip.]

The mother answers an interview question about why she spent two days attempting to figure out how to sew shorts into the skirt while footage is shown of the daughter dancing around with reckless abandon for panty visibility.

In a commercial cliffhanger, the mother nearly gives up when, after spending much time meticulously basting the scrunched waistband to the skirt and running it through the sewing machine, finds that only a small section was sewn. Close to tears, the mother grabs her pins and begins to meticulously baste the scrunched waistband to the skirt a second time.

While the mother bastes the scrunched waistband to the skirt (the second time), the older daughter points out to her mother that they haven't eaten dinner. It is 7:30pm. The daughter makes dinner.

The mother finishes the skirt just after draining the macaroni, and the younger daughter is seen modeling her new skirt as plates are delivered to the table. 

The mother tells the older daughter that she plans to start a skirt for her after they go to bed.

Shitty Political Musings

Earlier this week, Representative Todd Akin (whom I'll call "Repakin" because it reminds me of the idiot way Jorge W. Arbusto said "Merkin") showed how completely delusional he is…

Well you know, people always want to try to make that as one of those things, well how do you, how do you slice this particularly tough sort of ethical question. First of all, from what I understand from doctors, that’s really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down. But let’s assume that maybe that didn’t work or something. I think there should be some punishment, but the punishment ought to be on the rapist and not attacking the child. 

… when he said that he wouldn't pull out of the Missouri Senate election because he believes he can still win.

Many writers much wiser and more talented with phrasing than I have pontificated on this subject, so I'm going to refrain from going there. That route isn't what inspired this post, anyway. My muse tonight was a friend rejoicing over FINALLY being able to take her first vacation dump.

::tangent allowing defining moment for blessed assholes in my audience::
Some people can't poop except in their own bathrooms. This becomes an issue when spending extended periods of time away, as during vacation.

::inner tangent to share personal shit::
I am one of these people. No matter what I eat, it can take several days for my excretory system to get with the fucking program, but never until I'm bloated, miserable, disgustingly gassy, and crampy. My five-day trip to Alaska last month? Pooped once.
::end inner tangent to share personal shit:

 Fuck you, you blessed asshole.
::end tangent allowing defining moment for blessed assholes in my audience::

That's when it dawned on me that the idea behind Repakin's comments may have something to it. After all, my body shuts down its shit when I'm not home...

::tangent for more personal shit::
Just this morning I was Very Nervous about leaving the house. On the way out the door to take the kids to camp and get to work to meet with a client, I didn't have time to stop.

I didn't feel that urge again until after I got home. I didn't even feel a stirring when I used the bathroom otherwise.
::end tangent for more personal shit:: 

…It's like when I walk out the door I enter my own No Shit Zone (NSZ). 

So many questions to ponder…

Could it be that our bodies naturally reject undesirable results? 

When our bodies DON'T reject undesirable results, it means that subconsciously they are desired? 

What kinds of things can we control? Allergies? Cancer? STDs? Acne? Mental illness? Nostril ingrown hairs? Male pattern baldness?

Is this where Scientology gets its Tom Cruise depression philosophy?

Is this all bullshit?

Do bulls have their own NSZs?

Research must be done on such mind-over-matter possibilities! Repakin should step up as a volunteer as a test subject in a study on the head's rejection of ill-fitting hair pieces. His head allows that? I judge him for that.

Update: Holy shit! Read this with "God's will" in mind. Repakin believes the human mind is more powerful than the Almighty God. His truth doth show as obviously as his horrid hairpiece.

Asshole Heavy IKEA Shelf Boxes in My Van

Know how to have a good time while the husband is out of town? Go to IKEA and buy EXPEDIT shelves.

::tangent about EXPEDIT storage box project::
Our dining room is such a waste of space. We never eat in there unless we have more people than can fit at our four-top kitchen table (which is never). Once upon a time (which was five years ago) we sold our dining room set and made it into a playroom. Last year we got a new set. I've decided to use the space also for crafts.

Phase 1 was making a large placemat for the table (although I found this while looking for the first link and ::swoon:: too bad my table is expandable or I'd want to do this!). I haven't made that yet because it involves sewing and I suck at sewing so maybe I should just change the order of the Phases but fuck it.

Phase 2 was getting the EXPEDIT shelving units and…

Phase 3, which until halfway through the last sentence was a part of Phase 2, but really should be its own Phase because EXPEDITS are a pain in the ass to assemble, especially when children are sleeping, was fabricating false file drawer fronts rather than spending a shit ton on 13x13 storage boxes.

Phase 4, which I'm kind of in right now -- but with only one EXPEDIT almost all the way put together because my hand is killing me from the torque on the Allen wrench -- is where I stop and bitch about what a pain in the ass this whole project business is, and why did I start this project tonight when I have other important things to be working on…

Phase 5 is where I realize that I have justified WALKING AWAY from this project and letting myself regroup with a glass of wine and another episode of "Terriers" on Netflix while I play with my friend's new tits.

::tangent about Netflix::
Netflix is an instant hit in this house. My initial plan was to watch "Breaking Bad," which I've never seen but have heard was really good. (And by "have heard" I mean that I saw the Jesse guy -- apologies to the Jesse guy because I don't read much anymore, and that includes credits -- on Conan a couple times and had that mental note to watch the show when I got the chance, which is pretty hard to do when you don't subscribe to a certain channel, you know?) Anyhoo, last night that booger Netflix decided to only let me watch a couple episodes of "Breaking Bad" before rendering the controls inoperable. I switched over to "Terriers," which I've seen before but not only do I know it's good, but it's only one season, so even if I got too drawn in to switch back, I wouldn't be away for too long. 

::tangent about plans gone awry::
See, now, this here is EXACTLY why people with ADHD should not make plans. Do you see the trend? DO YOU?!?
::end tangent about plans gone awry::

::tangent without a name because I'm tired to coming up with them::
Still waiting for the reunion show, by the way.
::tangent without a name because I'm tired to coming up with them::

::end tangent about Netflix::

Phase 6 is taking to the blog and posting some bad poetry after confusing myself immensely with TOO MANY TANGENTS.
::end tangent about EXPEDIT storage box project::

---

Asshole Heavy IKEA Shelf Boxes in My Van

Three 75-pound boxes
To get into the house
But I got no man
I got no man

I'm so hot
With this humid air
But I got no man
I got no man

Gonna be sweatin' heavy
And smellin' funky
But I got no man
I got no man

After the kids are sleepin'
I'll be bangin' all night long
But I got no man
I got no man

WWJD about Gay Marriage?

UPDATE: Excuse me, asshole Typepad, but I specifically waited until AFTER midnight to publish this so it would be dated August 8, my anniversary. It's a marriage thing. FIX THIS!!

UPDATE 3: Update 2 was on a repost, which went through with THE SAME WRONG DATE *AND* with the pictures all messed up. Seriously Typepad? Way to make coming back easy. 

----

No time for hellos, I've got to share this epiphany with y'all!

The other day on Facebook (AKA the place everyone is throwing so much shit up on their walls to see what sticks that it's worse than being stuck in a monkey cage after a prune-filled enrichment session)... 

::tangent about the diet of monkeys::
Why, yes, I did go and verify that monkeys eat prunes. And found THIS.  SHAZAM! And yes, it's specifically about them eating plums, but who can blame them? Plums are much more delicious.
::end tangent about the diet of monkeys::

… a friend posted some quote from Leviticus - something about being good to your people.

I was sure she posted this as something biblical to think about in regards to the gay marriage debate, and commented that people may get hung up on the translation of "your people," and then asked if Leviticus was the book that talked a lot about stoning someone who had done wrong until they are dead.

She pontificated on how people tend to pull out passages that support their own agendas.

::tangent about the biblical approval of the legalization of marijuana::
The bible is obviously referring to Bob Dillon's type of stoning. You're welcome.
::end tangent about the biblical approval of the legalization of marijuana::

With all the propaganda floating around lately that strongly suggests that Mitt Romney is going to start a new direction with his campaigning (e.g., kissing cows, overusing the phrase "My pleasure," pushing the Chicken Mitt slogan), there have been a lot of posts about what people are eating countered by zombie Jesus posts from the other side.

::tangent about zombie zombie zombie::
All the talk about zombie Jesus, but never about the vampires.
::end tangent about zombie zombie zombie::

And there it was: The truth and the light. (The light was actually shining on the truth, in case any of you want to enlighten your bible study groups. HAHA I'm so punny! FUCK YOU spellcheck - I'M NOT PUNY; I'm just small. Asshole.) 

I apologize for that. I was building up to something HUGE, and spellcheck had to distract me into being profane. Let's get back to that light on the truth. Ready?

Jesus was a sexually active lesbian.

Now, I know the devout reading this are going to instantly dismiss this, but I can offer up quite a bit of evidence to prove my theory that Jesus was, indeed, a sexually active lesbian. I'm willing to bet that those who know the bible better know even more once you think about it. But let me start you off…

SUPPORTIVE EVIDENCE #1 - Jesus said, "Eat me!" Boys don't say that. Boys use words like "suck" and "blow" paired with phallic references. Girls say "Eat me." (Yes, I'm paraphrasing, but seriously? So weak of you to get all semantic about this.)

::tangent about prolific plagiarism in the bible::
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John copied the shit out of each other.
::end tangent about prolific plagiarism in the bible::

SUPPORTIVE EVIDENCE #2 - He liked wine. There are plenty of boys who like wine, so this isn't standalone evidence. However, at a party, he went with wine over beer. What boy does that?

SUPPORTIVE EVIDENCE #3 - Fish. Lots of fish. Smell that fish. Gotta like fish A LOT to process that much fish.

SUPPORTIVE EVIDENCE #4 - He drove seven demons out of Mary Magdalene. He made them "come out."

My work here is done.

----
Credit must be given to the website that provided all of my evidence. 

If You Ask a Five-Year-Old for Directions

If your five-year-old comments on your way home from her day camp that this is the way they went on their field trip that morning, you could ask her if she remembers which way they went and if she'd like to show you before heading home for dinner.

This will make her year.

She'll start by saying they went to the end of the road and turned left.

She'll then recognize a variety of landmarks, assuring all passengers regularly that we are definitely going the right way.

She'll continue to do this, and you'll dismiss the feeling that she's doing so to convince herself that she remembers it all.

She'll begin to mention "landmarks" that have no clear navigational use.

Like when she says that there was a part that was very cold.

Or a part that was very hot.

Or a part that was very stoppy.

Or a part that was very bumpy and loud.

Or a part that was very turny.

Or a part that was very up and down and tickled her tummy, so she'll call it the part that was very laughy instead.

Which is when you'll start getting very skeptical, since the cold (aka shady) parts are now the hot parts, everything is bumpy on a bus, and sorting what from what is no longer making this experimental adventure much fun anymore.

Especially not fun when the five-year-old and her older sibling start complaining about being hungry.

And then you will realize that you are two towns away and wonder if the school would really have taken a load of five-year-olds this far away.

And this is when it is a very good idea to stop for a moment and Google the destination, not because you don't trust your child's memory, but because you want to make sure you were following her directions correctly.

Because you really want to see this cool park she visited.

And she really wants to lead you there.

But the hungry is competing, now joined with your sudden and intense desire to drink something very strong.

Of course it's easier to look up the place if the five-year-old remembers the name, which she probably will, though she may not pronounce it quite right.

And when you finally figure out where the field trip went that morning, all you will be able to do at that point is laugh.

Because she started by saying they went to the end of the road and turned left.

But she meant the other left.

Food Battles

At moments in this life one may pause long enough to be consumed by the thoughts of how life got away or so out of control. Such a moment occurred for me this morning as I found myself starting to pull out the typical ingredients to make the girls some typical scrambled eggs for breakfast. Spying the remains of the onion used for tacos earlier in the week, a half block of cheddar sitting with the processed cheese product slices, and remembering the cache of cooked bacon in the freezer, I pondered the delicious possibilities. But ::sigh:: the children wouldn't appreciate this. They don't like onions.

The internal uproar began. How many sacrifices have I made -- by my own choice -- as a wife and a mother for the sake of keeping peace and eating together? All the ingredients I've forgone, recipes I've skipped over or simplified, meals I've eaten that I'd rather not...

Fuck 'em, I decided. I'd make the eggs the way I like them. This is a battle I'm choosing to fight. As I put it to Bug as she later pontificated to me over the impossibility of eating around the onions on her plate, "You can't avoid onions all your life."

This, by the way, is the quote I'd love to see if I've any future inclusion in quote anthologies.

Surely they will hate me and CPS is going to be contacted before this battle is over. I'll be accused of starving my children. Really I won't be, but to get to the redundant wisdom of, "If they're hungry, they'll eat it," my children will have to be exposed to several meals that they refuse to eat before that hunger will become more important than their stubborn belief that distaste means inedible.

This will be a good thing. The girls will learn to appreciate food, or at least keep their mouths shut and eat politely; the pantry will be cleared of unfavored cereals and the whimsical ingredients for "someday" meals; and Momma may even start to enjoy cooking again.

Florida can shove its reasonable doubt up its ass.

Caylee Anthony was only six months older than my Jem. Her pictures struck me; they looked so much alike at two year's of age.

I have my selfish moments, when my patience is tried, when I throw myself a pity party for things I can't do because I'm a parent and the girls have to come first, or for how hard parenting can be sometimes.

But this.

As I followed the news today, I was in a fight with Jem over a 102+ temperature that is as stubborn as she is. I just had to wake her up for another round of medicine after finding her temperature is still up there. That selfish part of me started to dread having to set an alarm to check again in four hours.

I can't believe that, even with years to prepare for this case, it wasn't strong enough to convince the jury.

When I think of nothing, I think of genitals.

Someday it'll come along
A thought to blog
And I'll write nice and long
This thought to blog

And when it comes my way
I'll take a note down right away

---

As usual, I think of plenty to write about, but then I get caught up in nothingness, or I reconsider the topic because of the had-to-be-there humor, or I forget, or I make a random note, like "restless genital syndrome," that I later come across and can't remember what I wanted to say about it.

The www.restlessgenitalsyndrome.com  website -- which *must* be legitimate and accurate if it has that url -- says that this syndrome has only been reported in women. I believe this. Others may want to argue that it's ridiculous to think that men can't have restless genital syndrome, too. Bullhonky! They absolutely have restless genitals. It's not a syndrome. It's being male.

::tangential warning about Wikipedia::
I'm already confused about this restless genital syndrome thing, so I probably shouldn't have clicked on the Wikipedia link.

Wikipedia's content is ridiculous. Who's writing this crap?

Wikipedia compares restless genital syndrome to priapism (that >4-hour erection for which men are warned to seek medical treatment lest they lose the ability to have an erection ever again). Restless genital syndrome (and no, I'm not going to use an acronym because I happen to enjoy writing it out) is not considered a threat to healthy and continued sexual activity. How could the two be related?

Investigating further, the Wikipedia page for priapism refers to clitoral erections. I don't believe "clitoral erection" is a legitimate medical term. Engorgement, yes, but "erect" suggests a bigger capability or usefulness. You'd never hear a woman talking about pitching a panty tent. I'm just saying.

::tangent to make superfluous complaint about spelling::
It's not "clitoras," so why isn't it "clitoril"? I have to look this up EVERY TIME.
::end tangent to make superfluous complaint about spelling::

I attempted to research the legitimacy of clitoral erections further with Google. I can't be convinced when the first five hits contain one of two YouTube videos (albeit an extremely scientific-looking animated video), Wikipedia's page on clitoral erection, a message board post, and two very NSFW sites. (To note, the sixth hit is Erect clitoris's Facebook page, which 79 people currently like.) I also can't be convinced if asking Alaskanmama, a nursing student with a much better understanding of medical terminology than I, made her laugh. Then again, I have to wonder if her description of the clitoris as "the regressed head of our neverpenis" is legitimate either. Maybe they haven't covered female genitalia yet. Maybe she's twelve regardless.

It would appear that the online medical community at least does not recognize clitoral erection as a thing. Let's move on. Here are those videos, in case you are curious.

WARNING: The following videos are very unsexy, but there will be related videos suggested after that are NSFW. They are totally useless in comparing an erect clitoris to a non-erect clitoris unless one opens two browser windows to show them side-by-side. (No, I did not try that.)
Clitoris - erect state
Clitoris - non erect state

Wikipedia also said that vibrations from mobile phones can aggravate restless genital syndrome. I can't believe Wikipedia allows such bunk to be published. Specifics! Where exactly is that phone being carried? Is there a special application? And what kind of phone is it? Does it come with a rabbit?

Don't trust that Wikipedia. It looks like a bunch of numbnuts are maintaining it. bah dum pum
::end tangential warning about Wikipedia::

Somewhere in the midst of ranting about Wikipedia, I remembered why I made the initial note in my list of blog topics in the first place. A while back I was looking up information on restless leg syndrome, which sometimes plagues me, and saw the reference for restless genital syndrome. When Arnold Swarshitimahavetolookthatupnowtoogger's shenanigans were in the news, I thought that his genitals must be restless. A silly thought, in retrospect. Certainly not worthy of a whole blog post.