mrtl

mumbling and rambling

Yeah, so Calamity Jen asked if I'm still here. I am, just not inspired to do much writing. Maybe someday. I'm still paying, after all.

Oh, here's something for you. Today mister mrtl took Bug out to dinner, so Jem had a solitary bath. Afterwards, I draped the bear towel, complete with eyes and ears on the head flap, and she danced around her room singing, "I am a bear! I am a bear!"

Now let's all cross our fingers and hope that mister mrtl has read enough about Che for tonight and I can finally turn off the lamity that is "Millionaire Matchmaker," which has provided some entertainment for me while I killed some time before bed.

You're most welcome for the stimulating post. Be sure to vote for me in the Bloggies!

Bug's Future as a Country Music Star

In response to my telling Jem that she is driving me nuts, Bug broke into a spontaneous ditty she titled, "I'm Driving You Peanuts in a Pickup Truck." I'd write the lyrics, but it was just her repeating, "I'm driving you peanuts" several times before adding "in a pickup truck."

I'm Sorry Mr. Palmetto Bug

It's been a reeeeally bad day and I think I saw your baby earlier so I've already put a call into Terminix but I didn't want to have you in the house until next week, too, but I'm sorry anyway because I took my aggression of unfound Phillips screwdrivers and baby bugs and crashed computers and bed wetting on you; you didn't deserve to be stunned with Febreze and then grabbed in the toilet paper I had just used into the toilet I had just used. I will have an extra shot of syrup in my latte tomorrow in your honor.

In memory of Mr. Palmetto Bug, I will save explaining the above insanity for another post.

Mean Mommy Karma Exemplified

Yesterday I snuck to Target when I realized I've not yet gotten tasking for work. Target Heaven is a 40-minute drive, situated in a shopping center on the East side of Columbia with a Panera, Qdoba, World Market, Bed, Bath and Beyond, Pier One, and Starbucks (separate store, in addition to the Starbucks inside the Target -- really, people, is it too much to fucking ask that Sumter gets a Starbucks when there are TWO within 200 yards of each other? WTF??).

While there I didn't find anything I actually went there to find. Go figure. Still, I had my caramel mocha and a wonderful time hanging out with friends and their adorable eye-poking, toy-grabbing, giggling, sparkly, cheez-it-eating two-near-olds. I didn't leave empty-handed because I found Mr. Men mini stuffed critters, getting Mr. Bump for me and Little Miss Chatterbox for Bug.

::Little Miss Chatterbox tangent::
One day Bug wanted to talk to Mom Mom, so we called and Bug went off with the phone. I could vaguely hear Mom Mom on speakerphone from my distance. Some time later I heard Bug burst into tears and begin quite the diatribe. "MOM MOM!" ::whimper, sniff sniff:: "I wanted to tell you something, but you were being a chatterbox and wouldn't let me talk, and now I've forgotten what I was going to say." ::full-blown sobbing:: "You should know better!" Poor Mom Mom could say nothing to better this insult.

Bug called Mom Mom on the way to pick up Jem to tell her about her new Little Miss Chatterbox, who was even holding a cell phone. FCU
::end Little Miss Chatterbox tangent::

I also found some Cars big girl panties for Jem. And by big girl panties I actually mean boy-style big girl panties, complete with genital access openings.

After picking up the girls and getting them home, I presented the still unpotty-trained Jem with the new undies that match the new toothbrush she picked out the other day. She wanted to put the Tow Mater ones on, and so my genius brain made a deal with her. If she didn't have any accidents in her Tow Mater panties, I'd take her and Bug to EdVenture -- freaking awesome!! -- on Sunday. Within a half hour she was announcing a poopy (translation: pee) and all bets were off. No second chances with another pair. I'm so mean.

Half an hour later, sitting lotus-style, I sneezed and wet my pants.

Way to make me feel like I'd be a hypocrite to not take them, Karma. Bitch.

Kooking the Kooky Kookiness Kookierly

Sorry - didn't want to stop at 3 K's.

Apparently I'm ADHD. Doc said the meds wouldn't work if I'm not, and they're working. It's pretty fucking amazing. There is clarity that wasn't there, that I don't think I've ever known. The window to my real self is open wide now, and I'm finding my real self is much kookier.

It will be an adjustment, since the many filters I've had in place as adaptation strategies are wonked up. I'm afraid I'm going to scare people away without that protection.

The newly-found kookiness has been hindered a bit this week. While I want to revel in my glee and spread the kooky love, I can't. However, it's good practice to switch things up, and the clarity helps with the serious stuff, too. Hooray!

Also new this week is the end of furlough. I'm excited to get back to work and test the focus factor. How much will be the meds and how much the awesome nature of the tasking I won't know, but who cares. It's WORK! I did get a bit done here at the house, though there are still many other projects on my list.

No home projects today except straightening up and baking pie. Yes! I said PIE. Tomorrow is Pi Day, and the Rack of Moms is going to join me in celebrating. I may have to decree that no one enters the house without elastic-waisted pants.

---

On a separate note, I let the cake do the talking the other day. The Slava Memorial turned into a luau of sorts, with ukelele, grass skirts, leis, an ipu and toy microphones. CG brought her guitar and we played through the Slava Butthole song twice. Yes, we were in public and yes, it wasn't just two of us. Five Racks were there. AND CG made me another giftie.

Apologies for not making a proper introduction, but I have no idea what the hell to name her or her parasitic twin. Not shown in this picture are her dryer-lint leggings, third ass cheek/skull (as if there's not enough WTF here) and thong. CG said she was inspired by my telling her I dressed up as Starchild once.

Oh, hey! Flotsam and Jetsam shirt! ::singing:: Pick a window! 'Cause now you're leavin'!"

Anyhoo, I'll have to find to unbury Pupif so they can hang out together.

  

Should I be disturbed that people give me this kind of stuff?

Tossed Salad Cake

CG made this for our RIP Slava celebration. The butthole is no longer there because we ate it.

It was yummy.

Processing, Part II

Speaking more of the "sensitivity to outside influences," I'm pretty sure I have ADHD. I've scored high on various online tests -- if that can account for anything, -- and the more I read about it, the more convinced I am that it's my primary affliction. I'm hoping that this is the case and that treating it will help me conquer the depression. What's more depressing than being an anal organizing type not being able to keep her shit in order?

I wish I had more control over my reactivity to things. I wish my mind didn't so easily slip into haunting daydreams of the perils that will surely befall my life. I say I won't accept drama and toxicity in friendships, but it's rampant in my head. Give me the inkling, the start of the story, and I will write out the most insane plot to denouement. This last week in particular has been rough, getting to sleep nearly impossible. It's when I lie down that the imagination goes insane. I could probably make millions writing plot lines for soap operas.

Tomorrow is my first appointment with a psychiatrist. I've seen a psychologist already; he was cool and all, but I was a little impatient with the process of behavior modification, waiting for some grand enlightenment to possibly help me retrain my brain. Honestly I think the retraining is out of my control; so much for optimism.

I just want to be happy, to appreciate all the wonderful things in my life. I want things to fall into place and stop cluttering my brain with nonsense.

RIP Slava

March 11 would have been Slava's 13th birthday. I've asked Rack of Moms to celebrate with me (which I realize is a thinly-veiled excuse to eat cake and drink coffee, but whatever).

I just Googled "big white butthole" and found this old post is the first hit, as I had dreamed in the comments.

And if things couldn't get better, CG has graciously offered to write some chords for the song. And we shall sing in the coffee house. Maybe people will throw quarters at us.

ETA category, which I realize is a bit black-humored considering the post is about a dead kitty, but whatever.

A Sign that I'm Losing My Mind

Mister mrtl left yesterday for a little vacay in the Middle East (har har), and here I am thinking that I've got it all under control.

Plans for today involve a lunch date for the work spouses' book club. I was mistakenly thinking it was at 11:30 and so planned to jump in the shower at 10:30.

Jump in the shower I did, though a tad late, then started panicking a little. Was it at 11 or 11:30? Fuck. Hurried through shower, ran out to check the email. Have I mentioned that I'm hosting this lunch date? That I set the time? OMG it was at 11.

Flashback. I'm 19. Living in San Diego and working just across the street from my Mission Beach apartment. The alarm didn't go off, and I woke up 15 minutes before my shift started. Frightfully in need of a shower, I was amazed that I was able to get there on time.

I knew I could do it in 20 minutes.

Rush, rush, panic, panic. What to wear? Sheeeeit. I glanced at my (digital) alarm clock. 9:47? Huh? Check watch...

My name is mrtl. I am 37 and still don't know how to tell time.

I totally could have made it.

Mommy! Mommy!

I see a clue! Blue's Clues! On that van!