mrtl

On Collective Nouns

I've a little confession to make. Part of my time away from blogging was spent making friends. I know - crazy! Crazier still is the process... involving the subculture that is the Mommy Group. I never thought I'd join one of these things; far be it for me to think I'd want to be friends with someone just because we both have kids. It didn't quite work that way, though. I joined, and I met some women I wanted to spend more time with than others, so I tried my best to do that. In the case of Alaskan Mama, who was most verbally anti-Mommy Group from the moment I met her, I sucked her into that vortex and she hasn't looked back. (Well, maybe just a little. But she didn't escape.) mwahahahaha

Now that I'm (again) moving to a place where I know no one, I'm emboldened to consider starting up my own Mommy Group. Having had great leadership in the group in Alaska, I think I have a handle on how it should be run. (I'm idealistic as hell, you know.) The one thing I'm most hung up on is what to name the group. My philosophy on this is that I don't want to feel embarrassed about walking into a restaurant and telling the hostess that I'm there with [insert embarrassing Mommy Group name here]. As much as I loved the Alaska group, the name? Terribly embarrassing quotient for restaurants.

Driving across country with mister mrtl and no Bugs, there's a lot of time to ponder such conundrums. Like, if it includes the word "mommy," there should at least be a cool acronym to use in its place. Or, should it include the location? We're not sure yet where we're going to live, so I'd have to wait to consider names based on that. I shared my mystery with mister mrtl, the subject of collective nouns came up. What, exactly, is the collective noun for "moms"? I've researched this profusely online to no avail. Anyway, here are some of the ideas that we shot back and forth (I'm sure you'll be able to tell which ones were his ideas.)

• Babes in the 'Burbs
• Suburbanistas (need to research this one to make sure it's not the name of a porn shop somewhere)
• A Bunch of Moms
• A Murder of Moms (immediately shot down because the acronym is MOM - duh)
• A Flock of Moms
• A Herd of Moms (yes, I wanted to slap him for this, too)
• A Gathering of Moms
• A Rack of Moms

This last one. Whenever I came up with another idea, he would simply repeat, "Rack of Moms!" When we had dinner with one of his headbanging imaginary friends (hi John!), he shared his brilliance. Of course, the friend agreed that "Rack of Moms" was the best, after offering "Gaggle of Moms." ::slap - ugh, men::

~*~*~*~*~*~

Update: Suburbanistas won't work. It's been defined, I took the quiz and am totally not a Suburbanista. Wouldn't want to confuse anyone. GAH!

Fears About Moving to South Carolina

While trying to be as optimistic as possible about this new and exciting adventure, I find myself Very Concerned on several levels. I'll share them with you.

First of all, there's the humidity. My hair shall be curly again. This wouldn't be so bad but for the fact that I'm currently sporting a flat-iron friendly look; this cut will not curl well. I'm totally screwed here, and it's beginning to affect my psyche. This morning I awoke humming "Journey to the Center of Humidity" and had to ask mister mrtl if he recognized the original tune since I couldn't place it. Ozzy Osbourne's "Journey to the Center of Eternity." See how screwed I am? I've got 80's Ozzy stuck in my brain. You know how that song goes? "There's no present. There's no future. I don't even know about the past. It's all timeless, and neverending. And I think I sing this song too fast." Must I explain? Ok. Bad hair is so menacing that it makes all else stop. You are stuck in time, so everyone will get a chance to see how truly horrid the hair is. And to top it off, you've drunk way too much coffee, so you're talking all fast but can't GO! GO! GO! like you want to on the caffeine rush. This is really bad. ::shudder::

Second, there are the allergies. They shall return. This has been evidenced by the return of Faucetty Nose the second we crossed the border. Faucetty Nose left the building years ago when I first left Maryland. South Carolina is very much like Maryland with its plantlife. I've been using my neti pot regularly to no avail; maybe I need some sort of constant flow through my nostrils... freakin' genius but I think it'd be rather unsightly. I'm so screwed here, moreso than when I lived in Maryland. Why, you ask? OMG let me do the math. 2 children + weakened bladder control + allergies = the need for Depends. If you see a donation PayPal button going up on my site, it's to buy Depends. I'll be needing a lot of them.

Third, it's the South. I hate to generalize, but I've been to the South and have seen the Confederate flags and been asked about my "church home." I know this is not every person in the South; even in small amounts such practices vex me.

I know that these fears are centered around the unfamiliarity, and that they are nothing new for me. I realize it's a way I prepare myself. (To note, I've already located good pie in Columbia.)

As much as Jeff Foxworthy annoys me, I find myself taking on his style in conjuring a list of qualities I do not wish in my search for friends...

You may not be friend material...
... if you display a Confederate flag in any way, shape, or form.
... if you refer to African-Americans using the N word.
... if you want to ask me if I've found my church home.
... if Jesus has called you to save me.
... if you believe that having a cocktail while the kids play is absolutely unacceptable.
... if you won't dance to George Michael with me.
... if your friends must drink sweet tea.
...

I know this list is incomplete. Faucetty Nose has taken a break, which I shall exploit to get to sleep.

IRL with Kranki

This morning mister mrtl and I met Kranki for breakfast, after which mister mrtl ventured off for big adventures in Oil-change and Golf land. So what did Kranki and I do?

First stop: Why, to her place to torment play dress up with Yoshi, of course. First there was the Mary Tyler Moore beret...

... then the Viking hat...

... and then the Hawaiian lei lion's mane...

We also spent some time galavanting around Vancouver and seeing all the wonderful sites. Kranki is a top-notch tour guide! You'd think my camera would be filled with wonderful pictures of all the main Vancouver attractions. Besides a bunch of critter pictures for the girls, this is what I have to share:

Thank you for your hospitality, Kranki! It was such a pleasure!

Why Cointreau Sucks

How, daresay, could it be? Such a wonderfully versatile liquor suck? Indeed, it is so, when a $42 bottle of alcohol -- despite having its cap on tightly -- leaks so easily when tipped, seeping through a blanket, onto mister mrtl's uniform and envelope of work files, CD cases, and two boxes filled with miscellaneous crap that we couldn't live without for the next month.

Worse? Wasted Cointreau. So many margaritas and cosmos down the proverbial drain, and the lingering smell of orange as a lasting reminder of what is gone.

Please join me now in a moment of silence, then go out on this Cinco de Mayo and have a drink in his honour.*

*Canadian spelling used intentionally. When in Vancouver...

It Was a Three-Peckered Billy Goat

I thought I learned the lesson to not drink coffee after 3pm. It was much later than that, specially brewed for me by my awesomest friend and personal barista (hee). The coffee had to be tried to justify owning a cup with the design. Hopefully I'll get some rest tonight.

It's a fun coincidence that we are spending our last night in this area at the same hotel where we spent our first. (Remember this and this?)

::historic hair tangent::
OMG I look so much better with bangs. WTH was I thinking with this hair?
::end historic hair tangent

No one's singing tonight, and I traded the Godiva for some Alaska Wildberry caramels. Yes, coffee and caramels. I also had Thai for dinner. My tummy's not very happy.

Tomorrow we will be leaving Alaska, driving to the lower 48. I plan to spend time on this road trip reconnecting with my blog, knitting silly things, and not eating shit. (I've eaten a lot of shit lately and am convinced that I've gained at least 10 pounds in the last two weeks.) I'm sad to leave behind the great friendships I have made here, but am grateful for the sadness; it means I've made connections. I hope to do the same in our new home.

See you later, Alaska. You will be sorely missed.

You know you're watching too much Project Runway...

... when you check in on the painters, and upon leaving have to willfully bite your tongue to keep from saying, "Carry on." Not enough paint? Make it work.

What's Better Than Pie?

Last night AM and I had a pie-themed playdate. She, having recently adopted a food processor (named it yet, girlfriend?), was having fits over making dough. She made a scrumptious chicken pot pie, and delegated dessert to me. Not having time, we swang by Village Inn to pick up something fruity on our way over.

The manager was manning the register and struck up a conversation while the girls and I pondered which pie was most worthy. Every pie we mentioned, he would note whose favorite it was (his, his nephew's, etc.). So many choices! We ultimately settled on apple, and after he had boxed it up I held out my credit card. He waved it off, saying this one was on the house. Huhwha? "Really??" He said, "I'm allowed to do promotions. Happy Fur Rondy!"

::tangent about the Rondy::
The Fur Rondy is one of those crazy Alaskan events that I haven't been able to embrace. Running a carnival in freezing temperatures? Insane, you ask me. Still, I'm all for Fur Rondy when it means free pie. Happy Fur Rondy to you, too, dude!
::end tangent about the Rondy::

He also mentioned that it was obvious that we were regulars. hahaha

My first thought was, "FREE PIE!! WOOO! I should still buy one and then I'd have TWO!" but the inclination was subdued. Having two when only one was called for is a lesson I've tried to take to heart recently, one that I've given a loved one a particularly hard time about. I thanked the kind, kind man, and we headed over to AM's for Pie Night, where I posed her the question, "What's better than pie?" The look of confusion on her face was priceless. She thought it a trick. Not at all. The answer: "Free pie."

Later that evening, after the girls had finally gone to bed (late from their overstimulation while playing with Boog and Junior), I had a little online time with mister mrtl. It wasn't long before he bested free pie with a comment about his day.

"we leave here tonight"

And suddenly breathing was that much easier. He may even be out of Baghdad by now.

The joy of the thought of having him back so soon has enabled me to endure more than I thought myself capable. Take, for instance, the poo dropping incident today. (How's that for a segue?)

Jem and her stinky butt were on the changing table. When I lifted the diaper from under her, the mass of poo rolled right out. Instinctively I tried to catch it, and contrary to the norm I caught it... before it rolled off my hand and onto the edge of the changing table. UGH UGH UGH UGH! !!!!11 Jem found my reaction quite amusing, anyway.

No, that's not better than pie.

EmbarrASSment!

Unexpected laugh
Launches windy butt
Three Mamas present
Who all heard it

Funny coincidence
The same thing happened
To Lennox Lewis
On Celebrity Apprentice

Lennox, weren't you mortified?

I want this.

Lookie Here! Ima Bloggin'!

This post is dedicated to my dear husband, who asked me to update the blogs. I'm only updating this one, though, because I'm lazy today. (I've spent all day watching the ANTM marathon. One more to go to see who won and go to bed! More on the stress brought by such a waste of time in a later post, if I get to it.)

Flashing back to Christmas. This year with the trip back East, I didn't get around to shopping till the week before. I had no idea what to get for the bugs.

::tangent for exception::
Last year Bug received this red car with a soft top. Pushing on the top made the car make vrooming noises. One day not long after Christmas, I was doing dishes as Bug was playing with her car. She left it on the floor behind me. I stepped back onto it, breaking it. "Mommy! You broke my red car! I loved my red car! Why'd you break my red car, Mommy?? WHY?!" After a week or so she got over it. Or so I thought.

Bug was eager to meet Santa this year. When I asked her what she was going to tell Santa she wanted, she replied, "Well, Mommy, remember my red car? The one I got for Christmas last year? The one you stepped on and broke? I'm going to tell Santa that I want a new one, but I don't want it to be red; I want it to be yellow instead."

When I later showed her about wishbones and she pulled the bigger piece, she told me she wished again for the new yellow car just like the red car I broke last year.

With as many times as she brought up this car, I was feeling some serious stress about Christmas shopping.
::end tangent for exception::

That's right. The real Santa was at our family's party. He's a close personal friend of my father's. I know you're jealous.

Having so much to do in so little time, I was starting to feel pretty stressed. As it was, Christmas cards didn't go out till a couple days after. Not that I'm giving myself a hard time about this; I hadn't sent out cards since 2004.

On the 20th I had a date to meet Hänni (another blogger met!) while the girls were in school. Weee! I got to AM's to learn that the Hänster was running late. By 2 1/2 hours (shopping, family, priorities, blah blah blah - lol). I decided to stay in town and try to get some shopping done. Imagine my glee when I found, buried behind several small red cars just like the one I broke last year, a small yellow truck that made big vrooming noises. Besides that I did the bulk of the shopping, including buying the materials to make Bug a Super Sleuth shirt. (I later recreated the logo in PhotoShop to print out onto an iron-on transfer. AWESOME!!!)

::tangent for introspection::
It's shit like this that really screws me up. I'm a guilt-ridden procrastinator. I'd like to change my ways, but when things just work out like this, I'm not moved to try so hard. GAH!
::end tangent for introspection::

All of the gifts were later hidden away in my closet, and I sequestered myself in there, bedroom and bathroom doors locked to keep Bug out in case she awoke and came down to visit. Over the next couple days I spent my evenings wrapping.

During the marathon wrap sessions, I became quite the lyricist. While posting this prior to the holiday may have added to the comedy of it, I'm still posting it tonight. It represents the frustration that inevitably comes when sequestered in a small closet, surrounded with toys, trash and wrapping detritus. It's sung to "Oh Tannenbaum."

Oh fucking tape! Oh fucking tape!
Where do you keep going?

Oh fucking tape! Oh fucking tape!
Your location I'm not knowing!

I looked under my leg for you.
First left, then right.
Under my ass, too.

Oh fucking tape! Oh fucking tape!
Where do you keep going?

"Tape" can easily be replaced with "pen," "gift tags," "ribbon," or "scissors." It's hella versitile like that.

Happy New Year!

This girl looks stoned in just about every picture I take of her.