mrtl

Fuck You Typepad!

I was just about finished with a fucking post when I pushed a wrong fucking button and Typepad deleted my entry.

Fuck you again!

::blink blink::

Why do we say "fuck you" when we're mad, anyway? Yes, it feels good to roll it off the tongue, but why is it meant as a negative? Sex is supposed to be a good thing... a happy thing... something you wouldn't wish on someone or something that has pissed you off. Yet, saying, "May you rot in celibate hell!" doesn't have the same flavor.

---- Need to try to start over and recapture the beauty...

First, Self Portrait Day (theme of weird reflections or something like that -- I'm too pissed off to check -- by Home Detention Lady).

By the way, I originally titled this post "Drained."

It's just not the same. I got all the piss and vinegar out of me the first time I typed it. I'll just list what I bitched about and expound as I see fit.

1. Banging my knee once again on the doorjamb while sidestepping over the baby gate to get into the playroom. Different knee from the box accident on moving day. Hurts like hell.
2. No clothes. I have a date tonight with Danielle and nothing to wear. Since my What to Expect When You're Expecting tells me that with Frid I'll be "popping" sooner, I don't see a point in buying a bunch of new clothes that will be out of style by the time I'm fitting into them again.
3. Hair = shite. I need a haircut with highlights so badly, but I don't know where to go.

After bitching and running all these things together very amusingly (you would have been very amused - the knee shit caused me to pull out my hair which helped with the hair situation and who'd be looking at my clothes with my knobby-assed head anyway?), I decided to tap into my inner Libra and balance it all out with the good, namely:

1. High recommendations for the Betty Crocker Scoop Colander shown in the picture above (which is hanging from The Pot Rack).
2. Check out the Lazy Susan, which spins! And holds salt, pepper, napkins, nana's, knives, and my Pampered Chef Tool Turnabout, which also spins!
3. My Mary-Kate and Ashley lip gloss. My hair may look like shit and clothes in dire need of a Fashion Police What Not to Wear Ambush Makeover (yes, a triumvirate of fashionistas, it's that bad), but my lips are cute.

Happy Birthday Summer

"I Like to Play in a WigWam." Circa 1977

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Update: Please visit Summer to leave your birthday wishes!

The Girlscout in Me

I hate being unprepared as much as I hate being rushed. Give me warning, give me time to prepare, and I'll be happy. This is primarily the reason why we will find out Frid's sex. There will be plenty of surprises once Frid arrives.

To give you a sample of my past obsession with preparation, I give you a teaching story. My first five years I taught were spent in a building that housed one high school and two middle schools. One year, the complex had thirteen bomb threats. Thirteen. Each time a threat was called into any of the schools, the entire complex was evacuated. Needless to say, a lot of time was spent that year sitting on the bleachers with whichever lucky class of my sixth graders was with me at the time. Actually, the first wasn't on the bleachers, but standing in the parking lot in the frigid cold. Students were not allowed to wear jackets in the halls and to classes, so there were a couple cases of hypothermia. Or is it hyper? They were very cold. See how the brain atrophies? Lately I've been questioning all words with ee or ea. I'm drifting. Throw me a line!

It was a while between the first and second threat. Long enough at least that the weather was nicer and the kids got a little too heated sitting on the metal bleachers. It was then, in realizing that this was becoming a regular occurrence, that I put together my Bomb Threat Backpack. I can't even remember all the crap I kept in it, but know it included a bottle of water, a bag of pretzels and hair bands. My sixth graders loved me for it. Hell, they loved me anyway. haha

After the Frid-related curry incident, I started getting paranoid about eating in public. Since Frid may not give me warning until after I eat something that it's coming back up, what do I do? If Bug's with me? Egads!

I am consumed with my stubbornness. This little brat is not going to dictate what I eat and what I don't (unless I agree, of course). Yes, I know this is stupid. It's the stubbornness talking. I decided to take a different tact.

The above is now enclosed in a plastic sandwich bag and stored in my purse. Hopefully I'll never need to use it. So far just the curry has provoked attack. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

On the same subject, there's a fellow blogger who has recently shown her Girlscoutiness. (Why am I reading that as Girls' Cootiness?) ieatcrayonz identified a critter, mistaken for a beaver, on twig's blog. Mind you, the comments show that twig is not convinced that said critter isn't a beaver. The first picture clearly shows a rat-like tail, indicative of a nutria as shown on www.nutria.com. ieatcrayonz was also prudent enough not to push the issue on twig's blog. It is, after all, twig's blog. If twig wants it to be a beaver, a beaver it is. Besides, they have one heck of a cute baby, and there's danger messing with someone who wields that much cuteness. They could kill you, you know. (I link to a picture that is not of the baby's face. Beware the picture is awfully cute, and you may be rendered comatose by it.)

For her impressive knowledge of rodentia, I hereby award ieatcrayonz with her Merit Badge.

 

Congratulations!

What I Miss

Redhead Mommy tagged me.

What 5 Things do you miss about your childhood?

But first the rules to this meme game:

Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place; add your blog's name in the #5 spot; link to each of the other blogs for the desired cross pollination effect.

1. Lu's News http://luann919.blogspot.com
2. Marti http://marti2212.blogspot.com/
3. Ivy Tied Up http://www.ivytiedup.com
4. Redhead Mommy http://redheadmommy.blogspot.com
5. mrtl http://blog.mrtland.com

Next: select new friends to add to the pollen count. (No one is obligated to participate).

I have not kept track of who's been tagged. I know a lot of people have been tagged. Bah! I'm not doing it.

Let the game begin!

Thinking about food way too much recently. Go figure. I spent many of my childhood years in England. I really miss England. In particular:

1. I miss warm custard served with just about every desert. I think for Friday Pie Day I'll get me some apple pie and bring it home. I've got some Bird's in the cupboard. mmmmmm....
2. I miss plum trees in the back yard - both climbing up to eat them till I was so full it was hard to climb back down, and my mother's homemade plum jam (which she was able to make despite how many plums we ate).
3. I miss the ice cream from the ice cream truck, with a delicious chocolate stick stuck in the top and a gumball hiding in the bottom of the cone.
4. I miss Smarties. I ate them all. I need more.
5. I miss Shephard's Pie. Does anyone have a good recipe?

~ Intermission ~

For your entertainment during this intermission, I am providing a link to Monty Python's "Confuse-a-Cat" sketch. Fortunately I was able to find the words online, so I don't have to type them all in.

As you were.

Jennifer Gray Moments

Note: This week is my first playing with Typepad's autopost feature. I meant for this to go up tomorrow, which means now I'm pressed to get something else up. Wah!

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Kalki didn't believe me when I told her I used to be mistaken for Jennifer Gray. I give you my senior pic:

And while we're flashing back, should I continue? Here's me getting ready to go to my then boyfriend's junior prom. I cropped the fucker. His only job was to make sure the clasp was in the back. Clasp is on the side in every picture from that night. Do you love the bangs? It's amazing that, because they were SO high, my high forehead doesn't look so big.

Here's another, also taken during senior year. (I know this because of my oh-so-fashionable Au Coton outfit, which my best friend and I bought matching for pictures. Her boyfriend was Mr. I Can't Be Responsible for a Clasp Fucker's best friend.) And I will only say that we may have had a little Kahlua that night. Don't ask me about the wet spot on my leg. I don't know what happened there.

The cat is Socks. He was all white, but my favorite book in second grade was Socks by Beverly Cleary, which is when Socksie entered the fold.

Speaking of second grade, I found this after I posted my teacher entry last Monday. Why didn't they tell me to sit up straight?

Moving Casualties

Updating to say that this is going to have to be my WTF Tuesday entry because I have nothing. NOTHING!

As of today we are pretty much unpacked. At least we've opened all the boxes we plan to open and have some crap to still put away or organize.

The fuckers who packed our shit in San Angelo were incompetent twats. [Have I called someone that recently? Was it them... brb... no no no, that was the sanctimonious twat who told me I knocked down a sleeper... grumble grumble.] Ask me why.

But why were they incompetent twats, mrtl?

I'll tell you why. Here's a list of why's:

1. Two days planned turned into three days turned into three days and "just a couple more hours" turned into four days of packing and loading.
2. They regularly showed up late and didn't have enough people there. The ones they did bring were completely clueless or lazy. (Or, they sent home workers because they "weren't getting along" on the last day, leaving one guy there to finish loading the truck.)
3. Any "box" (I use this term loosely) that was already in the house was just tagged and thrown on the truck. No packing done at. all. Included was a completely empty repro paper box ("Texas air" the guys who unpacked called it) and another with a few picture frames in it (breakable!).
4. Things were literally thrown into boxes, sometimes with one sheet of packing paper folded neatly on the top for effect, and closed up. Mister mrtl was not too happy about finding some of his nicer clothes in the bottom of a box in this fashion. Hell, even the stuff taken out of clothes boxes were all wrinkled.
5. They apparently don't know the purpose of packing paper.
6. Many boxes were not tagged and added to the inventory. This can be blamed on us. We had such a great moving experience leaving Maryland, so we were lax. I feel sorry for the next fuckers who get to handle our moves.
7. After giving me such a hard time about not packing anything liquid, fuckers put one of those shakers of baking powder in with a box of spices. It was missing the little sticky lid to cover the shaker holes. They also put a whole, uncovered dish of potpourrie -- really smelly potpourrie at that -- in with dishes.
8. After nearly going crazy trying to find the feet from the dining room hutch (which I insisted they take off after one was knocked off when we moved into the house in Texas), I finally found them today... in Slava's cat carrier in the garage.

Casualties of the move include:

1. A speaker, which has a nice dent in the corner.
2. Two of four legs on my cute little sofa table - gone.
3. One glass broken.
4. One drawer pull for Bug's dresser - gone.
5. My gumball Pooh, given to me by my absolute favoritest student ever, which is Pooh made entirely out of candy with a gumball for his body and perfectly preserved in its own plastic casing. Poor Pooh's head is now severed. He's a mess.
6. One of my moose trinkets? Now a weird looking horse.
7. My knee, which got assaulted by a heavy box. (It's all better now.)

I think that's it. It's surprising that more wasn't broken. Fuckers are lucky in that.

On this end, the unpackers were pretty good. It was a long day, and they started to slack at the end. Good thing I noticed the drawer pull screws being used to hold up the mattress on Bug's bed. This after I gave them the assembly instructions.

On the upside, I am happy to report that no injuries befell my beloved gnomes, Uffo and Still Unnamed.

Smell

Don't ask me why I picked "smell" as this week's topic. I suppose last week's was fairly draining, and I needed something lighter.

I've always been very sensitive to smells. Does that explain why I smelled a poopy diaper the minute I walked into the room after getting home Friday morning, but mister mrtl had not? (If he did ignore the smell because I made him get up after two hours of sleep to supervise Bug while I went to the clinic to get my foot checked out and he was just too tired to move, I would forgive him.)

::tangent because I know you're going to ask::
With all the clutter in the house, I am constantly kicking stuff. The side of my left foot has been hurting for most of this week. They decided to forego an x-ray for a week -- because of the pregnancy -- if it's still hurting and sent me home with one of those cute little booties.
::end tangent::

Many of my memories are tied to smells, and it pisses me off when I smell something so familiar, but can't place it. This happened a lot to me during my pregnancy with Bug, usually having to do with food. I considered this a good thing: if I couldn't place the smell, I couldn't realistically crave it.

I'm starting to think that this post may not be a good idea and I should get off the topic of food. I'm thinking about an experience back then when I finally recognized a smell I had hallucinated: beef and rice. Beef and rice was a simple dish sold at a fast-food type restaurant in Japan. The sauce was IN-credible, and my mouth is watering just thinking about it. It's a fortunate thing that I was in Maryland when my memory kicked in, and I happened to go to that awesome oriental grocery store up on 40 and discovered that they sold it there. If this happens here, I should be ok. There's a huge Japanese population here, with many restaurants. Surely someone has it. Surely. Shut up. I found pie. Let me be optimistic.

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I to this day cannot eat Fritos because of my brother's shoes when we were kids. He went an entire summer once without wearing socks. His shoes would fumigate the entire house. Mom finally told him to leave them on the porch. What's sick about this is that every time I am faced with Fritos and that Frito bean dip, I have to eat it. This is a rare occurrence, and I am totally weak to it. I spend my time immediately after that brushing my teeth to get my brother's shoes' smell off my tongue. ::shudder::

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I mentioned the rash that Bug developed after our move here. (Yes, it's cleared up wonderfully.) One recommendation we followed was switching back to Dreft for her laundry. Suddenly our little girl smells like our little baby girl again. Do you know how hard it is to keep a toddler on your lap so you can bury your nose in her back to bask in the baby freshness when she's much more interested in playing with her Fisher Price farm? Mister mrtl was holding her the other day after she was dressed in a freshly-washed outfit and kept saying how wonderful she smelled. She was so irresistible.

next week's topic: getting pissy (This in honor of Pissy Britches, who has not been around very much lately, leaving me desperately in need of a pissy fix. So put on your Pissy hat and talk about the shit that's up your craw.)

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Note: Links will be added to participating blogs. If you're not included here, please comment with a link *directly* to your post, please!

Amy, Bente, Cherry, ieatcrayonz, Jenn, Kranki, Raz, Sharkey, Susie, Weetzie

Things I've Seen 'Round Town

1. A bum holding a sign that said:

Please Help
Need Beer

2. A little kid (maybe around 10 years old) with a reverse mohawk. Just like Landon on "Inferno II."
3. A green purse at Nordstrom's that said:

Juicy Angel

4. A business sign that said:

   Go out on a limb. That's where all the fruit is.

When it comes I want to wail: MAIL!!!!!

Yay for mail! I honestly can't remember the last time I got a non-bill, non-order, authentic piece of correspondence in the mail.

Summer done sent me a postcard from New Mexico. Thanks girlfriend! Hope you're enjoying the trek to Wigwam land!