mrtl

The Boom Boom In My Heart

Note: I'm finding, having the 80's music on and then writing this, I am totally overstimulated and regressing. I'm sitting here sucking on a lock of my hair. Gah!

How does one define fame? What constitutes an occasion worthy of contributing to one's fame? It's certainly not random brushes with celebrities, but situations in which I was in the limelight, where the cameras were on me.

So there's not a whole lot going on there for me, but it involves George Michael, he of the cute butt. (Shit, I think I just gave away the other beta name I had in mind.)

Story Time with mrtl

I first became fixated with George when he was shaking his cute little tush in those teensie weensie shorts in the "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" video back in the mid 80's. I realize that many of my readers were in diapers at that time, and all I can say to that is "IT SUCKS TO BE YOU!" because you totally missed out on the

HOLEY MOLEY LOOK AT THAT!!! Jitterbug ::snap, snap, snap:: If I weren't already sitting down, I'd need to sit down. This was MY George, back when he was mine, and totally straight.

While I thought he was super cute and all -- LOOK AT THOSE DIMPLES!! -- I wasn't a poster kind of girl. Nah, my room was decorated with unicorns and stuff like that. Nary a poster to be found, unless it was of a kitten.

Anyway, George broke away from Wham!, shook his booty some more in some tight jeans ::swoon:: and FINALLY came to the states to tour in 1988. Who knows how we did it, but my best friend and I scored tickets on the floor in the 17th row. Mind you, this was the FIRST US concert he had done, so this was no easy accomplishment. We were giddy. (We were school girls, after all). We bought some matching shirts, his heavenly close up head shot emblazoned on the front, and headed to our seats.

I could embellish this story with some more fun details, but you know how my memory sucks, so you'd know I'm just making shit up. Long story short (and as remembered), once at our seats we were approached by none other than Adam Curry from MTV. Remember him, he of the crazy girly 80's hair?

::tangent::
I couldn't find a picture of Adam Curry's Linthicum bangs. WTF? And this picture was bigger than George's above, so I totally resized.
::end tangent::

Adam Curry called his cameraman over to get a shot of the two dorky high school girls, hugging each other and jumping up and down, excited enough to wet themselves that MTV was taping them.

Friends at school Monday say they saw us. I can't remember if I did, so I only count it for, like, a minute.

next week's topic: won

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Did you play? Mention it in comments for me!

Cat, pea

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Today on "Martha"

Not only does her monkey want a banana, but he also wants to cop a feel.

She Couldn't Be Mine

Haven't I talked about Bug's taste in music? About how I should be totally offended by her sensibilities? I tried searching her site and this one for the post I was so sure I wrote a long time ago, but couldn't find it. The closest I got was here, where I talked about her love for mister mrtl's heavy metal music and the accordion in tejano music.

But haven't I talked about how Bug detests my music? How she'll ask me to turn off Dinah Washington or Dean Martin or anything from the 80's? How, when a song comes on from one of her CDs that she doesn't particularly like, she'll label it as "Mommy's music" with obvious disdain in her voice? Really? I haven't? Well, then, this post has been written in my head for ages now.

While I will say that up until now it has bothered me greatly that she is such a music snob (ha! little mister mrtl indeed), today took me over the edge of offense. We went to the base's excuse for a "Fall Fest" (note the two four-letter words - this thing was beyond foul). Bug thoroughly enjoyed the pony rides, which we did twice because there really wasn't much more going on (hello? what idiot's idea was it to have pumpkin painting in the "preschool carnival tent" with acrylic, staining paint? after encouraging kids to show up -- THE DAY BEFORE HALLOWEEN -- in their Halloween costumes??? all the other games involved gooey, thick, choke-inducing candy. ::putting on facetious hat:: yeah - we were all over that).

We finally gave up and went into the main tent, which had some food stands, fake bull riding and blow up bungee games (both too big for Bug), and a band. We had walked quickly through this tent earlier, but the music was soooooo loud that we walked straight through and out the other end. After the second pony ride, which left us with 18 tickets (out of the "22 for $20 - NO REFUNDS" pack we had bought in advance -- yes, that is "sucker" painted on my forehead. why do you ask?), we figured we could buy some drinks and maybe even a hotdog to get rid of our tickets. Besides, the band wasn't playing, so our eardrums were safe.

Right after we sat down with our grub, the band started up again. Playing polka. Yes, I said polka, and the band included an older, heavy, walrus-mustached man wearing leiderhosen (I'm not looking that up) while playing his tube-type instrument. There was even some little kid -- apparently the son of a trumpeter -- dancing around in leiderhosen. It didn't look like Maria was around.

When the music started, you'd have thought the clouds had parted, the sun had shone down, and angels had sung. Bug wanted off her chair. She started dancing, some weird stomp and pumping arms thing that she picked up from watching Dora and Boots sing the "We Did It!" song. She pulled me off my chair to run and stand right in front of the band, which fortunately wasn't as loud as it was before. She spun. Actually it was I who spun, as Bug held my finger and ran around me. She clapped and made the most adorable, giddy, exuberant faces I believe I've ever seen on the child. After a tag-team session with mister mrtl, we were back, sitting on chairs, where she held her fingers together at her mouth, smiling maniacally, screeching and clapping.

And there I was thinking, let's just say if we were to get her a polka CD to play in the car, how much would I bet that she'd appreciate it more than Billie Holliday? There's something just so wrong about that. I'm convinced that the cause of this was me, that I failed to expose Fetus and Baby Bug to enough of my stuff.

Music lessons for Frid will start tomorrow. I will play music all day while Bug is in school, and in the car when (Bug will tolerate it) Bug's not there. (For the last several days, the Bumblebee song has been on constant broken record, so I know I shouldn't even attempt something else, much less "Mommy's music.")

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Update: I was reminded of something today (11/7/05) that I had forgotten to include in this post. This lovely toy, which has brought Bug much happiness for over a year now, plays various kid songs in banjo. She prefers this over my music as well, and will always push Tad ("Hi! I'm Tad, and this is my banjo!") to find "She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain." Each time, she dances. It used to be the sumo dance, but now it's the sumo dance with monkey arms (described above).

She makes us dance with her.

Some Things About Me (1-3)

Lots of people have made these lists. I swore I wouldn't unless I actually had things to share, things that I felt were valuable for you to know (or that would at least amuse you enough to read the list). I doubt I'd post more than five at a time. Below are a few things that you may not know about me. At least I don't think I've shared them yet.

1. I hate plastic wrap, mainly because I have in this lifetime been unable to master the supposed "cling" factor. I don't believe that it actually clings at all, and my attempts at using it rival the skills of a Jehovah's Witness wrapping his first Christmas present.*

2. I will only eat a Big Mac if I have some sweet and sour sauce to dip it in.** It shocked me to find out that, in the 11 years, 6 months and 2 weeks that's he's known me, mister mrtl did not know this until tonight. ("You're dipping your Big Mac in sweet and sour sauce? You must be pregnant." "I've eaten them this way for years. You didn't know that?" "No. No wonder you always feel sick after eating them.")

3. I always expect to find at least a couple straggler fries in the bottom of my fast food bag. It's an expectation that I take very seriously; I believe it should be a crime for fast food restaurants to neglect to drop a few. I mean, what could be worse than finishing the fries, only to find that you really have finished the fries??

* An old friend dated a Witness, who left the church (temporarily) when they decided to live together. He used an entire roll of wrapping paper in his feeble attempt to wrap a small present for her. For those of you not familiar with this religion (as I was when I got to know this guy), they don't celebrate any holidays, including birthdays. While I'm tempted to put as #4 that I would never convert to this religion on this factor alone, I didn't feel that it would be worthy of inclusion. I mean, isn't that obvious? Besides, with the various rules that I know about JW, they'd either not let me in or banish me directly to their hell.

** It's a rarity that I go to McDonald's. If any of you need St. James Place or Baltic Avenue, let me know.

Big Plans

I have taken today off. Just for the hell of it. I was only a couple hours behind, which could easily be made up today and over the weekend, but there's a lot to do. There are things that I've put off for too long that are really starting to drive me crazy. This is mainly centered around clothes.

The "wonderful" maternity pants I found at Old Navy? Fuckers fall down. I'm constantly hiking them up. My bras? Let's just say the boobs have reached monstrous proportions. My regular bras are getting tight; just call me four boobs! The bras I wore while nursing Bug? They're too small. Even the bras I just bought can't be worn. The sports (aka "uniboob") bras that I wear at night, and now normally during the day, too, are no friends of the sisters; each morning I find at least one of them has battled most of her way out. With the recent cold snap, I also need more layers. (No, I no longer possess my fathers old long johns.)

I also have some baking to do. There's a Halloween party tomorrow for the mom's group, cookies for the officers' spouses', my project manager (by way of bribe for giving me a day off just for the hell of it -- what can I say? I'm too honest.), and my husband (who would do some serious pouting otherwise).

1. Sleep. (one-hour nap before hitting the mall)
2. Work a little.
3. Bake cupcakes.
4. Decorate cupcakes.
5. Shop
   1. Pants that don't fall down. (Motherhood - $16.98 - got two, plus some shirts and a sweater! yay!)
   2. Long johns / warm undergarments.
   3. Bras. (Motherhood again - $10 - loving the prices!)
   4. Comfortable shoes. (No one had my vision of the perfect shoe, except Nordstrom, who didn't have my size.)  :(
   5. Miscellaneous groceries.
6. Bake cookies.
7. Whatever else I forgot.

Hopefully I don't come home from dropping off Bug, run out of steam and sleep all day.

Update: Back from the mall and grocery store. Mister mrtl and I met up for lunch. Yummy! A benefit of an early winter is not having to take groceries home before going out to lunch.

A funny thing happened when we got home and were working on unpacking the truck. Bradley's mom pulled into her driveway across the street.

::tangent::
Like I've said, the Bradley clan seems perfectly nice, but they have a tendency to ambush us when they see us outside. (Mister mrtl has avoided yardwork before because Bradley was outside.) Bradley's mom -- let's just call her Mrs. Poole, ok? -- has dropped in after seeing me pull up, and even called one morning after seeing me return from dropping off Bug (at 8:20, within my personal Forbidden Call Time of 9p to 9a when calling someone at home), which didn't make mister mrtl too happy as he was sleeping after working a mids shift.

As nice as they seem, we're not particularly interested in getting all chummy with neighbors. A nice, friendly atmosphere is all good; hanging out together is something different. Mrs. Poole has already brought up having us over for dinner.
::end tangent::

So I'm at the garage door, having dropped my mall bags inside. Mister mrtl is at the back of the truck unloading the groceries. I say, "Honey! Hurry!" and we go into 2-Stooge rush mode, tripping over each other, dropping bags and running for the house. Mister mrtl hits the garage door closer, but the truck hatch is still up, so I have to trip back down to shut it. If she called to us, we didn't hear her.

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Time for a shower and baking.

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Today on "Martha"

Damitol! Martha was preempted today by Scooter Libby. If I had known, I would have set the DVR to record the later replay on TLC. Fuckers.

There are some cool costume ideas that I missed. See Martha's site for pictures and instructions (there are several pages). I LOVE LOVE LOVE the bubble wrap jelly fish. I'll be saving that baby for... well, for sometime when we're not in Alaska because it's too damned cold up here for that.

Do I Look Like a Moron? Really?

The 2-year well appointment Bug had today turned out to be a group deal. I wish they had told me when I made the appointment, since I sequestered her in the waiting room, thinking someone else may be sick, but that's neither here nor there.

When they corralled the lot of us into a classroom, they asked if we had any questions concerning dealing with a 2-year-old.

::tangent::

::tangent within a tangent::
Yes, I've been doing a lot of these tangents lately. Let's blame it on the Hormonal Brain. If it's annoying to you or bothersome in any way, get over it.
::end tangent within a tangent::

Shit. Now I forgot what my tangent was. As you were.
::end tangent::

::retangent::
Ok, I remembered. It certainly wasn't the student in me that compelled me to take responsibility as the class Question Asker, but the former teacher. Nothing sucks worse than planning a session around group discussion, only to have no one in the group have anything to discuss. Especially because it puts the teacher/leader in the roll of pulling topics out of his ass, which usually stink. Believe me, I know this from personal experience. As an topic-ass-puller-outer, that is.
::end retangent::

No one else was raising their hands. Perfect parents? Know it alls? Yeah, right. Stupidheads. I had plenty of questions to ask. My first had to do with Bug-in-a-tent, if there was any concern in allowing it, if we should encourage her to use her bed. (In case you're wondering, unless the thing might collapse on her, it's no big deal.)

This is when I learned of the Room Genius. She was a grandmother, there with her daughter and granddaughter. She had The Answer. She said, "You could move the tent out of her room."

OhmahGAWD! Like, DUH! Oh wise woman! I, like, totally never even considered that. Let me just sit here feeling mighty stupid now because MOVING THE TENT OUT OF HER ROOM never once crossed my obviously feeble mind.

It was all I could do to not make the open-mouthed, teeth and tongue-baring DUH face at her. Because, you know, I'm totally juvenile like that.

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Today on "Martha"

So why don't you tell me, why you keep foolin', little coquette?
Making fun of the ones who love you?
Breaking hearts you are ruling, little coquette?
True hearts, tenderly dreaming of you?

Well, according to Martha, there are many. "Many, many." Today, though, she has me confused. This conversation took place between Martha and Rosie O'Donnell, after Rosie asked if Martha's dogs sleep in her bed at night. (You wouldn't think so, would you? But you'd be wrong.)

Martha: [My chow] is a protector. He won't let anyone in that door. Too bad. Too bad. ::giggle::

Rosie: Anyone at all?

Martha: No one!

You think her "many many" are her dogs?

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Curiously, mrtland had a hit from a user at Time Warner today, searching Blogsearch at Google for Martha "Linda Dano". Yes! #1! Woo HOO!

I hope they don't think I'm disparaging Martha. She's a hoot!

I hope they'll send me a poncho.

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p.s. I haven't had a chance to respond to comments. I will! Later! Really!

I Really Need a Shower, But...

Happiness is going downstairs, hankering for something, but not knowing what, and not finding anything in the fridge of pantry, only to turn around and be pleasantly reminded of that impulsive purchase of chocolate eclairs at the store earlier, which are deliciously waiting on the counter for me, taunting the fish.

Happiness is the relief in the thought that the name search for Frida may very well be over. (Don't ask; we wouldn't tell you anyway. Believe me, I'd love to blog about it, so I'm suffering, too.)

Happiness is knowing that, in writing this post instead of taking that shower, I was able to comfort Bug when she woke up crying a minute ago. (She said she needed medicine for her teeth, but was fast asleep again -- in her tent -- by the time I returned with it.)

::tangent::
Maybe we could forego buying another convertible crib set and get Bug a new set. She's loving her tent so much, and this

wouldn't fit on her toddler bed (they have other choices for double beds).
::end tangent::

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Today on "Martha"

Linda Dano: Do you have a guy in your life now?

Martha: Oh. Many.

Linda Dano: Really?

Martha: Many, many.

GBU

Post title - I think I've already called a post "The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly," so GBU for this one.

The Good, the Very Good
There will be a margarita party next summer. Two ladies from the spouses' group live very close by, like across the street. One makes them. The rest of us drink them. I could cry I'm so happy.

The Bad
I feel worse now about my Halloween costume choice after seeing this. Thanks, mister mrtl.

The Ugly
Someone found mrtland by searching Google for "anus excema bath." I was the #1 hit. Oh the horror!

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Today on "Martha"

It was ugly today, y'all. Martha was outsauced by Richard Simmons. Here's a little bit of the repartee with that horndog:

Richard: You're cute. You're in very good shape, and you have a nice butt.

Richard: I hope all the audience are squeezing their buns right now, just to keep toning.

Martha: So is that what you do when you sit? You just keep going like this? ::starting to bounce on her stool:: I mean, it's a little bit unusual.

Richard: ::counting:: Hey! It's a free date! You know what I mean?

Richard: I'd like to take you out for a date.

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Richard: ::tracing a finger down Martha's arm as she looks at his recent videos:: Like a virgin, touched for the very first time.

Martha: I'm going to ignore all advances while we're on television. I'm going to start to blush.

Richard: I'll be like one of your dogs. Francesca!

Chocolate Cigars All Around!

Congratulations to Jomama, who is now a mama.

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More congrats are in order! ScottyGee has birthed himself a monkey. Woo hoo!

Mooooo!

The other day, Bug's Little People Farm moo'd at me whenever I walked across the playroom. Yes, it was moo'ing at me, as evidenced when mister mrtl (who is heavier than me by at least 25 pounds, even with the excess weight I've gained so far) walked across the room with nary a moo, peep or oink. It finally moo'd once at him, but just once. It got me every time. It's very hard to not take such things personally.

It was only for the day, though, so I thought maybe it was how I was walking that day. Maybe my pants made me walk differently? (Work with me, folks; it really bothered me that it happened at all.)

So today I was pretty bummed to discover that Bug had pulled the farm off the table, putting it on its side on the floor to be used as a makeshift stool. On its side, the door is trapped shut, making mooing impossible.

I can hear the moos in my head. They say, "Toooooooo much pie."

Worst Date

What a refreshing change! I have TWO bad date stories to choose from, rather than the writer's block that has affected me for a while now. At first I thought I'd tell you both, but one is pretty long as it is.

Story time with mrtl

Eric wasn't someone I knew personally, or was even remotely attracted to. He was a friend of a couple friends of mine. I can't remember which of them set us up for the Homecoming dance senior year, although I'm leaning towards Chris, and it was probably as a return favor for his letting me borrow his letterman jacket for a spirit/ Homecoming week activity with poms (see picture for proof). Chris even acted as our chauffeur that night, but for some reason I remember him coming to dinner with us, too. I'm getting ahead of myself, though.

It was 1988, in a time of big hair and lace-overlay formal wear. My cream-colored dress was backless, which was a HUGE deal for me, since I had boobs, and I was never anything close to being a girly girl. I shopped carefully for just the right, itchy-as-all-hell backless bra to wear with the dress. Not being one to wear makeup EVER, it took quite some time to get ready. After I was carefully coiffured, I sat around, itchily and impatiently waiting for my chauffeur and date to show up. My mother sat with me, ready with the Poloroid to capture the magical moment. (She didn't get to see me in full-on girly mode very often, you see.)

When Eric finally showed up, he was wearing a fucking cardigan and Dockers.

::tangent::
It was at this moment during writing this that I decided to stop and peruse through my box of old pictures. My mother must have the picture. Instead, let me present a fashion moment for me: the Gap employee Christmas party, to which I wore the most unGaply of outfits: An old, thinned out pink sweatshirt, and a pair of Redskins boxers over an oversized pair of (my father's) long johns. I holding the coveted Opus I got in the gift exchange and smoking a cigarette. I know, you envy the girl I was. Don't be ashamed to admit it.
::end tangent::

Looking back, I'd like to refer to Eric as "poor schmuck," but I was the victim here. How dare he show up for a formal dance in a fucking cardigan and Dockers? Mr. Fucking Rogers is what I should be calling him. I had no sympathy for him when my father ridiculed his dress. I can't remember if my brother was around, too. If he was, he got double the taunts.

::tangent::
I was thinking this happened during my junior year, but other details point to it being my senior year. Chris and MFR graduated the year before me. That may explain MFR's disrespect for the sanctity of the Homecoming dance. Whatev. He was still a jackass.
::end tangent::

For a little while at least I though MFR had redeemed himself for the cardigan by his choice of restaurants. He selected The Brass Duck, at the time a -- at least to the high school set -- hoity toity restaurant. As I mentioned above, though, Chris joined us for the meal. He was meeting his date at the dance since she had already promised to go with another guy (her boyfriend -- she didn't have the best reputation).

::tangent::
One of my few memories of Chris's date, Lora, was told to me by a friend of mine (another Chris) who worked as a lifeguard at "The Club" (I have to laugh at the thought of a private country club in a town like Laurel, but there you go) in town. Lora frequented the pool there the summer before my senior year. One day she was tanning and had greased herself up completely with baby oil. Chris described in great detail watching a fly alight upon her bare belly as she lay there with her pasty self. At some point, Lora sat up. The fly, still on her stomach, was trapped in fat rolls. When Lora lay back down, the fly was a bit worse for wear and took a few minutes to gain his composure enough to fly away.
::end tangent::

Still being a little peeved about the cardigan, I ordered a nice steak (after being told to get whatever I wanted, mind you), prompting griping over the cost, and more when when I asked for ketchup with my steak, which was completely dried out and inedible when it got to the table. (I knew even then not to send food back to the kitchen. MFR did not.) MFR ordered a fruit plate, which he shared with Chris.

Is it surprising that, to me, the date ended here? I know MFR went to the dance, but I don't have any other memories involving him after the Steak Incident. (No, we didn't go Dutch. My dress cost more than he spent that night, so I harbored no guilt about not helping him with the bill.)

I do remember the party Chris had after the dance, drinking Kahlua with milk, and Chris hitting on me (Lora left the dance with her boyfriend, too, but I think she ended up at Chris's house later). He was a friend -- not someone I was attracted to -- and it cracked me up that as we sat talking, he tried to set the stage for a later booty call by telling me about a bicycle accident he had as a kid that rendered him infertile. Yeah, we're talking classy here. I got the hell out of there pretty fast.

next week: 15 minutes of fame

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Did you write something? Let me know!

Amy, Cat, eclectic, Hänni, Heathen, Jana, Kalki Kranki, Susie

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Today on "Martha"

"Aaron just brought me this crock, and he said, 'This is if you want to spit.' But I don't wanna spit. I wanna swallow! It was that kind of weekend." (while talking wine with Lorraine Bracco)