mrtl

Keep 'Em Running!

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A Post to Get to Martha

I finally got to the post office today. Sorry for the delay!

Still not feeling right, but I haven't puked today. YAY! Even better, Bug used the potty! While she was peeing, she said "Real big poopy!" I guess that's how it felt for her. Either way, now she knows and hopefully we can get her trained soon. I'd really like to have that done before the baby comes.

~*~*~*~

Today on "Martha"

Something else everyone needs to know:

The Perfect Margarita
Makes 4 1 (Martha, puh-leeze! Who are you kidding?)

1  lime, cut into wedges 
Coarse salt 
Ice cubes 
1 1/4   cups freshly squeezed lime juice 
1  cup best-quality white tequila 
1/3   cup Cointreau 
1/3   cup sugar, plus more if desired

1. To salt-rim the glasses, rub a cut lime around the rim of each of 4 stemmed goblets. Fill a saucer with salt. Dip goblet, upside down, into salt. Refrigerate goblets until ready to use.
2. Fill blender three-quarters full of ice cubes. Pour lime juice, tequila, and Cointreau over ice. Add sugar; blend, starting slowly, and then increasing to high speed, until ice is very finely chopped and mixture is frothy. Taste for sweetness; add more sugar if desired. Blend a few seconds more; pour into salt-rimmed glasses. Serve immediately.

Blech

Still sick. Constant state of nausea. Eaten little. Puked once. Very low fever.

I'm craving Super Sugar Crisp, which I've never liked and the smell of which makes me sick just to think about. WTF?

Holidays

Jesus is jumping for Karla (I need to update my reading links). Bug is safe and happy back at the base daycare, and I'm getting some work done. I'll be writing my Motif Monday post later.

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Update: I can't do this topic justice today. Seems I've gotten some sick in me. My stomach is in knots; I feel wiggy; I've already puked. I'm extending this topic another week so I have time to consider it.

In the meantime, should you choose to post something (or already have), let me know and I'll link up.

The Outing

Mister mrtl and I got out for several hours yesterday afternoon. We did some shopping and went out to dinner. We then headed home, but it was so early, we turned around and headed to Fred Meyer to wander around and kill more time. The plan was to get home after Bug was in bed, so as not to interrupt and throw her off.

Wouldn't you know, after my good fortune in finding the Godiva white chocolate bars at the BX Friday, I found another rare and favorite treat today? There's a Starbucks at the Fred Meyer, and we stopped there to get some hot chocolate. They had chocolate-covered graham crackers there! I haven't seen them anywhere in years now. YEARS! Oh the yumminess!

I also saw a moose today. Thanks go to mister mrtl for pointing the big boy out to me.

Now, misfit requested snow pictures a while ago, and since she just celebrated an anniversary, let's say these are a gift for that. I tried to get the mountains in, too.

Now, something else I must share with you requires a warning. This may be disturbing, and is (I feel) not appropriate for younger viewing audiences. Clear the room of them now.

Mister mrtl discovered this IN THE TOY SECTION of Fred Meyer. I couldn't believe my eyes. And for some reason, I thought of Bucky, which was the second time in as many days, since I bought my first Homie on Friday. Anyway, get a load of this. (ew - Sorry. That pun is NOT intended.) It is so wrong.

Click for larger image.

Do you SEE the handhold in the picture? Is that a SPERM whale inside?? It reads: "Squeezee Wonder Wiener" (and yes, I did correct spelling of wiener throughout my blog), "Slides, Slips, Slithers - Try to Hold It! WARNING: Choking Hazard. Small Parts. Not for children under 3 years. Do not leave out in direct sunlight." And apparently they think this is appropriate for kids 5 and up. GAH!

How to Lasso a Fly

This post is dedicated to Bente. The topic was one I considered some time ago for possible exploration, and today seemed most appropriate for getting it done.

This particular summer I lifeguarded with many other guards of varying ages. Most were around my age -- heading into their senior year in high school, -- and some were in college. Our pool manager was in his 30's. I learned to lasso a fly from one of the college guys, a 22-year-old named Dave (not the Dave from the Dave and Richie Show, though).

Manning the front desk of the pool was the most boring component of our day. We sat and sat, with our large notebook containing family pictures of all the pool's patrons. Patrons would come in, give us their pass number; we'd look them up in the book and wave them through. By the end of the summer, we knew pretty much everyone, so there wasn't much to do but say "hello." Beyond that, it was a practice in keeping oneself from going completely insane from the boredom. As is to be expected, the geniuses who designed the pool put the pay phone nowhere near the front desk, so calling friends to kill time wasn't happening. (Note to those young 'uns out there: this was before cell phones were so prevalent.)

Dave was weird. Cute, too in an older and kind of hairy way, but weird. One day as I appeared to relieve him from the front desk, I found him fixated on a fly that had alighted on the counter. He shushed me, concentrating every ounce of his being on this fly.

Suddenly, he swept his hand across the counter, the fly in its path. I watched him quizzically as he held up his closed fist and shook it several times. He then, in the fashion of dropping a yo-yo, opened his hand over the counter, dropping what looked to me like a Most Dead Fly. I was mortified.

::tangent::
Oh no, don't misjudge me. I am totally the type to hurt a fly. I am, however, completely opposed to unnecessary cruelty. Those last few moments of the fly's life were surely terrifying, I thought, and that pissed me off.
::end tangent::

As I began to berate Dave for his horrible treatment of an innocent creature, he reached over to me and plucked a hair from my head. I slapped him, assuming this was his way of telling me he didn't care what I thought, and would add insult to injury by harming me as well. Asshole!

But then, then he proceeded to tie a magic knot in each end of the strand of hair. He slipped one knot over the fly's head and tightened it ever so carefully. The other he tightened around a push pin off the bulletin board next to him. Within a minute, the fly -- only dazed by the fist shaking -- came to and began flying in circles until Dave had amused himself enough and set it free.

I wouldn't have believed such an act possible unless I had seen it with my own eyes. I'm sure some of you are reading this and thinking that I'm making it up. It happened, though, my friends. And I'm wondering if Dave parlayed this amazing talent into a successful career. I think he was a business major.

A Post About Not Posting

Having not read much since last weekend, I am dedicating my time to catching up. There's a lot out there. Gah! Why you write so much?

Quick wrap-up: Thanksgiving feast went very well. The turkey was scrumptious, as was the pie (both the peanut butter pie we made and ate yesterday and the pumpkin pie today). Bug is possessively crazy but charming nonetheless. She has been sick and clingy all week (her last day of school Monday instead of Tuesday because of that), but seems to be coming out of it. Her temperature finally broke today.

It finally stopped snowing today. We have about 15 inches accumulated. With Bug feeling better, we'll take her out to play tomorrow in it (got her a little toddler sled today, and she had a blast having Pop Pop drag her around the kitchen).

I made a pillow case to match Bug's bed set tonight with Mom's help. Every time I use the sewing machine, I remember how crazy I was to consider the kitty dickey business. Sewing just ain't my thing.

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Oh, and I almost forgot. I done killed another fish. Ello is gone; he went yesterday. It wasn't suicide, but murder. I meant to change the water like two weeks ago, but it slipped my mind. My neglect makes me a murderer.

Bubish, on the other hand, has inherited a nice fish bowl. He moved in today and seems quite happy to have a filter, bubble stone, rock and plant.

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And because it makes me feel a little better about myself, considering the above atrocities I have shared about myself, I'll also mention how I was delighted today to find TWO white Godiva chocolate bars at the BX (I haven't seen them there since we moved here). There were only two, so I put both of them in my cart. They ended up under coats and were not paid for. When I realized this, the cart had already been emptied into the truck as we moved on to get lunch for Bug and shop at the commissary. I dragged my ass back to the BX to pay for the chocolate. They wouldn't have tasted as good otherwise.

Hump Day Report

My parents are here. They read this blog (although they don't openly admit it, which I suppose is for the best), so I'm sure they'll be checking in to see what I have to say about their visit. If, by that doubtful chance, they don't, I'm sure my brother is and will be sure to fill them in on anything juicy I choose to post.

Well, guess what? No awkward crap is going down on my watch. I'll only blog about them in completely appropriate and acceptable ways while they're here.

Now for the latest... Lots happening here.

1. I CAN NOT BELIEVE that Kim just got dumped on ANTM. (I don't watch every week, but usually see the last five minutes because the of the stupid new tactic of broadcasting companies to have shows outside of their allotted time slots. That's a rant for another day, though.)
2. The orientation for the daycare on base was today. I probably could have gotten out of it, but wanted to check in with her classroom anyway. BIG news met me when I checked in:

BUG WILL BE IN HER OLD ROOM AFTER ALL!

I can't tell you how thrilling this was to hear. I did a happy dance, a little jig if you will. I gushed my appreciation to the messenger at the front desk. When I saw her later, I high-fived one of her teachers.

All three teachers Bug knew this summer are still there, as well as four of the kids.

3. Not trying to taunt you or anything, but it looks like -- through the magic of email discussion -- mister mrtl and I have changed our minds on Frida's name.
4. I didn't get to the post office today. I don't think it's open again till next Monday, so those awaiting packages from me are going to be waiting a tad longer. Sorry!
5. Must be the regression that occurs when in the company of family. I need chocolate. Or is that a Big Mac?
6. We're not having the usual Thanksgiving Curry this year. Mrtl be cookin' a turkey! (Note: I got mine at Fred Meyer for $40.99 -- I think it's the same one, anyway.) Usually I avoid cooking poultry with bones at holidays (well, make that anytime), because I always screw it up. But I loves me some crock pot cookin', and the idea of a crock pot turkey appeals to me something fierce! If this works out, I may do another one for Christmas! We'll be back to Easter Curry only.
7. I probably won't be blogging too much over the weekend. (You know when I say that, I usually end up going crazy with posts, but I really mean it this time.) The folks are here to see Bug (see also note above about self-censorship during visit), there's a holiday that requires a lot of attention and preparation, and mister mrtl is OFF all weekend with me, so we're going to hit the town.
8. We got an unexpected 7 1/2 inches today, and it's still coming.

Ok, so that's all I have. Tomorrow we'll be busy making pies and whatever can be done the day ahead. (We're celebrating on Friday since mister mrtl is working tomorrow.)

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

The Bradley Report

I've spoken of Bradley, our strange neighbor. Apparently the child is quite the shark when it comes to raking in some extra change (har har).

I'm not sure if I've mentioned our new neighbors across the street who live next door to the Bradley clan. The husband works at the same place as mister mrtl; the wife is a WAHM (with two older kids) who I like a lot. Let's call her Florida (where she's from, just because I'm not clever enough right now to come up with something better). She's in on the margarita party next summer. (The talented margarita and hot toddy maker -- hereafter referred to as Margie -- mentioned in that post lives around the corner from us.)

Anyway, mister mrtl told me the other day of a conversation he had with Mr. Florida. Mr. Florida said that Bradley went over as he was shoveling his driveway. Bradley says, "Do you want some help?" Mr. Florida, thinking Bradley was just being nice and neighborly, said sure. When they were finished, Mr. Florida was heading back into the house, having thanked Bradley. Bradley said something along the lines of, "I wasn't doing this for free, you know." Mr. Florida felt forced to pay him.

::tangent::
I don't know what the deal is with the Bradley clan and these new neighbors. Bradley's mom had invited me over for coffee one day (cancelled when Bradley got pink eye), saying that she would be inviting several moms from the street. I thought it safe to assume that Florida was going to be invited, but she wasn't. (Turns out only one other woman had accepted the invitation. I'm not sure just how many were invited, though.) I'm assuming that this is because Florida's son, who has had no trouble at all making friends -- I saw him outside playing with his new friends the day after they moved in -- isn't buddies with Bradley.
::end tangent::

I'll cut Mr. Florida some slack for not seeing this coming. After all, he has a son about Bradley's age. Why would it cross his mind to pay a neighbor kid to do something his own kid could do? I do wonder, though, if he had some words for Bradley or his parents over this, or if this tactic has backfired elsewhere, getting Bradley nothing for his efforts. I say this because, over the last week, Bradley has rung our bell several times to offer to shovel our walk. Each time he leads with, "Hi! I'm trying to earn some money. Can I shovel your walk?" making it very clear his intention to be paid.

::tangent::
Just to fill you in, since I'm sure the Bradley tales are captivating, the first visit from Bradley over shoveling came on the first of several days when snow was expected. I asked Bradley what his rate was ($5 - rip off), and declined, saying "You know it's supposed to snow for the next few days, don't you?" (His very Bradleyish response: "No, I didn't know that. My father didn't get a chance to check Channel 2 this morning for [insert weatherman's name]'s report.") You think he headed home after this? No. He headed next door (to the home that includes two high school kids). In the meantime, mister mrtl told me he wasn't put out at all to shovel the walk, so paying the child his exorbitant fee was not necessary. I think mister mrtl intercepted Bradley's next visit, but then a couple days ago Bradley came back while it was snowing (the day of the Six Inches), with only about an inch on the ground. Again, "It's supposed to snow a lot more today." I then told him that mister mrtl would take care of it.
::end tangent::

Hearing this story about Bradley's tactics makes my opinion of him lean more towards seeing him as Eddie Haskell than Beaver. I think back to the times he's "Howdy neighbor!"'d us and asked mister mrtl if he wants help. It makes me wonder if the kid lies in wait at his window, watching for us to go out and do something that he could "help" with. It creeps me out more.

~*~*~*~

Today on "Martha"

"Of course I'm a nymphomaniac." (to Betty White)

I know it's been a while since I've included this segment. Martha appeared to go through a very Serious Spell on her show, not being flirty or silly at all. Since this segment is devoted to Martha, I didn't find it appropriate to talk about her guests' silliness. (I do have to say, though, that the psycho guy from "Desperate Housewives" -- the one who was dating Bree -- was on yesterday and was pretty funny.) Also, I've been busy and not able to keep an ear on the show for those funny bits. It's a damned shame.

Pain

I am a candy ass.

That sums it up. I have no tolerance for pain (except, strangely enough, for head injuries, since I appear to have an extremely hard head).

It is because of this that I am in a way terrified of giving birth here. At a military hospital.

Let me back up a little. A few days after being farted on, I went to the farter's house for a party. There I met a woman -- let's call her Fern -- who was very close to her due date. As is to be expected, we ended up talking pregnancy and birth.

::tangent for the sake of a tangent::
Speaking of Fern, we emailed back and forth last week about getting together sometime for coffee or lunch (she lives here in ER). When I saw a familiar face at the commissary today, I said hello, that I recognized her, but couldn't remember from where. Turns out that it was Fern. You had to be there. It was really quite amusing. She didn't know who I was either (till she heard my name).
::end tangent for the sake of a tangent::

Anyway, Fern had told me about how, at her OB orientation, there was mention of there being no promises of epidurals there if the birth was happening after hours or on the weekend, that an on-call anethesiologist may not be able to get to the hospital in time to administer it. (Apparently some of their doctors chose to live over an hour away from the hospital -- fuckers.)

Let's reflect on this for a moment. While reflecting, keep in mind what I said above, that I am due on a Sunday, and some facts about Bug's birth (quotation marks used to emphasize moments that bring me pain by the memory alone):

1. I was at the hospital at 6am for my planned induction. Bug was born at 10:19pm. That means there were several hours of "pushing," y'all, enticing the stupid idiot nurse to actually suggest that I reconsider my Very Strong Feelings Against Allowing Anyone to Say "PUSH! PUSH! PUSH! PUSH! PUSH!" which made me instead consider bitch slapping her multiple times for even saying it.

::tangent::
I recently unearthed my birth plan for Bug, which included the line: "I would like the environment to be kept as quiet as possible (with absolutely no one saying, "Push! Push! Push!")." Don't get me wrong; I was in no way going for a Scientology-type birth (I will not use that TC name here as I don't find it in good taste and will not give him press). Prior to Bug's arrival, I had obsessively watched "A Baby Story," and knew that when, in a relaxed environment, that shit grated on every last nerve of mine, so hell if I was going to allow such obnoxious behavior when in a more stressful environment. I gave the nurses plenty of optional phrases to use. All were wonderful about it except one. Bitch apparently had no creativity or self-control, and practically begged me to allow her to say it, insisting that it would help me. Whatev.
::end tangent::

2. Delusional in thinking that it would be "enough" and wanting to "participate" in the birth, I had a "partial" epidural.
3. All was fine until Bug's big "head" got a little "stuck" in my pelvis.
4. The doctor then attempted to "move" her, by putting his "hand" (which wasn't small, if you know what I'm saying) up "there" and manually trying to "twist" her into position.
5. In my desperation to stop the "hand" "twisting" Bug's head, I asked the doctor if he didn't have some vacuum thing he could suck her out with. He didn't, but offered to try "forceps."
6. In my desperation to stop the "hand" "twisting" Bug's head, I readily agreed to the use of "forceps."
7. Bug was "extracted" after two attempts with the "forceps."

How much do you want to bet that I'll be trying to arrange an induction this time around, too?

next week: holidays

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Did you play? Let me know!

Cat, Susie