mrtl

Bwopping, A Quickie

I am my own worst enemy. My weaknesses get the best of me. While I considered making a list of them, I doubt I'd remember them all, and after Typepad just ate a long post I wrote on Bug's site that has me crying, fuck if I'm going to try it tonight anyway.

I do have to mention the digression that wasn't. A regular visitor to mrtland, ~Kabe, was in Anchorage this past weekend. We got together for lunch at the Sourdough Mining Company. She was absolutely lovely -- not a psycho rapist at all! -- and really needs to have a blog so I can live vicariously through her Living It Up Single life. She was all set to be my partner in crime, sharing some hot buttered rum bread pudding with me, but they.didn't.have.any. Fuckers. I feel even worse for ~Kabe. She came all the way to Alaska with the expectation of eating some hot buttered rum bread pudding, only to fly home without. No worries, though. I'll have some for you!

I also have to mention the digression that was. Get a load of this donut, folks:

This donut is bigger than my forehead! And look at the folds of my chin trying to make way for it to get into my mouth, even at an angle! For the local folks who check in here, this was at a bakery right off the Seward Highway in Girdwood. We're talking monstrous Boston Cream, and the bear paws were even bigger. Dios mio!

Now... bwopping? Um. Hmmm. Guilt. I joined up with Debutaunt and her crew for the President's Fitness Challenge thing. The first week was great. Then I dropped out of blogland and stopped trying. Granted, Mary and I got out a lot and did an awful lot of walking. We also did a lot of eating. Maybe that's why when I weighed myself on the 16th I was only 146.5. (I haven't updated my nifty table, so have to go by my awful memory, which is telling me that my last weight was 145.5.) I weighed myself again this past Tuesday with the same result. How on earth am I supposed to feel motivated when my straying is met with no horrible consequences?

It's fucking hot here now. We have no A/C. It's Alaska. The ice cream calls. See what I'm talking about? You think I'm going to hesitate? Not get some because of the self awareness? pshaw... Writing here hasn't done much to quell me. Maybe I should put my before shots in my new header. hahahaha. Who has time?

Daddy's Little Helper

About a month ago we got Bug a trampoline. It collected dust in the garage until this weekend, when mister mrtl decided he was going to get it set up already. My plan was to disappear with the girls for a while. D-i-s-a-p-p-e-a-r. Read on.

::tangent::
I'm going to try not to turn this into a circus of tangents upon tangents, but I can already see the need for several side notes... Hell, I'm just going to throw it here. Read it at will.

Yesterday was Military Appreciation Day. Several places around town had free or reduced admittance, and so I figured I'd take Bug to the Imaginarium and the zoo at least. The museum was also a thought. We'd hit one place before lunch/nap, then one or two in the afternoon while mister mrtl played in the back yard. Unfortunately, the morning trip didn't go so well. Bug started getting tired and hungry and pitched a fit when it was time to leave; at least she didn't hit the floor, but the screaming alarmed several of the employees there. Running late, we rushed home, stopping off at a Burger King to get some chicken nuggets and milk for her. The second time ever buying her fast food -- did the same earlier this week when we were late getting home from taking Mary to the airport -- and it had the same effect on her digestive system, which wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't forgotten to put the chamber pot back in her potty -- Egads! Then she never took a nap, so she was uncooperative and cranky (no offense) for the rest of the afternoon, so there was no way I was taking her anywhere, but I sure did need to get away for a while. Besides, I needed to disappear.

Mister mrtl(assembly + tenacity) = frustration. There is a standing joke between us that I am the handy one. While doing the walk through before we closed on our first house, our realtor lady kept adressing mister mrtl when she talked about repairs needed. I can't remember exactly how it played out, but at some point I said, "I'm the handy one." He's never let me live that down. When there's something to be assembled, I'm the handy one. While he's perfectly capable of putting things together, when things go wrong (or not as they should), he tends to get impatient. Still, he doesn't like to walk away from a task. It pisses him off even more when he can't finish what he's started, so that frustration builds. And builds. And gets ugly. I've long given up suggesting that he give himself a break and come back fresh, and it's hard not to laugh at him when he's going completely nuts. Suffice to say my bemusement just pisses him off more. This is why I try to disappear when he goes for the tools. (Note that if I'm in a state of my own, bemusement gives way to annoyance, which has an equal, pissing effect on him.)
::end tangent::

When the plan to get out fell through, mister mrtl told me Bug could help him with the trampoline while I ran out with Jem for a while. Woot! Excellent! Breaktime! I dismissed my immediate reaction, grabbed the baby and headed for the van before he changed his mind.

What was my immediate reaction? Knowing my husband, knowing how frustrated he gets when he's assembling anything under normal conditions, I should have known better than to leave Bug with him. He didn't get enough sleep during the day and was working another mid shift last night. Add to that a tired, uncooperative, and precocious child. This made the equation mister mrtl(fatigue + assembly + tenacity)/ child(fatigue + crankiness) = frustration³.

When Jem and I got home and Bug was in bed, mister mrtl told me he wanted to go back outside but that he needed help holding things together while they were bolted. (This wasn't an issue of not being handy, but of not being handy enough. As in not having enough hands. It's a joke. Get it? I'm dying here.) My hesitance played heavily on my face. Didn't he want to take a nap? Besides, it was obvious the thing was driving him crazy; he had said as much. The last thing I wanted to do was go out there and help him under those conditions, but hell if I was going to tell him that. He wanted so badly to get the damned thing finished that when Jem started fussing, he asked if I could bring her out with us. Like he thought the mosquitos (Alaska's state bird - they're freakin' huge here -- important information to set up my next lame joke) wouldn't carry her off. Don't make me go out there with you! Didn't he want to take a nap?

He finally gave up trying to get me out there and went to bed.

It wasn't till this morning that he told me about how Bug was out there with him saying "Damn it!" as she happily helped him by handing him the springs. He showed me the blister on his palm, explaining how there were so many springs to pull and put in place. And GAH! The safety netting was impossible and driving him crazy!

It wasn't till tonight that Bug showed her precocious side. See, the child will hear something once and will then use it correctly in a different context later. Would it help to mention that she wouldn't take a nap again today? As mister mrtl tried futiley to get Bug to put on her jammies as she dodged him, prancing around and trying to get him to chase her, she started taunting him by yelling, "Say 'Damn it!' Say 'Damn it!'"

I don't know if I was stifling more laughs from how she uttered forth the phrase, perfectly replicating his frustration³ intonation, or from watching mister mrtl keep a straight face while telling her it would be better to say, "Darn it!"

Did You Know?

Cradle cap glows under blue lights.

Being a grown up is hard.

----

Bug is very enjoying "the farmer book" that Kalki sent. While she's singing the song now (that Old MacDonald had a moose on his farm), she was just cracking me up while "reading" the book. What follows is a small sampling of what she was saying. I would post more, but I'm not a quick transcriber.

how many do we have?
there's a little blue pail
i can take the big blue pail
i know! we can use a green pail or a red pail
we can use a yellow pail
i need a red pail she said
i need a red pail to carry the popcorn to the corn basin
i can help the cars go round and round

I don't think she said "basin," but that's what it sounded like. I just asked her where she takes the popcorn. She said, "to the corn basin," so I guess she did say "basin." I asked if she has a basin at school. She said, "Yeah." What's in the basin at school? Jelly and Emily. What are Jelly and Emily? They're in her class. She has jelly on her bread. Emily wants to take a bath. I'm so confused.

Herbal Tea Gives Me Heartburn

When I have time to post, the internet connection craps out. When it's up, I don't have time to put together something more intellectually stimulating. Not to say that my typical posts are intellectually stimulating, or stimulating otherwise.

Just last night I saw mister mrtl's post. What a babe! hee

Dude! Andrea's preggars?! Woot!! Congrats, girlfriend! Losing the Border's chai freed up some time there, didn't it? hee

Oh, I'm a riot. Stop me now. No, really.

Hi ho.

How about me?

Rest assured mrtl and the girls are having fun without me!

See the Resemblance?

Came across an old picture that reminded me of another.

On the left, mrtl in a favorite jumpsuit, grade 2. On the right, Bug in her red stripey pants and boo shirt, 2 1/3 years. Common denominator (besides the whole mother/daughter thing): Mom Mom was hair stylist for both pictures.

----

Miss Mary will be coming in tomorrow night and will be here for a week. Tomorrow I will be running crazy trying to get everything ready (I do hate how I procrastinate), which may be crazier if Bug's temperature is still up in the morning. Our guest room is where my computer resides, but I'll be playing a tourist while she's here so I wasn't planning on be around much anyway. I bid a fond adieu to blogland. Until we meet again. Smooches.

Grabisch, Part II

Reviewing my previous post on this man, I see that I didn't completely capture what he did for me.

I spent a lot of time in my youth not being very considerate of myself. My focus was more on how others perceived me, how to be liked, how to fit in. I didn't like myself very much and had no clue what I was going to do after I graduated. It wasn't until my final semester in high school that I was forced to take a good, hard look at myself, at how I saw myself, what I needed to change, how I viewed my world and what it held for me. I buckled down, studied more, took myself -- my life -- more seriously, and made plans.

Maybe some of this was natural maturation, but I credit most of this enlightenment and growth to Grabisch's class. The activities he made us do, and more importantly, the metacognition involved in the assessment of these activities, helped me to know myself better than I ever had. While I had a lot more growing to do, I shudder to think the path I would have taken without this guidance. It's also amazing how all the fun we had in his class was so educational, which is what I admired so much about his teaching. What a gift!

Today I received an email from a fellow alumnus and former student of Grabisch's, including an excerpt from the local paper. His obituary.

It's hard to think straight when flooded with memories and tears. The obituary didn't mention his family. I remember him married with one or two kids. Even if he divorced, wouldn't the kids be included? Inconsequential, I know, but curious all the same.

57 is too young.

WWKD?

I dreamed last night. A rarity to remember.

In my dream I had taken my laptop to the local coffee house to enjoy a latte while I worked. Mister mrtl was at home with Jem. This wouldn't happen in real life for a couple reasons: first, the wireless device doesn't work on my work laptop (conflicts with some networking stuff that we haven't been able to resolve); second, mister mrtl is on a three-month stint of swings and mids shifts, so he's sleeping during the day. Let's get back to the dream, though.

My thriving productivity in this new atmosphere was abruptly halted when He Who Shall Not Be Named on This Blog appeared with his own coffee and laptop, sitting at a nearby table.

Every fiber in me told me to leave the poor man alone, to respect his privacy, the solitude he must have been seeking to bring him to this slow coffee house in a 'burb of Anchorage. Every fiber but one. That one tried to overwhelm the others by screaming at me that Kalki would kill me if I didn't do something. But what? What should I do if I were to encounter him? This is where I woke up from my dream, and the thought that has been on my mind all freakin' morning. Here are the ideas and further thoughts on them:

1. Pass him a piece of paper with Kalki's URL on it. Kalki would kill me for directing him to her site.
2. Pass him a piece of paper with my URL on it after I had posted a quick "Dear John" letter (hee - I could link to this post now!). Kalki would kill me for indirectly directing him to her site.
3. Ignore every fiber but one and approach him like any good friend of a crazed fan would. Ask him to:
   1. Sign a napkin. Not enough.
   2. Let me take a picture of him. Not enough. Where's the proof that I took it?
   3. Take a picture with me. Too much. Why would she want a picture of me?
   4. Take a picture with Kalki's website showing on his laptop. Egads - the site again!
   5. Sign my boob, then take a picture showing him with my signed boob. Killed, cut up into tiny pieces (except for the signed piece of boob) and fed to her neighbor cows, which wouldn't eat me but kick me around and poop on me, and OMG I hate the smell of cow poop.
   6. Take a picture of him holding up a sign that says, "I love Kelly." Send the picture as well as the sign to Kalki. Hmmmm.... This might be a good option. What would be wrong about this? Oh, that's right. It's not
4. Abduct him and fly him to Redneck Valley.

It's very important that I know what to do in such a situation. What would Kalki do??

---- geez louise ---- This has happened before. WTF indeed!

Not Such a Good Idea

I should be asleep. Jem took FOREVER to settle down tonight, and there's the ME time I demand to have... I'm about to need to tape my eyelids open. Why must sleep be a luxury?

Sleep is not the purpose of this post, though. Discussing my big plans for a new banner is the purpose of this post. Follow me for a second.

Over the last week or so as I've struggled with my weak will for the sweet stuff, a lyric has been playing itself over and over in my head: "Save me from myself." As usual (in the spirit of the multitude of other banners inspired by them), this is from The The. This was (and possibly still is if I can bring myself to follow through) to be the theme of my new banner, and I planned to surround the words with images of that which tempted me.

I wasn't planning to stay up all night, but wanted to get a jump start on gathering images of the treats. WTF was I thinking? Have you visited www.hersheys.com lately? E-gads. It hurts. Oh it hurts. All the products listed... the products I didn't know existed... reminding me of the Holy Grail (the Irish Cream Rolo). Shit... It's worse. Looking for a link for the Holy Grail, I see the candy of my childhood in England.

::blame tangent::
Jana, you started this shit, talking candy. I realize you're just trying to encourage me to sit around and eat chocolate all day rather than train, ill-preparing me for our DDR dance off next year. Bitch.

Sorry. I didn't mean to call you that. It wasn't nice. It's just thinking about all this yummy stuff that I shouldn't be eating makes me hella cranky.
::end blame tangent::

Ranting about seeing all the chocolate online isn't the purpose of this post either. As I said, I was gathering images. When the Hershey's site didn't have that which I sought, I turned to my old friend, Google. What follows is the true purpose of this post.

Whatever you do, don't Google "Twix" and go into images. If you do, you may see a Very Disturbing, NSFW image... Oh. That's not nice of me, is it? I'm sure those of you at work are going to be pissed at me for teasing you in this way, making you wait till you get home to blantantly ignore my instructions. Ok. I'll play nice and describe it. You best give me mad props for doing so because having these words on my blog is surely going to lead to some unsavory search hits.

It is a picture of an woman's ass with a Twix protruding from it. (At least I think it's supposed to be a Twix; it looks awfully large for a Twix. Maybe that's a product of which I'm not aware. Is it wrong that I am now drooling over the thought of a large dildo-sized Twix now? Don't bother. I already know.) On the other end of the Twix is a woman taking a bite from it. The image is labeled with a catchy phrase involving Twix and a term meaning "women" that rhymes with Twix. A verb beTwixt the two is something one does with a shovel. That word is not "spelunk," although from looking at the picture it very well should be.

Do you understand why I could not possibly go to bed now? With this image in my head? With these thoughts?

Oh perfect. The stupid tic tac commercial is on, the one with the woman balancing the tic tacs on her tongue, which is just as creepy as the one where the woman juggles them with her tongue.

Confessional

I'm watching the E! True Hollywood Story on "Blossom."

I know! Tyra's on! And there's the "Dukes of Hazzard" reunion show (which already started). I can't be torn away.