mrtl

In Which I Expose Truths, Fears, and Keen Observations, and Save the Economy!

Note: Please be sure to comment to let me know you've read through this monstrosity! Not to bribe anyone, but a merit badge will be awarded!

How exciting it is to get my laptop fixed!!

::tangent to self-aggrandize and celebrate just a little bit::
It's a miracle! I don't know how I performed this miracle, but I did. I am miraculously amazing like that! And humble. Don't forget humble!

For future reference (in case it happens again, because of course my blog will be the first reference I use for guidance), it was an unmountable boot error. I had given up all hope and was going to reload the OS. After partitioning I put in the installation disk and somehow got to a C: prompt where I ran a chkdsk and fixboot and OMG it started up AND all my files and settings were still there and OMG OMG OMG I couldn't back it all up fast enough. WOOOOO!!
::end tangent to self-aggrandize and celebrate just a little bit::

Forced brevity by phone blogging was taking its toll. Spending the last week abbreviating myself -- oh how I hate typing on my phone -- was killing me since I had so much I wanted to say on some very important current events. I'll get right to that.

• Miscarriages = Murder WTF?
• WIC is up for cuts.
• Rape is being redefined.
• Planned Parenthood may lose funding.
• The U.S. economy still sucks.
• New product: Breast milk ice cream is here!

Seeing the article on miscarriages got me thinking about the slippery slope such a law change could create. What if the rights of fetuses turned into the rights of reproductive elements such as eggs and semen? What if every sperm were so sacred it were a crime to waste any? What if our lawmakers were to make male masturbation illegal? How about the approximate 400,000 eggs each woman's ovaries form? Would periods be a crime?

Now, noone wants an Orwellian government, right? But what if we try to see positives? Jonathan Swift was totally on track with this in his "A Modest Proposal" of 1729. In this essay, Swift recommends eating orphans and making gloves from their hides as a solution for resolving hunger, reducing the burden of children on poor families, and removing the excess of papists in Ireland.

::tangent for vocabulary lessons::

papist: noun a Roman Catholic.

satire: noun the use of irony, sarcasm, ridicule, or the like, in exposing, denouncing, or deriding vice, folly, etc.

::tangent for random comments about this tangent::
Having been raised a Roman Catholic, I can understand how too many of them around can have a negative impact. For instance:

• Their propensity to provide refuge to child molesters.
• The physical exertion of the weekly service (e.g., kneeling, standing, sitting) is a strain on the knees and thighs, and can be dehydrating, especially since the only liquid made available is alcohol.
• Oh, PARDON ME, it's not alcohol; it's the "blood of Christ." It was during my blogging sabbatical that I had the disturbing epiphany that the practice of pretending to drink blood makes Catholics vampire wannabes. It was during a discussion with a woman who is married to a preacher. Not a typical preacher's wife, mind you, but one who is totally open to entertaining a discussion about such things.

It's more disturbing to consider that priests (aka molesters in some cases) feed their congregations alcohol-but-not-really, suggesting that it's not wine, it's BLOOD! Totally won't get you drunk, but will take away your sin. We're not sinning here, folks! It's all good. The accompanying lines are burned into my memory: "Take this, ALL OF YOU, and drink from it! It is my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It has been shed for you, and for all men, so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me!" Now that's just fucking creepy. I want to believe that this insanity was brought in to convert pagans and not something anyone actually believed Jesus to be saying. You want to drink blood? We have blood in our ceremonies! Sure!!! Jesus wants you to drink HIS blood! He's cool with it!

If Jesus really did say these things, let's consider how it would go over in today's society. As I suggested to the atypical preacher's wife, if some do-gooder came up to you, offered you a drink, and suggested that you imagine it's his blood when you drink it, you'd be fucking freaked out, as would most every person out there (save maybe people who practice hoodoo... and vampires), and thinking twice about that person's character. And if "good Christians" are supposed to truly emulate Jesus, there'd be a variety of flavored bloods in the grocer's aisle. But Jesus was smart and did this with a crowd. Sure people were all WTF, but the mob mentality worked in his favor. I'm so glad the host isn't referred to as the brains of Jesus, because zombies freak me out a lot, too.

::end tangent for random comments about this tangent::

::end tangent for vocabulary lessons::

::new tangent to share shock over extreme fear that I haven't blogged about yet::
SHOCKED! How can this be? I've scoured looking for some mention of this. Hell with tangents. This gets a story.
::end new tangent to share shock over extreme fear that I haven't blogged about yet::

Story Time with mrtl

Once upon a time, when mrtl was smaller and impressionable and living with her big brother, she became very fearful of vampires. You see, Big Brother told smaller mrtl about rats biting toes off while children slept and bats biting necks. The bats may have entered Big Brother's Sack-of-Scaring-Smaller-mrtl Tricks after watching Brahm Stocker's Dracula, of which mrtl can't remember watching the entirety.

Effects of this sibling abuse:

• mrtl cannot fall asleep unless her toes and neck are securely covered by blankets.
• Bunnicula, the children's story about a cute little bunny rabbit that sucked the juice out of vegetables, caused nightmares. Attempts to cure this fear by purchasing the tamer pop-up version of the story as an adult were unsuccessful, worsening the images with a more actively vicious popping-up bunny.
• mrtl has never been able to watch a vampire movie all the way through:
  • This is a reason why none of the stars of The Lost Boys are on her childhood list of dreamy boys.
  • And although Jim Carrey's eyebrows were a delightful distraction in Love at First Bite, mrtl's eyes were closed and ears tightly covered during key moments of the film.
  • Even Brad Pitt's Interview With a Vampire couldn't cure her.
  • The current vampire craze of "True Blood" and Twilight have been completely lost on her, driving her to numb her brain on "Real Housewives of XXX County."
• People with pronounced canines still freak her out. Jerry Seinfeld's hand obsession has nothing on me.

Just writing this list is causing heartburn and a lump in my throat.

So... Is it really any wonder why, as a young girl, I subconsciously started having a world of doubt about my faith?

End Story Time with mrtl

Let's get back to Swiftly saving our economy.

If our government were to implement new laws to not let any human reproductive output be wasted, it could have an extremely beneficial impact on our economy. Unused eggs and sperm could be harvested and utilized to start a trend in human-based food products! Entreprenuers could set up collection sites to provide the drive-through harvesting of sperm. No need to worry too much about storage facilities; assistive reproductive technology could be used to incubate and raise babies for our food industry. (Bonus: Less emotional attachment to test-tube infants!) Milk-producing women could supply milk for making cheese and other dairy products if Swift's idea for growing babies to yearlings before being offered as contributions to our nutritional demand is utilized. Just think, PETA with its annoying commercials would be defunct.

Names for businesses are running rampant:

• Planned Unparenthood and Orphan Bistro (organization)
• Happy Endings (sperm collection)
• Lecter's Table (restaurant with all dishes served with fava beans and a nice chianti)
• Heads, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes Steak House
• Nothing But the Breast (branding for dairy products)
• Baby's Butt (clothing line with jingle: "There's a reason it's this soft!")
• Fingerlickins' Bar-B-Que (jingle: "We'll never tell you to take our fingers out of your mouth!")
• One Potato, Two Potato (jingle: "Fisting at its best with a side of fries!")
• Man Flan and Boob Cream (dessert shop serving sperm flan and breast milk ice cream)

Please pray that my laptop never dies again.

Mommy Wins

Never saw girls leave beds faster.
I share magic ticket.
"Who's going to win?"

Jem won and commenced strutting victory walk with chest prominently forward to bathroom. Bug whined that it's not a race and then pouted when she mistook my laughter at Jem's display of pride as laughing at her.

Bug, I laugh at you inside.

Imagine My Hell

To be looking for a song online by my favorite group (The The) and get all excited that I missed a new album, only to face the harsh realization that the new album listed is by The Wiggles.

Why Matt Johnson? WHY?? It took soooo long to find peace with your commercialization, even if I don't understand why any proper Brit would choose M&M's over Nestlé Smarties.

Shit. You're not a proper Brit. The Wiggles are Australian. It all makes sense. 

You have a secret identity as a Australian Wiggle, don't you, Matt Johnson? You can't hide anymore behind your unsearchable doubled article group name and common moniker. You've been found out.

You speak of this in "Out of the Blue (Into the Fire)." The man without a soul. The acting like someone else. The going through motions, faking emotions. The  wriggling [sic] around like a lizard in a tin. The trying so hard to cleanse yourself. 

So what color Wiggle are you, you naughty, dirty Wiggle? Blue is taken. How cleansed are you, really?

**********
Out of the Blue (Into the Fire)

I'm a man without a soul...Honey, yeah
I lost it while parading it, in a town full of thieves
Y'see I didn't wanna be with any people I know.
But god knows, I didn't wanna be alone
I thought if I acted like someone else
I'd feel more comfortable with myself
So I showered down, left my little room
Jumped in my car for protection from hostility
Well it ain't easy to be bold in an unknown city
Yeah I was feeling strong mouthed and weak willed
When I ran into the cure for my ills

Don't tell me what your name is
I want your body, not your mind,
I want a feeling, worth paying for before I say goodbye
But as I was talking, I couldn't look her in the eyes,
I just kept wondering,
How many men unleashed their frustration between her thighs?

There'll be no sleep 'til the morning
There'll be no lullabyes
'cause the devil borrowed my clothes just for tonight

Well my adrenalin, was curdling like cream,
as I was being led by the hand.
Through the sound of sirens
And the distant noise of some drunken jazz band,
Through the stench of disinfectant--
that "INFECTED" my head,
through the darkness of a corridor
and into a stranger's bed.

Well I didn't wanna hurt your feelings, honey
But I couldn't suppress my own,
I had to pull myself outta this nosedive
by proving something to myself.

She was lying on her back
with her lips parted.
Squealing like a stuffed pig
I was going through the motions
faking the emotions,
and wriggling around like a lizard in a tin.

Trying so hard to cleanse myself,
I was turning into somebody else.
I was trying so hard to please myself,
I was turning into somebody else.
I was trying so hard to be myself
I was turning into somebody else.
I was trying so hard to be myself
I was turning into somebody else.
I was trying so hard to be myself
I was turning into somebody else.

Come my love with your desire 
Out of the blue...and into the fire!!

http://new.music.yahoo.com/the/tracks/

About My Boobs

A Love Poem to My Husband

While waiting for the realtor
To take pictures for our listing
I noticed in your man cave
My boobs on your shelf

I gave you that pen
A bachelorette party momento
Because I love you
Even though I loved it myself

And there it was
My boobs, exposed
For the world to see
Along with our address

Did you not learn
When packing out of Texas
Certain items, as those kept in bedside drawers
Need be better concealed?

I'll still love you
When you can't find your boob pen,
Even if I show impatience
In providing requested guidance.

::sigh::

My husband
Is 39 years old.
Is having his first experience
Refilling an Rx.
Is saying, "Be glad I'm so healthy,"
In response to my annoyance
From years of daily birth control pills
And his requests for guidance.
Is not seeing it on the freakin' bottle.

My husband 
Is not just a man.
He is an intel officer.
And mine.

This Really Blows

Laptop dead. 
Bublé hates pie?
On iPhone. 
Suck. 
Already lost post. 
fml
Brevity for sanity.
80% search hits "it's so windy" jokes.
See http://blog.mrtland.com/2005/04/its_so_windy.html.
I'm brilliant.
And humble.
And aim to please.
And stay sane.
Promise original.
No more funny than first.

~mrtl's It's So Windy Joke of the Day~
Dedicated to New England, source of most recent hits

It's so windy there's a bumpit advisory.

More Unsolicited Advice

Dear Michael Bublé,

I'm sorry that I'm spending another blog post on this topic, but I discovered today when I resumed ADHD medication that there were some key extrapolations that I failed to realize while writing last night. I need to readdress my analysis of "Haven't Met You Yet" to give proper attention to some major issues.

Cheers,
mrtl

p.s. I really am not psychotic.

::tangent to prove I wasn't psychotically obsessing over Michael Bublé today::
Today was extremely busy for me. I awoke this morning to find that my BFF had outed my blog on FB by posting a link to a lovely tribute she'd written for me years ago. Damage control efforts began swiftly enough to contain the effects -- not one link from FB in my stats WOO! -- and I'm optimistic that there will be an even nicer tribute coming, what with her panicked guilt over her actions and her thrill in finding me to be so forgiving of her. Oh, shit. I forget to put on my facetious hat to say that.  No doubt she's going to post that picture of me eating the penis donut from Voo Doo in Portland that she had loaded on FB with the caption, "Jaws like a snake, I'll tell you." But I digress. I also took a field trip to the Big Hot City with the girls and my parents. We were away for hours, following them around the children's museum, where I also suffered a horrid athsma attack from the fake snow they pump into their winter wonderland that also makes my heart break for missing Alaska, where my BFF would happily invite me over to ply me with homemade brew in order to make me vulnerable to an even more embarrassing photo session, most certainly involving Brazilian waxing shenanigans.

I also had a date with my husband, to whom I am happily married, even when he's still sick after a week and tells me I need to get a job.
::end tangent to prove I wasn't psychotically obsessing over Michael Bublé today::

The phrase that stuck with me today was, "I'll give so much more than I'll get." Michael Bublé, you're writing a song to your prospective love here, but you're insulting her. You're degrading her as not having a generous nature, that you won't expect much from her. Michael Bublé, those are fighting words, and since you say that "All's fair in love and war," shit's gonna get U G L Y for you because she's gonna hold your ass to that.

::tangent to smack you, but not on the ass::
Don't start snickering about her holding your ass. You start laughing at her when she's pissed off and things will get uglier FAST. Sheeesh, sometimes men are so incredibly clueless.
::end tangent to smack you, but not on the ass::

Yes, I understand that you don't MEAN to say that you have such low expectations (as if you can talk yourself into loving anyone, even HER), but it's what you SAID, and that means everything to most women. My husband would dismiss this as a "matter of semantics." Men (generally speaking) don't seem to get it...

::tangent for another epiphany::
Wow. You don't get "much," do you Michael Bublé? I see you don't get IT either. This explains the semantics.

Sometimes I don't know what to do with my brilliance at reading people. It's a strong argument for being a marriage counselor.
::end tangent for another epiphany::

...that the way things are phrased is absolutely critical. Women (again, generally speaking) will read between the lines and analyze every word choice for some hidden meaning. One should never underestimate the likelihood of womanly extrapolation. And no, "That wouldn't rhyme" WILL NOT cut it as an excuse for insulting the generosity of a woman in love. Since this is all about unsolicited advice, I'll offer some alternative phrasing that will be much less insult-inducing:

- I'm not a demanding asshole, really.
- I will buy you a pony and will not expect sexual favors in return.
- Can we spoon?
- Please don't let The Count laugh at me anymore.
- I'll never give you a reason to yell at me for leaving the toilet seat up.

You're right, this love will make you work to work it out. I suggest you buy a copy of the Oxford English Dictionary and a magnifying glass. While we're on the subject of great resources, I'd also suggest bookmarking http://www.rhymezone.com/ for rhyming help. It's an art, really. Not to say you're not an artist. You have a great voice and are not difficult to look at and make girls swoon, which is in itself a piece of art... You're also expressive with those puppy dog eyes. Uh oh. Puppy dog eyes. Puppies smell crotches. Not that I want you to smell my crotch, even if it smells like pie. My husband wouldn't like that very much. You smelling my crotch, I mean, not him. He loves pie.  It would be awkward. Stop distracting me. Puppies and art are not relatable, unless the puppy has paint on his paws. Make that toxic-free paint, please, so I don't get rashy when you paw me.

Redirecting...

I would like to point out that I took the time today to put the accent mark over the e in Bublé in this post, and I'm even going to go back through my last post. It is disturbing to find that your official site is neglectful of using the accent consistently. This is a sad sign of inattentiveness to detail. You may very well be a laid back, non-demanding kind of guy, but between using words purely for their rhymes and not honoring your name, you are losing your true self.

Let me help you, Michael Bublé. You are in desperate need of acute attentiveness to detail. That's ME in a nutshell. (I am also small and could probably fit in a nutshell, especially a custom-made nutshell, if you happen to give bonuses, not that I'd make such demands, although it would be great if my nutshell were ergonomic. If you aren't willing to commission a special nutshell, maybe you'd consider actualizing my straight jacket. Don't mind all the crazy talk. I'm not crazy (anymore). Or psychotic. It's all about a silver lining, and if I'm going to go insane, it's only sensible to have an accommodating straight jacket, don't you think? DON'T YOU?! If I ever stopped drinking, my wagon would have to be so incredibly amazing that I'd never want to fall off of it. I'm not drinking right now, in case you were wondering.

As your great fortune would have it (which is in no way a reference to salary or nutshell demands), I have a history in teaching English (including running a poetry club ON MY OWN TIME) and technical editing (including dabbling in website programming and graphics - you did see my mad Venn Diagram skills? Photoshopped that!). This means that I know how to make an e acute and am very thorough. I am also currently seeking employment. This is a win-win situation, Michael Bublé; I would acute all unacuted e's on your official website, edit your lyrics and any other outgoing messages. Hell, I'd even be willing to tweet for you, which would give you more time to pursue true love. I can help you win her heart, too. WHY WOULDN'T YOU WANT ME? I'm medicated during the day.

::tangent about marriage counseling::
I'm not really serious about being a marriage counselor. Face-to-face it'll be hard to not call people on their moronic behavior. I'm much more suited to be behind the scenes and in an environment where I have the opportunity to censor myself before insulting people, or to visit Original Gangstaz and virtually kick someone's nuts off when I'm feeling particularly frustrated. In reality I've never kicked anyone in the nuts on purpose, not even accidentally on purpose, in case you'd be concerned about my diplomacy in person. Just don't test me, because I'd certainly be frank enough to tell you that I'm considering kicking you in the nuts if I thought about it, especially in person when I'm not as censored as I'd be online. I'm sure you're intelligent despite being clueless and have the self-preservation to clear my wing span should I ever utter such words to you. Again, not that I'd make demands, but having my very own nutshell would give me something nutty to kick if I were so inclined, and I'd be so thrilled to have my very own nutshell that I wouldn't dream of suing you for sexual harrassment when you paw me and ruin my wardrobe with paint.)
::end tangent about marriage counseling::

Oh, and if you are doubting we'd ever have a chance to meet... it's the fairies again - it's a sign - that poem was dancing in my head today. Are you familiar?

I Keep Three Wishes Ready

I keep three wishes ready,
Lest I should chance to meet,
Any day a fairy
coming down the street.

I'd hate to have to stammer,
Or have to think them out,
For it's very hard to think things up
When a fairy is about.

And I'd hate to lose my wishes,
For fairies fly away,
And perhaps I'd never have a chance
on any onter day.

So I keep three wishes ready,
Lest I should chance to meet,
Any day a fairy
coming down the street.

~Annette Wynne

I'm not comparing you to a fairy but am merely using this poem to illustrate my preparative nature. I will be ready to meet you, Michael Bublé. If I can't find out what your favorite type of pie is, I'll keep an assortment of car fresheners in my purse. I have been to Vancouver before, to see Kranki and Yoshi, and would love to visit again! That pancake place was really good, and I could stock up on Smarties and ketchup-flavored chips. YUM!

::tangent about yet more amazing qualities of mine::
I haven't mentioned my knitting! I've knitted accessories for Yoshi (a cat), who is a star in her own right. Kranki and Yoshi have done calendars with the proceeds going to animal charities up there. I bet you could use some awesome knitwear for your performances! Kranki has met me, too, so she could be a reference to tell you that I'm not psychotic, am a talented knitter, and was able to hold her vicious kitty without being injured. I'm that good with animals. I don't like wet dog noses on my leg, though. Full disclosure.

Come to think of it, Kranki didn't do a 2011 calendar with Yoshi. Maybe you would let her dress you up and use you as her muse. The calendars are of iconic women, but with your amazing sense of humor, I've no doubt you'd be willing.
::end tangent about yet more amazing qualities of mine::

Please let me know where to send my nutshell specifications.

Unsolicited Advice

UPDATED: Now with an acute attentiveness to detail!

Don't you hate it when people supply guidance that's not welcomed? Force you to show grace under annoyance when they ain't got all the facts?

Dude. Watching AI right now and girlfriend is singing Bublé. HOW DID SHE KNOW I was just about to write about Bublé?

Hi Michael Bublé! This blog post is about you! I'm not psychotic.

You are adorable. You are funny. I saw you on Graham Norton where you talked about wanting to touch Oprah Winfrey's teeth and box Prince Charles upside the head, and I totally get that. I also saw you on SNL. The "Hamm and Bublé" sketch was awesome. Let's watch it. For some reason it's backwards. I'm sorry if that freaks you out and gets you all discombobulated. Or would that be "discomBUBLÉted"? I'm sober.

But enough pillow plumping. I have some unsolicited career advice for you. I in no way profess to having a thorough knowledge of your work, but this will sell you more albums, build your male fan base, and get you laid. See how I care?

::tangent for more disclamation if that's even a word::
I don't profess to have a thorough knowledge of your sex life either. I'm just assuming that you like to get laid. I'd Google you -- that's not a euphamism, not that I don't find you attractive if you can manage to follow my doubled negative, but because I'm happily married  -- but Googling you for personal information may be construed as stalking, and since I'm giving you unsolicited career advice, you may not be very happy with me and my suggestions that you're not getting laid (enough) and choose to come after me to box me upside the head. If you'd consider doing that to Charles, that is. Why would you do that, anyway? Do you think he's getting laid more? I'm totally intimidated by you, you happy doodle teeth-tapping head boxer. I'm ducking now. And adding the "Exorcising" category tag to this post. I don't want to think about Charles having sex. If it's any relief, I don't recoil at the thought of you having sex. I'm not fixated on it either. Just making sure that's clear, with me being happily married and all.
::end tangent for more disclamation if that's even a word::

The issue I'm taking is with your "Haven't Met You Yet" ditty, which I will Google just to post lyrics. By the way, did you capitalize all the words, or was that the doing of the posting website? It's a little Emily Dickinson, but without selection. Scattershotting on capitalization doesn't make the lyrics more profound. I really hope this wasn't your doing. I don't want to even trust these lyrics because I'm already getting very annoyed at the grammatical errors.

I'm Not Surprised
Not Everything Lasts
Have Broken My Heart So Many Times,
I Stopped Keepin Track.
Talk Myself In
I Talk Myself Out
I Get All Worked Up
Then I Let Myself Down.

I Tried So Very Hard Not To Lose It
I Came Up With A Million Excuses
I Thought I Thought Of Every Possibility

And I Now Someday That It'll All Turn Out
You'll Make Me Work So We Can Work To Work It Out
And I Promise You Kid That I'll Give So Much More Than I Get
I Just Haven't Met You Yet

Mmmmm ....

::tangent to ask a question about the "Mmmmm" in this song::
Are you thinking about pie right now? Whenever I hear "mmm" I automatically add pie.

 
Now how did THIS get here?

I even had that as my license plate for a while. See?

 

I don't have the plates anymore because I was in an accident. The van got totalled, but I didn't get hurt. I'm sure you were getting worried. If you were here I'd pat you on the back to reassure you. ::pat pat:: Down low? Too slow.
::end tangent to ask a question about the "Mmmmm" in this song::

I Might Have To Wait
I'll Never Give Up
I Guess It's Half Time
And The Other Half's Luck
Wherever You Are
Whenever It's Right
You Come Out Of Nowhere And Into My Life

And I Know That We Can Be So Amazing
And Baby Your Love Is Gonna Change Me
And Now I Can See Every Possibility

Hmmmmm ......

::tangent to ask a question about the "Hmmmm's" in this song::
Ok, so the "Mmmmm's" are now "Hmmmmm's." Was it my talk about the pie? I hope not. Let's blame that on the posting website. Obviously an error. How could you not love pie? Whether or not it's a euphamism for my crotch. Of course my crotch smells like pie. What kind of pie do you like? I'll be sure to buy a car freshener. I'm accommodating like that. And I just made a drink. Full disclosure.
::end tangent to ask a question about the "Hmmmm's" in this song::

And Somehow I Know That Will All Turn Out
And You'll Make Me Work So We Can Work To Work It Out
And I Promise You Kid I'll Give So Much More Than I Get
I Just Haven't Met You Yet

::tangent to ask a question about what you give::
What are you talking about, Michael Bublé?
::end tangent to ask a question about what you give::

They Say All's Fair
And In Love And War
But I Won't Need To Fight It
We'll Get It By It ??
To Be United

And I Know That We Can Be So Amazing
And Being In Your Life Is Gonna Change Me
And Now I Can See Every Single Possibility

Hmmm .....

And Someday I Know It'll All Turn Out
And I'll Work To Work It Out
Promise You Kid I'll Give More Than I Get

::tangent for some snipping::
Going to edit out some of the repetition. Broken record. Is this how you talk yourself into things, Michael Bublé? Not that there's anything wrong with that. Rote learning can be very effective.
::end tangent for some snipping::

Oh You Know It Will All Turn Out
And You'll Make Me Work So We Can Work To Work It Out
And I Promise You Kid To Give So Much More Than I Get
Yeah I Just Haven't Met You Yet

Now, the tune for this song is catchy, sure, but it's too light. You're singing about having a broken heart. Yeah, yeah, you're optimistic that you'll find love again... A little too optimistic if you ask me. That's too much like scattershot. It makes you look like you're not very selective. You DO say that you can talk yourself in. Into what, Michael Bublé? And how exactly do you talk yourself in. I'm worried about you, Michael Buble, that you're drinking too much and wearing beer goggles.

::tangent to share epiphany::
O.M.G. Michael Bublé. It's STD's that you give more of, isn't it? The lack of selection, the drinking, the talking in, the not fighting it, the every. single. possibility. MAN WHORE!

O.M.G. Michael Bublé. Please tell me that the posting website put the "kid" business in this song. That's disgusting and surely illegal in Canada.
::end tangent to share epiphany::

I really need to stop this freight train that's on the Michael-Bublé-is-a-diseased-pedophile-man-whore track. It's taking me away from the unsolicited advice that I truly wanted to give to you.

I'll stand corrected that you're getting laid plenty and instead focus on quality over quantity.

The secret is to show more pain, man. You make it all cute to have a broken heart. Broken hearts are NOT cute. It's flip. It's disrespectful to the women involved to say that each broken heart isn't counted. Other women see that and they think one of two things:

1. Psychotic from the Past: I didn't count to you? WTF Michael Bublé?! I'll give you something to count!
2. Psychotic from the Future: I want to be special. I want to make Michael Bublé hurt.

Did you learn nothing from Trent Reznor? Every woman wants him. Guys want to be him, his magnetism is so strong. He hurts. So much p a i n . I hate to say this with you being so adorable, but most guys I've talked to about you (which isn't a lot; I'm not psychotic or anything) don't want to be you. Or listen to your music. I'm sorry.

You have to show the suffering to get street credit for the broken hearts. Every broken heart must be acknowledged and counted. Otherwise the ladies aren't going to be beating down your door for a happily ever after. They're going to be bitter and vengeful, knowing that you're going to heartlessly dump them curbside and bounce along to your next victim.

::tangent for another suggestion::
Tattoo an abacus on your chest. Use it to count. If you can handle vampires and are willing to share some attention, have The Count from "Sesame Street" added with a speech bubble saying, "AAAAAH AAAAAH AAAAAH." That way people know that you are serious about taking the time EACH TIME to count every single broken heart.
::end tangent for another suggestion::

Shall I compare thee to Trent Reznor? Let's with a Venn Diagram!

You're most welcome, Michael Bublé. Please get the proper antibiotics before you tap into your inner Trent Reznor, do.

Abnormalcy

Mister mrtl told Bug the other day that she is not normal. It's really not a good idea to be pointing such things out to Bug; she almost lost it. "I AM normal!" she said. This exchange occurred because, in response to mister mrtl's query about Bug's bike-riding progress, Bug informed him that she was doing well. She said she's currently on Level 6.

Bug is seven, and until last week still hadn't learned how to ride a bike. Being hopelessly-albeit-hysterically clumsy as well as anti-wrong, she has been very resistent to direction in this skill. Last week I caved and took Bug into the back yard to give her some lessons. This didn't last long since she was resistent to direction in this skill.

::tangent for historical references::
Ballet Bug:
 

Gymnastics Bug:

::end tangent for historical references::

Bug has come up with her own training program for learning how to ride a bike. This morning she provided details on the levels determined thus far.

::tangent for small reminder and disclaimer::
As far as Bug is concerned, this is completely normal. The language used below is Bug's. She thinks that's normal, too.
::end tangent for small reminder and disclaimer::

Level 1: Learning the basics, like the rotation of the pedals and steering and balancing.

Level 2: Going downhill and into the grass.

Level 3: Distraction going downhill.

Level 4: Singing about you going downhill. [This is a different type of distraction she said.]

Level 5: Going uphill.

Level 6: Don't hit the dummy.

Level 7: Don't hit the human dummy.

Level 8: Don't hit the dog.

Whatever. She's riding a bike now.

 

Marriage Counseling a la mrtl

At some point I'm going to have to get off my ass and find gainful employment. As wonderful as mister mrtl has been in his role as Mah Sugar Daddy, this free ride ain't going to last forever. We're set to move in a few months, so the mind needs to prepare.

I've been toying with the idea of going back to school since I graduated. I miss taking coursework, as frustrating as it was with my ADHD brain, and remember vividly the voracious appetite I had for learning and wanting to be a lifelong learner. The problem has been that I really don't see myself going back into a career in education -- at least not in the English-teacher capacity -- so I'd pretty much be starting over. Am I that hungry? Doubting it with everything else on my plate.

However, the thought occurred recently that I'd enjoy putting my noodle into problem solving at the marital level. I'm working on a theory that I fully intend to explore the next time mister mrtl and I find ourselves wanting to strangle each other. Since such moments are few and far between, I may need to employ some detrimental tactics for the sake of research. Consider yourself warned, honey.

My theory is to retrain the embattled brain to hear every attack as the sexy side of a double entendre. If couples can effectively do this, any heated argument will be construed as hot overtures.

Consider the following statements that may be heard during a quarrel. Maybe it will help to treat them like fortune cookies, adding "in bed" after each.

1. I want to beat you.
2. You like to make me feel weak, don't you?
3. You'll pay for this.
4. I need some time to myself.
5. You're just begging for attention.
6. I feel so empty inside.
7. You're crazy!
8. I'm going to teach you a lesson.
9. You bring me down.
10. You suck.
11. Aren't you going to help me??
12. You're taking advantage of me.
13. Why do you have to be so controlling?
14. Whore!
15. What do you want me to do?
16. You're not listening to me.
17. My head is about to explode.
18. You don't know what you're doing to me.
19. You're an animal.
20. Whatever.

I'm feeling a little hot and bothered now. Annoyed, too, since mister mrtl has the audacity to be sick. I should have held off on writing this post till he was doable. Happy Valentine's Day!

As I wrap up this post, mister mrtl points out that he has beat me grandly nine out of our last ten games on Words With Friends. Usually I'm kicking his ass.  Methinks I have my fodder for the battle royale since I'm already hearing myself saying many of the lines above. Maybe I will have this figured out by May.