mrtl

Food Battles

At moments in this life one may pause long enough to be consumed by the thoughts of how life got away or so out of control. Such a moment occurred for me this morning as I found myself starting to pull out the typical ingredients to make the girls some typical scrambled eggs for breakfast. Spying the remains of the onion used for tacos earlier in the week, a half block of cheddar sitting with the processed cheese product slices, and remembering the cache of cooked bacon in the freezer, I pondered the delicious possibilities. But ::sigh:: the children wouldn't appreciate this. They don't like onions.

The internal uproar began. How many sacrifices have I made -- by my own choice -- as a wife and a mother for the sake of keeping peace and eating together? All the ingredients I've forgone, recipes I've skipped over or simplified, meals I've eaten that I'd rather not...

Fuck 'em, I decided. I'd make the eggs the way I like them. This is a battle I'm choosing to fight. As I put it to Bug as she later pontificated to me over the impossibility of eating around the onions on her plate, "You can't avoid onions all your life."

This, by the way, is the quote I'd love to see if I've any future inclusion in quote anthologies.

Surely they will hate me and CPS is going to be contacted before this battle is over. I'll be accused of starving my children. Really I won't be, but to get to the redundant wisdom of, "If they're hungry, they'll eat it," my children will have to be exposed to several meals that they refuse to eat before that hunger will become more important than their stubborn belief that distaste means inedible.

This will be a good thing. The girls will learn to appreciate food, or at least keep their mouths shut and eat politely; the pantry will be cleared of unfavored cereals and the whimsical ingredients for "someday" meals; and Momma may even start to enjoy cooking again.

You'll Never Call Me 'Beer Buckets'

Genetically modified cows produce 'human' milk

At first glance, such a headline is unsettling to many. Many are not seeing the big picture, the possibilities. Grab a drink; this may be a long one.

While my first thoughts upon reading about these cows involved trying to figure out how the Chinese could convince us that they had in fact figured this out, and a variety of naysayer implications, they quickly unraveled into considering the MAGIC of having breastmilk cows.

... Did they employ teet implants filled with human breast milk? Is that how we can tell genetically-modified cows from the unchosen ones? Are the implants that obvious? Oh, you naughty Chinese.

... Oh, HELL NO, I wouldn't let any child of mine suckle a cow's teet!

... Does the taste of the milk change based on what the cow has eaten? Can we feed them chocolate?

... Can the cows be genetically modified to produce Kahlua?

... But if my breasts are freed up from suckling babes, could I be genetically modified to produce something else, like cosmos?

::tangent on unwise choice of cosmo-producing boobs::
Boobs leak.
Cranberry juice stains are hard to remove.
Juice and Cointreau are sugary.
Sugar attracts ants.
Ants already like our house.
I already feel like bugs are crawling on my constantly.
I don't want real live ants crawling on my boobs.
::end tangent on unwise choice of cosmo-producing boobs::

... If I have to go with something clear to remove the threat of staining, I wouldn't want to choose vodka. I can't drink that stuff straight. If I go with white wine, people may think I'm trying to one-up Jesus. God forbid I do that. Maybe I'll just have to learn how to tolerate hard liquor. I'll go with Mags Bennett's apple pie hooch from "Justified."

... I'm very tempted to go with Bailey's. It's ever so tasty and versatile! I make fudge with it that is nom¹⁰⁰⁰.

... I could do a boob of each! I wonder if they'd go together. Oh, that's silly. Bailey's goes with everything.

... Should I feel guilty for not choosing a beverage that mister mrtl would never drink? He just drinks beer, but I don't want to wake up every morning smelling like the floor of the 'Vous [or insert your own sticky, disgusting college-years drinking hole]. Besides, what if he wants to tap me... like a keg... and wants the product kept icy cold? Screw that.

... A keg tap may not sound appealing at all, but a Camelbak-type contraption is something I would consider, especially when going places where a flask would be too inappropriate.

... I'd laugh through security checks at the airport, and then laugh some more when I don't have to spend a cent drinking on flights, and then laugh some more because I've overindulged just because I could.

::tangent because I can::
This reminds me of the question about why dogs lick their balls. A friend, upon hearing of my contemplation on this matter, said something about self-suckling. Yes, I could, but I'm not sure it would be a strong latch. That's all I'm saying about that.
::end tangent because I can::

... Imagine the impact such a breakthrough would have on women's equality in the workplace! The advantage a woman with, say, a steady supply of bourbon, could have over a male counterpart's useless he-teets, especially if said supply is of high-end quality.

::bourbon tangent::
Since there are some legal requirements (i.e., "must be aged in new, charred oak barrels") involved with the making of real bourbon that may not be possible to replicate with genetic modification, let's call it boobron instead.
::end bourbon tangent::

... Hosting parties will be like eating Jelly Bellies! What are the possible combinations! This gives a clever new twist on "mixers." ::hee - I said "twist"::

... I hate to be judgy, but anyone modifying to Boone's Farm or Mad Dog 20/20 can not come to my Dessert and Squirt Mixer.

Obvious Girl is Obviously Obvious Boy's Daughter

This morning at the breakfast table...

Bug: [looking at mister mrtl's colossal coconut-topped donut] Is that coconut?

mister mrtl: Obviously.

mrtl: mister mrtl! It's obvious it's not obvious to her if she's asking. [As if this weren't obvious to him.]

mister mrtl: You're so right, mrtl. You're obviously brilliant. [I don't remember what he really said, but it surely was something like this.]

A few minutes later...

mister mrtl: [putting second donut on his plate, which he did finish, assuring that he will puke on the golf course today] Do you know what they call these?

Bug: Donuts. [Include sarcastic "DUH" tone.]

mrtl: The obvious girl is obviously the daughter of obvious boy.

mister mrtl: [obviously humbled by his daughter's obvious brilliance] ... Yes. Colossal donuts.

Update: No, her mouth was not big enough. She cleaned most of the chocolate and sprinkles off the second half before seceding victory to the donut.

 

We Do Not Like Green Noodles and Ham

Perhaps it was because I bought the wrong cheese, or that I didn't follow the directions to the letter. I won't blame Rachael Ray for the complete and utter fail of her Green Noodles and Ham recipe.

I can't help but think that even if I did everything correctly, it wouldn't have looked much different.

My stomach was hurting from laughing so hard before I even called the girls down to dinner. I had told them that for dinner we were having noodles and cheese, "just like macaroni and cheese." As I slopped the congealing masses onto plates, it conjured mental images of the mom's cooking in Better Off Dead.

 
::tangent to share scary pie::
Click if you dare. 
::end tangent to share scary pie::

I had the foresight to catch Jem's reaction to seeing her plate. Here's the unsuspecting child posing.

 
Now approaching with the initial WTF?

 
Finally, the shock. Bug is keeping her distance, looking wary.

 
"What is this? What is our food? It looks yucky! Can I have sour cream on it? Can I have some bread? ::insert gagging noise for dramatic effect:: Can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? The green stuff looks yucky."

She totally called it.

I'm still laughing.

In Which I Implore Papa Johns to Add a Button and Save the Earth

Friday is pizza night in our household. We almost always order from Papa John's since we love their crust. LOVE IT! Mister mrtl and I have been together for nearly seventeen years. We've eaten a lot of pizza.

Papa John's pizza is delivered with a one-ounce plastic container of "Special Garlic Dipping Sauce" and a jalapeño pepper. Every week these get thrown out. It is the dipping sauce that I'm focusing on for this post.

It's rare that anyone in our household even uses the Special Garlic Dipping Sauce, but it's opened and emptied so the container can be recycled. (An exception was our three years in Alaska, which didn't have recycling facilities.) Emptying the container is a pain in the ass because the Special Garlic Dipping Sauce is so oily it adheres to the hands and anything that happens to be in the sink. Tonight I threw the container in the trash, justifying my decision that the water wasted cleaning up the mess may negate the benefits of recycling. I started thinking about how many of those containers we've tossed over the years and how much space in our landfills they would take up if we threw every one of them out to avoid the oily mess.

But mrtl, if the container is recycled, it can be made into something else. Damn it. I'm going to take my sore legs down the stairs yet again (oh the pain, and I should mention that I slipped the last time I went down the stairs, but I'll take that risk to be a good custodian of our planet).

Papa John's recently redesigned their website. My laptop doesn't care for the site much due to the enhanced programming, which kicks the fan into high gear to keep the computer from exploding. I only mention this to emphasize how much we love Papa John's pizza; we risk our lives almost WEEKLY to order. (Yes, we are aware of the smartphone application; there was some issue that I can't recall that kept us from using it. It was probably the double-cutting. I'd risk being blasted by an exploding laptop than finish a piece of pizza that my 5-year-old daughter has molested with her mouth and hands.)

With all of the enhancements of the improved, deadly site, I wish the Papa John's pizza-ordering experience would include the option to not get the Special Garlic Dipping Sauce at all (or the jalapeño for that matter). Back in the old days when people actually had to call to order their pizza, I could tell the team member to leave it out (if I remembered, which I may have once).

Consider some of the benefits of adding this feature:

1. Papa John's' profits will soar. Less sauce will need to be manufactured ("Better Ingredients" only extends to the pizza; the sauce is loaded with ookey stuff) and packaged will help your bottom line!

2. Customers' health will improve. There are many out there who would opt out of getting the sauce if they had the choice, but regardless would not waste it if it's there.

3. Water will be conserved from washing out containers for recycling (and removing the residue from everything that gets in the way).

4. There will be less waste, whether going to landfills or recycling centers.

5. If the same option is applied to the jalapeños, customer humiliation will decrease. I couldn't tell you how many "eat that jalapeño to show us what a man you are" contests I've witnessed.

I'm going to go so far to attempt some statistics to support my request.

::math disclaimer::
Math is not my strong suit. It is very much my weak suit, that weak suit that sits in the waaaaay back of the closet, is out of style and doesn't fit me. The last time I actively exercised decent math skills, shoulder pads were in style. That's how weak my math is.
::end math disclaimer::

Just to keep it simple, I'm going to figure this based on the entire time mister mrtl and I have been together. The crunched numbers will be a bit overblown. However, we have ordered more than one pizza or side at a time, and we have ordered pizza more than once a week, and some of the products include more than one container of this-or-that dipping sauce. Used or not, there is trash made.

Mister mrtl and I met on April 15, 1994. According to a website that does the math for me, that's 883 weeks.

883 containers of dipping sauce

So far, so good, but now we have to figure out how much space the containers take up.

The containers are roughly cylindrical, 2" in diameter x 1" in height. According to eHow.com, these are the steps to determine the volume of a cylinder:

1. Measure the height (h) of the cylinder. Height is sometimes referred to as the length. 1"

2. Measure the radius (r) of the cylinder. Radius is the distance from the outer edge to the center of the circle. 1"

3. Multiply the height by Pi. 1 x 3.14159265 = 3.14159265

4. Square the radius. (Multiply the radius by itself.) 1 x 1 = 1

5. Multiply the product from Step 3 by the product of Step 4. 3.14159265 x 1 = 3.14159265

6. Write you answer in the proper cubic unit of measurement.
::blink, blink... insert confused looks on the faces of the villagers while pondering Sir Bedemir's questions in the witch scene in Holy Grail:: 3.14159265 inches?

If that is correct, we're looking at a cubic volume of 3.14159265 inches. Times that by the number of weeks we've been together: 3.14159265 x 883 = 2,774.02631 cubic inches of waste.

Since 2,774.02631 inches = 231.168859 feet, that's about 231 cubic feet of waste.

Oh, wait. There are 1,728 cubic inches in a cubic foot. I don't even know if I'm doing this right.

2,774.02631/1,728 = 1.6053393 cubic feet of waste.

This much waste for one family. It may not seem like much, but it adds up. Your website doesn't provide statistics for how many pizzas have been made in its 25 years, but does say you have over 3,500 franchises. Think if each sold just one pizza a week:

1.6053393 x 3,500 =  5,618.68755 cubic feet of waste in one week for Special Garlic Dipping Sauce.

Dear Papa John's,

I have done math for you. I have used pi without "(e)." I risk the life of my children, my husband, and myself regularly to enjoy your product. I humbly ask that you consider allowing your customers to choose to not be exposed to the mess of any more Special Garlic Dipping Sauce. It's not just for the people, but for our environment.

Sincerely,
mrtl

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.

Yay for Pie!

UPDATE 2/5
The hasty pudding was supernom. No one else in the house likes it, so it's all mine. Woo! (Just in time for me to gain 20 pounds going off my meds!) I haven't placed the taste yet, but I've had something similar before. Thinking England, but I'll have to look around and ask my mother if it's familiar. She's got elephantitus of the memory, you know.

While the pudding was in the oven, I had a sidebar with She about how saying, "I'm making hasty pudding" was most definitely NOT a euphemism, that it wasn't flan made with sperm, that I was FEEDING IT TO MY CHILDREN. While taking it out of the oven I realized that I'd forgotten to add the maple syrup. Pouring it on top of the hasty pudding made it look WAY too flan-like, which wouldn't do at all. I had to mix it in. 

~~~~~~

Tomorrow night Jay Leno is going to be awarded the title of Harvard's Hasty Pudding 2011 Man of the Year. Preparations are in order, so I'm posting this today.

I'm not going to invest myself in the WTF'upedness of this. Rather, I'm going to give Harvard the benefit of the doubt that this isn't an attempt to insult Conan O'Brien. They have plans. They needed to get Leno there. What better trap than to tell him that he's being given an award? Who can resist an award? Of COURSE he'll have to BE THERE to accept his award!!

Festivities shall involve a roast. I know it's not a real roast, but can still imagine Leno bound up with an apple in his mouth like a suckling pig. This will keep him quiet and unable to escape.

Hopefully the event will also include surprise guests, like O'Brien streaking the stage to throw hasty pudding pies at Jay. Sofia Vergara should be present also, to provide commentary. "Oh, Yay! He's been hit with the pudding!"

It's unfortunate that I can't find anything online saying the event will be telecast. ::sigh:: Best bring it to life on my own. In case anyone has an inclination to create a diarama to play out their own fantastical version of the roast at home, following are some key items you'll need:

• Picture(s) of Leno

Watching Out
 
Unsuspecting
 

• Picture(s) of O'Brien

A Pie in Each Hand
 
A Pie with Both Hands (I don't have time to photoshop Wilson out for you. Make it work.)
 
Ready for Dramatic Monologue After Throwing Pies
 
If you would rather BE Conan, I'd suggest modifying the directions for this adorable Santa mask. Find instructions at this website.
 

• Picture(s) of Vergara - OMG you'll just have to Google her yourself. I'm a little flushed and short of breath seeing those.
• Popsicle sticks and glue to make puppets with pictures if that's the route you're taking.
• Hasty pudding. The recipe copied below was found here. Don't follow the recipe to the letter, though. You wouldn't want Leno to actually enjoy getting any of it in his mouth. Salt and nutmeg would be good candidates for excessive additives.
• Orange food die. I'd recommend adding this to the pudding as a special, personal touch.
• Pre-made pie shells. I don't know how well the pudding will set if it's allowed to cool, but does that matter?

~~~~~

Hasty Pudding
Serves 4

This pudding recipe was originally brought over from England was called “Indian Pudding” when it was made in Colonial America since cornmeal was cheaper and more readily available.  As a British dish, it was a quick pudding to make using a sweetened porridge made from flour, tapioca or oatmeal and milk.  Here the recipe was transformed to use local ingredients -- cornmeal, molasses or maple syrup and milk.  But because it uses cornmeal, it’s anything but “hasty” since it requires 2 hours to bake.  But the wait is worth it!  If you want to be truly authentic, serve as an appetizer.

2 cups milk
2 cups light cream
3 tablespoons stone ground yellow cornmeal
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup maple syrup
1 tablespoon butter
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon ginger
½ teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
Pinch ground cloves
1/8 teaspoon baking soda
2 eggs, beaten

In a heavy pan scald milk and cream.  Gradually sprinkle with yellow cornmeal and bring to a boil, stirring briskly.  Stir in sugar, maple syrup, butter and all the other dry ingredients.  Let the mixture cool slightly. 

In a small bowl beat the eggs with the milk/cream mixture.  Pour the batter into a buttered 1 ½ quart baking dish and bake in a moderately slow oven (325 degrees F) for 2 hours. 

Serve hot or warm with whipped cream or ice cream if desired.

My Brain's Not Working Rightly

First it was preparing the house for incoming guests for Pie Day festivities, and now it's an sinus infection, possibly an ear infection, too.

I'm quite miserable. And very unentertaining.

The pie was yummy, yes.

Did you know that January 24th is considered to be the most depressing day of the year? Research and shit was done to figure that out. But I doubted. I was all, "Who could be depressed the day after Pie Day?" I mean, even if you don't have leftover pie, don't you still have fresh memories? And if you didn't have pie on Pie Day, I would think you'd be more depressed ON Pie Day, not the day after. And if you realized the day after that the day before was Pie Day, why would that be depressing? I'd be all, "So I missed Pie Day yesterday? Totally celebrating today instead!" because when is it not a good time for pie? And if you're reading this and are getting all sad because you deliberately chose not to eat any pie on Pie Day because you got all mathematic and shit and figured out that the caloric intake wasn't worth ruining your diet regime, well, then, that's on you, love. Maybe someday those exercise endorphins (aka INSANITY) will wear off and you'll realize that it's PIE that makes the world go 'round.

And now I'm getting more sad because I would hope to be the person who could withstand the Pie Day temptation and stick to a diet regime.

My head's about to explode and I ate an inordinate amount of excessive calories yesterday (moreso to "eat some for" the one who was withstanding)...

Now I understand the meaning of today. Damn.

---

Edited to note that I see my grammatical error in the first sentence of this post ("an sinus infection"). I'm leaving it because it clearly illustrates just how affected my brain is today.

I was going to write a post on how I got Jem to use the potty today, but now it's late and I'm tired and the bed's still not made, so I'm going to give you a happy pancake instead. K?

Happy Pancake courtesy of Bug.